Chapter 23

             “What!”  Juanita was startled awake by the sound of a rooster crowing. 

             “What time is it?”  George asked sleepily.

             George and Juanita had been given Charles’ bedroom to sleep in, while Aaron had slept in the living room on a couch.

             “It’s six a.m. in the morning,” Juanita answered.

             “Sounds like I hear someone in the kitchen, maybe your ought to offer to help out,” George suggested.

             “Help out?   Help out?” Juanita repeated herself.  “How am I going to help out with no refrigerator, no electric stove, no gas stove and no microwave!  How could I possibly help out?” she questioned.

             “Well . . uh . . maybe you could gather some sticks or help make a fire” George chuckled.

             “Umph” Juanita grunted.  “What do you think I am, a girl scout?”

            “Well, let’s get up, take a shower and . . .” George started before being interrupted.

            “Shower, George?” Juanita said mockingly.  “What makes you think he’s got a shower?

            “O, come on” George said as he sat up in bed.  “He’s got to have a shower.”

            Throwing on her bath robe and house slippers Juanita went from the bedroom to the kitchen where she saw Elizabeth busily stoking the wood stove with wood.  There was an old fashioned metal kettle on one side in which Juanita guessed was water heating up.

            “You obviously don’t have a shower, do you?” Juanita asked drearily.

            “No ma’am” Elizabeth responded “but I can show you how to wash.  You put the hot water from the kettle in this big cup and throw it over your back.”

            “What?!” Juanita reacted.  “That’s disgusting!”

            “Sorry ma’am” Elizabeth said as she cast her eyes down.

            “Where’s Charles anyway?” Juanita questioned further in an irritated voice.

            “Bwana Okinyi is sleeping in with Sistah Rachel this morning at her house.” Elizabeth shared matter of factly.

            “Doesn’t that bother you?” Juanita interrogated with a snarl on her face.

            “No, ma’am” came the reply “tonight he will spend with me.”

            “How can you share a man like that?” Juanita questioned further.

            “Better to share a good man like Bwana Okinyi than to have a bad man all to myself.”  Elizabeth said.

            “Seems so . . so  . . unclean . . and ungodly if you ask me,” Juanita said as she walked toward a window which had no glass pane but only an overhanging door to keep the rain out, and was used only when necessary.

            Elizabeth remained silent and continued busying herself with breakfast preparations.

            “Excuse me, ma’am” she said presently.  “I must get eggs from the hen house.  Would you like to come?”

            “I might as well,” came the response.  As they walked through the back yard toward the hen house they passed through chickens in the yard, some of whom plucked at Juanita’s bare toes that were exposed by the thong type house slippers.

            “Hey! Ouch! -- get away from me!”  she cried out.

            “Shoo, go away” Elizabeth said as she moved the chickens away.  Juanita thought she caught a glimpse of a smirk on this black woman’s face.  She wondered if Elizabeth was enjoying seeing the misery she was experiencing. 

            Two hours after breakfast was finished and Elizabeth began to heat more water to wash the dishes, while the American trio wandered around the front yard of the compound.  As Aaron and George stood near the front gate admiring the beauty of the landscape around them, they saw Charles and Rachel walking with their arms around each other’s waists coming down the dirt and gravel road.  They looked to be the ideal picture of a couple in love.

            “Good morning, my friends” Charles called out as he waved.

            “Good morning,” the pair called back in unison.

             As they drew closer, Juanita joined the men and also saw the spectacle of Charles showing affection to his first wife.   It came to her that this was the first time she’d ever seen them show that type of open display of caring.

             “Come, sistah,” Elizabeth called out to Rachel as the pair entered the gate.  “Help me catch a chicken so we can cook it for lunch.  Would you like to help ma’am, or just watch?” she asked Juanita.

             “You’re going to kill a chicken?”  Juanita cringed.  “OOOO I don’t know that I care to help OR watch.”

             Charles flashed his two wives a knowing grin before they hustled off to prepare for lunch.

             “Hey guys” Charles said, turning to the men.  “Let’s jump in the van, drive to the nearest village, and maybe do some preaching.”

             “Preaching?” Aaron questioned.

             “Yeah, street preaching.”  Charles clarified. “You mean just stand out one the corner and start preaching?” George asked.

             “Yeah,” Charles said.  “This is a missionary journey for you guys, isn’t it?”

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             After lunch Rachel and Elizabeth gave Juanita a tour of their homes.  They were small and modest.  Each had only two bedrooms and a sitting room.  The large bedroom had a regular sized bed where Charles would join this particular wife on her night; and a smaller bedroom that had mattresses on the floor where all the children slept together.

