Alexandria of Africa (15 page)

“So you
knew
what you were saying.”

“Don’t look so shocked just because I picked up a few words.”

“That’s not the part that shocked me. It’s that I’ve never heard you be polite in
English
before, much less a foreign language.”

“Ha ha. Well, maybe I’m still waiting for you to do something that deserves thanks. Tell me, how thankful should a prisoner be to her keeper—no, that’s the wrong term—her
warden?”

“I’m not your keeper or your warden. This isn’t prison.”

“Club Med doesn’t usually involve guards, electric fences, locked gates, and forced labour.”

“I’m not sure if the work you did today could be called either ‘forced’ or ‘labour,’ “she said.

“I got that message.”

“Alexandria, it’s important that you know where you stand. What I’m going to put in the report for the judge.”

“You’re writing a report?” This was news to me.

“That’s the way it works. How else would he know if you passed or failed the diversion program? You do know that you can fail, right?”

“Now that sounds like a threat. Am I supposed to thank you for threatening me?”

“Maybe you are. At least I’m going to hold you accountable and make you do what you’re capable of doing instead of letting you flake out by playing the empty-headed, blond rich girl.”

“If that was an attempt at a compliment you’ve missed by quite a margin.”

“Not a compliment. A fact. There’s more going on up there than you’d have people believe.”

“You’re telling me I’m not as stupid as I look? Thanks.”

“No, I’m telling you that you’re not as stupid as you
act
. For example, did you study Swahili before you came on this trip?”

“I didn’t even know what Swahili
was
until I arrived here. I thought you were speaking African.”

“Africa is a continent, not a country or a linguistic group.”

“I know that,” I snapped. Although I hadn’t really known it until Sarah and Mary Beth had explained it to me.

“Regardless, already you’ve picked up a lot of basic Swahili. You really have a talent for language.”

“That’s what Carmella always says to me.”

“Is she a friend?”

I huffed. “She’s our maid, and she’s Mexican.”

“And you don’t have any friends who are Mexican?” Renée asked.

“Well … there really aren’t any Mexicans around my neighbourhood except for the maids, and of course the people tending to the gardens and lawns. It’s not like there are any at my school.”

Renée didn’t look pleased with my answer. I knew her
type—left-wing liberals who thought we should all be friends. How could I be friends with people I didn’t know and would never meet?

“So, if there are none of those people around, how did you learn to speak Spanish?” she asked.

“I
don’t
speak Spanish, I speak
some
Spanish. Really, I understand it more than I speak it,” I explained. “It’s always good to know what people are saying about you.”

“But how did that happen? How did you learn the language?”

“How should I know? Little snippets of conversation I heard, reading billboards that are bilingual, flipping through the channels and stopping on a Spanish soap opera for a few minutes … things like that.”

“If you can understand it, then you can learn to speak it. Do you know what worlds that could open up for you?” she asked.

“It would mainly mean I could give orders to the gardener or order at a Tex-Mex restaurant. Aside from that, I don’t think any.”

“It would mean that you could speak to hundreds of millions of people around the world who speak Spanish!” she exclaimed. “You could travel through all of Central and South America!”

“Yes, I was planning on doing that next weekend,” I said sarcastically. “Besides, I’ve heard that English is the most popular language in the world.”

“Actually, Mandarin is spoken by the most people. English is the most common second language.”

“Okay, whatever, even better. That means that people around the world, including those who speak Spanish, also speak English. I don’t have to speak to them in Spanish because they’ll speak to me in English.”

She shook her head. “Languages open windows to a different culture.”

“If I want to open a window to another culture I can always watch the Discovery Channel.”

“You watch the Discovery Channel?”

“No, but I
could
is what I’m saying. It’s on our basic cable package.”

Renée put her hands over her eyes. For a split second I thought she was going to put her head down. Finally I could get some peace.

“Oh,” she began, “then why are you speaking Swahili to people who you know speak English?”

