Chapter 2
"So, you want, uh, two plates of mshikaki and two mahindi chomas?" the waiter asked, jotting everything down on his little notebook. I cracked a tiny smile at his accent.
"Yeah thats all. Could I get it for takeaway?"
"Sure. We will have it ready soon."
"Asante Sana!"
The waiter smiled and walked away. I took a seat at one of the empty tables and took in the sight before me. I was in a small BBQ restaurant across the road from the hotel. The place was small, with several tables scattered around. It was like any other regular restaurant except the kitchen was an open one and we could see the chefs prepare the meat. I watched, completely enthralled, as the flames from the grill danced around the tender meat. Skewers of chicken and corn were laid on the grill atop the charcoal filled jiko. The magnificent aroma of the meat wafted through the air and I couldn't help but grin. This was the first time in a while where I had gotten so excited about food.
Another ten or so minutes passed before the waiter came back with two plastic bags filled with small white containers. I happily paid him the 5,000-shilling bill and ran to our hotel room where I knew Isaac was waiting. I was close to the hotel when I accidently bumped into someone. Stumbling, I turned to the person I had bumped. She was a short girl, a few inches shorter than me, with a dark hijab wrapped around her head.
"I'm so sorry," I said in broken Swahili as I looked her over to see if she was okay. When my eyes landed on her face, I felt a sudden sense of familiarity.
"That's okay. I'm sorry for bumping you," the woman said softly before scurrying away. I frowned. She had looked so familiar. I felt as though I knew her. Which was impossible because I had no other family besides Asha and Aunt Fatima. I shook my head and continued running to the hotel. My mind had probably gone into 'find Asha in everyone' mode.
Skipping into the elevator, I had a sudden hopeful thought. Maybe this experience wouldn't be so bad. I mean, I was going to find my sister and I could somehow reconnect with my culture and background. It would be a great experience. I could even brush up on my Swahili. I was nowhere near as good as Isaac or the locals.
Stepping off the elevator, I walked to my room and unlocked the door. It was a simple suite with a beige interior. In fact, everything was beige, even the small tea cups on the bench were beige. I carefully placed the bags on the counter and slowly walked to the bedroom. The door to the bathroom was cracked slightly and the light was on. Isaac was probably in there. I put a hand to the door and was about to push it open and call out his name when I stopped. He was talking...to himself? Or to someone else?
"Don't worry about it, aunty."
Aunty? Was he talking to someone on his phone? Angling my ear closer to the crack, I tried to hear as much as possible.
"Yeah, she has no idea I know where she is."
She? Two she's. Who were the she's.
"Of course, she doesn't suspect it was you. I doubt Elle has said anything. Besides, you're the last person she'd ever suspect."
Why was he talking about Elle?
Pushing the cracked door open I called out, "Isaac?"
A minute passed, where I could hear some whispering and a toilet flush before Isaac came out. His tall frame was only slightly shorter than the ceiling.
"Zoya, when did you get back?" He asked.
I narrowed my eyes, "A couple of minutes ago. Who were you talking to?"
Isaac shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the counter. "No one. Did you get the food?"
My eyes lit up. "Yeah. And it smells amazing. The restaurant was so cute, you should've come with me."
Isaac gave me a tight smile and sat down on a stool in front of the counter, opening the containers. The room was instantly filled with the smell of smoked meat and I couldn't help salivating. I watched Isaac take a mshkaki skewer and bite into one of the pieces of tender meat. He chewed and swallowed then turned to face me and smiled, his eyes wide with wonder.
"These are amazing! They're definitely better than mum's, that's for sure. Let's just hope they work with my stomach." Isaac said, taking another bite from his skewer.
I nodded and dipped my own skewer into the little pot of sauce the waiter had provided. The mshikaki was delicious, juicy and slightly spicy. Perfect. The taste was extraordinary. We spent the next few minutes in silence, just enjoying the flavours exploding in our mouths.
"It's been a while since we ate such amazing food," Isaac said between chewing.
I kept my gaze focused on the food, "Yeah. We haven't had a proper meal in a long time."
With both of us working, Isaac and I rarely enjoyed freshly cooked meals. Even during the weekends, work would overtake everything.
"Do you remember trying that coconut water at Woolies?" I asked, leaning forward.
After we had gotten engaged, Isaac had wanted to show me just how good coconut water could be. The only problem was that he had tasted Kenya's water and not the one that sat on a shelf at Woolworths.
"Yeah, it was absolutely disgusting," Isaac chuckled, his soft laughter echoing in my ears.
"Do you think we could get some coconut water tomorrow? I really want to try some good water."
Isaac grinned at me. "There's so many street vendors. We can go as soon as were done checking out the orphanages."
"Right," I forced myself to swallow my food. "The orphanages."
