(This is Neena's origin and various life stories. It is a work in progress (obviously, lol), so any comment/suggestions/critisism are very welcome.

The months of April to June brought with them the winter rains, turning the dry savannah of Eastern Africa into a haven of beauty and wealth. Across north-western Tanzania and the south-western part of Kenya spread the famous Serengeti, lush with native greenery, wildlife, and culture. Though many of the native people were forced to make many changes to their lifestyles in order to keep up with the ‘modernization’ of the rest of the world, many tribes managed to maintain ties to their traditional ways of life. Among these were a small group in Southern Kenya, a Masaai tribe, farmers by trade, and pastoral by culture. It was a rainy, yet warm day in May that this small tribe gathered to celebrate the marriage of the only daughter of the tribe’s oldest elder. To outsiders, it may not have seemed to be a joyful occasion, and very out of place in the modern world. But the ritual was rich in meaning to all of those involved, and was observed faithfully.

Bedecked in traditional colors of red, orange, green, blue, and white, Dalji knelt before her father in their home, her eyes cast downward toward the floor. Slowly, and deliberately, the old man drank milk from an earthen jug, then spat the liquid at his daughter’s head, then her chest. He then mumbled a traditional blessing, loosely translated "May God give you many children." He then bowed his head. Slowly the young girl, barely fourteen in age, rose and left her father’s home. Outside the tribe line the pathway to her new husband’s home. They watched silently, until she drew close to her husband’s home. As she approached her inlaws, they began to hurl insults and cow dung at her. She kept her eyes down, but held herself proudly straight. She would not disgrace her father by looking her persecutors in the eyes, showing pride, but she refused to cower as well. From the entrance of the family home, her new mother-in-law watched the girl’s reaction carefully, a slight frown on her face. In her opinion, the girl was too haughty and spoiled, and would prove a disgrace to their family. But her son and husband were infatuated with the girl. Also, as the oldest elder’s only daughter, she was quite a catch, and Father’s word was law, so she kept her opinion to herself. The youth was the third wife; it would be interesting to see how she handled not being first in the family.

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(5 years and 8 months later)

A tiny cry pierced the sound of rain on the roof of the house. Dalji lay on her bed, exhausted from a difficult birth, yet anxious to see her child, the first girl born after five boys. The child was not her husband’s by flesh, but by tradition. A fellow of her husband’s age-set, or generation of warriors, had come for a visit. By Masaai tradition, this fellow was allowed to bed his friend’s wives, if the women so chose. Dalji had thus chosen. The resultant child was still considered her husband’s, and part of his wealth. Unknown to almost all involved, the visitor was not completely human. He kept his genetically enhanced abilities in careful check, as mutants were not welcome in their part of the world, and his family was well-admired for both wealth and power.

However, from birth it was obvious there was something.... different.... about the child. Within a week the tiny girl had become sick with a fever. Over the first month of life she grew steadily sicker, and it was thought that she wouldn’t survive. With the illness her initially bright blue eyes steadily dulled. Then, the same day of the final rains, when sunlight broke through the dark clouds to bath the world in gold, the girl’s fever also broke. Within days she was giggling and happy, the only scars of the illness left behind being her colorless orbs. Thinking the child to now be blind, they covered her eyes against the sunlight to protect them, and gave her the name Nehanda, meaning “Hardiness”. It wasn’t long before they learned that the child was not blind, merely sensitive to the sunlight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(8 months later)

Entering their home, Dalji set a squirming Nehanda on the ground, before unburdening herself of the clothes pack on her back. The tribe had been forced to move from their homes by the governmental authorities, not an unusual occurrence for many of the native tribes as of late. Her tribe had been fortunate, they were only required to move to the far southern part of their land, further toward the outer borders of the Serengeti. As the third of five wives, yet the one with the most children, her duties were not as heavy as the others, save the first wife.

Nehanda immediately began crawling toward the sack, and playing with the knot. Her curiosity brought a smile to her mother’s face; she was such a happy child, blissfully unaware of the handicap life had graced her with. Confident she would be momentarily occupied and safe, Dalji turned to gather up another bundle of clothes. It was no longer than a moment that her back was turned, but when she looked, Nehanda had disappeared. Dalji endured a brief moment of fear, until the girl’s happy giggles reached her from the corner. She was reaching for something behind a nearby basket. Smiling, Dalji went over and lifted the basket.

