Chapter 1

A group of boys had ganged up on me the other day.  One kicked my shins, before stepping on my skinny leg with his heavy boot.  The skinny leg that is already bad.  Two years ago another group of boys had thrown a huge rock at my foot.  The rock was so big that when it landed on my foot, I heard the crunching sound of breaking bones.

            “Your kind is not wanted here!” was the last sentence I heard as I slowly slid into a sea of blackness. 

I had been limping since then.  It was actually more of a drag than a limp – with my ankle hanging loosely.  The pain was so excruciating that I had lain on the ground writhing in pain as they walked away laughing and threatening to do it again if they ever saw me again around that area.  When I finally came to, the sun was overhead me.  It was hot that it scalded my sensitive skin, but I had dared not move.  All I could do was shade my equally sensitive eyes against the harsh sun rays.  I was sure that he had broken something as I had been sore since then.  But I just didn’t have the resources to find out what harm he had done.  At our local clinic I was always shunned so I didn’t even bother.  My crippled foot now wrapped in bloodstained rags. 

Slowly I got up I dragged my crippled foot and walked with a limp to nowhere.  I always walked to nowhere really.  The silence was my only company. I would only stop when I needed to rest.   My rests always seemed to lead me to the lone baobab tree.  I thought of the baobab tree with its dangling branches and laughed out loud sarcastically.  Just like my skinny dangling arms.  Tired and with no hope.  The baobab tree and I seemed to be one and the same – alone, lonesome, out of the ordinary, always shunned and with a curse.

The curse.  Yes, the curse.  I never knew how long the curse had been there.  I never knew who placed it either.  Was I cursed because I was different?  Was I always like this, I wondered as I looked at my blotched white hands.  How long had I been cursed?  I never knew my age either.  I was small enough to pass for a twelve year old - eight even, but my hair as pale as the colour of an old man’s hair, the frowns and lines on my face and the slouch of my shoulders were those of a sixty year old man, carrying the weight and worries of the world.  I would look with envy from across streets as I watched other children celebrating birthdays in the comfort of their home.  I felt to have lived forever – my nights quickly turned into days and days quickly into nights.  I had absolutely no account of the days or time.  Was I a child?  Would a child have such a heavy load on his shoulders?  I had nobody to ask.

Whenever it was hot I would go to the beach.  Carefully, behind a palm tree I would scan the beach to see if there was any big boy or mother around who might bully me.  It was big boys I was more scared of, as they hurt me.  Mothers on the others hand mostly just threatened me and shooed me away.  I used to be scared of them, but I came to learn later that they were actually more scared of me than I was of them.  Scared of the curse.  I rarely had the pleasure of visiting the beach though as it was always crowded.   Under the great shade of the baobab tree was the only place I found peace and solace.

I kept on walking idly – longing for the comfort of the baobab tree shade.  I was so hungry and tired that I barely was able to lift my other leg.  So I started dragging it too, with the hot sun burning overhead and the broken bottles and thorns biting into my blistered bare feet.  I never felt the pain.  I was now immune to physical pain.  It was only the pain that my heart felt that I suffered.  I wrapped my skinny arms around my dirty threadbare tee shirt as a strong wind passed.  I shuddered and continued to my walk to nowhere. 

            “Mchawi[1]!” a young boy called out to me as I walked by him.

            ”Kichaa[2]!” another one chipped in with laughter, as he picked up a stone and threw it at me.

“Nuksi huyo[3], don’t talk to him,” an older boy warned the two.

It was said to have caused deaths of my whole family.  I never knew the truth – as I never knew family and nobody would tell me anything about them.  I had never known a mother’s touch.  I never knew if I had one.  Was I a child of the baobab tree as others said?  I never knew my father either.  I never remembered ever having one.  I never had friends.  Some said that I was cursed, others said I was a witch.  I never knew the truth.  

