African Smile
Bright flames reflected in Makena's, tear-filled eyes, as his small grass hut burned to the ground. The air alive with a whirlwind of embers and smoke, Makena and many onlookers watched from a distance. He was the only one aware of his wife and three year old son as they burned inside.
He stood, stolid and straight. His eyes unblinking as tears ran down his dark, dirty cheek. The people began to sing. It was a song about life and new beginnings; a sad song. Makena didn't sing. He remained still, staring at what was once his happy home.
Makena turned on his bare heels and walked through the chanting crowd. He walked until their song was only barely audible in the warm, cloudy night. He did not turn back until their songs ceased in the silence. The red spark of light on the horizon was all he could see in the darkness, flickering like the flame of a tiny candle.
The mountains of the Kenyan high country stood out before him like the great hand of Africa reaching towards the sky. He did not falter or consider the dangers of his journey. He had nothing to fear anymore. He followed ridge lines and clifftops, always looking to the sun for direction. The rocky escarpments climbed as high as he could see. He reached the highest summit as the sun began to set over the horizon, giving him his first glimpse of the ocean. Neither Makena or his family had ever seen the sea. He had planned to take them there. Makena decided then and there that he would make it to the ocean or he would die trying.
The savannah below him led into the luscious coastal areas, illuminated by an amazing orange sunset, reflecting off the ocean forming a blood-coloured, crimson-magenta that brought tears to his eyes. The tears trickled down his dust-covered cheek forming tiny swirls of mud. He had sat there for hours, watching the whole scene unfold. The sun descending from the sky and being swallowed up by the immense sea that seemed to reach all the way to the end of the world. It was the first time that anything had taken his mind off the fire and his family.
Makena had not eaten for days. His body was failing him. His legs barely able to support his tiny frame. His arms were useless. The sight of the ocean had conjured up a fire inside of him that propelled him towards it. Thousands of feet below him, where the high country meets the savannah, Makena could see a tiny village. He knew that if he was to survive, this is where he had to go. Aching from head to toe, with only enough energy to breathe and move his thin legs, Makena descended from the mountains. Step by step, he clambered down sheer cliffs and stumbled over miles of rocky terrain.
It took him days to move as far as he'd gone before in just one. Though his body may have been giving up, his heart and his mind were stronger than ever. He made it to the village by nightfall, three days since he sat on the precipice, overwhelmed by the awe of the sun and the sea. The local villagers assumed that he would die soon so they took him in, fed him and bathed him, doing anything they could to ease his passage into death.
In his deathly state Makena dreamed he stood on the wet deck of a small, wooden fishing boat much like the ones he used as a boy on Lake Turkana. The clouds parted as a huge gust of wind swept through them. The swell grew and grew and Makena's small boat rocked ferociously. The waves began to crash over the boat and spray his face. He found a calmness in this storm unlike anything he had ever experienced before. His boat climbed the crests and dropped down into the troughs, one wave after another.
The swell was getting bigger, but with each notable increase in wave-size, Makena would feel more at peace and more comfortable. Eventually the waves became so large that from the tops he could see land in the distance. It was a tranquil, sandy beach, seemingly unaffected by the squall Makena had found himself caught in. Each wave brought him closer to the beach. Two figures stood on the sand. After another couple of waves he could make out the distinctive shape of a woman and a child.They were waving; their hands clasped together. A gigantic wall of water rose before him and his boat, sending him down into a deep trough before the threatening crack indicated the wave was ready to crumble. Grabbing the thin mast, Makena stood and fearlessly dived into the water.
Water droplets pattered on his face and he awoke quite alarmed.
“How are you feeling brother?” asked the man standing over him with a bottle of water. He smiled a friendly smile and helped Makena to his feet.
“The whole village thought that you were sure to die, my friend. We are all very happy to see that you are well. I am Mwenda. This is the village of Irangi. I have lived here all my life. Where are you from?” he asked, still smiling.
“My name is Makena. I am from a small village on the banks of Lake Turkana called Loyangalani. I am headed for the coast... to see my family,” he said, his face devoid of emotion.