And dropped it with a cry of horror. From beneath the wide basket uncurled a lithe form, heart-shaped hood spread in deadly warning. The small, yet deadly head of the cobra shot forward, aiming for Nehanda’s tiny, outstretched hand. The little girl reached further forward, which toppled her forward, and the deadly strike missed by inches, before it was retracted and poised for another. The second attack never came as Dalji struck out with a broom handle, sending the snake tumbling backward. Dalji grabbed her daughter with one hand and ran out the door, leaving a trail of childish giggles in her wake.

Over the next year, numerous similar encounters quickly proved, among other things, that little Nehanda had no concept of fear. It seemed that no creature alive could intimidate the child, animal nor man. Her mother, on the other hand, endured many near-heart attacks as she rescued her daughter from dog attacks, snake strikes and cattle stampedes. Frustrated, she went to her father. The elder would merely laugh and tell her that her little Nehanda had more courage in her fingers than half of the grown men in their village. He did not realize his statement was only half true....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(17 months later)

Nehanda was 25 months old, just over two years in age, when tragedy first made her acquaintance. She skipped happily besides her mother and other women of the village as they made their way to the river to wash clothes. Despite the ‘modern times’ they lived in, indoor plumbing was both too expensive and impractical, considering the Masaai’s nomadic lifestyle. Thus daily trips to the river for washing and collecting drinking water were a necessity.

As usual, Dalji warned her daughter not to go far, knowing that the child would not listen. She was simply too full of curiosity. True to nature, Nehanda soon found herself fascinated by a line of ants making their way along the ground, and followed them away from her family, and toward the waterline. She was almost to the water when something else caught her sight. In the water was an odd little bump, like a bubble waiting to be popped. But this bubble was a strange color; bronzy-green, with a dark black stripe inside. And there were two of them....

In theory, Nehanda knew what a crocodile was; she been told what they looked like. But she’d never seen one. And having only seen the eyes this time, she still did not realize what she was looking at. She straightened and turned.

”Mommy, look! I tee bubblet! Pretty!” She pointed proudly to her discovery, unaware that the ‘bubbles’ had sprouted teeth and was growing steadily nearer.

Dalji looked up. The exasperated expression turned to sheer horror as she realized what her daughter was pointing at.

Later on in life, Nehanda wouldn’t be able to remember much about those next few moments, except a few scattered images and sounds: A clay-baked jar shattering against the earth. Pain in her arm as it broke, when she was pushed backwards onto the ground. A snap, like that of a mousetrap magnified ten times over. Colors; red, white, brown, green, all smeared together like a child’s finger-painting. Screams, but none of them her mother’s......

There was no body to burn or bury, only a memory to mourn. For years Nehanda wouldn’t understand why her mother had left her. Nor would she understand the anger projected toward her from her father and his family, especially her grandmother. She would not understand why only her grandfather, her mother’s father, did not blame her for her mother’s death. And it would be even longer before she came to realize what her grandfather had known from the moment he’d seen the child’s near-white eyes.

"To fear is normal. I am not normal...."

”But Babu! The boys get all of the fun! Why can’t I go too?”

”Shepherding is not fun, Neena. It is hard work, and can be dangerous. And it is men’s work.”

”But, Kwasi gets to go, and he’s only nine!”

”Kwasi is not going either. He is simply trying to make you jealous.”

”I have more courage than anyone twice my age. It’s not fair!”

Nehanda’s grandfather sighed deeply and scrubbed wearily at his greying beard. He watched the pouting eight-year-old in front of him with a jaundiced eye. The year after her mother’s death had been hard on little Nehanda. Her family blamed the girl, and she was shunned in various ways. Her grandmother told her that she should have died from the fever when she was born, and let her mother have a normal, proper little girl. Her father’s other wives refused to allow her to play with their own children, and even to babysit her. Her father ignored her altogether, leaving her brothers to care for the confused child. Although her brothers still treated her as family, they were all older, and too preoccupied with playing ‘Warrior’ to pay anything but the barest attention to her. Finally, after a year of such treatment, Nehanda was sent to live with her grandfather, who had given her a pair of sunglasses to hide her colorless eyes. The village elder was the only one who seemed to be able to keep the child ‘under control’, at least by other people’s standards. In actuality, he was the only one that realized what she was.