Once I attended school.  Being at school gave me something else – a place to sleep.  Even there I was a loner – but at least for a while I felt I belonged somewhere.  The chalk board I used for writing letters and numbers was not black and new as everybody else’s, it was so old that it was now gray and the edges were cracked.  Mwalimu Juma, the oldest teacher at the school was kind enough to lend it to me.  It had belonged to his grandson, he had said.  I wasn’t at school for long though as I was often too hungry or too sick too attend classes – sometimes I was too scared too go to school for fear of getting beaten up by the big boys after classes.  After getting a good thrashing from the big boys, I would drag my sore body back to one of the classes and wait until it was dark and sleep.  If I was strong enough I would talk a walk to the baobab tree and wait for the sun to go down, then walk back to school.  Once a parent found me there and accused me of cursing the classes, that was why her children were not doing so good at school anymore.

            “It’s him,” she had screamed at the gathering crowd, “he’s been putting uchawi in the classes.”

            “Leave our village, you mchawi,’ somebody started a chant that followed me as I walked to the baobab tree.

For weeks I didn’t go to the village – living on the fruits the tree gave and other fruits.  Only at night I would sneak to the nearby farms and steal bananas and maize.  With an old tin I would boil whatever I found.  Once I was so hungry that I ate two raw maize meals. 

After a while I couldn’t take the loneliness anymore, I needed to see people – though they shunned me.  In the evenings I would walk silently in the shadows of the setting sun.  There was a particular house I enjoyed watching - the five children always playing merrily.  I would watch with tears in my eyes.

One windy afternoon as I stood under the shadows watching two children play, I was startled by the lady of the house.  I never heard her coming.  From where I was crouching I could see the older daughter cooking at the yard.  I hugged my skinny body, shielding myself from the windy gusts.  The aroma of spicy pilau[4] would taunt my nostril with each draft of the wind.  They must be expecting visitors, I thought to myself.  I couldn't remember the last time that I had eaten a full meal.  I inhaled deeply, savouring the spicy aroma of the meal, but the only thing that filled my nostrils and lungs was the cold wind.  I moved closer, careful not to be seen, the delicious smell then teased with my nostrils, triggering an aching hunger within the pit of my stomach.  My nostrils flared as my eyes watered at the realization of my futile longing.  Wiping the tears from my eyes and fighting the dull ache within my stomach, I got up.  I didn’t know where I was headed to this time.  Fear gripped me as I forced thoughts of homelessness from my mind.

            “Here,” I heard a voice behind me as I was about to turn and leave.  As I turned she threw two old shorts and a tee shirt at me.  I was so scared, I didn’t know whether to run and cry.  I must have mumbled something unintelligent, because she went on – as if she had acknowledged my understanding.

“Go wash your face, arms and legs by the stream, put these on then come to the back,“ her face lacking an expression.

I looked at the tap that was visible from where I was standing and wondered why I could not wash myself there.

            As if reading my thoughts, she had replied, “don’t you dare touch that tap, unless you are clean.  I don’t want your dirt and bacteria around my children,” she had said as she walked off.

As I watched her walking away, I noticed her long shapely legs, the shape of her hips and the too-small waist.  A thin smile splayed across my face as I watched the swish swaying of her hips against the thin fabric of the khanga[5] she was wearing that had clung to her flesh.  For a while I stood watching her hips do the jiggle as she walked.  Left, right, north, south, left, right – they seemed to say.  When she walked, her hips swayed with a motion that evoked a strange sense within me.  I felt my face flushing ad my groins getting warm.  The strange feeling made me uncomfortable.  I had heard the bog boys talking about such an experience – but wherever they did, they always roared with laughter and pride.  Was I one of them – was I also a big boy?  Quickly I shook my head as if shaking my thoughts away – as I didn’t want to be one of them.  

            “Hujaondoka tu[6]?  What are you staring at?”  she suddenly interrupted my thoughts.  She had now reached the baraza[7].  “Get going!”

