let’s not worry anymore about
how
you got here.
Why
are you here?”
“Promise.”
“Sure, what do you want me to promise?” I asked.
“Not
you
promise.
Me
promise.” He pulled out an envelope. “It is from Ruth.”
“Ruth sent me a letter!” I exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!” I took it from him. “Thanks so much for bringing it all this …” Then I had a terrible thought. What was in this letter that was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? Had something happened to Ruth … or baby Alexandria? I knew that babies in Kenya sometimes did not survive—that was one of the reasons my father had paid to build the clinic.
“Is everybody—Ruth …. little Alexandria—is everybody okay?” I asked.
“I do not know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I am here and they are in Africa,” he answered. “When I left they were both well … but now? I do not know.” He shrugged. “I have no gift of far-sight.”
From almost anybody else that comment would have seemed strange, sarcastic, or even psychotic. But Nebala was just saying what he meant.
“I’m glad they were fine when you saw them,” I said. “But what’s so important that you had to bring me the letter tonight?”
“A promise to Ruth and her father that I would give this letter to you at the time of our greetings.”
“And you forgot.”
He nodded and his eyes fell to the ground. He had forgotten and realized that he had broken his word. To a Maasai that was a terrible, terrible thing because their word was part of their honour, part of who they were. Breaking his word to Ruth was bad, but even worse, he had also given his word to her father—and he was a chief. I knew Nebala would feel awful, even ashamed. It wasn’t his fault. With all the travel and everything new and different, he must have been exhausted, confused. It was easy to understand, but excuses like that wouldn’t make him feel any better.
“You know,” I said, “by bringing the letter to me now you have brought it to me on the day of our greetings, so really, you did keep your promise.”
He suddenly looked relieved.
I held out my hand. “Hello, Nebala. I offer you my greetings.”
He held out his hand and smiled. “And I offer my greetings to you,” he replied. “Thank you. Now I must go.”
“Sure. I’ll let you out.” I didn’t want him to set off the alarm system or we’d have my mother up, the security company scrambling, and a call from the police department at the very least. “I’ll turn off the alarm for the back door.”
“I will go through the window,” he said. He walked over.
“No, you don’t have to go that way. Let me get the—”
He put a foot up onto the ledge and then jumped out the window!
I sat there, too shocked to move, my mouth hanging open. I struggled to get out of bed, rushing for the window, and I crashed to the floor with a loud thud—my feet were tangled up in the sheets. I kicked them free and crawled and scrambled to the window, pulling myself up and steadying myself as I looked down to the ground. He wasn’t there.
I looked over. There he was in the tree, standing on one branch and holding the one above to steady himself.
“See? It’s possible,” he offered as a brief answer to my unspoken question.
“I can see that.” Although I still didn’t believe it. “Be careful, you could fall and get hurt.”
“I will not fall. I am Maas—”
“Even Maasai can fall, and unless you’re a bird you can’t fly. Be careful.”
He chuckled. “I will be careful. Good night, Alexandria.”
“Good night, Nebala.”
I watched in awe as he climbed down the tree, disappearing into the branches and foliage until I could make out only little glimpses of him. And then he just disappeared into the darkness. I thought I could hear him—faintly—and maybe I heard him drop to the ground, but I couldn’t be sure. I kept looking, waiting for him to set off one of the motion-sensor lights
how
you got here.
Why
are you here?”
“Promise.”
“Sure, what do you want me to promise?” I asked.
“Not
you
promise.
Me
promise.” He pulled out an envelope. “It is from Ruth.”
“Ruth sent me a letter!” I exclaimed. “That’s wonderful!” I took it from him. “Thanks so much for bringing it all this …” Then I had a terrible thought. What was in this letter that was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow? Had something happened to Ruth … or baby Alexandria? I knew that babies in Kenya sometimes did not survive—that was one of the reasons my father had paid to build the clinic.
“Is everybody—Ruth …. little Alexandria—is everybody okay?” I asked.
“I do not know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I am here and they are in Africa,” he answered. “When I left they were both well … but now? I do not know.” He shrugged. “I have no gift of far-sight.”
From almost anybody else that comment would have seemed strange, sarcastic, or even psychotic. But Nebala was just saying what he meant.
“I’m glad they were fine when you saw them,” I said. “But what’s so important that you had to bring me the letter tonight?”
“A promise to Ruth and her father that I would give this letter to you at the time of our greetings.”
“And you forgot.”
He nodded and his eyes fell to the ground. He had forgotten and realized that he had broken his word. To a Maasai that was a terrible, terrible thing because their word was part of their honour, part of who they were. Breaking his word to Ruth was bad, but even worse, he had also given his word to her father—and he was a chief. I knew Nebala would feel awful, even ashamed. It wasn’t his fault. With all the travel and everything new and different, he must have been exhausted, confused. It was easy to understand, but excuses like that wouldn’t make him feel any better.
“You know,” I said, “by bringing the letter to me now you have brought it to me on the day of our greetings, so really, you did keep your promise.”
He suddenly looked relieved.
I held out my hand. “Hello, Nebala. I offer you my greetings.”
He held out his hand and smiled. “And I offer my greetings to you,” he replied. “Thank you. Now I must go.”
“Sure. I’ll let you out.” I didn’t want him to set off the alarm system or we’d have my mother up, the security company scrambling, and a call from the police department at the very least. “I’ll turn off the alarm for the back door.”
“I will go through the window,” he said. He walked over.
“No, you don’t have to go that way. Let me get the—”
He put a foot up onto the ledge and then jumped out the window!
I sat there, too shocked to move, my mouth hanging open. I struggled to get out of bed, rushing for the window, and I crashed to the floor with a loud thud—my feet were tangled up in the sheets. I kicked them free and crawled and scrambled to the window, pulling myself up and steadying myself as I looked down to the ground. He wasn’t there.
I looked over. There he was in the tree, standing on one branch and holding the one above to steady himself.
“See? It’s possible,” he offered as a brief answer to my unspoken question.
“I can see that.” Although I still didn’t believe it. “Be careful, you could fall and get hurt.”
“I will not fall. I am Maas—”
“Even Maasai can fall, and unless you’re a bird you can’t fly. Be careful.”
He chuckled. “I will be careful. Good night, Alexandria.”
“Good night, Nebala.”
I watched in awe as he climbed down the tree, disappearing into the branches and foliage until I could make out only little glimpses of him. And then he just disappeared into the darkness. I thought I could hear him—faintly—and maybe I heard him drop to the ground, but I couldn’t be sure. I kept looking, waiting for him to set off one of the motion-sensor lights
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