Storm, page 22
“Mmm. Forever is a mighty long time when you do not know what you are doing. Perhaps I can help you?”
I scoff. “How?”
She passes me a plate of roasted goat and steamed greens, along with a slice of the ugali.
“Here, in this village, I am a healer. I fix broken bones and broken souls.” She meets my eye. “I see a lot of pain in you. And though I may not have a cure, perhaps there is another way to overcome your ailment. By learning how to control it.”
“Tuh. You sound like…Never mind.” I poke around at my food, staring into the fire, wondering what T’Challa is doing at this very moment. Did he already make camp? Did he leave Nairobi and head back to Wakanda?
I take a nibbling bite of the ugali. The grainy texture melts on my tongue, immediately bringing me back to my mother’s kitchen.
“I’ve…I’ve had this before,” I utter in pure shock. It’s the snowball—the one my mother used to make us for dinner!
Ainet nods. “Of course you have, child. Ugali is quite common in all Kenyan kitchens.”
My breath hitches. Energy springs new life into my veins as I dig in. I savor each bite, overwhelmed with thoughts of my parents. It feels like they are with me again, laughing at our small table by the kitchen window, overlooking the city, the fire like the warmth of the too-hot oven. I close my eyes and relish the memories I tucked away long ago.
I notice the awkward silence and realize Ainet is watching me daydream. Heat rises to my cheeks, and I clear my throat. “Um, sorry. It has been so long.”
She nods. “So. Do you accept my offer to help?”
I laugh harshly. “Thanks, but there really is no hope for me. And I don’t want to hurt anyone. Again. I’ll just leave in the morning.”
Ainet stares at me, her body still, face expressionless. “Hmm. Where will you go?”
“I…don’t know yet.” I shrug, and something about her makes me feel like I have nothing to hide. There’s nowhere left for me to run. “I have nowhere to go, really.”
The enormity of the statement suddenly hits me. I haven’t felt this alone since…since my parents died. I glance down at my empty plate, hot tears threatening to bubble over.
“And what will you do when you get to ‘I don’t know’?”
I sniff. “I don’t know.”
“Hmm. Seems to me like you have more don’t-knows than knows. Running from your own shadow rather than learning how to live with it.”
I sigh, turning to face her. “Ainet, I did something…really terrible. I tried to give people water, and I lost control. People got…hurt. I ruined everything.”
She frowns. “Give them water by…”
I gulp, gazing at my worn-down shoes. “By making it rain.”
Ainet stares at me, then nods. “Hmm. Very interesting indeed.”
I squirm under her silent judgment. I don’t need some strange woman in the desert telling me what I already know—that I’m a bad person, a freak, a monster.
My chest tightens as images of racing waters, screaming people, shacks toppled by swelling waves, flood my mind. I did that to them. No one else.
“It’s…complicated,” I say, my voice hoarse. “Anyway, I’ll be gone in the morning, so you won’t have to worry.”
Ainet sets down her bowl and begins clearing our plates. “Do you know about the natural order of nature?”
I shake my head.
“Everything has a reason and a purpose, even the droughts,” she says, waving her hand as she speaks. “It is very much a circle of life. When one thing disrupts that circle, there are consequences. You interrupted Mother Nature’s plans, and she responded accordingly.”
“But…I was just trying to help,” I say, my voice cracking.
“Yes. And it was a kind thing you attempted to do, but it was not fully thought through. Mistakes are mistakes, flickers in the past. Nothing you can do to change them.” She hums thoughtfully. “But a mistake made twice is a decision. And this is how, perhaps, I can help you…. Understand the natural order so that you can better understand your capabilities and never make the same mistake twice. You’ll learn to instead control it.”
“Control it?” I shake my head. “There’s no controlling this. I’ve tried.”
She gives me a pointed glare. “Have you truly tried? What do they say, ‘practice makes perfect’? Yes? You just discovered this; it is still fresh. You could not have possibly given yourself room to try and try again when you don’t even know what you’re dealing with.”
I start to counter but then think of T’Challa, training every morning for a challenge that is a year away. And he’s doing it for Wakanda, the country he loves and knows. I only tried once or twice to make rain, and only just learned what my mother’s snowball is called.
This entire journey I’ve been ignoring my power, running from it, trying to free myself from it. But what if learning where it came from—where I came from—helps me figure out what it is and how to control it? Would it hurt to really try?
Ainet reads my silence, then reaches out and holds my bouncing knee. “Will you trust me to let me teach you what I know?”
I swallow, thinking again of Caribou, the children’s screams haunting me. “But…what if I hurt someone?” I whisper.
She regards me with a laugh on her lips. “You let me worry about that.”
I glance around the dark village, then off into the distance. Nothing. There’s no pull of any kind. No dreams. For the first time since the sandstorm in Cairo, the call inside me is quiet. The rubber band is…not gone, exactly. But lying still. I didn’t think I would miss the feeling. Now I find myself frightened by its absence.