“I was just trying to be polite, like you said. Don’t you want me to be polite to people, show some manners and courtesy?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then why are you complaining?” I demanded.

“I’m not complaining, I was just wondering.” She paused. “Has anybody ever told you that you can be incredibly frustrating?”

I got that from my teachers all the time. I was just pleased I was frustrating
her
.

“It wasn’t like I was trying to learn Swahili,” I said. “When I’m saying the words it’s not even like I’m aware I’m speaking it. It just comes out.”

“Do you know what a gift that is?”

“A gift would involve a nice box, a ribbon, and an expensive surprise inside,” I said. “This is no big deal. You speak Swahili really well.”

“Yes, but it took me a long time and—” She paused and gave me a confused look. “How do you know I speak really well?” she asked.

“You do, don’t you?”

“Well, yes, but how do you know that?”

“It’s not brain surgery. I watch the way people understand you, how fast you talk, the way you can make jokes. You even speak with the same accent as the local people.”

Renée smiled. I liked her smile much more than her smirk.

“Do you know how I learned to speak Swahili?”

“Did I say something to suggest to you that I was psychic?”

She smirked. Maybe I did like her smirk. “I spent a year living in a Maasai community as part of a family.”

“You lived in one of those mud huts?” I exclaimed.

She nodded. “I became a daughter and I lived with the family in their home.”

“But … but … why?”

“I wanted to fully understand their lifestyle, their culture, their day-to-day existence.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to read some books and watch the Discovery Channel?”

“Easier, but not right. How can you hope to work with and help a community if you don’t fully understand them?”

I didn’t think she expected me to answer that question. Maybe she thought I’d be impressed. I guess I was, but not in the way she thought I would be. Who in their right mind would choose to live like that? Living like Ruth did … and her brothers and sisters, and her parents, and all of her relatives.

“You know, you’re the only one on this trip who has been to a Maasai home.”

“I am? Why just me?”

“We like people to experience things as we think they can handle them, but also as opportunities arise. Today just
happened. Is that what’s troubling you tonight, is that why you didn’t want to eat?”

“Because I saw a girl living in a hut made of mud and cow dung who sleeps on the ground with her seven sisters in the same room with her four brothers and has to carry water for miles and just hope that it’s clean and who spends her time cooking and cleaning and picking up after everybody, whose only dream is to go to school and half the time she can’t go? Why would any of that bother me?”

She smiled, A soft, gentle smile.

“You, Alexandria, are an evolving surprise. I’m starting to think there might be something intelligent going on beneath that expensively clothed and well-groomed exterior.”

“Again, I can’t figure out if that’s a sad attempt at a compliment or another thinly veiled shot.”

“Take it as a compliment … and a warning.”

“The compliment I don’t need, but what do you mean by a warning?”

“Maybe that’s the wrong word. I just need you to know that you have to do enough to make sure you graduate from this program, so the judge doesn’t have a reason to order you into detention. I don’t think detention would be good for you.”

“That may be the first thing we both agree on. So, just write a good report.”

“I can only write a truthful report. You’re the only one who has control over what I’m going to write.”

“You were right, ‘warning’ was the wrong word. Maybe ‘blackmail’ is the right one. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“Why do you treat me differently from everybody else?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

“Why do you treat everybody politely except for me?”

“I wasn’t aware I was treating you any differently from—”

“Yes you are, and you know it!” I snapped.

She didn’t answer right away. I could tell she was thinking, that she knew what I was saying was right. “I guess you are different from everybody else. You
are
the only one who’s here against your will. You’re the only one in the diversion program.” She paused. “But maybe there’s another reason.”

“And what would that be?”

“Maybe you remind me a little bit of myself.”

“A very little bit, I’m sure.”

“You’d be surprised. I’m from a fairly well-off family. I had my share of difficulties with school, my parents, even brushes with the law. Maybe I see in you the potential to become more.”

