Mists of the Serengeti(6)

"Don't worry, Miss Rodel. We will find him."

It was a simple reassurance, but I was grateful for it.

As we entered Rutema, barefoot children raced behind us on the dusty street, chanting, "Mzungu! Mzungu!"

"What are they saying?" I asked Bahati.

"Mzungu means a white person. They are not used to seeing many tourists around here." He parked the jeep under a ficus tree. A group of grease-stained men were working on a tractor beneath it, muttering like surgeons around a patient. "I will ask them if they know Gabriel."

The kids encircled our car as Bahati talked to the men. They gawked and giggled. "Scholastica, Scholastica!" they shouted, pointing at me.

I had no idea what that meant, but they disappeared when Bahati returned and shooed them away.

"Lucky for you, there is only one Gabriel in the village with a mzungu lady friend. But he travels a lot, and they haven't seen him for a while. His family lives over there." He motioned to a large compound. It seemed out of place amongst the row of small huts. A perimeter of walls with sharp, broken glass, set into the mortar at the top, surrounded it.

My heart sank. I had not considered the possibility that Gabriel might not be around. "Can we go ask when he'll be back?"

We honked at the gate and waited. The men stopped working on the tractor and watched us with curiosity. A woman wearing a dress made of colorful, local kitenge fabric came out to greet us. She spoke to Bahati in Swahili, through the metal bars, but her eyes kept drifting back to me.

"You are Mo's sister?" she asked.

"Yes. My name is Rodel."

"I'm happy to see you. Karibu. Welcome," she said, unlocking the gate. "I am Gabriel's sister, Anna." Her smile was warm, but her eyes held ghosts. She was beautiful in the quiet way that people with broken hearts are. She led us into a courtyard with fruit trees and a small play area for kids. An empty swing creaked, still swaying, as if it had been hastily abandoned.

Inside, the curtains were drawn-a shame, because it was such a beautiful, sunny day. Boxes lay scattered on the floor, some empty, some taped shut.

"I am sorry to hear about your sister," said Anna, after we were seated.

"Thank you," I replied. "I don't want to take up too much of your time. I was wondering if you could tell me how to get a hold of your brother."

"I wish I knew," she said, staring down at her hands. "I haven't heard from him in a while. He's never been gone this long. I'm afraid he's not coming back. Or worse, that something bad has happened to him."

"Something bad?" I looked from her to Bahati, but he was staring over my shoulder at something behind me.

I turned and saw a girl standing by the back entrance. Her dark silhouette was outlined against the light streaming in through the open door. She seemed around six or seven years old, but her posture was stiff and wary, as if she was unsure whether she should come in.

"It's okay, Scholastica," said Anna. She switched to Swahili and coaxed the child to come inside.

When the girl stepped into the light, I flinched. It might have been the unexpectedness of it, the shock of seeing a pale ghost appear out of the shadows in broad daylight. Her skin was a strange shade of white, with patches of pink where the sun had touched it. She looked at us through otherworldly eyes-milky and blue. Her hair was shorn close to the scalp, a muted shade of blonde, but without the softness or delicacy. The absence of color was jarring, like a painting robbed of pigment. I had seen people with albinism before, but this girl had scabs all over her lips and face, like little black flies feasting on her. I couldn't help the shudder that ran through me, though it was Scholastica who visibly shrank away from me, from the knee-jerk response that she was no doubt familiar with. Disgust. Horror. Revulsion.



       
         
       
        

I averted my gaze, ashamed of myself. She was just a little girl, born without color.

"This is Gabriel's daughter," Anna told us. "She doesn't speak English. Gabriel stopped sending her to school because they can't promise her safety, so she stays home with me."

I nodded, thinking of the kids chanting, 'Scholastica, Scholastica!' when they'd seen me. To them, she probably looked more like me than them. As a teacher, I was well aware of how kids could gang up and react to something they didn't understand.

"She's sensitive to the sun, but I can't keep her indoors all day." Anna touched her niece's face. "These are scabbed-over sunburns." Her voice quaked when she spoke again. "I want you to take her with you."

"I'm sorry?" I leaned forward, convinced I must have heard wrong.

