Echoes From a Distant Land Read Online Free

the stream a short distance from the crossing and,making his way quietly along its rocky bed, he came to a bend that kept him concealed.
    Johnstone Kamau was backed into the bank of the dry stream, surrounded by eight or ten hyenas, who snickered and yelped excitedly. He was throwing stones at the nearest of them, but his efforts were ineffective. It emboldened the scavengers to press their attack.
    Wangira selected two round, fist-sized rocks and scampered out of the river bed. He climbed the slope to get a vantage point. Once in his position, with Johnstone concealed under the bank, and the hyena pack in plain view, Wangira took aim and let fly. He missed the animals, but the crack the rock made on striking a boulder set half the pack back on its heels. He threw his second rock. It struck the hyena nearest to Johnstone on the back with a sound like a man striking a hollow log with his war club. The hyena screamed and scuttled away, dragging its hindquarters. The entire pack retreated, yelping.
    Wangira slid down the embankment to Johnstone’s side, and gasped at what he saw: his foot was a mass of blood and torn flesh.
    â€˜Did one bite you?’ Wangira asked.
    â€˜No. Jiggers.’
    Jigger fleas were a constant annoyance, burrowing under toenails to lay their eggs. Untreated, the maggots could erode the flesh of toes and feet and ultimately lead to an agonising death.
    â€˜I have never seen jiggers so bad.’
    â€˜Idiot. I kicked a rock and fell.’ Johnstone held up his right hand. His wrist was badly swollen. ‘I wouldn’t have needed you, or anyone, if I had two good hands.’
    â€˜Can you walk?’
    Johnstone struggled to his feet and tentatively touched his foot to the ground. He bit his lip and limped a few steps.
    Wangira came up beside him, and Johnstone reluctantly rested his weight on his shoulder.
    The warriors met them before they’d gone far and, taking Johnstone onto their shoulders, carried him in triumph back to the village.
    A big crowd hailed his return and the medicine man set about preparing his unguents and herbs, his rattles and tokens. But the missionaries, seeing Johnstone’s bleeding feet, wasted no time in getting him to the clinic in Nyeri.
    It was clear that Johnstone’s feet had been infected for some time, and his courage and endurance in making a start to the race had only been surpassed by his brave fight against the hyenas.
    Everyone in the village was in awe of his grit, and said that he was surely destined to do great things one day.
    Johnstone Kamau had won yet again.
    Â 
    When Wangira arrived at the clinic in Nyeri he found Johnstone sitting up in the last of the six beds with a tent erected over his legs and his right wrist covered in plaster.
    Wangira dragged his feet to the bedside where the boys exchanged mumbled greetings.
    Johnstone seemed uncomfortable with the unexpected visit. Wangira wasn’t sure why he’d come either, although his guuka had said that a good warrior always paid tribute to a brave and fallen enemy.
    If he’d been honest, part of Wangira’s reasoning was to gloat about his victory, but upon seeing Johnstone in the clinic — where, to his knowledge, no one in his village had ever been — he felt contrite and a little sympathetic.
    His gaze fell to the tent covering Johnstone’s legs. He wondered what magic the white medics could have performed to repair Johnstone’s ruined feet.
    â€˜When will you come back to school?’ he asked.
    â€˜I don’t know. They haven’t told me what will happen now.’
    â€˜You must stay in the bed.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜What about when you have to … to go?’ Wangira asked, looking at the bed sheets covering his legs.
    Johnstone looked uncomfortable. ‘They bring something.’
    â€˜What do they bring?’
    â€˜â€¦ a pot.’
    â€˜A pot?’
    Now Johnstone appeared agitated.
    Wangira was tempted to