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can’t get along anymore, when they fight too much, they decide to live in different houses. My father lives in a different house.”
    Nebala nodded his head and then explained things to the other two. They became involved in an excited discussion, with Koyati being the most vocal.
    Nebala turned to us. “Koyati said that if your mother would like it, he would take her as a wife.”
    My mother giggled. “Thank him so much for his offer, but I think I’ve had enough of men for now.”
    Nebala nodded and then translated, and they talked some more.
    He turned to us again. “He said he understands, but there is always room if you change your mind. He said that you would like his other wives.”
    “His
wives?
How many wives does he have?” my mother questioned.
    “Only two. You would be his third.”
    “Is it okay in your tribe to have a lot of wives?” I asked.
    “My father has seven,” Nebala said.
    “Seven! That’s unbelievable.”
    “He told me that seven is too many,” Nebala said. “I think that’s why he spends so much time with his cattle, to get some quiet.”
    I couldn’t help laughing. That was why my father had spent so much time in his office. Apparently, some things didn’t change from one culture to another.
    “Alexandria tells me you’re here in Los Angeles to run in the Beverly Hills Marathon,” my mother said.
    Nebala shook his head. “We did not come to run.”
    I was startled. “But … but … you told me that’s why you came—to run in the marathon.”
    “Yes, but we did not come just to run. We came to win.”
    “Winning isn’t everything,” my mother said.
    Now it was Nebala’s turn to look confused. My mother obviously didn’t understand the Maasai. Losing was a concept they did not take lightly.
    “Oh, my heavens!” my mother gasped.
    I turned around. Samuel and Koyati were squatting down on the deck and, with cupped hands, were drinking from the swimming pool.
    “I can get them some water if they want!” my mother exclaimed.
    “Is that water not for drinking? Is it for your animals?” Nebala asked.
    “No, of course not!” my mother exclaimed. “That’s our pool … for swimming. That’s pool water. I can get them bottled water, sparkling, if they want something to drink.”
    Nebala nodded his head. “Yes, water would be good.”
    “Where are my manners?” my mother said. “Let me offer you all something to eat. There’s a recipe I’ve been dying to try out.”
    “You’re going to cook?” I gasped. I didn’t know if I was more shocked or scared.
    She laughed. “Of course not. It’s a recipe I want Carmella to make.”
    That certainly made more sense.
    “After such a long trip, you three must be famished,” my mother said.
    “What is ‘famished’?” Nebala asked. “What does that mean?”
    “Hungry,” I explained.
    “Yes. Hungry, yes.”
    “Did you have a meal on the plane?” my mother asked.
    “No. Not on the plane. We ate before we got on the plane.”
    “You haven’t eaten since New York?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “Kenya. We ate in Nairobi before we got on the plane.”
    “But … but … that was yesterday.”
    “No. Two days ago.”
    “You haven’t eaten in two days?” I was shocked.
    He shrugged. “Two days is not long.”
    That might explain why they were drinking from the pool.
    “We’ll get you something to drink and eat immediately,” my mother said. “You must be starving!”
    “It would take many more than two days to starve,” he said. “Much longer.”
    I knew that wasn’t an innocent statement. Where he came from, “starving to death” wasn’t just an expression; it was something that could really happen.
    “All of you come to the house right now, and while supper is being prepared we’ll serve some appetizers,” my mother said. “And of course, water.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I motioned for the Maasai to sit down. They all seemed very unsure about what I was asking.
    “Please,” I said. I pulled