What Tears Us Apart

Chapter 21



December 24, 2007, Kibera—Leda

LEDA AND ITA returned home to the orphanage like two birds swooping in to nest. The taxi dropped them off at the edge of Kibera, and they walked back laden with packages.

It was Christmas Eve, and Leda wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. She couldn’t wait to see the kids.

It had taken forever in Nairobi—wrapping up the safari, making sure all the tourists got off on their way safely. Then Ita had had stops to make—paying bills with practically all the money he’d just made on safari, further solidifying Leda’s planned Christmas gift to him and the boys.

When Ita knocked on the gate, Michael tugged it open not a second later, and the seven boys Leda had been missing so much swarmed around them like they were an ice cream truck.

“Krismasi Njema! Heri ya krismas, Leda!” they chirped like baby birds at the return of their mother.

“Merry Christmas!” Leda shouted back, kissing their dusty heads and cheeks. “Oh, we missed you!”

The children asked what they’d brought them, eyeing all the packages. Ita spread his arms wide and told a story so animated even Leda could follow the Swahili: how all their presents got eaten by hippos, that he tried to fight them off, but it was Leda who banged a hippo on the head (an image that made them grab their bellies with laughter). Then an ostrich came along that was this big and... Leda laughed along with the kids, about the flamingos and the zebra and the monkey that stole the rest of their Christmas presents.

Watching Ita tweak their cheeks and tug on their ears, Leda was struck by how much he loved them. And vice versa. Each boy strained forward until Ita’s eyes focused on him individually, then they shyly murmured karibu and nakutamani. Welcome home. I missed you. Even Jomo hovered, his eyes down, but his heart open.

Something about the scene made Leda sad, though. When she was little, she’d always secretly yearned for a Norman Rockwell Christmas—one she’d never had. She’d collected the Realtor Christmas cards that were sent to their house every year. Here she was, past thirty and in Africa, and watching Ita with the orphans was the closest she’d ever come.

“Okay, little brothers, okay,” Ita said, laughing heartily. “We need to eat before church. Msaada Mary?” Did you help Mary prepare?

Leda tried to shop for the boys in Nairobi, but Ita had protested that he already had clothes for them—what children got for Christmas in Kenya. He’d flat-out refused her plan to buy toys. Leda respected him for it, but couldn’t help feeling a little judged and reprimanded.

She consoled herself that she’d loaded up on as much Maasai jewelry, candy, nuts and seeds for them as she could while on safari. But now, looking around the orphanage, all Leda could see were the things they really needed—paper and pencils, medical supplies, cooking utensils, books, blankets. Which made her feel all the better about her plan, which would include all those things, for starters.

Ita took Leda by the hand, as the boys dispersed to clean up, and pulled her into his arms. They stood nestled against each other, united, absorbing the excitement of the boys’ chattering as they walked off.

When Mary stepped from the shadows and saw their embrace, Leda thought she detected a frown, but the older woman beamed as she got closer.

Ita and Mary conversed in Swahili in an ebullient tone, far too rapid for Leda to follow, but she imagined that Ita, with his hand gestures and smile, was regaling Mary with tales of their safari.

“Yes, it was magical! Truly,” Leda chimed in.

They both stopped mid-sentence and turned to her in confusion.

“What?” Leda asked lightly.

“We were talking about the elections,” Ita said. “Sorry. The election is in three days. At dawn. I’m taking Mary to the polls with her friends. They are very excited.” He smiled at Mary, then turned to watch two of the orphans scampering in the courtyard. “Mary is Luo. She thinks Raila is what he claims—hope for her, and—” Ita nodded at the boys “—for them.”

* * *

Mary left for Grace’s house in a different part of Kibera. They would all meet later at church. That gave Leda and Ita a few precious hours alone with the boys, eating the meal Mary left for them and drinking steaming hot tea while telling safari stories. The boys must have heard the same tales from Ita a dozen times, but still they listened, rapt. It was probably very different, Leda realized, to hear her rendition of the baboons and the baby elephants and the hippos. Leda told them she had a surprise for them on Christmas. Intrigued, they swam around her like a school of nibbling fish. Leda looked up and caught Ita watching her with the same warm look she’d given him earlier as he greeted the boys.

Before long, it was time for church. Ita lined the boys up near the front door. Leda’s heart sang, seeing the little angels arranging themselves by height, Michael taking his guard post at the back of the line.

