11 – Fitting In

Wow! I was using muscles I hadn't used in a long time. I was so going to feel it tomorrow, but it felt so good.

My arms shook, and I stretched, arching my back, feeling the sun hot on my face. Sweat drained from every pore making my skin slick and salty. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet air deeply, purifying my lungs. Oh ya. This felt so good.

"Mine!"

"No! Mine!"

"No, you stupid squat. MINE!"

"I'm telling Mom you called me a name."

"Did not!"

"Did so!"

I inhaled again, my eyes slowly opening to the intrusion into my thoughts. Crossing my wrists and leaning onto the handle of the shovel, I observed Marcus and Layla in hand-to-hand combat, a full-fledged tug-of-war over something they obviously both wanted.

I stuck the shovel into the dirt and stepped over the string line onto the packed clay of the side yard. Sugar lay in the shade of Yvonne's small, clapboard house, head up, alert to the children's fight. I reached the two in about five strides just as Marcus raised his hand to strike his sister.

"Oh, no, you don't," I called out as Yvonne's slim frame stepped from the screened front door with a tray of lemonade.

The children pouted but took a step back, glaring at each other.

Marcus, all of four years old, had one fist balled at his side, the other tightly gripping an object, his face twisted in anger, chin jutted toward his sister. Layla, three years older, also retain a death grip on the object, chin raised defiantly, superiorly at her brother. A stand-off.

"Hmmm," I said as I approached. "This looks dangerous. But, I'll tell you this," I crouched to level myself with the children, "Marcus, if you hit Layla, that'll just get you in trouble and whatever it is you're fighting over, well, you'll have to give it up because you'll probably be punished. And, Layla," who started to say something smug to her brother, "standing up for yourself is good, however, sometimes it helps to have someone else step in to help sort things out, especially when dealing with someone younger."

"I always have to let him have my stuff because he's littler. It's not fair." She angrily pouted, stamping her foot into the dirt. "It's mine, and I want to play with it."

"MINE!" Marcus shouted, pulling the object, hoping to pry it from Layla's hand.

Yvonne stepped down the stairs and put the tray on makeshift table, watching us with interest.

"May I see what it is?" I asked politely, letting the children decide whether to hand it to me or not. They glared at each other but slowly passed it over. I pressed my lips together to hide a chuckle as I took the object. "Layla, you say this is yours." The little girl nodded vigorously, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "And Marcus, you say this is yours." I held the toy up for both children to see.

"Mine." His voice was now a soft whisper as he lowered his eyes and scuffed the toe of his beat-up running shoe into the packed dirt.

"I see." I held the toy between them, examining it curiously. "I've never seen anything like this before. Can either of you tell me what it is?"

"It's Stitch from the movie we saw the other night," Layla began. "If you…"

I gently held my hand up to stop the little girl. She'd already identified it, and I could tell it was hers, a toy from her favorite movie. "Marcus, can you tell me something about the toy?"

Marcus pouted. "Mine," he repeated.

Layla clucked and sighed, rolling her eyes as she reached to take the toy from me. I held it out of her reach. She scowled, looking over at her mother for help, but Yvonne stood patiently watching the proceedings. Layla sighed again, angrily crossing her arms over her thin chest. "There's a button on his back. If you press it, extra arms pop out his sides."

I pressed the button and suddenly Stitch had six arms. I pressed it again, and the extra arms disappeared. I repeated the action a couple of time, and began to smile. Reluctantly, so did the children.

"So, Marcus… who does this belong to?"

Marcus' lips were pressed together, but I could see the thoughts churning as his chin moved.

"Layla." His voice was low. His head was dipped toward.

"Look at me and tell me straight. I'm not mad, but you need to speak up. Who does it belong to?"

Marcus looked up, black bangs low over his forehead, tears swimming in his dark eyes, a big pout over a shaky chin. "Layla's."