I have no money and nowhere to go. I really am out of options. And wherever we are, we’re a long way from the Shadow King’s watchful eye. At least I think we are. Maybe I can stay and hide. What do I have left to lose?
“Okay. I will trust you. But only if you teach me how to make this ugali.”
* * *
“Wake up, child.”
I blink awake. For the past three days, Ainet has fed me healing goat broths and bitter tea, letting me rest to regain my strength. But today is the first day of my training, and I’m to wake up with the rest of the village.
All night, I could barely sleep, wondering how she will pull this off. Unless she has powers or magic that I don’t know about, how is she going to relate? How can she even understand?
Ainet stands over me, the sky behind her an ombré blue, stars still twinkling. “Is the bed not suitable for you?”
I rise to my feet, kicking my makeshift bed of hay, and stretch. “I like sleeping outside.”
“Hmm. Come,” she says, offering me a cup of tea, and I follow her. Ainet stands in front of her home, closes her eyes, and inhales deeply. “Breathe. Like me.”
I watch her chest rise and fall, then follow.
“Every morning, we breathe in the air and thank the Gods for another day. Every bit of air that enters our lungs connects our bodies with nature so that we may be its servant. You try.”
I breathe in deep, my lungs struggling, feeling the tingling pull of the rubber band ever so slightly, wrapped around every organ, squeezing tight. I let out a gasp.
“You will do this every morning. Before every chore, we breathe. Before every meal, we breathe. Breath is the key to life.” She glances at me and smiles. “Come. Let us walk.”
She walks toward the village, and I scurry after her. We stroll toward the center, the villagers slowly rising, men heading out to the field where the livestock is gated off. I can smell tea brewing in every home.
“Our people have been in this village for many years,” Ainet says, nodding. “We live in harmony with the land and the animals. Everyone here is a warrior. We back away from nothing. You are now a part of that.”
Outside a larger hut, a little boy sits, staring at my hair. A woman, I assume his mother, quickly grabs and yanks him inside.
I push a strand of hair behind my ear. I should be used to the gawking, but it still unnerves me.
“Everyone earns their way around here,” Ainet continues.
“I definitely know how to do that,” I reply. “That way of life is nothing new to me.”
“Hm.” Her grunts are often loaded with judgment that I can’t yet make sense of.
We reach the fence, where a tall, brown-skinned man is clicking his tongue at a few of the cows. Ainet waves him over.
“This is Mukami. He will teach you how to care for the cattle.”
He nods at me with a gummy smile. “Nice to meet you.”
I raise an eyebrow at Ainet.
“I taught him some English,” she says with a smirk. “Go now, lunch will be ready at noon.”
Mukami gives me the rundown: Each morning, the cows are milked before they are herded with the goats for grazing, and their stables are cleaned and prepped. Then the cattle are slaughtered for food or milked again before they are put away for the evening, sheltered at the center of the village so they are protected from lions and other predators. He seems hesitant with me at first, but I assure him that hard work doesn’t bother me.
As I clean the stable, I watch the village come to life—women working on their homes, cleaning, cooking, fetching firewood and water. I’m just about finished shoveling all the poop into the corner when Mukami leads a giant brown and white cow in my direction.
“This is Kioko,” Mukami says, patting her side. “She is the most prized here.”
Kioko whips her tail around with a grunt. Mukami hands me a metal bucket and ushers me toward the cow.
“Oh. You want me to milk her?”
He nods.
I’ve never milked a cow or handled any animals on my own in my entire life. But it can’t be that complicated.
I approach Kioko from the side and stoop to my knees, reaching for her udders. Kioko shifts away.
“Uh, huh?”
I look to Mukami, who only stands by with a knowing smile.
Okay, let’s try that again.
I reach for Kioko, and she stomps away. I step toward her again, and still she runs away. Soon I’m practically chasing her around the fence. She’s rather quick for something so big.
The next day is more of the same. Kioko just about does everything but spit in my face as she avoids my grasp. I spot Mukami and the others laughing at me.
The following day, Kioko gives me a dry look before swinging around, bumping me with her backside, causing me to fall into a pile of cow dung.
But today I’ve had enough. I’m going to milk that damn cow or make steaks out of her.
As the villagers prep to take the cattle out for the day, I corner Kioko, cutting her off from the others, using two long sticks to block her path. Kioko spins around and cries out before charging full speed to shove by me, and I hit the fence.
“Ugh! Would you just hold still!” I scream.
A tingle zips up my arms, and I drop the sticks to quickly ball my hands into fists.
Oh no.
But it’s no use. A crackling light slips out of my fingers, and I hold my hands toward the ground, sizzling with a loud pop.
The cows scream and break out of the fence, creating a small stampede toward the fields. Shouts ring out; the villagers scatter to capture and herd the animals back home.
All except for Kioko, who only stares at me, unblinking.
“Ah, I see you’ve finally met your match.”
I turn to find Ainet, watching on from the fence, a laugh on her lips. “You cross the savanna, only to be defeated by an old cow. Very interesting.”
The rest of the village women stand in horror, murmuring frantic whispers.
