The boy stood about one foot shorter than Jade. She examined his smooth features together with his height and reckoned him to be around ten or eleven years old. He wore a uniform of the universal khaki complete with knee-length shorts and sandals. Black eyes sparkled intelligently back at her.
“Thank you,” she said. “And you are?”
“I am here. I take you and your bags to the hotel,” he repeated as though reciting a memorized piece.
“Yes, and I thank you, but what is your name?”
The youth looked bewildered by the question, as though no one had ever found his name worth knowing before. Perhaps, thought Jade, they hadn’t.
“I am Jelani,” he said shyly. “Please, your bags, memsabu?”
Jade turned towards the train as a rail worker handed her luggage down from the car. “Ah, here they are, Jelani. Just these two. I can carry the other and my rifle myself.” Jade picked up a leather satchel containing her precious Graflex camera, shouldered her rifle, and waited. “Are you certain you don’t need another boy to help, Jelani?” she asked.
He shook his head vigorously. Then he hefted a large leather case and nodded his head towards a small wooden rickshaw. “This way, memsabu.” He began to drag the trunk behind him by one handle until Jade took hold of the other. Together, they wended through the noisy throng, past open coaches dripping with people, their friends, and their baggage; a few old private motorcars; and an official-looking coach with a uniformed guard.
“Just call me Jade,” she said. “Careful with this trunk,” she added. “It has bottles in it.” She hoped she’d packed her limited supply of photo developers carefully enough. “How did you know I was here?”
Jelani shrugged under the burden. “I am told, bring Memsabu Jade del Cameron to the hotel. Where else would you be?” Together, they placed the luggage in the back of the rickshaw. Jelani indicated that she should climb up into the seat. Then the boy positioned himself between the two long poles in front. Jade hesitated, one foot on the floorboard, the other in the street.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “
You’re
going to pull me?”
“Yes, Memsabu Jade,” he said with a puzzled look on his face. “I pull. You ride.”
Jade saw several other Europeans being pulled in rickshaws by African and Indian men of varying ages, mostly young lads. Customary or not, using fellow humans, especially children, as beasts of burden caused revulsion in her. She put her bag and Winchester on the floor next to her other luggage and stepped down.
“If you don’t mind, Jelani, I have been sitting too long in that cramped railcar. I need to walk. You may pull my luggage. I would like to practice my Swahili with you.”
Jelani’s face twitched in initial shock, which quickly dissolved into amusement. “Memsabu speaks English funny,” he volunteered.
“Yes. I am an American, Jelani. I am trying to learn Swahili. Will you help me practice?” Jelani nodded vigorously, and Jade suspected he really wanted to hear how badly she would pronounce that language as well. Considering she only had the boat trip over to study out of an evangelical mission language guide, Jade thought with amusement that the topics would be as humorous as her pronunciation. After all, how often would sentences like “Quick, there is a baboon in the bathroom” and “The drunken Englishman is sick” come into use? She decided to start simply with
Jambo, habari
?—Hello, how are you?—and build from there.
Jelani proved to be a patient tutor, responding to her questions and prompting her with polite questions of his own. Jade, for her part, spent a good deal of time asking in Swahili “how do you say” followed by an English word. Jelani patiently answered and corrected her mispronunciations. She inquired about his name, and the boy proudly answered that it meant strong. Jade smiled to herself as she recalled Corporal Gideon puffing up as he explained that his name meant great warrior. Did all African mothers name their sons “warrior” or “strong”? Probably, she decided. After all, where names held meaning, why risk a male child’s future prowess with a weak name?
Shops made of galvanized tin lined the straight, mile-long dirt street to the Norfolk Hotel. Colorful banners masked the shops’ shabby appearances as the shopkeepers displayed pots, fabrics, and other wares under the iron awnings. A heady aroma of spices wafted from one unstable-looking structure, and Jade thought she detected the delicious scent of coffee among other smells.
She asked Jelani about several of the items and had increased her basic vocabulary considerably by the time they approached the fence delineating the hotel grounds. The magnificent two-story stone hotel and its wide, sweeping double veranda arrested her attention. After the unstable appearances of the street shops, this edifice announced itself with a solidity that spoke volumes for British determination to graft a permanent part of the empire here.