Isaac and I had decided to go looking through orphanages first. Asha had been very young, so it was highly likely that she had wound up in an orphanage.
"We'll start with the closest one. And don't worry, we'll take it easy," Isaac mumbled, his mouth full.
"Yeah, easy."
***
The next day, Isaac and I spent the first half of the day going to the closest orphanages we could find. And the caretakers at each one gave us the negative when we asked about Asha Juma. They even had photos of some of the orphans and I couldn't see young Asha in any of them. Isaac had done a quick search online and found a small orphanage just on the edge of Nairobi city. I had suggested we check that place out. We also decided to take a matatu instead of a taxi to fully experience Kenyan life. The matatu was like a regular Toyota mini bus, except the exterior was completely repainted with beautiful wildlife. Isaac and I were sitting at the front, next to the driver. Two passengers were usually able to sit next to the driver so Isaac had chosen to sit in the middle while I got the window seat.
Looking outside the window, I took a deep breath. Nairobi was a mixture of modern and historical buildings. There would be a couple of intricately designed sky scrapers in one area and right next to them would be an old, almost rusty little building that sold shoes and toys. The streets were crowded and bustling with noise. Loud cars zipping down the roads and the sounds of people yelling could be heard. The atmosphere felt so lively. The air smelt of gas, it was heavily polluted. The atmosphere and environment definitely weren't something I was used to but I was enjoying it.
As the matatu kept going, I noticed that we had started getting further away from the city part of Nairobi. The buildings changed into small houses. The once smooth ride in the matatu turned into a very bumpy one as we moved onto dirt roads. I could feel the difference. The matatu abruptly stopped near a small coffee shop so Isaac and I got off. I waited as Isaac paid the fair and looked around. This was the closest orphanage towards the edge of Nairobi. The ones in the city were more put together. I took a quick sweep of the area, my eyes focusing on the rubbish littered around and the small children playing with the dirt. There was also a foul stench surrounding the small building.
"We've gotten all our shots, right?" Isaac asked, coming to stand beside me. I nodded. We had gotten all our shots and our yellow fever cards checked as well. From what I could see, there was a chance that we could contract diseases.
Grasping Isaac's hand, we started walking to the orphanage. Sister Mary's Orphanage was one of the smallest ones I had ever seen. The building had two floors and each floor was about the size of a 2-bedroom apartment. It was not a good fit for more than thirty children. Pushing the wooden door open, Isaac stepped in first then I followed.
The first thing that caught my attention were the fairly new small tables and chairs in one corner of the room. There were at least five kids sitting on the coloured chairs, chatting noisily and drawing away on papers. There was an older girl sitting with them. She looked about 16 or 17 and she was wearing a red dress with a matching hijab. I could see strands of her dark, curly hair poking out from the back of her head. The girl was intensely colouring on a piece of paper, almost as if she was getting rid of all her frustration on the poor paper. The side of her face I could see was beautiful. She had big eyes, a slanted nose and plump lips all settled perfectly on a smooth, chocolate coloured face. But when she turned around to look at the boy sitting beside her, I held in a gasp. The left side of her face was marred with an ugly scar that ran from the corner of her eye to her chin.
"Hello. Welcome to Sister Mary's Orphanage. Can I help you?" A woman asked.
I shifted my glance to the woman who had spoken. She was tall, thin and had a friendly smile on her face. I smiled back and extended my hand.
"Hello, my name's Zoya and this is my husband Isaac. We just had a few questions to ask you, if that was okay?"
She nodded, "Sure. I'm Sister Julie. Come this way."
Sister Julie guided us further into the building where we passed a medium sized kitchen, two other doors that probably led to more rooms and a dining area with a large wooden table and many chairs. There were another couple or so kids sitting with bowls of what looked like mashed rice. Sister Julie gestured for us to take a seat at the table.
"What are they eating?" Isaac asked in Swahili, a curious look on his face.
Sister Julie glanced at where Isaac was looking. "Oh, they're eating ugali."
I had never heard of ugali in my life. And apparently, neither had Isaac.
"So, what did you want to ask me?"
I cleared my throat, clasped my hands together and spoke, hoping she would understand the mixture of Swahili and English I was speaking.
"We were wondering if you knew someone by the name of Asha Juma? We asked around a few other orphanages, but they hadn't heard of her."
Sister Julie tilted her head and looked at Isaac and I closely. I started bouncing my leg. A nervous habit. My palms were getting sweaty.
"I have heard of her."
My heart almost stopped beating.
"Y-you have?" I stuttered.
"Yes. In fact, she'll be here in an hour."