Still, even he was hard-pressed to be patient at this point.

”This is not about courage, Neena. This is Jahleel and Baraka’s Rites of Passage. They are training to be warriors. Watching the cattle is only part of their new duties. They are resposnible for our safety as well, you know that.”

”But Babu, all they do is walk around with spears. I can hold a spear too. Why can’t I help? What if a lion attacks the herds? I’m braver than any boy!”

Her grandfather frowned. There had been rumor of a pair of rouge lions roving the area. All of the warriors had been put on guard. Truth be told, he was not happy that his oldest grandsons, twelve and thirteen in age, were about to take up their duties as warriors. Bakara especially seemed to be taking the situation lightly.

”Babu-“

”Enough, Nehanda.” The little girl clamped her mouth shut, casting her eyes downward. ”This is not a woman’s worry. You will concentrate on the milking, and leave the herding to the men.”

”Yes, Babu.” Nehanda clenched her fists in frustration, but she respected her grandfather far to much to push him any farther. It was their tribe’s tradition, sacred and not to be questioned. But that didn’t mean she had to like it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(3 days later)

”Neena! Neena! There’s been a lion attack! Hey Neena!”

Nehanda looked up from the pile of wood she was gathering as a young boy close to her age ran up and skidded to a halt. He bent over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. ”Lion... attack....”

”Where Kwasi?!”

”Two miles..... away.... took one.... of Ila’s.... talking to.... Babu..... Come on!” He pulled at his sister’s arm to get her to move. She followed without hesitation, dropping the wood where she stood and hurrying after him.

A crowd gathered in the center of the village, men in the center carrying spears, and women ringing the edges anxiously, watching for their family members. Cattle were vital to Masaai way of life, and the killing of them by a lion was to be avenged, despite the current governmental laws prohibiting hunting. Within minutes a group of men and boys left to find the offending animal. Nehanda and Kwasi joined some of the other children in cheering the hunting party as they left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(5 days later)

Days passed with no sign of the warriors or their prey. It was not unusual occurance; sometimes the men wouldn’t return for weeks at a time. In that time, Nehanda would slink away from her chores to join Kwasi outside the tribe’s walls. Half a mile away was a tree that the pair would climb to watch for the hunter’s return. The two of them were very close, considering the difference of chores and current home. Together they would play mancala, and pretend to be hunters, taking turns playing hunter and prey. Kwasi would often attempt to sneak up and frighten his seemingly ‘unscareable’ sister. He failed miserably, but they still had fun.

On the fifth day the warriors returned. High in the three, Kwasi thought he was the first to spot them, and crowed with delight. Unknown to him, Neena had spotted them nearly an hour ago, as well as the lion pelt Jahleel was carrying. But she let her brother have the glory, since she’d beaten him three times in a row at Mancala. Also, she hadn’t told anyone but her grandfather that she could see a coin in the grass, well over a mile away, as clearly as if it were only a foot away. She couldn’t explain why.

Kwasi hurried down to the ground. While he ran to bring the happy tidings to the tribe, Nehanda climbed higher in the tree, and began to wave at the approaching party. Grinning widely, she turned to see how close Kwasi was to home.

Her grin faded quickly. Zoomed in as her vision was, the tawny fur stood out clearly in the tall grass, as did the flash of ivory teeth, all honed in on the rapidly approching nine-year-old.

”KWASI!! STOP!! KWASI, LION!!!”

The boy froze in his tracks, but he lacked his sister’s enhanced eyesight, and the quickness her lack of fear granted her. The lion was between him and the village, and the tree was too far to return to, nor was Nehanda fast enough to come to his aid. She could only watch as her youngest brother, her closest friend, was taken from her world , just as her mother had been.

The hunting party was able to retrieve enough of Kwasi’s body to burn, and the lion’s pelt was added to its companion’s. For a short while, Nehanda watched the ritual from the edge of the crowd, eventually, she disappeared. Her grandfather found her in a corner of their hut that night, staring at a mancala board dug out of the ground. Her face held no expression. And her eyes seemed dull and lifeless.

