Reunion in Barsaloi by Corinne Hofmann Page B

the government sent in reinforcements. When one of the reconnaissance helicopters was shot down, killing a District Officer, things got serious and a few hand grenades were dropped. But by then the villages had all been abandoned and everyone had fled to Maralal.’
    We asked the priest what had led up to such a massacre. ‘Nobody really knows for sure. A few months previously mining companies had carried out test bores in Samburu country and found traces of gold. I’m not sure if there’s any connection. On the other hand a few months earlier there had been a major incident between Samburu and Somalis in which people on both sides had died, albeit a long way away, somewhere near Wamba. But nobody can be absolutely certain what sparked it all off.’
    Listening to the missionary, I remember the letters from James in which he wrote that they were all forced to live with strangers outside Maralal and had lost nearly everything they owned. Mama, thank heavens, had been got out of Barsaloi in a car just in time. Amidst all that horror she had been forced to get into a car for the first time in her life. All of a sudden they had become refugees in their own country. Many people had starved.
    I helped them as much as I could but at that time I was unemployed back home in Switzerland. Two years later they were still waiting to return home. By then, however, my book was already becoming successful. The following year, in July 1999, Albert went to visit them and was also able to help out. When I think back to the photos of the family then just the memory makes me feel sick. At least today there’s no trace anymore of thedevastation and most of the families seem to have come to terms with what happened to them. The only thing that worries me, however, is how many warriors now carry guns.
    The priest interrupts my train of thought to take his leave and turn in for the night. The three of us retire too, each mulling over the experiences of the day.

Lketinga’s New Wife
    T he next morning I wake shortly after 6.00am. I hear a few voices from the village and decide to go over to see Mama. At this time of day it’s still cool and I pull on a jumper. When I get to the corral, however, I can’t get in because the thorn fencing is still across the opening. I peer over the fence until Lketinga spots me. With his new blanket pulled up over his head he strolls slowly through the herd to the ‘gate’, which he opens with a smile and asks me what I’m doing up and about so early. I tell him that nobody’s up yet at our camp and I prefer to be down here with the animals. Also I want to ask James for a couple of eggs, as we’ve nothing for breakfast. James hears us talking and comes out of his house. He says hello and then gives me the last four eggs they have at present.
    I turn to head back to the camp, but Lketinga sends me to Mama’s manyatta for chai . I ask if I can come in and Mama is amazed too to see me up and about so early. Two elderly men have just been in for chai and are leaving the manyatta . She hands me a cup and at the same time puts the pan of roasted meat on the fire. I’m amazed that there’s any left. Obviously she’d made it just for me and won’t give any to anyone else. She presses a soup spoon into my hand and encourages me with her usual, ‘ Tamada, tamada ,’ and then goes out. Delighted and embarrassed at the same time, I eat a few spoonfuls of the meat for breakfast. I’m almost certainly the only one to be offered such a luxurious meal so early in the day.
    I’m chewing the meat, lost in thought, when suddenly Lketinga’s young wife crawls into the manyatta . She obviously thought it was empty, given that Mama and Lketinga are standing outside with the animals.
    Taken aback, she stops in the entrance, still bent over but uncertain whether to come in or go back out. I smile at her and say, ‘ Karibu ! ’ She comes in and, cautiously