"So, then it goes back to Layla." I handed the toy over to a satisfied little girl. Marcus opened his mouth to protest. "Now, hold on." I said to both of them. "Sometimes when there is only one toy and two people, it's a good thing to share. But, it's also very important to respect each other's stuff. Do you know what that means?" Layla nodded, but Marcus just looked at me. "It means you ask first and take care of things, so when you do want to borrow something, you can be trusted. Now, Layla, who were you going to play with?" The little girl shrugged. "Can you play with your brother for a little while?"

Her brows furrowed, and she frowned. "With what? I was going to play with Lilo and Stitch."

"What other toys do you two have that can work together? Barbie? GI Joe? Action figures?"

Marcus' eyes suddenly beamed, and he became attentive and hopeful. "I have Ironman, an' the Hulk. Grrr," He took the Hulk body-building pose making a mean face and growling.

"Layla, what if Ironman and the Hulk tried to save Lilo and Stitch from the bad guys? I'll even build a small shelter for you two to play in over by the side of the house."

Layla's eyes glowed at the suggestion that I would build something for them. "Really?"

"Sure. Yvonne, do you have a couple of big towels or an old sheet that we could use?"

"I have a drop cloth in the lean-to. I'll get clothespins, too."

"Perfect," I called as the children scattered to get their toys, and Yvonne went in search of the cloth.

With the makeshift tent assembled in the shade of the house, Layla and Marcus played while Yvonne and I sat sipping lemonade. I had originally come out to help Yvonne build a small garden, but now as we rested, there was a peaceful silence between us, the same sort of comfortable silence I had with her brother. It felt nice.

"You know, you'd make a good mom. Ever thought of it?" Yvonne curiously asked.

I nodded slowly, gazing across the short, brown grass of the lowlands, thoughts drifting to another place and time. Long ago. Painful memories. Long buried.

I inhaled and shook myself quickly, smiling and drawing myself back. "I have hundreds of children, all over East Africa." I grinned. Bad memories replaced with good. The fights and the victories. Hard, satisfying work. Villages. Schools. Refugee camps. Factories. Freed bonded laborers. So many children. All those I had helped over the years, filling the void that had been created by a suicide bomber.

Watching the brief flicker of pain quickly come and go from her new friend's face, Yvonne settled back into her seat, stretching her long, lean legs in front of her, rotating her feet. "You know, you're okay for a ve'hoe'ame." She smirked into her glass, taking another sip of the cool liquid as she gazed across the half-dug garden.

I snorted, lemonade almost coming out of my nose. "Ve'hoe'ame?" I laughed. "Really? Honey, you do what I do for a living, and the best thing to be is colorblind. I've dealt with far too many people to care about skin color. Ve'hoe'ame." I snorted again as she grinned at me. White woman.

It was late afternoon when we finished turning the last of the soil in the twenty-by-twenty foot plot. And, this was supposed to be small… We had mixed in some natural fertilizer from the horses' paddock nearby, and Yvonne laughed, expecting me to turn my nose up at the smell as we shoveled the manure into an old, rusty wheelbarrow. I surprised her by digging in and dumping the contents into the thick clay and sand of her newly formed garden. Nothing could stop me now. I was on a mission, one that made me feel useful and productive again. It was a good feeling, and we were almost done.

As we worked in unison, hoeing the last of the rows, Henry's pale green pickup bounced over the road toward his sister's. He had hired a number of local men to help prepare for the upcoming rodeo and offered to drive whoever could fit into the truck. Now, it was drop-off time. Lester, Yvonne's husband, sat in the passenger seat, his head nearly touching the roof, and as they stopped, men of all ages and sizes, piled out, waving and calling to each other as they went their separate ways. Yvonne and I reached the end of the plot at the same time, and smiled satisfactorily at each other. Done. Hell of a day. I was so going to feel this tomorrow.

Henry and Lester approached, all smiles, then rapidly backed away, tanned hands covering their noses and mouths, waving off the smell of manure. Yvonne seductively sauntered toward her husband, long black hair messily pulled back in a ponytail, dirt smudged on her cheeks, a mischievous grin glowing in her obsidian eyes.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked, getting closer. "Didn't we do a good job?"

"Marvelous," he choked, still backing away from his wife. "Shower. Hose. Soap. Henry. Help!" The tall, wiry man laughed as he dodged his slender wife and was chased to the side of the house.