As his shadow fell over her, she asked in a quiet voice, ”What am I?”

He didn’t answer her.

”I saw them, before he did.”

Again, no reply.

”I killed him.”

Her grandfather sat beside her, and gathered her in his arms. Rather than answer, he began to chant, a deep, calming melody.

”Babu, do I have a heart?”

”Of course you do, Neena. If you did not, you would not mourn.”

”But, if I have a heart, why didn’t it beat when Kwasi died?”

”It did beat. It just did not beat faster.”

”Why not?”

”It was not scared. You were not scared.”

”I know.... But.... why wasn’t I?”

Her grandfather sighed. ”Because, Neena, to be afraid is normal. You are not normal....”

Parades, music displays, native foods, fashion shows and culture displays; all of these earmarked the Mombasa Carnival, an annual festival to celebrate the birth of one of Kenya’s largest cities. Every year the Carnival drew thousands of tourists to African soil in an attempt to educate the rest of the world to it many wonders. As a prominent Masaai tribal leader, Nehanda’s grandrather was invited to bring his villagers and display a day in the life of the Masaai. Because the men were busy herding, mainly women were the ones putting on the show. There were displays of beadwork, along with jewelry for sale, along with on-site, freshly cooked goods for tasting. The village women giggled and chattered away amongst themselves, delighted to be able to ‘strut their stuff’ as the saying went, without male interference. For the most part that is. As village elder, Nehanda’s grandfather oversaw the entire display, frowning at his charges when they became too giddy.

The now ten-year-old Nehanda watched from behind the scenes. None of the women would allow her to participate, and none of those back home would put up with her shenanigans. For that reason she could do nothing but watch boredly.

That lasted for about the first hour. And with everyone preoccupied with cultural enrichment, Nehanda soon wandered away unnoticed.

For awhile she wandered the streets, oblivious to the many curious looks her bright red garb drew. She peeked at various musical rituals, paused to smell the food, and to admire the games and toys. One brightly colored necklet drew her attention. It was a smaller imitation of a marriage necklace, intended for children to wear in play.

However she had no money, and was sent away empty handed.

Depressed, she took to wandering again. Eventually her roving feet brought her to a booth crowded by people wearing expressions of disgust and horror. Curious, she pushed her way through legs and bodies to the front of the crowd. A shifty-eyed, greasy-haired, pasty-skinned man eyed the crowd with a wide-toothed grin. In her mind, Nehanda likened him to a hyena.

Hyenas were cattle-killers and meat-stealers, not to be trusted.

”No takers? What are you all scared of a few tiny bugs? C’mon people, where’s yer guts? You can’t spill ‘em if ya ain’t got ‘em!” A sign above the booth advertised an eating contest, with a fifty US dollar prize to the winner. On the counter were twenty various containers, filled with ingredients only identifiable by their labels. Nehanda squinted behind her glasses to read the labels, among them roasted cockroach, boiled frog legs, live worms, ox kidney, and dog milk. Nehanda made an ‘icky’ face at that one. She didn’t like dogs at all. However fifty dollars was tempting enough for her to ask aloud,

”Is anything poisonous?”

All eyes turned to the little sunglass-wearing Masaai child. The booth-runner’s grin widened, and leaned over the counter. She squinted her nose, as his breath was far from fresh. He spoke in slow, wavering tones, attempting to sound scary.

”Well I don’t know little boy. They told it was all safe, but you never know.”

She tilted her head curiously. ”Well, if they’re aren’t poisonous, then why won’t anyone taste them? You won’t make any money selling things people won’t eat. And I am not a boy. I am a girl,” she added proudly.

A tiny ripple ran through the crowd. The man, identified as Dwayne by his name tag, sneered at her. ”Whatever. I make plenty of money, cause no one is brave enough to take my challenge and win.” He taunted the crowd with that statement, returning the disgusted looks to the numerous faces.

Nehanda frowned. ”But why not? The food is not scary. Disgusting, but not inedible. It isn’t even moving.” She poked at the cockroaches. ”See? What is so scary about that?”

Dwayne rolled his eyes. ”What do you know kid? You’ve gotta be plenty brave to eat this stuff.”

She tilted her head the other way, then announced. ”I will eat it.”

