Free Walking Home by Eric Walters

giving money to people to help them get back to their traditional homes,” I explained.
    Slowly my mother got to her feet. She stood there, looking a little unsteady, swaying a little bit, but still standing. She was silent, staring into the distance, not talking but thinking.
    “I miss my brothers,” she said finally. “I miss my parents. I do not even know if they are still alive.”
    “They are,” I said.
    “How would you know that?”
    “I don’t know. I just feel and hope.”
    “Hope is all we have when everything else has been taken away. But I am afraid that we would arrive and then … well, perhaps we would not be welcomed.”
    “Why would they not welcome us?” Jata asked.
    “I have been gone a long time.”
    “If I was gone a long time, would you welcome me home?” I asked.
    “Of course. I am your mother.”
    “And they are your parents.”
    A small smile came to her face. It was a sad smile. “They are still my parents. I can only hope that they still think of me as their daughter.”
    “There is only one way to find out,” I said.
    “Yes. Only one way. When I am able, we will leave.We will travel to Kikima. It will be a long journey, but we will do it.”
    “We’ll be like those Kamba in the story,” I said. “We will follow the string to find our way home.”
    “Let us hope that this time the string has not broken,” she said.
    I couldn’t allow myself to think that it had.

Chapter Nine
    I walked along the fence, looking for the sergeant. I’d already gone to the gate, but he wasn’t there. They said he was on patrol around the perimeter of the camp. I just hoped that we were walking around in different directions so that we would eventually meet.
    As I walked, I noticed that there had been a shift in the fence. New poles had been set farther out and the fence restrung to allow more room for tents to be put up. The camp was still growing. There was a saying that misery loved company. We had more and more company. More people meant that more food and water had to be brought in, more latrines dug, more soldiers to guard us, more tents to house us, more of everything.
    Some of the new arrivals moved into tents that had been vacated by people like Jomo and his family.But this expansion was filled with tents that were obviously new. They were bright white, not weathered by the sun or coated and made dingy by the dust, or ripped and worn through use or abuse.
    Our tent was still holding up well. We’d weighed it down with rocks so it was anchored to the ground. I’d dug a little trench to catch the rain and direct it around rather than through our tent. My mother had stitched up the two places where it had started to rip. It was secure. It kept us dry and out of the sun, held our possessions and sheltered us at night. But still it was just a tent and could never be a home. We needed to leave to find that home, even if it was far away in a place I’d never been. Kikima … when I went to sleep, I repeated the name in my head again and again to make it feel like a place I’d known before.
    Just then, three soldiers came into view. I didn’t know two of them but the sergeant was the third. I waved and he waved back.
    “Good afternoon, my young friend,” he said.
    “Good afternoon, sir. I was wondering, if you have the time, could I ask you some questions?”
    “Certainly.” He turned to the other two soldiers. “You will continue your rounds and I will meet you on your next circuit.”
    They both saluted and then continued their patrol.
    “How is your family?” he asked. “Is all well?”
    “My sister is fine. My mother is still feeling the effects.”
    “Malaria is a difficult disease. She would be better in a hospital, or at least in a home with a bed and shelter from the elements.”
    “That is why I am here to talk to you,” I said. “We are going to leave the camp.”
    “To the faraway place that your mother spoke of?” he asked.
    “Kikima, my mother’s