I May Not Say the Words as Such, but I'm Yours

The blinding rays of the sun radiated into the earthen ground and bounced off asphalt. Each released the extreme heat upon the innocent people of Kenya.

If the heat wasn’t enough, humid air clung on tightly. Slithering through throngs in seconds, it left high levels of perspiration in its wake. Doing the job it had been tasked with, the humidity twirled around my thighs slowly working up to my neck. My pores cleansed themselves and I breathed in deeply, exploring this new feeling inside of me.

It seemed as if I had been carrying one hundred pounds in a knapsack and it diminished to seventy-five pounds. No one here knew who I was. I would be able to go off in a different direction in which my career would not involve law enforcement. Africans would never find out about my past. The thought lifted another fifty pounds off my shoulders. It would be highly improbable that the people native to this country got news of the outside world. If the issue were to arise, I’d simply move to s remote town in a remote location. Another ten pounds disappeared. The only problem was…what would I do to bring in money?

I quickly stopped my train of thought. I had just gotten here and after a nine hour flight, I was not about to begin stressing about the future. There would be plenty of time for that, I thought smugly, because I just knew that a certain friend of mine back in Gotham would not be successful in locating me for awhile.

. . . . . . .

“Venir ici pour acheter délicieux poulets,” a man exclaimed from a street vendor.

«فاكهة! هنا لشراء فاكهة,» another yelled from across the street.

After exiting the twelve seater air plane I had traveled on. I took it upon myself to explore the environment I had chosen as my new residence. Currently walking through the downtown open-air market, I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Men and women threw silken garments, woven baskets, guavas, and meats, covering the path my eyes were trained on.

The worst part about my ordeal was that I didn’t understand a single word each person said! Some spoke French, others clicked while they bellowed out their dialect.

Claustrophobia took hold of my mind, focusing on the individuals closing in around me. Fearing what would happen if my feet did not move, I pushed through the crowd and yelled helplessly, “Does anyone speak English?!”

In my panic, I looked around frantically for anything I could recognize, anything that reminded me of home. I stumbled and fell. Crumpled in the dirt, I started to regret my split second decision. Maybe I’d be able to go ba-. No, I can’t go back, I argued with myself.

People passed by oblivious to my internal conflicts. They only saw a girl laying down staring in ahead of herself.

After a few moments, I finally took notice in what was before me. A man with skin dark as night sat on a stool at somewhat of a station. His white hair off-set the darkness of his body and I watched him closely.

He began adding ingredients of powder, leaves, and seeds into a bowl. After throwing in the last pieces to the puzzle, the man crushed his concoction together and then added the paste to hot water.

Bewildered, I gingerly stood up. Ancient wounds of the past ached in protest. Curiosity spread throughout mulling the cries of pain. I walked over observing the bubbling potion. Maybe this man was a witch doctor. The crinkles around his eyes from laughter countered my thoughts. He seemed like a nice man. I tried to retrieve any memories of witch doctors, but the only thing that came to mind was an old Scooby-Doo episode. Intuition spoke softly into my ear, urging my body to move forward.

The man grabbed the mug. He handed it a naive woman whose abdomen was bulging slightly. She was pregnant. The woman lifted the cup to her lips. “No! Don’t drink that!” I shrieked running over to the tent.

“Why shouldn’t she? I am a doctor,” the man replied in perfect English.

“What kind of doctor?” I asked skeptically.

“A healer. I use natural herbs and remedies,” he answered, nodding to the woman. She drank the medicine.
“Can you explain to me what you do? In greater detail of course-“

“Joseph, my name is Joseph. And you are?”

“Sara,” I replied with a warm smile. Joseph returned my smile with a wide grin of his own. He grabbed one of my hands carefully, “Child, you have been through much. I can see it in your eyes. If there is anything you need, please do come talk to me.”

I tried to smile this time, but I couldn’t help but think of Alfred as Josephs’ courteous and wise words were spoken.

I knew Joseph felt my sadness for he began to speak again, “Ah yes, you wanted to know of what I do. My remedies are not for wounds only. They also involve the mind and spirit. The woman that was here before, she wanted to give birth to a healthy child. After examining both the mother and unborn child, I created a tea from sage and banana leaves to relax her mind. There is nothing worse for the baby than a stressful environment, that makes it want to leave a lot sooner than it had planned for,” he spoke on, glancing into my eyes as he finished the last sentence.

I straightened up, squirming under his watchful stare. I wasn’t a believer in fate, but something prophetic happened to lead me to a man who spoke English and reminded me so much of Alfred. I knew this was Gods’ way of telling me, this is what you were meant to do here. So, when the words left their cell, I did not regret them one bit.

“Can you teach me your ways Joseph?” I asked, preparing myself for the adventure that lay ahead.