Dwayned sneered. ”Please. You won’t last past the first ten. Besides, do you have any money? It costs five bucks to play.” Nehanda shook her head. ”Then beat it kid.”

”Why do you charge if you are so sure that no one will finish? That doesn’t seem fair.”

”Beat it kid! You’re in the way of my payin’ customers.”

“Let her try!” Someone called from the back of the crowd. The echo rippled through the crowd.

”Yes, let her.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“Hey, I’ll pay double just to see her try.”

“Yeah, let her try.”

Dwayne shrugged and rolled his eyes, and accepted the ten dollars. ”All right, girl it’s your guts. You’ve got ten minutes to eat two bites of all twenty items, and you have to chew and swallow. You’ve got one glass of water to wash it down with.” He placed the glass on the counter, started the timer, then leaned back with a smirk, confident in the money he’d made on this little sideshow.

A box was placed in front so Nehanda could reach everything. Immediately she dug in, munching away contentedly at the menagerie of the odd and disgusting food. It didn’t take long for the smirk to disappear from Dwayne’s face, replaced by disbelief. The crowd quickly took up a cheer as the little dark-skinned child ate away. She made a few faces of her own disgust at several items, but didn’t become sick. She also didn’t touch the water.

Just before downing the twentieth item, labeled ‘salted slug slime’, at the seven minute mark, she paused at frowned at Dwayne. He perked up, thinking she was throwing in the towel. Instead she asked, very politely,

”You don’t happen to have a cup of cow’s blood and milk do you? I don’t like water.”

Laughter rocked the crowd as Dwayne’s face fell in disbelief. Nehanda looked around, not understanding what was so funny. Cow’s blood and milk was her favorite treat just before bed; warmed by the fire, it always put her right to sleep. With a shrug she polished off the final dish, and set down her fork. Sticking out her tongue.

”That was yucky, but I still don’t see what being brave has to do with anything.” She was serious, and just couldn’t understand why everyone was so amused. Nor why Dwayne was suddenly so stiff as he handed over the fifty dollars promised. With a gleeful squeal, she promptly took the money and bought her necklet, after paying back those who had paid for her to play the booth.

Later that evening, back in their hut, her grandfather asked where she had gotten the necklace, she proudly announced that she’d won it. Which was more than true.

The next day Nehanda spent again at the festival. Still all but shunned by the women of her tribe, this day she gladly spent wandering again, proudly displaying her prize to anyone who showed any sign of interest. Though she often found herself correcting people when they called her a boy. It seemed that shaved heads and short hair were boyish traits in the world of the white men. Neena found this very odd.

"But the weather is so hot. Why would you want to keep your hair so long?" she went as far to ask one woman with long blond hair. The woman smiled, amused with the little dark-skinned girl.

"You'll understand when you're older sweetie. Most men have a thing for women with long hair." The lady winked at her companions, who twittered and giggled. Nehanda wrinkled her nose.

"That's silly. What does hair have to do with having children?" The woman appeared confused, so Nehanda continued, "Men want women who can have lots of children. Children and cattle make you rich."

The women laughed. "How cute!"

"She's adorable! So authentic!"

"Don't worry sweetie. You'll figure it out when you're older."

Nehanda watched, fascinated as the group wandered away. How could they think think they were attractive, with skin so pale it turned red in the sun, and bodies much to skinny to bear children. And all of that hair? Why?? It simply baffled the ten-year-old. Perhaps they were simply trying to justify why they were not married yet. The one mentioned how she was twenty; so old and not a single child yet, not even a husband. Surely they could see something was wrong. If they would shave off that awful mane, and gain a bit of weight, they could find husbands in no time.

Shaking her head at the absurdity, Nehanda returned to her wanderings. At one point she passed the food eating booth that she'd visited the day before. Dwayne still manned the booth, but the self-satisfied smirk had vanished. Nehanda couldn't understand why, as there were five customers digging into the supposedly 'scary' foods. Surely customer meant more money for him, didn't it.

She didn't see the evil look Dwayne gave her as she passed by.

