“I know.” It was the shortest sentence he’d ever spoken. I wanted him to fill the silence that followed with his ramblings, but we lurched ahead to the rhythm of unspoken things—unexpected circumstances, unexpected sacrifices.
“Bahat—”
“It’s time I earned my warrior name, Miss Rodel.” And then the man who hopped on his bed at the sight of a lizard, who squealed at crickets, and ran from moths, leaped. His lean, long legs closed the gap, even though he faltered when he landed on his battered knee. He attempted a smile, one eye swollen shut, and pulled the lever.
“Kasserian ingera,” he said, as the cars unlinked and I left him behind. How are the children?
“Sapati . . .” I swallowed hard and bit back the tears. K.K.’s men were almost upon him. “Sapati ingera.” All the children are well.
As the rear of the train fell away like the severed body of a giant python, I lost sight of him. “Thank you, Bahati,” I whispered, hoping the wind would carry it to him.
Lonyoki’s vision had come true. He had seen Bahati riding a giant serpent, fighting his own kind, helping the white people. But Lonyoki had not interpreted it right. The serpent was the train, and Bahati was fighting K.K.’s men to get the albino children to safety. At the same time, if Bahati had listened to them, if he had stayed away like his father had told him to, he would still be safe.
A war of emotions waged in me. So many delicate threads held us all together. The endless plains stretched out on all sides, vast and empty, as I held on to the last car, on the last leg to Wanza, nursing the last images I had of Bahati and Jack.
“THIRTEEN?” A WOMAN screeched from behind the closed door. “She brought thirteen kids in? Why were we not notified?”
“She just showed up at the gate,” said the guard who had escorted us inside the orphanage. “We told her she has to speak to the Regional Commissioner, but she refused to budge. And to be honest, they look too exhausted to go anywhere.”
I sat on the bench outside the office as they went back and forth. It had been a harrowing ordeal, huddled up with the kids in a car full of goats, for hours and hours. There had been a long delay when the train arrived at the next stop. I assumed it had to do with the freight cars that had been left behind. We didn’t dare get out or make a sound. We didn’t know friend from foe, so we stayed put until the train rolled into Wanza.
We must have been quite a sight when we climbed out of that boxcar. An off-duty police officer spotted us and offered to get us to the orphanage. I left my name and his badge number with the stationmaster before getting on the private dala dala he arranged for us. I wasn’t going to take any chances this close to our goal, but my choices were limited. I couldn’t exactly walk out of the station and hit the streets with them.
The policeman turned out to be another kind soul. The kids and I would never have made it without Jack, Olonana, and Bahati. I mentally added him to the list of all the people who had made it possible.
Wanza was fresh lake breezes, beautiful water, and a rapidly rising skyline. It sat by the shores of Lake Victoria, surrounded by hills that were strewn with enormous boulders. The orphanage was a bit of a drive from the railway station, encased with barbed wire, with guards patrolling the gate. It wasn’t the kind of sanctuary I had pictured. There was a stale, dank odor coming from the dorms. Children were bunked two to a bed. The ones playing in the courtyard were wearing threadbare blue uniforms, their milky-pink skin contrasting sharply against it. And yet they seemed happy—the kind of happiness that comes from feeling safe. They were free to run and play and shout.
“Chui, chui, simba! Leopard, leopard, lion!” they chanted, running in circles and tagging each other in a game.
My kids watched from the sidelines—thirteen of them, standing against the scuffed-up wall. The place was overcrowded and underfunded. I could understand the reaction of the woman I was waiting to see.
“Miss Emerson?” She opened the door and read my name off the note the guard had scribbled for her. “Welcome. My name is Josephine Montati. I run this orphanage. Please . . .” She indicated the chair by her desk. “I understand you’ve brought some children you’d like to leave in our care. Thirteen, if I’m not mistaken?” She was magnificent and imposing in spite of her small frame. At least sixty, if not more. Her brow was furrowed, and she wore her hair in cornrows.
“Yes. That’s right, but some of them were abducted. I’m sure their families are looking for them and will be happy to have them back.”
“And how did you end up with all these kids?”
I relayed the story as concisely as I could while she watched me over her half-moon glasses. When I finished, she sat back and sighed.
“I won’t lie. I’m not happy to see them. We don’t have the resources. You can see for yourself.” She gestured out the window, to the crumbling building outside. “A lot of these albino kids are legally blind. We need special textbooks. Bedding. Hats. Sunscreens . . .” She stopped and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I apologize. You saved thirteen lives. You risked your own. You’re worried about your friends. And I’m going on about supplies. Do forgive me. I will get the children settled in. We just need to fill out some paperwork and then you can go. Why don’t we get you and the children something to eat before we get started? I’m sure you’re all very tired and hungry.”
“That would be nice,” I replied. Food was the last thing on my mind. I was too worried about Jack and Bahati to care, but the kids had been on the go for many, many hours. “There’s just one other thing I was hoping to talk to you about. Do you know someone named Gabriel?”