Leda slipped off to change into the dress she’d chosen for church—an intentionally long one that brushed the dirt. A matching navy shawl added even more modesty. But when she came outside, the boys hooted and clapped in appreciation, as if she’d donned a sequined gown. Leda played the part, catwalking down the line, waving and blowing them kisses like Marilyn Monroe. At the front, by Ita, she made a curtsy and everyone laughed aloud.

It was time to head out; Ita opened the door and the night loomed before them. Leda was nervous about going out in Kibera after dark. Ita had always warned against it. But the boys pranced out the door in single file, and plenty of neighbors moved through the streets, their silhouettes sporting the same sprightly gait. No streetlamps and no one carried flashlights—Leda wondered how anyone could find their way in the dark. She suddenly felt sure she would arrive at church splattered in mud and sewage.

But in she plunged, and Ita locked the gate behind her. They walked slower than usual, winding through the rows of mud houses, radios blaring reggae music and BBC and Christmas songs and what sounded like a Bruce Lee movie. They passed so close to homes, Leda felt as though she was walking through someone’s backyard, which they were. She could hear conversations perfectly, if only she understood Swahili better.

Farther ahead, the road opened up and a few scattered electric bulbs illuminated storefronts. First, they passed a butcher with meat strung in the air, flies buzzing about. Then they passed cart after cart loaded with fruits and vegetables, dried fish, soap, batteries, phone cards, charcoal—many of the stands lit by flickering candles in each corner or a liquor bottle with a burning wick.

They passed the movie theater, a show flickering to a packed crowd inside. Leda inquired about the carts men clustered around. Bars, Ita told her in a tone that sounded like duh.

One section of the road was lined with what looked like hot dog stands—which, as Leda got closer, she saw was exactly what they were. Steaming skewers of meat and seafood were set out for sale.

The next strip held no more carts, just rows of women, shoulder to shoulder, bent over charcoal fires and sizzling pots. Everything it was possible to fry in Kibera seemed to be bubbling away in their kettles.

The children piled up in their line, swelling into more of a mob, and tugged at Ita’s shirt. They’d stopped before a woman frying potato dumplings and sugared rolls. Ita gave in and bought them the treats. Here the crowd was the thickest, and Leda bounced off people as though she’d been dropped into a pinball machine. Many people called out greetings to Ita and the boys, all of whom looked at her in surprise, especially when she offered them a smile.

The church was a concrete structure at the end of the road. She and Ita and the boys filed inside along with everybody else. Nobody stopped her, which Leda suddenly realized she’d been half-expecting.

Sandals were deposited around the edge of the room, as people stepped barefoot onto straw mats. Mary was there, with Grace and her husband and children in tow. Leda was happy to meet Paul and the little ones; together they made quite a crowd.

Once everyone arranged themselves on the mat, the preacher began shouting, urging everyone to sing. Leda looked around for any sign of hymnals, but everyone just threw their head back and belted out songs like a theatre troupe who’d been rehearsing for months.

She closed her eyes and let the sheer volume of it wash over her. Then she tried picking out single voices—Ntimi, the loudest, alongside Michael’s more somber tone. But eventually she resumed blanket appreciation of the harmony created by men and women, young and old.

Ita didn’t nudge her to sing, and she loved that about him, that he didn’t push her, seemed to understand her.

So Leda allowed herself to let go, get lost in the spectacle. The singing and sermons continued for many hours and left everyone sweaty, winded and divinely happy.


December 24, 2007, Kibera—Ita

Ita couldn’t believe how late it was when they finally made it back to the orphanage. He felt as carefree and light as he’d ever been in his life, truly believing things were going to get brighter finally, easier. As he watched the boys file through the door, barely able to keep their eyes open, he remembered the prayers he’d said in church. Please, God, watch over these boys. Help them grow strong and good.

He decided to let them go off to bed without washing, even as he saw their sticky mandazi fingers and powdered sugar lips. Mary was spending the night with her family, and Ita wanted as much alone time with Leda as possible.

Leda escorted the sleepwalking children to their room and Ita remembered his prayer for her—Let her heal and be free.

He’d prayed for Mary, too, of course, and his neighbors, and the doctors at the clinic.

And he’d prayed for Chege, as always. Ita prayed that Chege would find the strength to believe in the good in himself, believe in the good in others and the world, so that he could pull himself off his dark path and remember the true self that Ita loved, that was still there, buried inside him.

“Did you have fun?” Ita asked as Leda returned from the boys’ room.

“Are you kidding? This is the best Christmas Eve I’ve ever had,” she said. “Thank you.”

