Beverly Hills Maasai Read Online Free

face lit up. Even his eyes were smiling at us.
    “He is younger. His group has just come of age. He killed his first lion just two years ago. And he has learned some English.”
    “
Jambo
, Samuel,” I said, greeting him in Swahili.
    He reached out and grabbed my hand and began pumping my arm up and down.
    “Hello,
dude,”
Samuel said.
    Both Olivia and I broke into laughter, and for a split second I thought we might have hurt his feelings, until he started laughing as well.
    “Perhaps I should have mentioned that there were three of us,” Nebala said. “Does your house have room for three?”
    “Her house has room for thirty-three!” Olivia beamed.
    “There’s space,” I said. “I’m glad to have your friends as well. I was just a little surprised, that’s all. I’m sure that—” I saw a parking control officer standing by my car, and it looked as though he was writing a ticket.
    “Hey!” I screamed as I ran over to my car.
    The parking officer looked up at me and scowled. He didn’t look any friendlier than Koyati.
    “I’m right here!” I protested. “You don’t have to write me a ticket!”
    “It’s a little late for that,” he said. He ripped the ticket out of the book and handed it to me.
    “But I was just over there picking up some—”
    “The sign says no stopping, no parking.” He pointed at one of the gigantic signs that were on every pillar in both English and Spanish. “Can’t you read?” he demanded.
    “Of course I can read. Probably better than you!” I snapped.
    “Well, guess what? I can read what I just wrote on that ticket.”
    “And that’s probably the most complicated thing you’ve ever read,” I said sarcastically.
    “No, the most complicated thing would be the summons when I have a car towed away! You move it now or I’m going to have it—”
    He stopped mid-sentence and I realized why.On all three sides we were hemmed in by Nebala and Koyati and Samuel. They stood, holding their shields, forming a wall that surrounded us.
    “Is this girl your wife?” Nebala demanded.
    “What?” the parking officer asked.
    “This girl you are talking to, is she your wife?” he repeated.
    “No, of course not,” he scoffed.
    “Is she your daughter?”
    “My daughter? Look at her!” The parking control officer was black, and you couldn’t get much whiter than me.
    “Is she even of your tribe?” Nebala asked.
    “I don’t … I don’t have a … a tribe,” the man stammered.
    “If she was of your family or your tribe you could perhaps use such a tone of anger and disrespect,” Nebala said. “But she is not, so you have no right to talk to her this way. You need to apologize.”
    The three pressed in close until he was hemmed in against the side of my car with no escape. Now all three wore the same fierce expressions, and he looked terrified.
    “Back off!” he yelled. “Or … or … I’ll call for backup!”
    They pushed in even closer. This was definitely going to end badly. I’d learned in Kenya that the Maasai didn’t think it was murder if you killed somebody who
wasn’t
a Maasai. I had to do something right away, or the only part of Los Angeles they’d see would be a jail cell.
    I shoved back in between Samuel and Nebala and got right into the ticket officer’s face.
    “I demand that you call somebody!” I trumpeted. “Get on that radio right now and call your supervisor so I can complain about how you have treated our guests! Do you have any idea who these men are?”
    He shook his head vigorously, his eyes still wide with fear.
    “This is
King
Nebala’s son. He is a prince.” So maybe the Maasai wouldn’t use that term. Whatever. What else would you call a king’s son?
    Nebala’s shoulders straightened and all three moved back a half step.
    “He is royalty, and you have treated him with inexcusable disrespect.”
    I reached down for his radio and plucked it off his belt.
    “Call right now and get your supervisor. You might find that