Collins eating "njera" at Franco's The following day, we treated Mark to “njera” (fermented rice with meat, vegetables, and a boiled egg) at Franco’s (a fascinating Ethiopian restaurant in the camp; ha, one of the "fascinating" features is the toilet - you walk through a labrynth of crudely constructed corridors, past the goat, and into the doorless "squat" toilet). It was great to catch up with Mark and to hear about his schooling. I told him that I would always remember our reunion from the previous day. Kim and I also told him about our difficulty in finding him and how excited we were when he stepped out of his house.
Very soberly, Mark explained, “You must realize I miss all of you from homegroup so much. All these faces here, they’re new to me. I don’t know any of these people. The refugees I knew from before, they’re all gone now. I think of all of you in Nairobi so often! Thank you for your struggle to find me. Thank you! Even the others in my community, they’ve said, ‘Your friends were serious about finding you.’”
We decided to leave the restaurant and go to Mark’s house again. Kim and I were tired of boda boda rides; the roads through the camp are very rough and with all the traffic, it’s rather nerve-racking at times. So, we opted to walk. Aye! It was a hot hour-long walk! The sun in the Kakuma and Lodwar area is oppressive! The wind – when there is one – blows dust on your face and in your eyes. For half of the distance to Group 31, we walked in a dry, seasonal river bed – of course it had absolutely no shade! It seemed like we would never reach his house. One interesting sight though, was three bare-chested Turkana women making charcoal in the hot sand. One of them waved at me.
Because the house would be hot in the middle of the day, we sat under the shade of a tree. Deng Tiok Mel joined us, introduced himself. He explained his duties of being a group leader and told us that he was allowing Mark to stay with him, his wife, and newborn baby during Mark’s August “holiday” from school. He then invited us to join him for a soda, his treat. We walked a ways to find a café that was open.
While we had our sodas, I asked Mark to tell his story to Collins. Collins listened attentively.
[The following day, I quizzed him to see how much he had really ascertained. Dramatically holding up one finger, he asked incredulously, “You mean… Mark doesn’t even have one brother?” Kim silently nodded his head and I replied, “He has no one in this world.”]
We hired an extra boda boda for Mark and he “escorted” us to the bus office to see us off. Immanzo also came to see us off; Kim introduced the two to one another. Imanzo (a young man who chooses his words carefully) well knows the harshness of the environment and how tortuous the trip is. He told Kim and me, “The two of you are an inspiration to the rest of us!”
Our eleven-hour bus trip back to Kitale was at night. On the way, we stopped for snacks. The public latrine (at a café, no less) reeked with such a potent stench, our eyes watered! Sleep was impossible until we were three-fourths of the way and finally on relatively decent roads!
At about 4:00am, just as I was able to fall asleep, our bus broke down. We were told to disembark. As I did so, in the complete darkness of the night, I fell headlong onto the muddy road! I wasn’t hurt, but my pants certainly were muddy. Soon, another bus came along and some of us were told to board it. We had to stand, tightly squeezed, for the remainder of the trip.
By the time we rolled into Kitale I was generally feeling miserable, dirty, and bone-weary!
(conclusion below)
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