“By more, are you implying becoming
you?
Isn’t that a little conceited on your part, to think that if I evolved and became better I might end up like
you?”

“I certainly didn’t—I didn’t mean it that way,” she stammered. “I’m sorry if that’s the way it sounded.”

“Well that
is
how it sounded. Or was that just something you were supposed to say to me … you tell me a little about your life, and somehow, through the magic of sharing, I break down in tears and tell you about my
terrible
life. How my parents don’t really love me and instead they give me things to make up for their lack of time and love. Is that what you expect me to say? Well, my life isn’t terrible. It’s perfect, and once this ordeal is over I will go back to that perfect life. The only difference will be that I will appreciate it even more! Besides, I think I know
why
you like to treat me badly, why you seem to enjoy it so much.”

“And why is that?”

“It makes you feel superior.” I’d had enough of her and her attitude. Did she really think I was going to fall for any of this? Did she really think I was there to have her psychoanalyze me? I wasn’t there to be some notch on her belt, to be another little life “saved.” If she wanted to “Change The World” one person at a time, she wasn’t going to start with me. I’d show her!

“Actually, that’s the whole reason you do this for a living. You get to feel superior to
everybody
. Morally superior to the people who aren’t here helping, and superior to the people you claim you’re here to help. This is nothing more than one big, enormous ego trip, and you’re mad at me because I see right through it.”

I was surprised by the look on her face. She looked like she was going to cry. I’d expected to slap her, but I hadn’t expected to stab her in the heart. For a split second I felt bad.

“You’re wrong. You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried.”

“Really? Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll do what I need to do to get through this, to satisfy the needs of my warden. In a few weeks I’ll be gone and you can get on with your little drama. Now, if you have nothing more you want to lecture me about, I’m going to bed.”

I held the handles tightly and made a run, forcing the wheel of the wheelbarrow to bump up the wooden ramp. I powered it up the ramp and into the building. There were people all around, holding shovels, waiting for the load of sand to mix with the cement. I dumped it in the middle of the floor and then turned away, trying to avoid the cloud of dust. I quickly retreated as—even worse—they dumped the bags of cement and dust billowed up into the air, into my lungs, and, worse, into my hair. I dragged the wheelbarrow backwards, getting out before the cloud could smother me.

“You’re working hard,” Renée said as I staggered out of the building, wheelbarrow in tow.

I nodded my head but didn’t say anything. Those were the first words she’d said to me all day. I guess I’d really hurt her, either because what I’d said was way off base, or because my words had been too close to the truth for comfort.
Maybe both. But it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t planning on saying anything to her. I’d just do the work I needed to do to make sure there was no way she could fail me. I wasn’t going to leave her any room to hurt me back by sending me to jail.

I set the wheelbarrow down and Tim and Jimmy started filling it up again. I took a few steps away to avoid the dust and at least get out of the sun for a few seconds. In the distance, kids started coming out of the old school-house. I looked at my watch. It was about noon.

“Okay, everybody!” Renée called out. “I think that’s our cue. Take a break for lunch!”

I didn’t need to be told a second time. I walked over to the truck and grabbed my backpack. Inside was the lunch they’d packed for us. This was going to be another culinary delight, I was sure. I didn’t have any choice about what I was going to eat, but I could choose who I was going to eat with.

I walked across the yard, among the school kids, looking for Ruth. I didn’t have to look long. She saw me, waved, and a big smile bloomed across her face. She had such a beautiful smile, such perfect teeth, and I was pretty sure there was no orthodontist involved. She ran over and gave me a big hug.

“Can we have lunch together?” I asked.

Her smile got even bigger. “You sit under the big tree,” she said, gesturing to it. “That’s where the Standard Eight students sit. I’ll get my lunch.”

I walked toward the tree. I could see that it was the best spot in the whole yard, offering the biggest patch of shade. I had to chuckle. This wasn’t so different from my school cafeteria, where everybody had a special spot and the coolest, most senior kids got the best location.