They stood in the courtyard, under the stars, her skin glowing like the moon.

“I—” He took a step closer. “The truth is—” But Ita stopped himself before saying it. In his experience, wanting something too much, out loud—it only let the devil know what to take away.

“Me, too,” she said. She took one step closer and held out her hand.

Ita’s heart soared. He interlaced his fingers with hers, all the whispers they’d shared through the late nights of safari rushing through his mind. Would Leda really stay? Would she return? She had admitted she didn’t have a job at home. And yet she’d spent the money to come here to help, to volunteer. It meant she cared, she was compassionate. Ita had dreams, for the orphanage, for Kibera. And dreams for himself he’d locked away. But if she came back, they could do it together. It was crazy, he knew, but this was the fire she’d lit in him, one he was unaccustomed to, one he never let himself feel. Because it was dangerous—this burning feeling, the very emotion Ita decried in Raila’s supporters. Hope. Fiery hope that things could be different. Better. Hopes let the devil know what to take away.

Leda took his hand. She was strong, but at the seams she was fragile. Ita yearned to take care of her, protect her. He would happily spend the rest of his days trying to make her smile.

He clenched her pale fingers in his. He took one step and she took another and then they surged together, kissing, their mouths open and sucking, bent on swallowing each other whole.

Ita knew how a rocket must feel, lit and ready to fly. They ran their hands over each other’s hot skin and panted and slurped so loudly he had to pull away. He gasped for air, stared into her hungry eyes. With a moan, he spun her around, bent her over and lifted her dress. One hand undid his pants while the other moved her panties to the side and gripped her hip. He grabbed hold of her shoulder for balance and entered her, all the way to the hilt, which sent lightening shooting through his body. The way he fit inside her, the way her body responded, it made Ita want to do this forever.

Afraid he would call out, he buried his face in her hair, growling into her neck while he reached around to pleasure her. He felt Leda come, clenching him in waves, her thighs quivering, her orgasm fueling his.

“I’m ready,” he breathed into her ear.

She clenched him harder, reached back to pull him deeper inside her.

When he came, he nearly pitched forward. He saw the stars swim above him, felt as if the whole universe approved of their union.

Leda spun around and kissed him, laughing.

“Was it too fast?” he asked, made self-conscious by her amusement.

“No,” she said. “God, no, I can barely stand.” She pointed at her knees and they were indeed shaking. “I’m just happy. Very, very happy.” She looked up at the sky and the stars and took a deep breath. Then she said it again, “I’m happy,” loud enough for Kibera, for the world, to hear.

Ita laughed. “Me, too,” he said, feeling his smile strain at the edges, feeling the warmth of Leda’s skin coursing into his. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his head in her hair. But a worry crept into his stomach, tied a knot in his insides.

Now the devil knew.


December 25, 2007, Kibera—Leda

Christmas morning, Mary returned to the orphanage, so Leda and Ita could go buy the food. Once a year, Ita said, everyone had meat and new clothes. What the other 364 days brought was implied.

Leda skipped along the path, her footing sure as a doe in the forest. She smiled at so many residents doing the same, out to celebrate on a sunny day. Christmas and the coming elections—a cocktail for optimism.

Ita zipped ahead, in high spirits, skidding through the crowds like a water spider.

“This way!” He pointed out a duka ahead. “Nelson’s,” he said.

There were dozens of dukas in every quadrant, so no one had to walk far to get margarine, cooking fuel or tins of tomato sauce. Nelson’s duka had the typical pack of kids playing out front with two matrons standing watch. The women debated and laughed in equal measure.

“Joyce!” Ita called out merrily and one of the women smiled and waved him over.

Joyce had a laugh like Mary’s stew—rich and hearty, deliciously layered. A laugh like that could cure any of the world’s woes, Leda thought to herself.

“Merry Christmas!” Ita said, and both women fluttered their eyelashes in response.

Leda had to admit, his looks served him well.

“What you come running up here for, Ita? You not yet bought all the meat, then, for them boys of yours? They been troublemakers this year?” Joyce’s smile matched Ita’s as she teased him. “I think we all out,” she said, pointing. “Look, only onions.”

“Oh, well, then I guess we’ll be going round the way—”

“Brother!” A wiry old man appeared, waving his arms at Ita. He was strong looking in spite of his age.

“Nelson,” Ita said warmly.

The man’s eyes bore the yellow stain of hepatitis, but they glinted with benevolence. “Don’t listen to that crazy woman.” He grinned at his wife. “We saved the best for your boys. You’ll see.”

