perhaps.”
Biscuit, finished with his meal, joined them and plopped at her feet, washing himself like some great, spotted house cat. Jade reached down and stroked his head.
“Have you seen anyone new and odd in this area?” Jade asked. “A new settler who doesn’t farm or keep animals? Someone who comes and goes a lot?”
Jelani shook his head. “A man from the British Office of Native Affairs,” he said with a tinge of loathing in his voice, “comes once each month to see that we are being good Kikuyu. But he is not new. I have seen this man for many years.”
“Hmmm,” Jade murmured. “Such a man would certainly be able to move about the colony easily.”
“And that is all the burdens you are carrying?” Jelani’s black eyes locked onto Jade’s in a look that bore into her soul.
She didn’t flinch. “I found a dead body, if that is what you are wondering. The death is suspicious, but I have no involvement in it beyond telling the inspector what I saw and heard.”
Jelani nodded. “That is good, Simba Jike. It gives the police something to do besides look at our shauris .” He jerked his head towards the village.
“Do you still speak out for self-rule?” Jade asked.
Jelani’s eyes opened wide in mock innocence. “Simba Jike, how can you say such a thing? You know that such talk is forbidden. But when I asked you if there was another burden, I did not mean dead men. I asked about your heart. It has been many months since Bwana Mti Mguu left,” he said, referring to Sam by his African name meaning “tree leg.”
Jade frowned. “Over four months.”
The youth’s brows furrowed as he shook his head. After a long silence, Jade suddenly felt very foolish talking about a lost love to a lad of no more than fourteen. She hadn’t intended to; she only wanted to ask him about strangers in the vicinity and to see how he was faring. She looked up at the sky and gauged the daylight left.
“I’d better be on my way. I’m camping at Fourteen Falls tonight. In less than a week I’ll be bringing some girls on safari there.”
Jelani nodded. “I will find and send a spirit to watch over you, Simba Jike.”
Jade smiled. “Thanks, Jelani. But I think I have enough people watching over me.”
“Yes, your Saint Peter and his bait bucket.”
“Him, too.” She stood and dusted off her trousers. Biscuit rose with her, extending his slender forelegs in a luxuriant stretch. “You shouldn’t worry, Jelani. You will be a fine mondo-mogo when it is time. And you will have the wisdom of your mother to help you.”
As if she heard them speak of her, the woman burst out of the palisade gate and hurried to them. Jade assumed Jelani’s mother was no more than forty years old, but a hard life had aged her as it did most of the native women. Her pinched face was creased with wrinkles born of worry, and her spare frame testified to years of hunger. She carried a short digging stick in her right hand. Like many of the Kikuyu who lived this close to Nairobi, the woman wore a more concealing garment than the usual animal-hide apron and beads. Jade recognized the blanket wrapped around her as one that she’d given Jelani as a gift on their return from Kilimanjaro.
“You are Simba Jike,” she said in Swahili. It was not a question.
“I am,” replied Jade. She’d never spoken with Jelani’s mother before. Until a few minutes ago, she hadn’t even known her name. The woman had always been at work in her garden or doing other chores. Jade waited, curious as to what this woman would say to her. Would she thank Jade for teaching her son to read or for helping him write and sell articles to the London newspapers? Jade felt compelled to greet her with honor, paraphrasing Ezekiel 19:2-3:
“What a lioness was Jelani’s mother! A lion of lions! Among young lions she couched to rear her whelps. One whelp she raised up, a young lion he became.”
The old woman thwacked Jade atop her head with the digging stick.
Biscuit, finished with his meal, joined them and plopped at her feet, washing himself like some great, spotted house cat. Jade reached down and stroked his head.
“Have you seen anyone new and odd in this area?” Jade asked. “A new settler who doesn’t farm or keep animals? Someone who comes and goes a lot?”
Jelani shook his head. “A man from the British Office of Native Affairs,” he said with a tinge of loathing in his voice, “comes once each month to see that we are being good Kikuyu. But he is not new. I have seen this man for many years.”
“Hmmm,” Jade murmured. “Such a man would certainly be able to move about the colony easily.”
“And that is all the burdens you are carrying?” Jelani’s black eyes locked onto Jade’s in a look that bore into her soul.
She didn’t flinch. “I found a dead body, if that is what you are wondering. The death is suspicious, but I have no involvement in it beyond telling the inspector what I saw and heard.”
Jelani nodded. “That is good, Simba Jike. It gives the police something to do besides look at our shauris .” He jerked his head towards the village.
“Do you still speak out for self-rule?” Jade asked.
Jelani’s eyes opened wide in mock innocence. “Simba Jike, how can you say such a thing? You know that such talk is forbidden. But when I asked you if there was another burden, I did not mean dead men. I asked about your heart. It has been many months since Bwana Mti Mguu left,” he said, referring to Sam by his African name meaning “tree leg.”
Jade frowned. “Over four months.”
The youth’s brows furrowed as he shook his head. After a long silence, Jade suddenly felt very foolish talking about a lost love to a lad of no more than fourteen. She hadn’t intended to; she only wanted to ask him about strangers in the vicinity and to see how he was faring. She looked up at the sky and gauged the daylight left.
“I’d better be on my way. I’m camping at Fourteen Falls tonight. In less than a week I’ll be bringing some girls on safari there.”
Jelani nodded. “I will find and send a spirit to watch over you, Simba Jike.”
Jade smiled. “Thanks, Jelani. But I think I have enough people watching over me.”
“Yes, your Saint Peter and his bait bucket.”
“Him, too.” She stood and dusted off her trousers. Biscuit rose with her, extending his slender forelegs in a luxuriant stretch. “You shouldn’t worry, Jelani. You will be a fine mondo-mogo when it is time. And you will have the wisdom of your mother to help you.”
As if she heard them speak of her, the woman burst out of the palisade gate and hurried to them. Jade assumed Jelani’s mother was no more than forty years old, but a hard life had aged her as it did most of the native women. Her pinched face was creased with wrinkles born of worry, and her spare frame testified to years of hunger. She carried a short digging stick in her right hand. Like many of the Kikuyu who lived this close to Nairobi, the woman wore a more concealing garment than the usual animal-hide apron and beads. Jade recognized the blanket wrapped around her as one that she’d given Jelani as a gift on their return from Kilimanjaro.
“You are Simba Jike,” she said in Swahili. It was not a question.
“I am,” replied Jade. She’d never spoken with Jelani’s mother before. Until a few minutes ago, she hadn’t even known her name. The woman had always been at work in her garden or doing other chores. Jade waited, curious as to what this woman would say to her. Would she thank Jade for teaching her son to read or for helping him write and sell articles to the London newspapers? Jade felt compelled to greet her with honor, paraphrasing Ezekiel 19:2-3:
“What a lioness was Jelani’s mother! A lion of lions! Among young lions she couched to rear her whelps. One whelp she raised up, a young lion he became.”
The old woman thwacked Jade atop her head with the digging stick.
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