A half dozen whites lounged in the lower veranda’s shade and sipped beverages from tall glasses. Jade observed their startled faces staring at her. Glass tumblers hung motionless in their hands. A middle-aged woman in a flowered hat turned to her mustached companion and whispered a few words. At first Jade thought it was because of her dusty attire, then realized it was because she was walking and conversing familiarly with the young African.
Pompous bastards,
she thought, and proceeded to ignore them.
“Jelani, thank you for the most interesting lesson.” Jade reached into a skirt pocket for a few rupees she kept for tips and handed him several. He took them with a gracious bow and proceeded to gather her satchels from the rickshaw, calling another boy to help with the trunk.
“Please, memsabu. You go in now,” he said softly. His speech had returned to its original formality. Jade hoped she hadn’t caused him trouble. She hoisted the bag with her camera in one hand, her rifle in the other, and preceded him into the cool building. As she passed the lounging colonists, she overheard two men in a heated discussion.
“I tell you, we need to go on a hunt and clean out all the damn hyenas. I heard they’ve started hunting the natives.”
“You’ll never clean out the hyenas,” replied a young man. “There are too many of them. What if they do take a native or two? I’d rather they eat natives than my cattle.”
Jade was about to turn and show the last speaker a piece of her fist when a cheerful voice called from behind the lobby counter, “Miss del Cameron. So glad you arrived safely.”
“Thank you,” replied Jade. She set her satchel on the floor and propped her rifle against the lobby desk. “I’m surprised to be addressed by name before ever introducing myself.” She looked at the short balding man with an expectant smile.
“Your magazine,
The Traveler,
arranged for your room,” he began by way of an explanation. “We knew when your boat arrived in Mombasa, and …” He flourished a hand in the air like a magician about to make the invisible visible. “Your solicitor, Mr. Jacobs, also requested a motorcar. I’m doing my best to secure one for you, but at present …” He shrugged.
“That’s all right,” said Jade, wondering how she was going to get around without it. “Then I must have been the only guest you were expecting?” she asked with a hint of incredulity.
The man’s round face turned a shade pinker. “Well, no, Miss del Cameron. But I must own that you look exactly like the description given in Lord Dunbury’s letter, and he was
quite
insistent that we take the very best care of you.”
Jade smiled.
Beverly, you’ve been a busy girl.
Everything became crystal clear to her now: the lad with the rickshaw, the expectant and highly solicitous hotel keeper. Bev must have wheedled her fiancé into sending a personal endorsement to the hotel. In fact, if she knew Beverly, the dear girl probably wrote the letter herself and simply had Avery Dunbury sign it. Jade thought of the personal letter of introduction from Lord Dunbury in her bag. They were taking no chances of her receiving a cold shoulder among the Nairobi elite.
“I should think this red dust made everyone virtually unrecognizable,” Jade said. “Every time someone opened a window on the train, it swooped in on us.”
“A nice hot bath in your room will take care of you. Not every room has a bath attached, but for you …” He smiled broadly and waved his hands as though he conjured a private bath out of thin air. “And we can have your traveling costume cleaned and pressed for you as well. Just leave it hanging outside your door. The boy will see to it.” The manager looked towards the far wall, where Jelani had melted into the shadows. “
N’ja,
come here!” Both his voice and his fingers snapped. Jelani and the second boy sprang forward with her bags. “Take Miss del Cameron’s trunk to her room. And, miss,” he called after Jade, “I’ll have tea sent up shortly.”
Jade halted in her tracks. “No! No tea please, if you don’t mind.” She added more gently, “You wouldn’t by any chance have some coffee, would you?”
“Yes, Miss del Cameron. Coffee it is. Lots of coffee growers in the colony.” He smiled. “I forgot you are a Yank, what with your London solicitor also sending letters of credit. So many people looking after you,” he added.
Jade pondered the various groups looking out for her. Mr. Jacobs’ influence might get her financial credit, but it wouldn’t get her far with the tightly knit colonial set. It appeared Beverly and her fiancé knew that as well. Suddenly Jade remembered that Gil Worthy had supposedly been found dead in his rooms here.
