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me.”
    Mrs. Rasul’s eyes filled with tears. “Rasul likes you too.” She stroked Safiyah’s cheek. “You remind him…you remind us…” she stammered. She took a breath and smiled sadly at Safiyah. “His sister was your age when she died,” she said. “We all miss her.”
    Safiyah wanted to slap her hands against her ears. She didn’t want to hear anything more about people dying. About people losing their mothers or fathers. Or their little girls.
    She struggled to think of the right thing to say. But the words got all mixed up in a tangle of anger and sadness. Finally she asked quietly, “What was her name?”
    Mrs. Pakua blinked. A tear trickled down her cheek and dropped onto her bright kitenge. “Arafa. Her name was Arafa.” A smile quivered on her lips. “Do you know what that means?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œIt means intelligent . Arafa was a bright spark in our lives. She loved school.”
    She patted Safiyah’s knee. “As I am sure you will. One day.”
    Safiyah fingered the crumbs in Cucu’s mancala board. How could that ever happen? she wondered. “Rasul should be in school,” said Mrs. Pakua. “But life here in Kibera is hard for everyone, as you know. And much of what Rasul and his…gang…” Mrs. Pakua cleared her throat. “I don’t like to think of them like that. But that’s how everyone thinks of them. Rasul and his friends do many things that I might not approve of. But he takes care of his family.” Her voice was low and fierce. “We all need to take care of our families if we are to survive.”
    â€œLike my girl here.” Cucu was awake.
    Safiyah sat quietly as Mrs. Pakua helped Cucu sit up. There was so much to think about. Blade’s—Rasul’s—sister. Survival. Taking care of each other.
    â€œI am pleased to see you looking so much better,” Mrs. Pakua told Cucu.
    â€œI feel better,” said Cucu. “I think it is time I went home. Did you bring what I asked?” she asked Safiyah.
    As Safiyah held up the mancala board, crumbs trickled onto the blanket. She gathered them in her hand before Cucu saw her wasting food.
    â€œThis is one of the few things that we brought with us from our village,” Cucu told Mrs. Pakua. “Saffy. Hand me my stones.”
    Safiyah pulled them out from under the mattress, where she had tucked them days ago. The stones rattled as she emptied the bag onto the blankets.
    Mrs. Pakua picked one up. “So pretty.”
    â€œShall I play with you, Cucu?” asked Safiyah.
    â€œYou?” Her grandmother frowned at her. “It is a game for old ladies, you said. Boring.”
    â€œI changed my mind. I want you to teach me.”
    Cucu grinned as she found a flat place in the blankets to set her mancala board.
    Mrs. Pakua stood up. “I will leave you to your game. But first I want to speak with the doctor. Later, Rasul will bring you supper.”
    â€œSend the little boy too,” said Cucu. “I forget my troubles when he is around.”
    Safiyah watched Mrs. Pakua step between the patients and their families, who filled the ward. She held the mancala stones in her hand, ready to play a game that her mother and grandmother had shared in a village that seemed farther and farther away every day.

Chapter Fifteen
    By the time Cucu was ready to leave the clinic, her cough had almost gone. The shadows around her eyes were not so deep and her skin was cool and dry.
    The clamor of the ward was familiar to Safiyah now. She liked the strange smells, the quiet voices in the night, and the constant flow of people in and out. She was also glad to be going home again, to the scent of supper fires along the alley, the neighbors’ loud laughter and the rattle of kettles at the tea shop.
    Safiyah helped Cucu straighten her dress. She pinned her grandmother’s little package of pills inside