They waited while Nelson ducked back inside. He reappeared with three hulking parcels wrapped in newspaper. Ita took two and Nelson unwrapped one to show.

The contents made Leda’s stomach churn like a cement mixer. A mound of meat, firm in places, squishy in others, ribbons of fat meeting jagged bone and matted clumps of hair.

“Goat,” Ita said to her. Probably because her face exposed her thought: human.

Leda rearranged her lips into the best grin she could muster. “Yum,” she offered. Sarcasm was an American thing, she realized, as both men nodded in approval.

* * *

Best damn barbecue Leda had ever been to.

They gorged themselves on skewers of magically greasy, smoky meat and ate as much mandazi as they could stomach. Grace clucked over Leda’s henna scabs. Then she taught her to make coconut bread for dessert. Paul and Ita talked soccer while the women played with the children.

Watching Ita and the orphans and Mary’s brood, Leda imagined they felt as she did—that the day was one big metaphorical exhale.

Late in the afternoon, Mary’s family took their leave, hugging each of the boys and kissing the tops of their heads. After they’d gone, Ita clapped his hands together. Present time. The boys took their seats on the mat, wriggling like Mexican jumping beans.

Leda had seen the big bag of clothes. She was expecting a free-for-all. Instead, Ita called out each boy’s name in turn and they approached like little graduates. Tears stung her eyes when she realized Ita had handpicked each boy’s favorite color. Michael got a polo shirt striped red, black and white—Manchester United colors, which the boy favored over food and water. Jomo’s shirt was electric blue, which made Leda proud that she’d noticed, too, that he always picked the blue cup for breakfast and the blue rag for washing up.

Once all the clothes were handed out, Ita looked at the boys expectantly. “What are you waiting for, little brothers?” he asked.

Like a surge in electricity, all the kids ran off to try on their new clothes.

It gave her a window of alone time with Ita. He led her by the hand into his room. When the door shut, he pressed up against her with a long, warm kiss while his hands slid up her sides like serpents. Leda disappeared into the rush and listened to their breaths spar in the hot room.

“Ita—” she said in between kisses that swept her away. She must focus. It was time to tell him. Why was she so nervous?

“Mmm—” Ita answered, his eyes closed. He moved to her neck, raising goose bumps down her body.

There was never going to be exactly the right time to tell him, she decided. She hadn’t meant to mislead him. In the beginning it was about safety, on safari unimportant. Now it was different.

But suddenly the children’s voices chirped outside, “Ita, look” and “Ita, asante.”

Reluctantly and with effort, Ita pulled away. He reached out and smoothed down her hair. She melted at the gesture. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to tell him her plan.

Ita made a show of opening the door and gasping in appreciation at the boys’ new outfits. Leda put a hand to her heart and gasped, too, but it was a hundred percent genuine. “Look at you!” She reached out and patted one shoulder after another while the boys strutted and posed. “Nzuri sana! So handsome!”

She ran off to get her camera as the boys assembled in the courtyard. Leda snapped picture after picture, viewing her adopted family through new eyes. For the first time in her life, her camera gave her not a sense of distance, but of intimacy. Through the lens, she saw the scar on Ntimi’s ear she knew was from a dog attack. She saw the glint in Michael’s eyes that betrayed the love behind his apprehension. In Jomo’s eyes, she saw the seeds of confidence. She let Jomo take a turn at the camera, imagining him becoming a photographer. Why not? If she could help them, she wanted them to become whatever they wanted. She’d always been embarrassed by her wealth, but she realized she shouldn’t be anymore. Money could do good things for good people. It could give them license to dream.

Ita clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Zawadi, Leda! Time for Leda’s present.”

She turned in shock. “Oh no, Ita.” She’d told him not to get her anything.

“Come here,” he said with a grin. He held something behind his back.

The boys obliged, hurrying to sit on the mat, all eyes on Leda. Ita instructed her to close her eyes. In the darkness, she felt him step behind her.

“Merry Christmas, Leda,” he said as he draped something light around her neck. A necklace.

Leda opened her eyes. The chain was short, but she could pull it out just far enough to see the delicate gold bird linked in the middle.

She inhaled and felt dizzy, off balance. How did he get this? It was so dainty, pretty. Expensive. How could he have spent that kind of money—

Ita kissed the nape of her neck. “It was my mother’s.” Leda tried to breathe and failed. “A sparrow. They fly free until they meet their destiny. Then they fly together.”

