The Mzungu Boy Read Free

not win and I could not afford to lose.
    But that did not mean I did not get into trouble. From time to time the boys from one gang or the other would gang up and beat the hell out of me just for the fun of it. From time to time too, I would corner the weakest of them and rub his face in the dirt. Then it would start all over again, with me being warned to watch out for closing day.
    When closing time came, I left school with a group of boys from Koro’s farm, hiding out in their midst while the boys from Majengo looked all over for me. The boys from Koro’s were well known for their fierceness, but they traveled such a long distance to school and back that they had less time to get into fights.

    Two
    WHEN WE CAME TO the log bridge over the river, I said goodbye to the boys from Koro’s farm.
    The farm was far out in the Loldaiga plain, another five miles away. They had to cross both the Nanyuki and the Liki to get home. I had often chased hares and hunted for warthogs on the grass plateau between the two rivers and on the Loldaiga plain, but I had never been to Koro’s farm.
    Swinging my school bag over my shoulder, I walked along the river bank toward home. It was dark and lonely along the fishermen’s path. The sun never penetrated the old mokoe trees that grew thickly along the river.
    But I was not scared. I had walked the forest paths many times before. Alone, I had explored all the forests and caves around Bwana Ruin’s farm, and I had never come across anything that frightened me even a little.
    I knew the forest very well. On weekends and school holidays I spent a lot of time walking the path between the log bridge and the fish pool near where the farm laborers drew their water. It was peaceful among the cool, dappled shadows, the black river rocks and their cold mountain waters with pools so deep and silent you couldn’t hear the water run.
    I knew pools where fish jumped all day. I knew hollows under the river banks and the roots of the mokoe trees where wild ducks laid their eggs. I knew caves too cold and dark for ghosts to hide in.
    My best secret was the pool where the ducks hid their eggs. I dared not take any of my village friends to these places. I was afraid they would throw stones at the birds or steal their eggs.
    I was never in a hurry to get home from school. My mother had an endless list of things to keep a boy busy. The list kept growing, and the only way I knew to keep away from it was to get home late.
    â€œKariuki,” she would say. “Go do this and that. And when you are back, do this and that. Then go down to the river to fetch some water. Then run behind Muturi’s hut and fetch me some spinach. Then…”
    Before I got back from any of it she would be waiting for me to cut wood for her.
    I walked slowly along the river bank, stopping every now and then to watch the red-billed hornbills that feasted on the seeds of the pondo trees. The forest was quiet and peaceful, the silence broken only by the sounds of the birds and the chatter of the monkeys in the trees.
    When I came to the duck pool, I hid my bag by the footpath and slid down the steep bank to the river. Hopping from stone to stone, I came to a sheltered place under the bank. I sat down on a huge rock, dangled my bare feet in the still pool and waited.
    If I was still enough, the ducks would come out of their hollows to swim in the pool and to catch insects for their young. Sometimes they would bring their newly hatched ducklings out for me to see.
    No one could see me from the path above. Across the river the forest was thick, dark and quiet. It was so dark that crickets could not tell day from night and shrieked all day long.
    I sat there for a long while. From time to time a leaf or a seed fell from the trees into the pool, sending beautiful rings eddying across the still water. Occasionally a fish rose to gobble up an insect and then sank back to the bottom of