Reunion in Barsaloi Read Online Free Page A

hours on end I watched zebras, apes and wild boar around the waterhole, wondering behind which of these surrounding hills my hard-to-find warrior lived and whether he knew I was nearby. Armed with a handful of photographs I wandered around Maralal every day asking travellers in traditional dress if they knew Lketinga. It was ten days before my efforts were rewarded and my prayers answered. At last I was able to throw my arms around the great love of my life and let our destiny take its course.
    Later my then husband would bring me back to this Lodge when I was so weak with malaria that I could hardly stand. I had kept no food down for weeks and Lketinga in his despair had brought me to the one place he knew where there were salads and sandwiches – white people’s food. And indeed, after months of maize porridge and goat meat it took nothing more than a simple ham and cheese salad sandwich to give me a new lease of life.
    Up until now, however, I had never spent a night here.

Reunion With James
    I shake myself out of my daydreams and walk down to the car to fetch my luggage. Suddenly there’s the growl of an engine and a motorbike comes roaring up and immediately – although I can hardly believe it – I realize it’s James! He can ride a motorbike! Carefully he parks the little all-terrain bike on one side, takes his hat off and, dressed in a thick jacket despite the heat, runs across to me with outstretched arms like a little boy. We throw our arms around each other in sheer delight.
    For all these years the only contact we have had with one another has been by letter. He is my link to the rest of the family. For a while we can do nothing but laugh together. I’m astounded at how James has grown up. Last time I saw him he was a schoolboy of about seventeen; now he’s a mature man.
    James is just as effusive in greeting Albert, my publisher, whom he already knows, and Klaus. He tells us animatedly that he just spotted our cars as we were leaving Maralal and fetched the motorbike to catch up with us. We’re amazed we didn’t see him in the rear-view mirror, but then the cars were kicking up such a cloud of dust, and then again, we weren’t expecting to see him on a motorbike.
    After we’ve got over the excitement of seeing one another again we all go across to sit on the terrace and talk. James is now taller than I am and his face has filled out, which makes his eyes appear smaller than they used to be. He’s very fit and wearing warm clothing including good stout shoes, a type of walking boot I’ve never seen around here before. Most of the locals used to wander around in sandals made out of old car tyres or plastic flip-flops.
    With a big smile he tells us the whole of Barsaloi is excited about our arrival and that Mama won’t believe it until we’re standing outside her manyatta . She is delighted and keeps saying she always knew she would see me again. Albert asks him about the motorbike and James’s eyes light up. He’s very proud that only he and one old friend from school have managed to learn to ride a motorbike. It makes things vastly easier for him to be able to use it on the long journey between his school and his family. Unfortunately he can only afford to use it at weekends as otherwise the costs in petrol and upkeep are too high. He is the headmaster of a small school a few miles beyond Barsaloi and the journey takes forty-five minutes. It’s hard to believe that a head teacher can’t afford to drive home on his motorbike every night, but that’s northern Kenya – Samburu country – and as far as James is concerned it’s normal enough. He’s happy enough to actually own a motorbike.
    Obviously I have to give him news of Napirai. Why did she not come with me? How big is she now? Does she ask after her African family? Is she going to come and see them one day? Does she like school? Question after question, and I do my best to answer them all. I tell James the truth, that I want to get a