Leda spun around. She looked into his eyes, wide and watery. When she fell into his arms and hugged him, she felt his heartbeat pound against hers.

The boys clapped and whistled.

“You’re like a bird,” Ita whispered. “Come from a faraway land.” He touched the charm at her throat.

“Ita—” She was overcome. “I can’t—”

“You will leave. But now, with this necklace...” He traced her collarbone, his eyes shining. “You will come back.”

She closed her hand over his, over the little gold bird. “I will,” she said, and she meant it. “I will come back.”

He took her in his arms, rocking her to and fro on the sea of emotion between them. The children sprang from the mat, ensnared by the spirit, too. Ntimi hugged them first, and then Michael. Walter hugged Leda’s ankles. It was such a perfect moment, Leda felt her heart start to race. The bodies squeezing her tight, the necklace pressed against her skin, it brought thoughts bubbling up unbidden. This is too much—too good. I don’t deserve it. Leda tried to suppress the creeping thoughts, tried to allow herself this moment of bliss, of warmth.

But it didn’t feel merely warm. Leda felt hot, suffocated, like she might faint. She pulled apart from Ita and cleared her throat. “I—I have something for you all, too. One second.”

Leda went and got her bag, still packed from safari. She spilled out the candy and gifts onto the mat. The boys’ eyes went wide at the cache and they all dove for the goods, scrambling.

Ita laughed. He wagged his finger playfully at Leda for disobeying him, but was obviously pleased. It buoyed her confidence.

“There’s more,” she said a little shakily. “There’s something I have to tell you.” While the boys were distracted with the treats, Leda stepped closer to Ita, pulled him aside. “The reason I don’t have a job, it’s not exactly what you think. I don’t...need one.”

The flicker in Ita’s eyes made her gulp. Just spit it out. “My family, my mother, well, my father actually, who died, he had money. So...I have money. Lots of it.” Ita took a step back. Leda attempted a smile. “And I’d like to help.”

Ita stilled. He opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing, until finally, after seconds that wrung her stomach into knots, he put on a half-cocked, strained, non-Ita smile and said, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Thank you.”

Leda tried to stop her brow from knitting together. What had she been expecting? A ticker-tape parade for a superhero? A prideful refusal? She floundered, anger flittering into her mind. But then she remembered how Chege had taunted her, and Estella before him. Off to save Africa?

As her stomach sank further, Leda saw Ita trying to recover, trying to dig back up his true smile. But his eyes kept darting to the necklace around her neck. She touched it self-consciously. Did he finally see the truth—that she was unworthy of such admiration?

“Ita,” she whispered, reaching across the sudden distance between them, but he made no move to meet her in the middle. He stepped out of reach of Leda’s hands, still fumbling to smile.

When a banging sounded at the door, he turned and called out to Michael, as if grateful for the interruption. The kid darted off to see who it was as Ita stayed turned away from her.

Ntimi came to her side. He played with her hand, intertwining fingers, black and white. Leda watched the piano key pattern and felt as if the world had tilted, as if a story had been erased and written over, but she couldn’t read the new ending.

Before she could ponder it any further, she heard a familiar voice and looked up in time to see Chege burst inside the orphanage.

She watched him meet Ita’s eyes, Chege smiling ear to ear. Leda tried to imagine the river of memories between them, tried to understand their connection, their bond. But she couldn’t. She had no frame of reference, nothing to relate it to in her life.

As Chege strode closer, he reached into his pocket. Leda stared as he pulled out a bulbous wad of cash and waved it in the air. “School money!” he shouted and whacked Michael over the head with the bills. “School money for Christmas!”

Leda couldn’t move, her breath held hostage in her throat. Ita frowned.

Chege’s wad of cash lowered to his side like a withering vine. “What?” he asked, looking around the triangle he formed with her and Ita.

It was Michael who spoke, with his characteristic calm. “Leda will come back to stay. With lots of money for us.”

Ita closed his eyes, aware that Michael had been listening. Chege digested the words one at a time. Then he looked at Leda, Ntimi still holding her hand. His yellow eyes narrowed to slits, and she felt with a pang what he was looking at. She put her hand to her throat, covering the necklace. Chege stared another moment, his gaze a fire doused in kerosene. When he spun to face Ita, the icy glare made Ita flinch before he lowered his head, sheepish.

Leda dropped her chin in suit, wishing she could disappear. Wondering if Ita wished she would, too.