have been any help at all.
Fresh water will mean so much to everybody. It will be the second miracle that our village has experienced. The first was the building of the clinic. We know how much your family has already done. That is the best news of this letter. The clinic is now finished, and as you can see in the picture, your namesake was the first person seen by the nurse.
I looked back at the picture. I’d been focusing so much on Ruth and Alexandria that I hadn’t even noticed where they were. Ruth was sitting on a wooden table—I guess the examination table—and Alexandria was on her lap. In the background was a woman wearing a white lab coat—she had to be the nurse.
Please write back and give the letter to Nebala to deliver. You are in my thoughts and in my prayers.
Love,
Ruth
I leaned the picture against the alarm clock on my night table. I really wasn’t sure what I could do to help Nebala, but I made a promise to myself then that whatever I could do I
would
do.
CHAPTER NINE
“I just don’t understand,” Olivia said. “If they want water, why don’t they just turn on the tap?”
I swerved the car slightly as I turned to face her.
“Don’t you remember anything I told you about my trip to Kenya?” I demanded.
“I remember things.”
“Do you remember that the Maasai all live in mud huts?”
“Of course. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
Sometimes I wasn’t sure about that.
“I just assumed,” Olivia said, “that the huts had running water.”
“They do have running water.”
She gave me a smug look.
“They have running water, if you consider that they have to
run
a mile or so to get it.”
I thought back to going with Ruth and the other girls to gather water. We walked for over a mile carrying empty water containers. Then some of the girls went down in a trough dug in the sandy bed of what was a river during the rainy season but was then all dried up. And down there—six feet below the surface—was a little puddle of muddy water. The containers were filled and hauled back up and then carried back to the huts, where that dirty water was used for cleaning and cooking and drinking. A shudder went up my spine thinking about it.
“That’s why they’re all such good runners,” I explained. “They walk or run everywhere. The Maasai say they can walk without stopping from sunrise to sunset.”
“Really?” Olivia asked.
“Don’t ever doubt it when a Maasai says he’s going to do something.”
“So you believe they can win the marathon?” she asked.
“Of course they can,” I replied. Actually, up until that moment I hadn’t even thought about it. “What I can’t believe is that they sold their cattle to get here.”
“We sold my horse,” she said.
“It isn’t the same thing!” I snapped. “Cattle are very important to them.”
“Blackie was very important to me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Apparently I don’t understand
anything,”
she said.
We drove along in silence, and I could sense her starting to pout in the seat next to me. Part of me wanted to just enjoy the silence, but she was my friend.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just a little bit thrown by them suddenly appearing. It’s my fault for not explaining things well enough. Would it be all right if I explained about the Maasai and cattle?”
“If you think I’m smart enough to understand”
“Don’t be like that, Oli,” I said, using her little-kid nickname. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.” A small lie.
She straightened up in her seat. “Please, I’d love to hear.”
“The Maasai don’t collect cars, or homes, or money. They collect cows. The man who has the most cows is the richest man in the village.”
“So cows are a status symbol, a way of keeping track of who’s winning,” she said. “And when they sold all their cows they became the poorest men in the village, right?”
“It’s even more than that. When they sold their cows it’s
Fresh water will mean so much to everybody. It will be the second miracle that our village has experienced. The first was the building of the clinic. We know how much your family has already done. That is the best news of this letter. The clinic is now finished, and as you can see in the picture, your namesake was the first person seen by the nurse.
I looked back at the picture. I’d been focusing so much on Ruth and Alexandria that I hadn’t even noticed where they were. Ruth was sitting on a wooden table—I guess the examination table—and Alexandria was on her lap. In the background was a woman wearing a white lab coat—she had to be the nurse.
Please write back and give the letter to Nebala to deliver. You are in my thoughts and in my prayers.
Love,
Ruth
I leaned the picture against the alarm clock on my night table. I really wasn’t sure what I could do to help Nebala, but I made a promise to myself then that whatever I could do I
would
do.
CHAPTER NINE
“I just don’t understand,” Olivia said. “If they want water, why don’t they just turn on the tap?”
I swerved the car slightly as I turned to face her.
“Don’t you remember anything I told you about my trip to Kenya?” I demanded.
“I remember things.”
“Do you remember that the Maasai all live in mud huts?”
“Of course. I’m not an idiot, you know.”
Sometimes I wasn’t sure about that.
“I just assumed,” Olivia said, “that the huts had running water.”
“They do have running water.”
She gave me a smug look.
“They have running water, if you consider that they have to
run
a mile or so to get it.”
I thought back to going with Ruth and the other girls to gather water. We walked for over a mile carrying empty water containers. Then some of the girls went down in a trough dug in the sandy bed of what was a river during the rainy season but was then all dried up. And down there—six feet below the surface—was a little puddle of muddy water. The containers were filled and hauled back up and then carried back to the huts, where that dirty water was used for cleaning and cooking and drinking. A shudder went up my spine thinking about it.
“That’s why they’re all such good runners,” I explained. “They walk or run everywhere. The Maasai say they can walk without stopping from sunrise to sunset.”
“Really?” Olivia asked.
“Don’t ever doubt it when a Maasai says he’s going to do something.”
“So you believe they can win the marathon?” she asked.
“Of course they can,” I replied. Actually, up until that moment I hadn’t even thought about it. “What I can’t believe is that they sold their cattle to get here.”
“We sold my horse,” she said.
“It isn’t the same thing!” I snapped. “Cattle are very important to them.”
“Blackie was very important to me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Apparently I don’t understand
anything,”
she said.
We drove along in silence, and I could sense her starting to pout in the seat next to me. Part of me wanted to just enjoy the silence, but she was my friend.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just a little bit thrown by them suddenly appearing. It’s my fault for not explaining things well enough. Would it be all right if I explained about the Maasai and cattle?”
“If you think I’m smart enough to understand”
“Don’t be like that, Oli,” I said, using her little-kid nickname. “You’re one of the smartest people I know.” A small lie.
She straightened up in her seat. “Please, I’d love to hear.”
“The Maasai don’t collect cars, or homes, or money. They collect cows. The man who has the most cows is the richest man in the village.”
“So cows are a status symbol, a way of keeping track of who’s winning,” she said. “And when they sold all their cows they became the poorest men in the village, right?”
“It’s even more than that. When they sold their cows it’s
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