“Tell me, sir. Do you recall a Mr. Gil Worthy? I believe he visited in January 1915 and passed away suddenly in this hotel.”
The manager’s eyes opened wide in horror. “Merciful heavens! I recall no such thing. But,” he added, “I shall make inquiries concerning him if you wish.”
“Perhaps I could check the register?” asked Jade.
“Later, Miss del Cameron. That year is in the safe with the others.”
Disappointed, Jade took her key and followed the boys up the stairs to her room. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but her preconceived notions certainly didn’t include the beautifully crafted oak four-poster bed, the matching lion-footed chairs upholstered in warm golden velvet, and the large French doors that exited onto the upper terrace. Letters from lords had their advantage, since she couldn’t imagine the magazine’s request for a room would have warranted one this richly appointed. Jade saw with pleasure that the room also had electric lights.
Jelani waited for further instructions, which Jade gave in her best Swahili regarding filling the bath and then later bringing coffee and a light meal. He responded with minimal giggles and a few gentle corrections as, once again, Jelani became the relaxed, friendly boy of before. Jade felt they’d get on famously, as Bev was so fond of saying.
Jade washed the red dust of the Athi Plains from her slender body and short black hair, and put on her ambulance corps trousers and a white blouse. The only thing missing from her uniform was the overskirt. She signaled that she’d finished her bath by hanging her soiled traveling suit outside the door. Jelani appeared in a few minutes with a quarter of a cooked chicken, bread, an orange, and a pot of that blessed coffee.
“Oh, thank you, Jelani.” Jade poured a cup of precious black nectar, sipped it, and sighed. “You don’t know how much I’ve missed coffee.”
“Memsabu not like tea?” he asked innocently in English.
Jade made a sour face and stuck out her tongue. Jelani laughed. “No,” she answered. “Memsabu does
not
like tea.” She finished the first cup, picked up a chicken breast, and retired to a wingback easy chair and footstool. “What is your tribe, Jelani?”
“Kikuyu,” he answered.
She offered him a seat and a chicken leg. He refused both. “Do you live here?”
“I live with the others,” he said, leaving Jade to wonder where the staff stayed. “But in a year I will return to my village and become a warrior.”
Jade nodded, her mouth full of chicken. “I’m sure,” she said, swallowing, “that you will be a fine warrior. You must be very strong already, carrying everyone’s bags and pulling people in rickshaws.” She leaned forward and poured another cup of coffee. “And who will you fight when you are a warrior?”
Jelani’s face turned stony. “The
laibon
.”
Jade paused in midsip and peered over the cup rim. “And what is a
laibon
?”
“He is a …” The boy paused as he searched for an English word to explain. Jade took another swallow while she gave him time to think. When he spoke, he spat the word as though it were poisoned. “Witch!”
Jade nearly choked on the coffee. Her sudden coughing worried Jelani. He shifted from one foot to the other in hesitation over what to do. Finally Jade managed to set her cup down and regained her voice. “A
witch
?” The boy couldn’t be serious. Then she saw his young face transformed by a mixture of fear and loathing. “Who is this
laibon
? What does he do?”
Jelani hesitated before answering. “He sends his beasts to kill us, but it is not good to talk of him.” He pointed to her chest. “Already he stopped your air.”
“My cough? No, Jelani. I swallowed the coffee wrong, that’s all.” She could see his skeptical frown. He probably believed some witch made her choke just because of his unwitting comment. Jelani fidgeted some more, impatient to leave. Jade handed him a few more coins, thanked him again, and allowed him to return to his other duties. She watched him take down her soiled traveling dress before he shut the door and left her alone with her thoughts.
For several months, she’d avoided idle times like this. Immediately after leaving the Hackett-Lowther ambulance unit, she returned to London to tie up some loose ends in her language studies at Winsor College. Too restless to stay in one place, she took a Christmas trip home to her parents’ New Mexico ranch and occupied it with hiking, hunting, and ranch chores. She went out of her way to pack every moment of every day with something useful to occupy her mind so she didn’t have to think about the front and David’s death. Especially David’s death. It wasn’t until New Year’s Eve when the crisis came to the forefront.