I sigh. “I am sorry I scared everyone.”
Ainet regards me with pursed lips. “Breathe. Now.”
I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the stench of cow dung.
“Your frustration turns into a weapon when you are not in control of your emotions,” Ainet notes.
“It’s just…this cow is stubborn. Animals usually love me.”
“Hmm. What is it that you need?”
I give her a pointed look. “Milk, of course. Unless she has some money I don’t know about.”
She chuckles. “Well. Did you ask her?”
“Ask her?”
Her smile grows. “Yes. Did you ask her, or did you just expect her to read your mind?”
“She doesn’t understand English,” I counter.
“Respect is a universal language.” She motions toward Kioko. “Cattle will respect what you command if it has direction. Ask and you shall receive. You can’t always take what you want in this world and expect nature to respect you. Respect is given as it is earned. It makes me wonder how much respect in your life was not properly given.”
I think of Moche and the boys. No matter what I did or how much I proved myself, I was always just going to be a little American girl.
Cheeks burning, I turn back to Kioko, who begins backpedaling, as if she knows I am coming for her. I creep closer, gently rubbing her side.
“We need milk. Please,” I whisper softly.
Kioko shakes her head, as if clearing out her ears.
“Milk,” I say again.
Kioko snorts.
Milk. Please.
Kioko rears around and headbutts my arm. But then she stands perfectly still, as if waiting for me. I’m so shocked that I almost forget what I’m supposed to do.
I fall on my knees, place the bucket under her, and squeeze her udder. Milk splashes into the bucket with a ping.
“Ha! Yes! I did it!”
Gushing with pride, I look over to Ainet, who only nods and heads back to her hut.
SEVENTEEN
After a week, I’ve just about mastered asking Kioko for everything but the meaning of life. Meanwhile, I’ve learned nothing more about my powers, not to mention controlling them. I want to believe there is some method to Ainet’s madness, but I haven’t seen much proof.
Ainet is stirring a pot of rice for lunch when I ask, “Um, Ainet. When are you going to start helping me figure out how to use my powers?”
She hums, adding a few mystery seasonings to the rice. “Hmm. We need more water.”
“Ainet, really?” I balk. Why isn’t she taking this seriously?
She strolls outside, and I follow.
She picks up a wooden bucket with a rope handle. “You do not believe I am training you now?”
“I don’t see how.”
“Hmm. Close your eyes. You see too much.”
I sigh and do what I am told. Ainet shuffles forward and ties a piece of fabric over my eyes, blindfolding me.
“There. Now walk. And fetch us some water.”
She shoves the bucket into my stomach and I grip the handle.
“What? But I don’t know where I’m going. I’ve only been once.”
“You will figure it out.”
“How? What if I get lost?”
“You must learn to stop seeing with your eyes and start seeing with your soul. You and Mother Nature are very connected. If you listen to her, maybe she will start listening to you.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“You will, once you start walking. And don’t forget to breathe.”
I breathe in deep and start walking the way I remember, hands outstretched in front of me. I walk slowly, feeling my way one step at a time, until I can no longer hear the village. Quickly, I go to take the blindfold off and then I stop myself.
What if Ainet’s watching?
I think of the day in the bar with the professor and shake the thought away. I take another deep breath and keep moving, stumbling over a rock. And more rocks. And plants. After another tumble, I stop to stand still, my lips aching for water. Yet I have no idea if I’m closer to or farther from the river.
How the hell am I supposed to find water like this? I’ll be out here for hours, maybe days. That’s if a leopard doesn’t find and eat me first.
See with your soul.
“Okay, okay, okay. Listen. Must listen,” I remind myself. Soul is internal. I must go inside myself.
With another deep breath, I take stock of my emotions. Past the panic, frustration, and confusion, I catch the faint pull of something tugging at my chest. The familiar feeling cools my skin. Much like water.
If you listen to her, maybe she will start listening to you.
“Um…water,” I say aloud, feeling insane.
A breeze slips through my hair, and I turn to the right to face it, letting it kiss my cheeks. I lean forward as my legs start walking. The breeze doesn’t leave me as I trek farther, farther out. It pulls and swirls around me.
I let out a gasp and walk faster, catching the familiar scent first, and then I hear it—trickling splashes over rocks.
I stop short, ripping off my blindfold, gazing at the river in awe.
* * *
Ainet sends me to fetch water every day, blindfolded. Sometimes she asks me to look for certain herbs and plants along the way. As a test, I turn myself around at times, heading in the wrong direction. But I always find my way to the river, then back to the village before sundown.
Despite all my attempts to pull my weight and prove myself, the villagers still look at me as if I have twelve heads, mumbling in Swahili with wary eyes, keeping their children far away from me. I can’t blame them. But the loneliness, the isolation, feeling so…unwanted is starting to weigh on me. The stares make my skin crawl.
A solution comes to me on my walk back from the river one day—maybe if I look more like them, I’ll be easier to digest.
I walk inside Ainet’s hut and begin searching through her few belongings.
“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks, amused.