She returned only once to her family, just long enough to eat, before drifting away again. The sun had begun its sunset display before she considered returning a second time. Soon the trip home would begin, as this was the last day of the festival. Many of the vendors had already begun their packing. Some already had left. Nehanda roamed among the empty lots, searching for treasures lost in the dirt. She found many pennies, which most of the festival-goers considered insignificant. To her though, they were wondrous gems, pearls of vast wonders and beauty. Pieces of paper were her second favorites, for they gave hints at a life beyond her village walls, and glimpses into a world she one day wanted to explore in its whole.

Lost in her treasure hunt, she failed to hear the footsteps approaching from behind her. She bent over to pick up another coin, this one silver in color. Silver was the color of the more valuable coins.

A wide grin spread over and she reached for the sparkling jewel--

-- And suddenly her vision exploded into red and white fireworks. She cried out and fell to the ground, firey pain spread across her cheek from the blow. Her sunglasses skittered across the dirt.

"You little ******. You cost me a fortune!"

Nehanda yelped again as another blow landed on her ribs, and shoved her further to the ground. Tears flowed from her eyes in pain as she looked up to face her attacker.

Dwayne. He wore an expression of hatred on his face, a look that turn alternately to disgust, then back when he saw her near-white eyes.

"A freak?? No wonder! You probably didn't even eat that stuff yesterday, did you? Just made it invisible, or dissolved it or something. Little ****** freakshow! You've cost me over a grand today!" Clenching his fists, he swung at the little girl again.

Still crying in pain, Nehanda scuttled away from the attack, and slipped in between two empty booths. Furious that his prey got away, Dwayne followed, much clumsier. Nehanda dodged and ran, until she couldn't hear him anymore, then stopped. Her tears had dried along with the pain. She didn't understand why the man was so angry. What was a grand? And how had she 'cost' him it? Surely something large enough to be considered 'grand' would not be hard to find. And why did he call her 'freak'? She touched her cheek, and winced. It was swollen. No doubt she'd have a black eye in the morning. And her glasses were lost.

She frowned, confused and angry. She scuffed the ground, and turned to walk back to her family. At one point she had to step carefully over an abandoned extension cord. The ends were stripped, and wires exposed. Some careless booth owner had left it behind as trash, but left it plugged in.

<"That could start a fire,"> she thought. Fire was a great enemy in this dry country, so she looked for something rubber or wooden to use to pull it out. She saw a wooden pole nearby, and reached for it.

Something glinted in the corner of her eye. Without thinking, she fell to a crouch. Something sailed overhead, whistling as it split the air. She scurried out from under it, and out of reach before turning. Even as she turned she was forced to dodge another blow.

"You little mutant ******! I'll be doing the world a favor getting rid of you!"

Nehanda ducked behind a booth. The wood of the booth shattered under Dwayne's swing, unable to stand up to the metal pipe he wielded. Nehanda tripped and fell backward. The man grinned and swung again, certain of his aim. But the little girl twisted sideways, just enough for the pipe to miss, then aimed a kick at his groin. When he recoiled and dropped the pipe, Nehanda leapt to her feet. She scooped up the weapon, and swung as hard as she could at the man's head. Her arms stung with the force of the connection, and the man sunk to the ground. She paused, long enough to see he was still conscious. When he didn't move, she dropped the metal bar on the ground.

She frowned, and turned.

"Mutant *****!"

Nehanda turned, and watched curiously as Dwayne got to his feet, unsteadily, picking up his weapon.

"I don't understand," she said, very calmly. "What is a mutant? And why do you hate them so? And what is a 'grand'? I didn't not take anything, let along something large."

Her words seemed to enfuriate the man further, and he lunged at her. The attack was unsteady and clumsy, so she simply stepped sideways, and stuck her foot out to trip him. He fell forward, and the metal pipe landed against the live wire.

Nehanda didn't so much as flinch at Dwayne's agonized scream. She grabbed the wooden pole as quickly as she could, and used it to knock the pipe out of his hand, cutting off the current to his body. By then however, the man was out cold. Nehanda shook her head.

"I simply do not understand." With a sigh she used the wood to unplug the faulty wires, then went about her way, back to her family.

"Lazy hippo!" One of the women chided her as she approached. "If you thought you could get out of work by being late, you were sadly mistaken. Get over there and help tear down the looms!"