Grabbing the hose from the external faucet, he turned it on full force and sprayed Yvonne who squealed, drawing the children's attention. Within minutes, there was a full out water fight, with the Yvonne retaliating with the empty lemonade pitcher filled at the hand pump, and the children filling their glasses from the kiddie pool adding their bit into the fray. Laughter and shrieks filled the air.

Henry and I watched from the sidelines, entertained by the family fun.

"You really do smell," Henry finally said grinning at me.

"Maybe so, but look at what we did? They'll have fresh vegetables by the end of summer and into the fall."

"True…but you really do smell." There was a playful gleam in Henry's eyes as he lunged forward grabbing me around the waist and easily tossing me over his shoulder. He moved smoothly, rapidly, long legs making purposeful strides. "Out of the way, kids," he commanded. "She is going in!"

Marcus and Layla squealed with delight and jumped out of the pool just in time for Henry to pull me from his shoulder and tossed me in. There wasn't much water left, and as I lay on my back laughing, struggling to get up, Yvonne turned the hose on me.

"Eno'eetahe!" I laughed slipping on the plastic surface. "Not fair! Henry is still dry!"

Immediately, Yvonne turned the hose on her brother, and it was one, big, dripping, free-for-all of soaking each other. Even Sugar got into the act by jumping in the kiddie pool with me and giving a big shake.

An hour later, dried and changed, Henry and Lester gathered more wood for the roasting fire, while Yvonne and I set the table outside in the cool, summer air, upwind and on the other side of the house from the smell of manure. Lester sniffed at the meat that had been grilling over the low flame for the past hour.

"I thought we were having chicken tonight?" he asked.

"We are," Yvonne responded. "I didn't know what to make so Julia took care of it. She brought the salads as well."

"You cook?" Henry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

I returned the expression at his flippant comment. "Of course. Why does that surprise you?"

He tipped his head and shrugged. "Because, you hardly eat. I do not believe I have ever seen you eat anything larger than what can fit on a side plate."

I smiled. "Just small portions." I shook my head. "But, this…" I spread my hands toward the food. "This is my kind of food. Before I left New York, my assistant helped me gather some staple foods that I didn't think I could find out here. Spices and grains, mostly." I pointed to the fire and table, identifying what was laid out. "Kuku choma, well marinated, slow roasted chicken. Biryani, a seasoned, spiced rice. Both can be served hot or cold. Tomato salad. Simple but tasty. Maandazi, fried flatbread. You can dip it in any of the sauces. I hope you like it."

"Smells great." Lester rubbed his leathered hands together and lifted the spit off the fire, sliding the meat onto a serving plate to put on the table.

It was a pleasant meal. Good food, friendly conversation. I was feeling very at home and comfortable. Henry's family had accepted me, and it felt good to fit in. Lester said that the chicken reminded him of a dish his grandmother used to make, and the bread was similar to bannock. The children didn't like the rice, cooked raisins and spices, but devoured the tomato salad. Everyone was surprise to discover that tomatoes were actually a basic food and one sold in markets throughout Kenya, as was kale and collard greens. Even thousands of miles away, some things stayed the same.

After dinner, Lester stirred the fire in the pit, and we sat around it enjoying the quiet as the sun began to set over the short, pale brown grass: orange and gold horizon fading into purple and dark blue heavens, hints of red streaking through the high, cumulus clouds. Red sky at night - it would be another nice day tomorrow. Marcus had climbed onto my lap, snugged in, and fell asleep. My arms absently wrapped around the little boy as Layla cuddled next to Henry. Even Sugar had curled at my feet, snoring away. It had been a long, busy, productive day.

"So, when did you learn Cheyenne?" Henry quietly broke the silence, waking me from a light doze.

I cocked my head sideways, looking over Marcus' slumped figure, gazing at Henry's golden face glowing in the snap of flames. I shrugged lightly, my lips quirking to the left. "Just a few words… for now." I smirked playfully.

"Why?"

"Why not?" I smiled

"You are a curiosity." Henry shook his head, and we drifted into silence again.