Hurriedly I limped to the stream and washed myself as well as I could.  I used to bath down the stream every now and then – but after a while I didn’t see the point.  After drying myself with the dirty threadbare tee shirt I had on, I changed quickly.  I then quickly made my way to the house.  When I got there I noticed that the children who were playing outside disappeared inside.  I nervously waited outside for the lady to come back outside.  I wasn’t comfortable standing out in the open and the sun was scorching my sensitive skin which was already turning blotched up red.  Like a mouse, quietly I moved to a shade behind a tree.

After a while the lady came out, all dressed up and smelling deliciously of udi [8].  She then sat on a mkeka[9] at the baraza – as if waiting.

“Eid mubarak,” a little girl carrying a covered sinia[10] hopped to the baraza.  “Mama said I should bring you some kebabs[11].”

“Aksante[12], Zaina,” the lady replied happily.  As she lifted the cover to take a peek at the goodies, the aroma hit my nostrils upon removing the cover.  “They smell delicious.”

            “I helped Mama making them,” little Zaina beamed.

            “You did, did you?’  The lady smiled, “well, we’ll just have to give you a present.  Go to the kitchen ask Laila to give you some chapati[13] to take to your Mama.  Tell her to give you the biggest share as you did such a good job with these.”

            “Thank you,” little Zaina replied shyly.

            “Take these with you too,” the lady handed little Zaina the tray, “give them to Laila.”

Zaina then happily hopped to the back.  Then I remembered – it was Eid.  Eid – of course it was Eid, I recalled, remembering the little boys I had ran into in their little white kanzu[14] probably coming from prayers.  I had no concept of time no days.  The sun was my only time teller.

            “You are back,” the lady exclaimed when she saw me, her face devoid of any expression.  “Go to the back and chop some wood and scrub the pots.  When you are done I’ll show you what else to do.”  With a wave of her gold jewel covered hand she then dismissed me. 

After chopping firewood, cleaning and washing pots and dishes – and there was quite a number of pots - the lady gave me a sinia of ukoko[15] and a potion of good pilau.  Saliva filled my mouth, causing me to gag uncomfortably as the sinia was handed to me.  I hadn’t expected such payment.  Tears filled my eyes as I looked at the food.  I hardly believed that there was a God – but that day I believed He was there.  Food and clothes.  It was Eid Mubarak indeed.

My stomach growled from lack of food for two day and I shifted uncomfortably under the baobab tree.  I had had some fruits from the nearby shamba, but my stomach needed something solid - something filling.  I thought of stealing a chicken.  It would be so easy.  They always wander about aimlessly, like me, looking for food.  Who would know?   My stomach growled again, louder this time.  I gripped it, hoping to make it stop.  It had been weeks since I ate solid from – at the lady’s place.  Yes, the lady.  I quickly got up, when I remembered her.  She could give me some chores in exchange for food – like the last time.  Suddenly I felt energized.  Yes, I could go to her place.

I got up and quickly made my way to her place.  Although tired from the hunger and the long walk to her place, I quickened my steps in anticipation of the food.  The thought filled me with such a hunger, as I had never experienced before. My stomach growled again impatiently as I limped quickly.  Delicious spicy home cooked meal.   A frowning passerby stared at me, causing me to realize that I had voiced this question, aloud.  I looked down nervously, in an effort to conceal my embarrassment.

Her neighbourhood was quiet and deserted save for four skinny stray dogs that went about panting in the hot sun.  It was a hot day but I was so excited that I hardly felt the sun biting into my skin.  A scrawny cat scuttled past and one of the dogs took up chasing it.  Nearing the lady’s house, I hesitated.  She was sitting on a mkeka, at the baraza fanning herself, an earthen tea cup next to her.  She looked up with a slight frown as she me.  

“What are you doing here?” she had growled at me.

I looked down, mumbling nothing in particular.  I felt confused by the lady’s outburst.

“Unazoea[16] eh?  I give you food once now you think this is your place?  I’m your mother?”

“Samahani[17] mama,” I whispered, my eyes still on the ground.

“I’m not your mother!  Toka[18]!  Toka nakwambia[19]!” she screamed as she threw a slipper at me, “and don’t you ever let me see you here again.  Usiniletee[20] nuksi! ”