"Do some good, see some action," she'd said, the last time we'd talked, before giving me a detailed account of how loudly and noisily lions mated. "Every fifteen minutes, Ro! Now you know why Mufasa is the motherfucking king of the jungle."
"You're a perv, Mo. You just sat there and watched?"
"Hell, yeah! We had our lunch there too. You need to get your arse down here. Wait till you see an elephant's schlong, Ro . . ."
On and on she had babbled, and I'd only half-listened, not knowing it would be the last time I spoke to her, not knowing that I would be in her room, looking up at the same ceiling fan that she had probably gazed on when she called me.
Except for the last time, when she'd called me from the mall.
When I hadn't picked up.
When she'd needed me the most.
I flipped over to my side, trying to escape the thoughts that kept haunting me.
The bed next to mine was empty and neatly made up. Mo's roommate, Corinne, was gone. She'd let me in, the night before and hugged me.
"I'm so sorry," she'd said. "She was such an amazing soul."
Having Mo referred to in the past tense was painful. Waking up in her bed was painful. I got up and drew the curtains open. It was later than I had anticipated, but I was still adjusting to the time difference. The cement floor was hard on my feet, so I slipped into Mo's slippers. They were rabbit-faced, with pink-tipped noses, and ears that flip-flopped when I walked.
I stood in the center of the room and looked around. Mo's side had a narrow closet, but the clothes had either slipped off the hangers, or she'd never bothered to put them up.
Probably the latter. I smiled. We were so different, and yet as close as two sisters could be. I could hear her chatter in my head, as I sorted through her things.
Hey, remember when I filled a balloon with glitter and stuffed it in your closet? It popped, and all your clothes were so sparkly that you looked like a disco ball for days.
Thinking of her there beside me, sitting cross-legged on the floor, helped me get through it. It kept me from breaking down as I folded the tops she'd never wear again, her smell still alive in them.
Don't forget the drawer, Ro. I'm so relieved it's you who's doing this. Can you imagine Mum finding that dildo? I kind of debated about it myself, but it's so realistic, you know? You should totally get one, dude. No Mufasa? No worries . . .
And so the day progressed, with Mo's commentary flitting through my head, like a butterfly that went from flower to flower, saying goodbye as the sun dimmed over the horizon.
It was late afternoon when I stood back and surveyed the room. Mo's side was all boxed up, except for a map on her wall with Post-it notes in her careless, cursive writing, and the ribbons she had tied around the fan. I couldn't bring myself to remove those. Besides, I had three more weeks before I headed back to England. I wanted to see the places she'd mentioned, understand the magic that drove her, find some resolution in the place that had claimed her.
Kilimani Mall was still a wide, gaping hole in the ground, but the civilians had been collateral damage. The gunmen's target had been a government minister who was speaking at a convention that day. His security team was moving him to safety when a car bomb exploded, killing them all. It had gone off in the underground parking lot, and large parts of the mall had collapsed. No one had claimed responsibility, and investigators were still sifting through the rubble. It was one of those tragic, senseless things, like when a sinkhole appears without warning and swallows up your car, your home, the people you love. There's no one to blame for it, so you carry your pain and anger with you, all the while waiting for an epiphany, a kernel of understanding that would help you move on, because surely it all meant something.
I sank on the bed and hugged Mo's pillow, wishing I could feel her arms around me. Something solid slid beneath my fingers. I slipped my hand under the cover and pulled out an eyeglass case. Her spare pair was still in there-orange cat-eye frames. Mo had a habit of stashing things in her pillowcase. I was surprised I hadn't discovered them the night before. Then again, I had been too overwhelmed to notice.
"I wish you could see the world through my eyes," she'd say to me, whenever I couldn't understand the allure of her lifestyle.
Well, here I am, Mo. I put on her glasses and scanned the room through the distorted lens of her frames.
The sun was setting and its golden light filled the room, falling on the wall. The metal tacks that held the map over her desk shone like the glitter Mo had spewed all over my clothes.
I got up and traced my fingers over the yellow Post-its she had stuck on it. Taking off her glasses, I leaned closer to read them.
