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tied off the thin leather strand, and I threaded the beads.
    And I have to admit. I rather enjoyed it.
    As the morning wore on into the afternoon, the children came a little closer to me, but only for a second. I think they were seeing which of them was the bravest. I helped with the beading, I helped grinding grains on a flat rock with a worn stone, and I did everything the women did. They rarely spoke to me, yet I was comforted by their seeming acceptance of me.
    I watched out for Damu, catching sight of him every now and then. He was never far away, always by himself, never with the other Maasai men. While they were off tending cattle and goats, Damu did the work the women did, not the work of the men, and I couldn’t help wonder why.
    He’d been given the demoralising duty of babysitting the stupid white man, and Kijani spoke down to him. They treated him like an outcast. I assumed there was some cultural reason for this but didn’t dare ask.
    When the sun was low in the sky and my stomach was torturing me with pangs of hunger, Damu found me. “Come,” he said, nodding toward his hut.
    If I’d been excited by the prospect of dinner, I shouldn’t have been. Damu soon mixed together some of the porridge we’d had at breakfast, and handed me the bowl. But I was so hungry, I was appreciative for anything. “Thank you, Damu. I am very grateful.”
    I sat on the dirt floor where I’d slept the night before and ate my meal. Damu sat patiently and silent, waiting for me to finish. I handed him the empty bowl, graciously feeling the weight of food in my belly. As he prepared his own meal, I could see the small bowl container from which he scooped the white powdered grains was almost empty. “What do you call the food?” I asked him.
    He added water and stirred, then looked at the white goop in his bowl. “ Ugali . Ugali is thick. Uji is thin.” He showed me the different consistencies. Uji was just a runnier, milk-like consistency, so he added more flour to make it into ugali. Ugali looked like thick porridge or mashed potatoes. “Ugali eat at dinner. Uji drink at morning.”
    “Ugali, uji” I repeated, pronouncing it as he had. “Where do you get the grain from?”
    “Share. Everyone share.”
    Fair enough. The entire tribe rationed out equally. But something bothered me, though. “Am I eating your share?”
    Damu just continued to eat. “Responsibility to me.”
    Oh Jesus. I was costing him half his food. I smiled at him, hopeful the horrible way I felt didn’t show on my face. I was determined to search out more food tomorrow. I sat back, leaning against the wall, and watched the last slivers of colour fade from the sky. The food in my stomach and possibly jet lag insisted I lay down for a second. I pulled my backpack under my head and closed my eyes, willing the dreams to come as much as I wished they never would.
    The hardest thing about saying goodbye to someone was seeing them every night in my dreams.
    It was my most favourite, and equally dreaded, part of my day.
     

CHAPTER FOUR
     
     
    The next day started the same. We walked for water, which I determined was a job for female tribe members. The men and young boys herded their cattle and goats down into the valley, watching over them carefully. So why were Damu and myself allocated to duties with the women and girls, I didn’t have a clue. Not that I minded. Hearing the laughter and songs of the woman ahead of us, and the walk itself, were beautiful. And the river water was the closest thing to a bath or shower as I would get, so once Damu had collected his bucket full of water, I went downstream a little way, stripped off to my underwear and went in. I figured drinking the water yesterday hadn’t ill-affected me in anyway, so it had to be okay. I was sure to be quick though, not wanting to anger Kijani if we were late again.
    I didn’t think I’d broken any Maasai rules about stripping down and swimming in their river. Damu never insisted I