Nehanda grumbled under her breath, and submitted to the women's abuse. Her grandfather was busy; she would ask him what a mutant freak was later. In the meantime she bent to the least difficult of the unfavorable tasks that the women saw fit to give her.

Halfway through the journey home, Neena began to wish she had remained at the festival grounds. Her father’s first wife, Afiya, complained the entire way about a set of ankle-bells she couldn’t find. She’d had them the day before; she had worn them during the demonstration of the traditional Jumping Dance. Neena remembered her grandmother telling the woman that she’d probably left them at the festival grounds, and that she would find them the next day. The next day had come, with even more complaining, and still the bells had not turned up. Now they were headed home, and the woman wept, because her husband had given the bells to her as a gift.

Neena rolled her eyes; the woman’s mind had more holes in it than a mesh net. Did she not remember placing the bells beside her bed the previous night? Neena had seen them behind the water jug before going to bed herself. But the little girl disliked the woman with a passion. She was snotty to all children except her own two daughters (who resembled her more perfectly than a mirror image), spoiled to an extreme, and purely hateful to anyone who questioned her orders. Her mother-in-law simply doted on her, and reprimanded any who crossed her. Because Neena’s grandmother had borne seven healthy children, four of them boys, she was also considered an Elder, though lower in the ranking than Neena’s grandfather. Either way, it meant the pair of old hags constantly got their way. Neena already resented being forced to carry Afiya’s thread and beadery; she refused to help her in any further way. Thus she remained silent, and bore up under the whining the entire way home.

However, by the time they reached the edge of the enkang, Neena had had enough. She followed the distraught woman, and her grandmother, into her hut. Eager to leave as quickly as possible, the ten-year-old dropped her burden roughly in the corner, spilling a jar of beads.

“Lazy hippo! Pick those up!” her grandmother snapped. Neena grumbled. Her eye hurt and had begun to purple, and her head ached. But she had told no one about the attack, and didn’t plan on doing so. She began gathering the spilled beads.

“Someone must have stolen them from the festival grounds," Afiya wailed.

“You should not have taken them off. Thieves troll the grounds like crocodiles in the river.”

“He will be so angry at me for losing them.”

“He will not. I will not allow it. He can afford another set.”

“But those were special!” Neena cringed and rolled her eyes; Afiya’s incessant whine hurt her ears. “They were engraved!”

“He will get you another set, even more special. Do not worry, Daughter.”

“If you would look harder, perhaps he would not need to,” Neena grumbled, loud enough for the two older women to hear. Her grandmother frowned at the impertinence.

“What do you know of it, child? This is grown-up talk. Mind your cleaning.”

Neena was too tired, and hurt, to care anymore about being respectful. She huffed, and crossed her arms. “Maybe she should clean once in a while. Starting with the water jars. And start remembering things better.”

“Mind your tongue!” She felt her grandmother move in her direction, and scuttled away from a blow to her already smarting face. She scowled up at her, and unconsciously the older woman flinched away from the girl’s white-eyed glare. “Where are your glasses, child?”

Neena scowled further. “I broke them.” What business was it of hers anyway? The old hag.

In an attempt to retain her severity, she began scolding Neena harshly. “You broke them? Careless whelp! Do you know how expensive those were? And you dare accuse Afiya of losing something? What does a child know of responsibility? Do you think we are made of money? Your grandfather is a soft fool. He gives you too much freedom. You don’t deserve the gifts he gives! He coddles you, like a baby. But even a babe knows how to respect her elders! You disgrace him and your family!”

Neena grew angrier and angrier as the tirade continued. Finally she could stand no more, and shouted back, “At least he treats me like family! You don’t, you never did! And if being related to an old crocodile like you is what family is I DON’T WANT TO BE YOUR FAMILY!!!”

She was only vaguely aware of Afiya’s surprised outburst as she ran out of the hut.

“I found them! Behind the jars! But-how?”

With tears flowing down her face, Neena ran from the enkang, out into the darkening savannah. She made a straight line to the tree she and Kwasi used to keep watch for the returning hunters, and climbed as far into the branches as she could. There she cried until the sun sank below the horizon, and stars began to speckle the night sky.

The nocturnal predators were in full prowl by the time Nehanda awoke. She yawned and rubbed at her eyes. With the lance of pain from her swollen eye came a flood of memories from the day's events. Foremost among them, the facial expressions of both her grandmother and the festival man, Dwayne.

