Blood & Milk Read Online Free Page B

red were pretty hard not to notice.
    As was the man beside me. So why wasn’t Damu with them?
    “Were you told to look after me?” I asked, not knowing if he’d understand. “Did Kijani make you mind me?”
    Damu eyed me cautiously but stayed quiet as he approached the edge of the river. Just when I thought he hadn’t understood me, he said, “Kijani make you responsibility for me. I do what Kijani tell me.”
    Despite his broken English, I understood him just fine, and I was right. Damu was my babysitter. I couldn’t even be offended. I’d much rather spend my days with Damu than Kijani, the spear-wielding warrior with anger management issues.
    But it can’t have been good for him. My presence had taken him from his daily work with the other men. “I’m sorry.”
    Damu’s gaze shot to mine. Was he shocked at my apology? “Why you be sorry?”
    “Looking after me is not what you want. I trouble you?”
    “No, no,” he said, then stepped down the muddy bank and waded into the water. He filled the bucket and left it on the bank, then went back into the water downstream. He washed his face and cupped his hands in the water and drank.
    I sat down and pulled off my sneakers and socks, pulled up the legs of my pants and followed him out. The water was cool and a little muddy, and I paused, wondering if I should drink unboiled water, but considering I hadn’t had anything to drink since my flight here, I drank it anyway. And it was good. I hadn’t even realised how thirsty I was.
    After standing in the cool water for a minute or so, I guessed now was as good a time as any to start with the dialect. “What is your word for water?”
    Damu smiled. “Water. Enk-áre .”
    “Enk-áre,” I repeated. The ending sounded a little similar to the name Kijani and Kasisi had called me. “What does Alé mean? The elders called me that. The leaders, that’s what they called me.”
    Damu almost smiled. “Milk.”
    Oh. “Because I’m white?”
    Damu gave an unapologetic nod and walked out of the water.
    Fair enough, I thought. The Maasai people lived the way they had for thousands of years, almost untouched by time and what we called “progress.” Being politically correct to a strange white man was not on their cultural radar. Nor should it be. I understood there would be very few similarities between their world and mine long before I’d set foot in Tanzania. It was half the reason I came here. I wanted no reminders of the world I’d left behind.
    Damu was waiting for me on the river bank, so I quickly got out and pulled on my socks and shoes. He waited patiently, and I made a mental note to be more aware of those around me, their ways and practices.
    I stood, my wet feet now uncomfortable in dry socks and shoes, and I wasn’t really looking forward to the walk back. “Why is the village so far from the river?” I asked. Then I corrected my phrasing. “The manyatta, why is it so far from the enk-árê?”
    And just as I’d finished speaking, I swatted a mosquito on my arm, making Damu laugh. It was a contagious sound, but then I had to swish another mozzie from buzzing near my face. “I see why.”
    “Yes. Yellow… Yellow?” He looked unsure of his wording.
    Yellow. Yellow … Oh shit. “Yellow fever?”
    “Yes!” Damu said with a bright smile.
    Well hell, I certainly didn’t want malaria or any other mosquito-borne disease. Even though I’d just gulped mouthfuls of river water. Shit. I’d had a dozen different shots before I came here, but still. “Water make me sick? Enk-áre make me,” I pretended to dry retch.
    Damu only laughed, which wasn’t too comforting.
    “Should I boil water?” I asked. Then something else occurred to me. Damu had his water, what the hell was I going to drink. I pointed to the bucket he was now holding. “Ah, your water. Where is my water? I didn’t bring a container or a canister.”
    Damu looked at his bucket. “My water, your water. Responsibility is you to