I choked on air. Asha was alive. Asha was here. I was going to meet Asha. My older sister, the one I hadn't seen in almost twenty years. I wondered what she would look like, if she would look like me, and whether or not she would like me. I think my face had turned red and I probably looked like I had stopped breathing because the next thing I knew, Isaac was smacking my back and asking if I was okay.
"How do you know Asha?" Sister Julie asked suspiciously, looking between Isaac and I, with a raised eyebrow.
"I'm...uh...we're..." I couldn't answer her. How was I supposed to tell the woman who had taken care of Asha that I was her sister? I felt beyond ashamed.
I felt a rough hand grip mine. "We're her family," Isaac said, giving my hand a gently squeeze. I willed my nerves to calm down.
Swallowing and licking my lips, I gave him a tight-lipped smile with a nod. There was still so much I had to know before Asha came.
"Sister Julie," I started, my voice coming out as a croak. "How long have you known Asha?"
Sister Julie sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. "Hmm, I first met Asha when she was about 15? I don't really remember. But she said she had no parents and had been working as a labourer. The poor girl was famished and only wanted something to eat."
"I don't understand? What do you mean she was a labourer?"
"She was forced to work in a tobacco farm. When she came here, she said she had run away from the farm. I took her in."
Isaac leaned forward, "Then?"
"Then she's stayed with me ever since. There's a lot more the girl has been through, and with a young one with her, but I don't think it's my place to tell."
My mind was whirring with the information I had gotten. Asha had been a forced labourer. I had read about those. Children taken by force and given only a little food and shelter in return for all the labour they did. At that very moment, I didn't think I could face Asha. I had spent almost all my life in a decent home with no need of doing something I didn't want to just to survive. How was I supposed to show Asha my face.
"Well, why don't you wait here. Asha should be home soon." Sister Julie gave us a small smile and walked away.
Home. This orphanage had become Asha's home. How was I supposed to face Asha knowing that I had abandoned her? She had made a home in an orphanage. I hated myself for that. And I hated myself even more for not remembering how we were separated.
Isaac patted my hand. "Hey, it'll be alright. You'll be okay. I'm right here with you."
I nodded and tightened my hand around his.
Isaac continued. "She's been through a lot though. And I wonder what Sister Julie meant when she mentioned a young one?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Didn't you hear her? She said something about Asha having a young one now. Does that mean she has a child?"
My body trembled. A child. Asha had a child? But Sister Julie hadn't said anything about a husband. My heart began pounding. Asha had a baby and she probably didn't even want to see me. I really needed some more comforting.
I turned to my husband, calling his name, "Isaac."
"Yeah," he answered, giving me a gorgeous smile.
"I need a hug," I said. My voice shook, and I was sure my eyes were teary. Isaac gathered me into his arms and held me against his warm chest. I took a deep breath, held it for a count of three seconds and released it. Isaac gave the best hugs.
"I'm scared," I mumbled into his chest.
Isaac rubbed my back reassuringly. "Don't be, honey. I'm sure things will work out well."
I wanted to ask him about the phone call with the mysterious Aunty but I didn't think that was the right time to. I couldn't believe that we had found her so quickly. Maybe God was on our side and wanted us to meet. The next twenty minutes passed by without much happening. I stayed in Isaac's arms, a bit shamelessly, and waited for Asha to arrive. My heart hadn't stopped pounding when the sound of a throat clearing itself interrupted my little cocoon.
"Zoya, Isaac, this is Asha," Sister Julie said, pointing to a woman beside her.
My breath hitched as I took in the confused looking woman standing awkwardly beside Sister Julie. She was a short woman wearing a simple blue abaya with a red hijab. She was holding onto a few bags in one hand and had her other hand on a young girls shoulder. Her eyes were wide open as she looked at Isaac and I. She had light brown eyes, the colour of coffee with tons of milk. Like me. I wanted to hug her, talk to her for hours, never let her go again. I held in the huge sob that was threatening to come out. I could not believe that my sister, the one I had lost, was standing before me. And that I had seen her before.
"Hello, um we bumped into each other yesterday, right?" I asked in Swahili as a tear slipped from my watery eyes and I cracked a small and somewhat friendly smile.
"Sorry? No, I've never seen you," she said, her voice soft but firm.
I blinked. My eyes were playing tricks on me. I was unconsciously trying to look for Asha in ever face that I saw.
"What do you want with me?" she asked. I saw her tighten her grip on the young girl. Her light and confused expression had changed into a cautious one. I just hoped to God that she would still want to get to know me after I told her I was her sister.
"My name is Zoya," I said, nervously searching her face for any sign of recognition.
"Zoya?" Asha cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.
I nodded and swallowed hard, "I'm Zoya, your sister."
I watched in complete nervous anticipation as her eyes widened in wonder and in a split second, hardened. My heart dropped.
"I don't know any Zoya."