set the tray of food on the mat. Leda watched the boys first this time. She washed her hands, then took her loaf of bread and a cup of tea. When she took her first sip, her eyes widened in reaction.
“It’s spicy!” she said and licked her lips like a kitten. “And sweet,” she said to herself, then poked Ntimi until he giggled.
“Spicy. Sweet,” Ntimi echoed and everyone dug in much like Leda, absorbed in the happiness of a shared meal.
Ita watched his little family take in this strange new addition, like they did with each new orphan. A warmth spread through his stomach, like the fullness of a big meal. It must have been the tea, he reasoned.
* * *
Once the boys were off to school, Ita and Leda helped Mary with the dishes and straightening. Leda seemed a bit deflated with most of the children gone. Maybe she didn’t feel useful enough. She bounced Walter on her hip, which he loved, though he shouldn’t get used to it, Ita thought.
Ita pictured the paperwork waiting in his office, but he surprised himself by turning to Leda and saying, “Would you like to go exploring with me?”
She hesitated, these little pauses already becoming familiar, and Ita wondered if it was the image of the slum or the thought of time alone with him that caused that little furrow in her brow.
“I have things to buy,” he added, suspecting she would prefer it presented professionally. He was right.
“Oh, okay, sure, let’s go. I’ll just change my shoes. One second.”
She crossed to the secret room. While the boys had gotten dressed, she’d changed into brown pants and a blue T-shirt. Ita wondered if blue was her favorite color. This was something he did with the orphans as they arrived—try to identify their preferences. Jomo always took the blue cup if it was available and had selected blue sandals for school.
* * *
Ita didn’t have a plan for their tour, and this was very strange for him. He preferred to have a plan for everything, a trait that Chege had teased him about since they were small. For the Kibera laughed at nothing more than plans. But it was what had made the orphanage possible. Ita’s business plan had found them sponsors and the space they now inhabited. And planning was what made him a successful safari guide, standing out among the many, Ita believed. He knew how to craft the perfect trip, down to the type of salad and sandwiches he served for lunch and dinner. Everything was meticulously scheduled, so that it looked effortless for his customers.
What about today’s schedule, then? His plan had been to let Mary show Leda the housework she would do around the orphanage while the children were at school and Ita worked in his office. Fetching water, washing, cooking—he’d told Mary that American women didn’t know how to do these things without machines. They’d joked about the idea of a dishwasher. How funny. Imagine having enough electricity to power a machine to wash the dishes.
But here he was, walking the volunteer out the front gate, watching the mix of emotions dance on her face. How was he to know that the volunteer would be beautiful and shiny and completely captivating? The kind of woman who makes paperwork—something he enjoyed, the figures lined up neatly—suddenly boring.
So Ita led the way around the corner, past the beauty shop and the barbershop next to it. The sun struck them between the maze of rooftops, flickering over their skin through the haze of dust. Ita noticed a spring in his step that he loved to see in the children. Not that he remembered ever being a child like that himself. Chege had always said Ita walked as though he had a rhino on his back.
First stop, he needed to charge his cell phone. Leda had asked him questions about his phone yesterday. She seemed surprised that he had one. But how would he run a business without it? From Leda’s descriptions, it sounded as though most businessmen in America had computers. She asked if they had one, making Ita laugh. If anyone knew he had a laptop in the orphanage, he’d have to hire a security guard to live with them. No, Ita explained. He had to pay to use the internet in Nairobi, when he went to check his post office box for the orphanage. When he told her that, he thought of the shillings that had added up in the minutes he’d spent staring at her emails and résumé.
“What’s up, brother?” the charging-station man asked. Ita handed him his phone and saw the man look Leda over, alternately like a skewer of meat and a purple elephant.
Leda noticed. She smiled at the man, at the same time averting her eyes and backing away.
Ita handed over the money and rushed back to his charge.
“So,” he said, hoping to soothe her. “What do you plan to teach the children while you are here? Improve their English?”
Leda’s face lit up instantly, like the first rays of sun that woke Ita up every morning. “I was thinking about it last night.”
He couldn’t help but picture her curled up on the table in her blue pajamas, modest enough to hide her body, but thin enough to fuel his fantasy of undergarments.
“I would definitely love to teach them, and read to them, and I’ve brought several cameras, but—” Leda’s voice grew shyer suddenly. “I wanted to see what you thought about the boys’ room. What would you think of building them bunk beds?” She made a gesture with her hand like a shelf.
Ita was caught off guard. There were many things the boys needed before wooden beds, but the thought was touching, and the boys would feel like city princes. And did she mean they would build them together? Ita liked the idea of them working side by side.
“Is that silly?” she asked. “I’m sure there are other things they need first—”
He laughed. “They will love bunk beds. You know how to build them?” He hoped he did not sound discouraging. He was just trying to picture her wielding a hammer.
Now it was Leda’s turn to laugh. “I have a house in the mountains. I’ve discovered that I like building things. Flower boxes and a doghouse.”
“You have a dog?”
“Amadeus,” Leda said, and now Ita knew a way to win a smile from her.
“Mozart. Eine kleine Nachtmusik, the boys like. For me, Requiem—breaks my heart.”
She gasped. But when she smiled, Ita knew she must love the music as much as he did.
“Okay, bunk beds,” he said. “We will need wood and nails.”
She looked down but her voice was even when she spoke. “I would like to donate all the supplies, please.”
A feeling welled up in him that was hard to place—gratitude, excitement, giddiness at the rare taste of money—
“Do the boys like to paint?” she asked.
Surprised again. “Like on paper?”
She smiled. “The walls! We could all paint the orphanage walls together. Would they like to decorate their home? Maybe elephants and birds, rhinos, all the animals from your safari trips.”
The boys had never been on safari. But he was sure they would love painting animals on the walls. Ita liked to draw, too, though how long had it been since he had done it? “They would like that.” A lump rose in his throat and he turned away. He was moved, imagining Leda lying in bed, dreaming up these plans. “Should we get the supplies today? Wood and nails. And paint. We will have to get someone to help us carry them back.”
* * *
The day stretched on that happy way, now that they had a united mission. They found the paintbrushes first, but had to go elsewhere for the paint. They laughed as they discussed their plans, designating zebras their place by the kitchen and monkeys in the bathroom.
On their way to get the wood, Ita couldn’t help himself from tossing questions at her like chicken feed. He wanted to know everything at once. But she didn’t answer. Before his eyes, she caught herself, breathed in and said coyly, “You first,” with a little