"Your sister helped Gabriel get albino children to the orphanage in Wanza. They have a school there, for kids like Scholastica, a place where she'll be safe, where she doesn't have to feel like she's any different."

"You want to send her away? To an orphanage?" I was astounded. "Shouldn't you discuss this with Gabriel first?"

"Gabriel has been gone too long this time. He said we were going to move to Wanza when he got back." Anna's chin trembled, and she took a deep breath. "I can't look after Scholastica alone. I have two children of my own. Gabriel took us in and rented a bigger place when my husband and I divorced. Without him, I can't afford to pay the rent. I just received an eviction notice." She gestured to the boxes around us. "I have to move, and once we leave this compound . . . Bahati, you understand, don't you? Tell her to take Scholastica to the orphanage."

At the mention of her name, Scholastica looked from her aunt to Bahati.

She has no idea what we're talking about, I thought.

"The orphanage in Wanza-that's the place Mo was taking all the kids?" I asked.

"Gabriel was taking them. He asked Mo to help him get them there. They had an arrangement. Gabriel offered to drive Mo anywhere she wanted to go-the national parks, lakes, lodges-for free. In return, Mo passed the kids off as her own."

"I don't understand. Mo passed the kids off as her own?" I asked.

"Albino children stick out in Africa. They are special. Different. There are people who would not hesitate to pick on them or harm them. When you put a big hat and the right clothes on these kids, you can fool people into thinking they are tourists-at least from a distance. It is much easier when people think they're seeing a mzungu mother and a mzungu child, traveling with a local guide. Once a month, Mo ensured safe passage for one of the kids that Gabriel tracked down, and Gabriel returned the favor by showing her around." 

"But now he's missing," I said. "Have you reported it to the police?"

"Yes, but there are many men who leave for the city and never return. They think Gabriel abandoned us."

"Is that a possibility?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. He wouldn't just leave Scholastica like this. Her mother left after she was born. She wanted to give her away because she believed albino children are cursed, but Gabriel wouldn't have any of it. If you could get Scholastica to Wanza, I'd feel so much better, at least until I'm more settled. When Gabriel resurfaces, he will know where to find her."

It was all too much to absorb. I had come to Rutema on a simple mission: to find the man I thought was helping my sister. Instead, I was the one being asked for help.

"I'm sorry, but without your brother, I'm in a bind myself. I came looking for him because my sister left the names of three other children who need to get there. I can't help them, or you, on my own." I felt like crap. I didn't like the shame and guilt that crawled under my skin every time Scholastica looked at me. She was sitting on the floor, by Anna's feet, tugging on the edges of her skirt to cover her toes. I assumed it was a habit, from having to protect herself from the sun every day.

"What about you?" Anna asked Bahati. "You can't take Miss Rodel to Wanza?"

"To get to Wanza, we'd have to cross Maasai land, and I don't go there."

"Why not?" Anna appraised his tall, lanky frame. "Aren't you Maasai?"

"Yes, but my people have disowned me. I have no wish to see them." Bahati's jaw clamped, signaling the end of the conversation.

Anna stroked Scholastica's hair absently. She had a faraway look in her eyes, part despair, part resignation.

"I know someone who might be able to help," said Bahati, after a while. "He is also mzungu, but his family has lived in Tanzania for three generations. His grandfather was a British soldier, stationed here during the Second World War. Maybe Miss Rodel can convince him to get Scholastica and the other kids to Wanza."

They looked at me expectantly-both Bahati and Anna.

"How much do you think he would charge for it?" I asked. I had limited resources. My bank account was dry after I'd made the down payment on the cottage, and the trip had drained the rest of it.

"Oh, he wouldn't do it for the money. He has a coffee farm, one of the largest estates in the area. He's a big man-not the kind of person anyone would want to mess with. And he has a big heart. You and the kids would be in good hands."

"What's his name?"

"Jack," replied Bahati. "Jack Warden."

The name hung suspended in the air between us, like a bridge waiting for me to cross over. I got the sense that if I did, there would be no turning back. I would be bound by whatever I decided in the next few seconds. I felt the weight of the moment as the clock on the wall ticked on steadily.