April 14-Miriamu (Noni)
May 2-Huzuni (Pendo)
June 12-Javex (Kabula)
July 17-Juma (Baraka)
Aug 29-Sumuni (Maymosi)
Sept 1-Furaha (Magesa)
The notes were strange and hard to decipher. The first three were crossed out with black ink. They were scattered around the map, some close to Amosha, some farther away.
"Wow. You got a lot done," said Corinne, as she entered the room and tossed her bag onto her bed. "Have you been cooped up in here all day?"
I looked down at myself. I was still in my pajamas.
"Did you get anything to eat?" she asked.
I shook my head, realizing that the last thing I'd had was a snack on the plane.
"How are you Mo's sister? We called her Woe-Mo when she hadn't eaten. She got real mean when she was hungry." Corinne steered me toward the bathroom. "Freshen up so we can grab some dinner."
I stared at my reflection as I brushed my hair. The warm chestnut waves parted naturally to one side and swept softly across my forehead. My eyes still held that startled look people get when you snatch something away from them, something precious. They seemed a darker brown, as if the pupils had opened wide and remained that way. Mo had looked like that when she was excited about something, although her eyes had been far from plain brown. They reminded me of warm driftwood and golden sand. Our parents had named us aptly. Mo was the laid-back heat of the Caribbean, the cool, carefree beat of reggae. I was quiet inlets and ancient mountains. I didn't dress too bright or speak too loud. I was more comfortable blending into the background. My averageness made it easy. Average height, average weight, average job, average life.
It didn't take long to change into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Corinne gave me a quick tour of the place. The Nima House volunteers' compound was located away from the orphanage, with modest rooms that opened to a shared courtyard.
The other volunteers were already gathered around a long table outside.
"You have to try the wali and maharagwe," said Corinne, as we joined them. She ladled my plate with rice and what looked like bean stew.
"Don't let the Swahili fool you," someone piped in. "She's just reading it off the board."
"I'm trying to make a good impression." Corinne sat down beside me. "I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce you. You guys, this is Mo's sister, Rodel."
There was a noticeable lull in the conversation before everyone started talking all at once.
"Hey, so sorry."
"It's quiet around here without her."
"I still can't believe she's gone."
They shared their stories of Mo. They had all signed on for different terms, some for a couple of weeks, others-like Mo-for the full six months. It was a small, informal group from all over place. Corinne was from Nigeria. The guy next to me was German. A couple of them had traveled from towns that were not too far from Amosha. Not everyone spoke English or Swahili, but somehow, everyone understood each other. My heart grew full as I listened to all the ways they remembered my sister: sweet, adventurous, loud, bold.
"She was freaking hot," said one of the guys before someone kicked him in the shin.
It wasn't until Corinne and I were back in our room that I realized just how exhausted I was. I was always on edge when I traveled. That, combined with an emotional roller coaster of a day had me yearning to sink into bed. But I had one more thing to cross off my list.
"Corinne?" I said. "What do these notes mean?" I pointed to the Post-its on the map.
"Oh, those." She stood next to me, surveying them. "Mo worked with at-risk children in her spare time. She picked up a kid from one of these places every month and got them to a safe place. See, she's listed the date she was expected there, the name of the child, and this here, in brackets, is the name of the place. She was aiming to round up six kids in six months. She did the first three." Corinne pointed to the ones that had been crossed out.
"What about the rest? Who's going to look after them?"
"I guess the guy she was working with. Gabriel something. One of the locals. Nima House has nothing to do with it. It's already at full capacity. It doesn't have the resources to look after the kids they were rounding up."
"So where were they taking them?"
"I'm not sure. Mo might have mentioned it, but I don't recall." Corinne crawled into bed. "Goodnight, Rodel. Try to get some sleep."
I turned off the light and slipped under the covers. The ceiling fan turned slowly over me. I could barely make out the ribbons in the dark. My mind was filled with all the bits and pieces I'd learned about Mo. While I had been looking for heroes in books, my sister had been one-a silent, probably accidental one, who would have gagged if anyone had referred to her as one. She wasn't out to save anyone. She was just greedy for life-for fun, for food, for colors, for experiences. She couldn't see past what was directly in front of her, and she only did the things that made her happy, but that made her even more of a hero to me.