Though angry for two vastly different reasons, the sight of her eyes had provoked both looks, a look of.... well.... Nehanda didn't understand the visage, but she knew that she'd seen it on Afiya's face when the woman came across a blood-sucking lake worm. And Kwasi used to make a similar grimace when assigned to spread the cattle manure across the crops. She'd also seen it on the face of a woman at the festival, upon finding a dead fly in her food. She did not understand the origin of the 'Look', but she did understand that it was not good.

A hyena cackled in the distance. Nehanda sighed in frustration. She did not want to returned to the enkang. But while the wild dogs could not reach her perch, some of the big cats could. With prey becoming increasingly sparse, she could not even put it past the lions to try. And though she was too large to be a snake's meal, maybe, a fatal bite would not be withheld if she did not watch her limbs.

She crept down the tree, taking the time to watch and inspect every hand- and foot-hold. She made her way back to the tribe with equal caution, even altering her path to give a feeding lioness and her cubs a wide berth. Papa Lion could not be too far, after all. The actual distance to the village wall was short, but the journey took well over an hour to complete safely.

Once she reached the outer wall, she skulked along until she found a viable place to clime over. Like many Masaai, her bare feet were quite calloused, but the climb scraped her elbows and shins painfully. She held in her cries, however. Her grandfather would likely have more than harsh words to share with her in the morning; she did not want to deal with the beating until morning, if she could help it.

Nehanda would have made the owl proud with her silence, as she made her way around the darkened huts. However, the firelight glimmering in her grandmother's hut caught her attention. Usually the old had was the first one to sleep, and first to rise. What could possibly have her up this late at night? Ever curious, the ten-year-old made her silent way to the doorway, careful to avoid the firelight.

".... does not belong here any longer. You know this! Engai Nanyokie has demanded it from the beginning!"

Nehanda frowned at the mention of the vengeful personality of the Masaai's diety. It was thought that this 'Red God' was responsible for the dry seasons, when the clouds rang and sparkled with thunder and lightening, but brought no relief in rain to the earth. To cursed by the Red God was surely a death sentence.

"You overreact, Wahida." Nehanda's frown deepened upon hearing her grandfather's voice.

"Do I? You saw when she was born. The fever nearly took her, as it should have. Engai Nanyokie brought the dryness at the moment her fever broke. You heard the thunder! She was meant to die, and Engai was furious that she did not!"

"She was not the only one to be struck with sickness that year."

"Perhaps not, but look at her! She is an abomination! Those white eyes of her eat the soul!"

The breath caught in Nehanda's throat.

"Wahida, be reasonable-"

"I am. I have not turned a blind eye to the obvious. From birth the girl has been cursed. Engai has tried to take her numerous times, and each time someone has pulled her from his grasp! That is why he took Dalji and Kwasi. They defied his curse, and paid with their lives. If you do not send her away, Engai will eventually kill us all."

Nehanda didn't stay to hear her grandfather's reply. She ran to her hut, tears blocking her vision as she stumbled into bed. For a long time she shook with sorrow. The tremors slowed just before she heard footsteps shuffle into the hut. Though covered by the blanket, she could see him clearly. He didn't look at her, nor even turn in her direction. Instead he turned to the corner of the hut, and opened a small pouch he kept hidden behind the water jars, pulling out a necklace. Nehanda had seen the item in her dreams, worn by a woman she knew to be her mother. Her grandfather only pulled the jewelry out when he was careworn and depressed.

<"If my mother were here, he would not be depressed,"> Nehanda thought dully. <"She would be here.... if not for me....">

~~~~

Nehanda waited until her grandfather fell fast asleep, before slipping from under her blanket. She slipped her mock marriage necklace, her Festival prize, from around her neck, and gently laid it beside her grandfather's hand.

"I am sorry, Babu," she whispered, "for all of the trouble I've caused. Please forgive me."

She bent down to give him a light kiss, then crept toward the door. She had few possessions anyway, and none of them meant anything to her any longer. They were links to a life she was not meant to live.

Taking only her blanket for warmth, she stole out of the hut, back and over the spot in the wall, and disappeared into the darkness of the savanna.