Mombasa Road Retravelled Page 8

  Chapter 8

  The next morning I'm still on a high from the big odds Real Madrid win and despite the beer from the night before, I am almost able to keep up with Little Stevie on the outward leg of our morning run. There's moisture in the air today and banks of cloud are massing west of the Ngong Hills, for the short rains are long overdue. But this is just the tonic I need, so I work harder than ever to keep Little Stevie in sight on the return leg.

  Breakfast, however, is far from a euphoric affair. Kiwi John is still off driving and repairing trucks the other side of Lodwar and relations with Laila have nosedived since I brought Njeri and Beatrice to stay on Monday. Little Stevie is faring no better either; Almas has become very wary of him, while Lulu just stares sullenly from Little Stevie to Njeri and her daughter then back again.

  'They're not eating anything I give them, Brian,' Laila informs me, pointing grumpily at Njeri and the tiny Beatrice. 'And they are always being sick inside and outside the toilet: both of them.'

  'Withdrawal symptoms,' I say rather too cheerily. 'They should get over it soon.'

  'It's too much, Brian,' Laila fumes, her temper rising. 'They will have to stay in the servants' quarters.

  'They can have our room if space is a problem,' I offer, knowing such a proposition will never be accepted. 'Little Stevie and I will be the ones to move into the servants' quarters.'

  That certainly concludes discussion, but Laila is even huffier now and snaps and snarls at Almas and Lulu to get ready for school. The girls begin to bicker in turn and for once I'm sorry I'm not in Little Stevie's cocoon of immunity, safely switched off from the drudgery of other people in a cushioned world of football scores and astronomical data.

  Never the best of drivers by all accounts, Laila is particularly heavy on the Land Cruiser this morning, over-revving the old engine as she pulls out of the gates for the school run; of course, I know it's all done for my benefit.

  Beatrice is pattering around the kitchen barefoot. I try to pick her up and play with her, but she must be tired and hungry too, for she starts crying immediately.

  Njeri is sitting on the stone kitchen floor with a large yellow kanga wrap covering most of her face, looking like the forlorn face of Africa that stares at you from the Oxfam envelope in the junk mail pile, whom you can save for a tenner a month by direct debit, but who doesn't look like she really wants you to help anyway.

  Our eyes meet as I put Beatrice down again and I'm forced to admit that I've been guilty of impulse altruism and haven't really thought through what's best for Njeri or Beatrice. They'll need more help than Little Stevie and I can provide and simply giving Njeri cash might even hasten her descent into obilivion. Maybe my plans have been na?ve all along: there are clearly some desperate cases here in Kenya for whom a direct injection of my Betfair cash will do more harm than good.

  I mull over the issue sitting for a while outside on the verandah, while Little Stevie performs all the checks on the Africa Twin that Guarav has shown him. The sun has broken through the morning murk and the clouds we noticed on the morning run have skulked off somewhere out of sight, maybe to return with a vengeance later in the afternoon.

  I'm glad to see Little Stevie interested in bike maintenance and I stand nearby to reflect on Beatrice and Njeri and on the whole damn Football Kenya project, while Little Stevie fiddles with the chain and checks brakes and filters.

  We're never happier than this, simply being around each other. Conversation isn't needed, but if I move off somewhere else in the courtyard, I know it won't be long before I'll find him hanging around with one his books somewhere nearby - scores from the Bundesliga three seasons ago are always best appreciated with a friend at hand, even if you're keeping them largely to yourself in a hushed mumble.

  Across the courtyard, the families from the servants' quarters are sitting round an empty fireplace, with two large ladies fastidiously brushing the red earth into circular patterns, watched by their husbands, the day and night askaris, Isaac and Emmanuel.

  I feel guilty at having had so little to do with these people before now and go over for a long chat. They're from near Meru, on the lush slopes east of Mount Kenya, and chatting to these two polite and reserved old men gives me a burning desire to dash off to this part of Kenya that I've never visited before. It's famous for growing the stimulant narcotic miraa, which under its Arabic name of qat, became a daily delicacy for me in the Yemen, and I feel I'm long overdue a re-acquaintance with such a fabulous old friend.

  But try as I might, it's hard to break through the servant/master stereotypes of the colonial days: Isaac and Emmanuel are friendly enough but also keep a sense of distance, as if we are from two worlds whose orbits should not overlap.

  I tell them about what Stevie and I do for a living but they're soon confused and seem to have us down as Premiership celebrities, further reinforcing the need for distance between them and the high and mighty. I try to explain about Football Kenya too, and wouldn't they like to enrol?

  There are lots of nods and smiles and thank you's, but I'm not sure they really get what I'm saying, so in the end I produce a collection of large bank notes and the paper money goes down much better.

  By now, I've made my mind up about Njeri and Beatrice and decide to get Mr Fixer Fingers on the job. I tell Fingers that Njeri and her baby will need some specialist help and I'll also have to move them somewhere else. Can he find a carer and some decent accommodation for them somewhere in or around Kibera? There'll be a commission.

  Shortly afterwards there's a call from Luxmi, who is becoming deluged with Football Kenya work. I tell her I'm glad it's all going so well and increase the size of her commission just a little. She pressures me gently about the burgeoning workload and I ask her to look for an assistant; it's nice to think that Football Kenya is generating some much-needed employment.