“You have come a long way, my friend,” said Mwenda, “I will leave you to rest.”
Makena turned his malnourished body to face the wall and shut his eyes.
When Makena next woke up Mwenda was standing over him again. He stood him up and helped him walk outside. He then opened the door of a car and sat Makena down.
“Ah, I'm glad to see you are recovering Makena. There is food and water in the glove compartment. Help yourself, my friend.” He motioned toward the glove box.
“Where are we going Mwenda?” he asked.
“We are headed for the coast, my friend. I am taking you to see your family.” Mwenda turned to Makena and smiled. When Mwenda smiled his whole face lit up like the sun. His smile gave off an immense power that overwhelmed Makena in a way that he found it hard to look him in the eye. When Mwenda looked at him and smiled like that Makena's eyes fell to the floor and he had to turn away. Mwenda's smile made Makena feel worse; the exact opposite of what Mwenda meant by this infectious facial gesture. He ate his food in silence and fell back asleep. Mwenda drove on, softly humming the tune to a song he once knew the words to.
Mwenda's car broke down in the hills north of Garsen, about eighty kilometres from the coast. Makena stayed in the passenger seat drinking from his water bottle while Mwenda checked the engine. Smoke poured from under the hood and Mwenda took off his shirt to mask his face.
“Do you know anything about engines, Makena? I'm far from an expert.”
Makena slowly opened his door and joined Mwenda in front of the smoking sedan.
“I think the radiator is dead, Mwenda,” he said.
“We are in the middle of the savannah and the radiator dies. Of course! I am so sorry, my friend.”
“It is not your fault, Mwenda. These things happen. This is Africa, isn't it?” he said looking at the vast savannah around them. “You have done more for me than you could imagine, and I thank you wholeheartedly.” They shook hands and wished each other the best of luck.
“Can I ask you one more thing, my friend?” he asked. “Can you tell me which direction the coast is?”
Mwenda smiled and pointed towards the setting sun. Once again, Makena turned on his bare heels and began to walk.
Night came quickly. He had been walking for hours through the savannah as the warm sun set before him. He walked with ease on the flat and sandy plains, so unlike the mountains which had almost killed him days earlier. As darkness came over the Tsavo East savannah he spotted a soft light in the distance. As he got closer he came to realise it was a small campfire. A fire would be a definite attraction to lions, which are abundant in the region, but without the warmth and the possible food a fire can offer, Makena thought that he may not make it to the ocean. He headed in its direction.
Makena startled the old man sitting, smoking at his campfire as he emerged from the blackness.
“Hello, my friend, may I join you? I ask of nothing more than to share the warmth of these flames with you.”
The man simply nodded his head. When Makena sat the light of the fire revealed the man's features. His face had obviously seen
the light of many days, his skin worn and tough, with many wrinkles and scars. Makena looked at the man and wondered where he had been and what he had done with his life. He lay on his side, propped up by one arm while the other took care of the pipe in his mouth and stroked his wiry, grey beard. He took his pipe from his mouth and laid it on his bare stomach.
“Meat?” he asked, handing Makena some well-cooked, dark meat. “Found a dead zebra earlier. Quite fresh. Lions got her. Probably still around here somewhere. Can hear 'em to the north. Fire won't help but it's out of our control now.” He picked up his pipe and began to pack it again.
“It is out of our control? You mean, so, if lions come, we are dead? Is it that simple?”
“You are not from the Tsavo are you boy?” He took a long, drawn out puff. “In my village there was a very old lady, a drunk. Some believed her to be cursed and some believed her to be a witch of some sorts. I just think she was mad from the drink. One day while she was searching for firewood she mistook a sand boa lying almost lifeless in the sand for some wood. At first she believed it to be dead, but she sensed a faint heartbeat and took it back to her hut. For weeks she fed it and took care of it, eventually nurturing the snake back to life. When the woman thought the snake was fit enough to set it free, she laid it down in the sand and the snake turned around and bit her on the wrist. As the woman bled, she grabbed the snake and asked it, “Why did you bite me?” to which the snake turned back and replied, “Look, you knew I was a snake!” With that the man lay down on his side and put his pipe back in his mouth.
