The White Masai Read Free Page A

my mind to tell my Masai that, after the end of the holiday, I’m leaving Marco. Comparedwith what I feel for Lketinga, everything that I have felt up until now seems laughable. Somehow I have to make that clear to him tomorrow and tell him that soon I will be coming back on my own. Only for a moment does it cross my mind that I don’t know what he might feel about me, but immediately I tell myself there is only one answer: he feels exactly the same!
    Christmas day. But with temperatures of 104 degrees in the shade, there is hardly much of a Christmassy atmosphere. I make myself as attractive as possible for the evening and put on my best holiday dress. At our table we order champagne as a celebration, but it’s expensive and bad and served too warm. By ten o’clock Lketinga and his friends still haven’t shown up. What if he just doesn’t come today? Tomorrow is our last day and the following one we’re off to the airport at dawn. I stare at the door imploringly, willing him to come.
    Then a Masai turns up. He looks around him and comes up to us hesitantly. ‘Hello,’ he says and asks if we’re the white people who’ve arranged to meet Lketinga. We nod, and I feel a lump in my throat and break out in perspiration. He tells us that during the afternoon Lketinga was on the beach, where natives are normally not allowed. Because of his hair and clothing, he was hassled by other blacks. As a proud warrior he defended himself and lashed out at his tormentors with his rungu , the heavy stick I had seen him carrying. The beach police had arrested him without listening to his side of the story because they couldn’t speak his language, and now he is in jail somewhere, either on the southern or northern coasts of Mombasa. This man is here to tell us that and to wish us from Lketinga a safe journey home.
    Marco translates, and as I take in what has happened my world falls apart. It takes a huge effort to hold back the tears of my disappointment. I plead with Marco: ‘Ask him what we can do, we’ve only got one more day here!’ He replies coldly: ‘That’s the way things are here. There’s nothing we can do and I’ll be glad to get home.’ I’m not giving up. ‘Edy,’ that is the Masai’s name, ‘can we find him?’ Yes, he will go round the other Masai this evening and get some money together and tomorrow morning at ten he will set out to try and find him. It will be difficult because nobody knows which of the five jails he’s been taken to.
    I ask Marco if we can go too; the man had helped us, after all. After a lot of humming and hawing he finally agrees, and we arrange to meet Edyat ten outside the hotel. I can’t sleep all night. I still don’t know what’s the matter with me, but I know that I want to, have to see Lketinga again before I go back to Switzerland.

The Search Party
    M arco changed his mind and decided to stay at the hotel. He keeps trying to persuade me not to go ahead with this, but no well-meant advice has a chance against the force that’s driving me. So I leave him behind with a promise to be back by two p.m. Edy and I head for Mombasa in a matatu ; it’s the first time I’ve used this type of taxi. It’s a small bus with about eight seats, but when it stops there are already thirteen people on board, jammed between their luggage. The ticket inspector hangs on outside. I’m staring speechless into the crush. ‘Go, go in!’ says Edy, and I climb over bags and legs, hanging on bent-double for fear of falling on people at corners.
    Thank God we get out after just nine miles. We’re in Ukunda, the first big village that has a jail. We go in together. But before my foot has even crossed the threshold, a beefy character stops us. I throw Edy a questioning look. He negotiates, I’m told to stay where I am. After several minutes the big man opens a door behind him. Standing in the bright sunshine, looking into the darkness, I can make out next to nothing. But there’s such a stink