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forty-eight f

Kukaa! Kukaa!

T o this day, I can’t explain my state of mind. Fear, denial, confusion, sadness, shame, and guilt blended with anger at Mike and even more anger at myself. I flashed back on my life and the missteps that led me to this point in time. I silently thanked God for not giving me insight into my future. I asked for forgiveness for what I’d done and strength to face what would soon be done to me.

Without windows, I had no idea where we were going. From the courthouse, we traveled on a main roadway before making a sharp turn onto what felt like a pockmarked dirt road. The van slowed and turned onto a gravel driveway. The engine died.

I wished I had died.

“Get out!”

The guards opened the rear door of the van. Two rectangular concrete block buildings stood in the middle of an arid plain. A few weeds struggled for survival around the compound. From what I could see, security was minimal. An escape meant death from exposure or dehydration unless a wild beast came along first.

At gunpoint, we were escorted into a concrete room lit with a naked hundred-watt bulb.

“Strip. Everything off,” one guard barked. “Clothing on table. Stand under light. The matron will inspect you.”

I’d watched enough movies to know we needed to act tough and in control. But right now, that was impossible. Tears rolled down our cheeks. Our one consolation was the male guards left us to undress in private.

A few minutes later an unsmiling matron and her assistant entered the cubicle. Both women had seen better days. Their lumpy bodies clad in gray cotton shifts spoke of poor diets and poverty. I suspected both were in their late twenties but appeared twenty years older.

We stood naked and vulnerable, our dignity a memory.

“You—” the matron pointed to Edie. “Bend over. Spread your cheeks.”

Edie’s tears dripped onto the dirt floor. I thought of the cavity search I endured at the airport in Colombia. All it took to secure my freedom was fifty dollars. Mike needed to secure a lot more this time. Could he convince Ben our lives were worth saving?

“You’re clean.” The matron confirmed what we already knew. She turned to her assistant. “Give them dresses. Their white bodies make me sick.”

While we waited, the matron recited the prison rules. I was too traumatized to focus on most of what she said until . . .

“We hate Americans. You think you are better than Kenyans.” She spat where Edie’s tears had landed. “Your government says we cannot touch you. But that does not mean you cannot be punished. We have ways to teach you lessons.”

Like feed us to the lions. A lion’s lunch almost seemed preferable.

The assistant returned with three faded orange dresses, three pink scarves, underpants, used flip-flops, and three bars of soap.

“Your uniforms.”

The matrons threw them on the dirt floor, forcing us to pick them up and brush them off before putting them on.

“Put soap on head and tie scarf around it,” the assistant said.

What?

“You get one soap. If you drop, another prisoner will steal,” the matron explained.

Our belongings were boxed and taken away. The matron then handed me a little blue Bible. “Read and repent. Now, come with me. Mealtime.”

She shoved us into a fenced-in outdoor area where a large group of women dressed like us sat on the ground eating with their fingers from metal plates. We took our place in line and were handed plates filled with rancid vegetable scraps and gray, dried-out mystery meat.

Edie, Tina, and I stared at each other in horror. Our food scraps at home were more appetizing than what we were expected to eat. I picked at what appeared to be rotting carrot tops and boiled potato skins.

Three guards in gray dresses stood on a bench in front of the prisoners and yelled, “ Kukaa! Kukaa! ”

Every orange-clad woman dropped her plate to the ground, stood for a second, then squatted. A fourth guard walked over to us, kicked Tina, and repeated, “ Kukaa! Kukaa! ”

We joined the rest of the squatting prisoners. What remained of our lunches fell into the dirt.

Five minutes later the guards yelled, “ Simama! ” Everyone stood, then went back to eating.

I felt the blood leave my head when I stood. I toppled to the ground. The entire prison yard broke into laughter.

After lunch we were taken to see the matron.

“We give you choice of work. Work in sewing room or work in fields,” she said.

Almost in unison the three of us said, “Sewing room.”

“Come with me.”

The matron led us to one of the concrete buildings. Inside were dozens of women, heads bent, sewing by hand. She pushed us toward the front of the room where female guards stood watching the prisoners. She spoke in Swahili, then turned to us.

“We make table linens and sell to pay for food.” She handed each of us a tablecloth with faint blue outlines of flowers and leaves, and a large basket of colored thread. “Follow lines. Your work must be perfect.”

Try as I might, I couldn’t get the knack of embroidering. By the end of the day, I’d completed one flower. The front was acceptable, the back a disaster.

Twice during the afternoon, the guards yelled, “ Kukaa! Kukaa! ” Everyone stood, then came to a squat. I managed to keep my balance but saw several women fall to the ground, causing a round of laughter and applause from the guards and some of the prisoners.

Dinner was a repeat performance of lunch with the addition of lumpy, gelatinous porridge. I couldn’t decide what was worse—the rotting odor from our food or the foul odors coming from the other prisoners. We picked at the vegetables, ate the porridge, and avoided the meat.

After dinner, we had time to walk around the prison yard and talk.

“Today’s Monday. Mike’s flight leaves Wednesday,” I said. “He’ll be back in Florida on Thanksgiving. I doubt Ben’ll be around. That means we won’t be out of here till Friday.”

“I’m sure he won’t leave us here that long,” Edie said. “I can’t stop worrying about Carl. At least we have each other. He’s all alone.” She broke down. We hugged her close.

“ No touch! ” a guard called to us.

“They’re everywhere,” Tina said. “Edie’s right. The money’s probably on its way. We’ll be out tomorrow.”

I expected Mike would spend the rest of Monday with his side piece. Then, if we were lucky, he’d remember to wire Ben on Tuesday. We’d have to trust him to get the money to Rajiv before he left for the States. Any number of things could go wrong.

“Let’s check out what the Bible has to say before it gets too dark,” I said.

I flipped through the pages until I came to Psalm 34:4. “‘I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears.’”

“It’s not the Lord we need. It’s Mike,” Edie said.

“ Kukaa! Kukaa! ”

We stood, we squatted, we toppled over, and were herded to bed.