“That's Africa my friend. These things happen. Trust me, I know... and I believe you do, too.” He pointed his pipe at Makena. “Africa is Africa, and this shall always be so.”
The old man lay flat on his back, blowing smoke into the air. Makena lay back and listened to the crack of the logs burning on the fire and the menacing roar of Tsavo's lions to the north. It was a roar that filled the night with terror and suspicion; suspicion of the blackness outside the firelight and what lies beyond it. Makena found comfort in the words of the old man and without fear of death, he fell into a deep sleep.
In his dream he stood alone on the vast, sandy plain of the Kenyan savannah. He looked up towards the sun which bore down on him with the most intense heat and light. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked to the horizon in front of him. Nothing. He scanned along that line until he noticed two figures in the distance. Black silhouettes distorted by the mirages on the sand. He stared at them and they seemed to be walking in his direction, holding hands.
He turned back to see another figure approaching from the horizon. The lioness sprinted towards Makena at a great pace. Makena remained still. He stood as tall and as strong as he had done the day his family had died. He had accepted death.
When the lioness came closer Makena could see into her eyes. She stared back at him, unblinking and without fear or sadness or malice. He found warmth in her eyes. Makena sensed people standing on either side of him. His son wrapped his hands around Makena's leg. He turned to see his wife. He saw in his wife's eyes what he had seen in those of the lioness. No fear, no sadness, no pain. Only love. He put his arm around them as the lioness launched off her back legs towards the family. They did not move.
Startled, Makena awoke by the smoking remains of the old man's fire. There was no sight of him, only footprints in the sand and a bottle of water. Makena sipped the water as he stood and surveyed his surroundings. The sun's rays were hot and the mirages on the horizon made it seem like the coast was in every direction. He decided to follow the man's tracks in the sand.
Makena lost the tracks after many miles. The terrain had become lush and green. Makena knew he was approaching the coast, and as the environment grew richer his pace quickened. The ocean took his mind off his hunger and thirst. The ocean would be his salvation.
After walking the grassy plains of south-eastern Kenya, Makena came to a river which he followed to the coast. His whole life Makena had grown up around water and was bewildered at the size of Lake Turkana, thinking it stretched endlessly up into Ethiopia and beyond, but when he came to the top of a hill and saw the river mouth opening up into the vast Indian Ocean, Makena's knees buckled and his legs collapsed from underneath him. He fell to a heap in the dirt and wept. They were tears of fulfillment and overwhelming clarity. He had come so far, with one thing on his mind that he knew he was meant to do. He got up and walked down to the beach.
The afternoon had grown stormy and very windy; the waves dangerous and powerful, breaking all over the beach. Makena was amazed by them. A fisherman stood solely in the shallows with small waves caressing his knees. His rod stood in the sand behind him as he pulled a long line from the sea. Makena approached the water and frightened the fisherman when he turned to find an emaciated man standing next to his rod.
“What are you doing here? Get away from my rod!” he said.
Makena walked up to him in the shallows. The fisherman took a step back and felt for the knife on his belt.
“Leave me be,” said the fisherman, “I just want to bring in this line and go home. Why are you here?”
“I want to go home too. I want to be with my family.”
“Well I've been on this beach all day, and I haven't seen a soul except for yourself. And you definitely won't find them in there,” the fisherman said, pointing to the ocean which had already become far rougher and raging than minutes before. “You can bet your life on that!”
Makena looked the man in the eyes with an almost hypnotic gaze that stunned the fisherman, and for the first time in many days felt his cheeks raise and eyes soften. His teeth showed through his thick, brown lips. The fisherman, still quite stunned, felt calmed by Makena's smile. He felt at ease and safe. Makena smiled for Mwenda and the old man. He smiled for his wife and son. The fisherman stood, stolid and straight; unblinking as he watched Makena walk into the sea and disappear beneath the waves.
18TH AUGUST 2010