             Juanita was already counting the days till she could be back to the normal luxuries of life (of course she counted them as necessities).

             “O my” she sighed.  “I wish I hadn’t come to this back in the woods throwback to pioneer days.”

             “Is there something we can do to make you more comfortable, ma’am” Rachel offered.

             “Would you please stop calling me ma’am?!” Juanita blurted out.

             “I wish Charles had told us the truth in the beginning, maybe I wouldn’t be in this mess” she said half to herself and half to the wives.

             “O Kay, Wah knee dah” Elizabeth strongly, her eyes ablazed.

             Juanita looked up shocked to see the woman who acted so demurely and subserviently all of the sudden addressed her so personally in such an angry way.  And the accent took off just enough to make it difficult to know if she was pronouncing it incorrectly on purpose or not.

             “That’s enough!” Elizabeth continued.

             “Sistah, please stop it!” Rachel said to her co-wife.

             “No!” Elizabeth continued.  “Why should we allow her to come here and insult our husband like that, in our own homes?”

             “Sistah, please, she is our guest,” Rachel pleaded.

             “Yeah!” Elizabeth spat out as she stepped forward toward Juanita with clenched fists.  “A guest with no manners, no respect, and no sense of proper decency.”

             Rachel stepped in front of her sister wife and between the two women.  She faced Elizabeth and grabbed her by the upper arms near the shoulders.

             “Bwana Okinyi will not be pleased,” Rachel reasoned.

             “What?! What is this Lord Okinyi stuff anyway,” Juanita reacted.  “I don’t have to take this!”

             Rachel turned her head to look at Juanita as she heard that remark, but Juanita continued her own harangue now.

             “I don’t have to wait around and watch two uneducated country bumpkins dolt over some egocentric bigamist!”

             “Uneducated?  Uneducated?  Why you arrogant American wench!  What makes you think we’re uneducated?  I have a master’s degree in agriculture, and Rachel has a doctor’s degree in linguistics from the University of Nairobi.  She speaks Lua, Swahili, English, French, and German.”

             Elizabeth now had her feet spread about a shoulder length apart, hands on her hips.  She cocked her head slightly to the right before asking “And how many advanced degrees do you have, Wah knee dah?”

             Juanita was taken aback.  Charles’ wives never indicated that they had such a background.  She was temporarily stunned into silence, so Elizabeth continued.

             “Tell us, dear American lady,” her voice now softened but mocking, “why is it that you Americans murder a million and a half unborn babies every year?”

             “Why is it that your President allows sodomites into the military? 

             “And why is it that your American television broadcasts lewd lascivious dancing and pornography for all to see?”

             “Why does your film industry promote fornication?”

             “And why do your courts promote divorce after divorce?”

             “You people do all these things that the Bible calls abominations, and then you have the nerve, the unmitigated gall, to come here and make aspersions at us who are living in a biblically acceptable marriage arrangement?”

             “I . . . uh . . . I . . . uh . . .”  Juanita stammered.

             “Mama, come quickly!  Susana has fallen out of the fig tree!”  One of the boys yelled as he reached the house breathlessly.

             Both women were out of the door in a flash to see what degree of injury had befallen Rachel’s daughter.

             Fortunately, the child had only gotten the wind knocked out of her and a few scratches.  However, the incident served to extricate Juanita from a very awkward situation.

             Juanita had been shocked by the wives’ dedication to Charles, their respect for him, and numerous other things, and yet this strange and different culture had more shocks to come.

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             Days had gone by; Tuesday came and Mr. Becker found himself eagerly looking forward to Cheryl’s return visit.  The time for her 10:30 appointment came and went.  Mr. Becker looked nervously at his watch, wondering if he would miss out on seeing his vision of loveliness today. 

             Finally at 10:45, his secretary announced over the intercom that Mrs. Cooper was there to see him.

             “Send her in immediately,” he ordered.  Cheryl came in almost bouncing and bubbly.  She scurried over to Mr. Becker and surprised him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

             “What’s that for?” Mr. Becker asked with a big grin on his face.

             “For being a good man and looking out for me,”  she answered.  “Did you talk to the board of elders?”

             “Yes . . . we . . . uh . . . they want to hear what Aaron has to say before taking any final action but they did agree to let you have a Sunday with a trial sermon.”

             “Great!”  Cheryl said excitedly as she clapped her hands together like a little girl.  Wearing a navy blue skirted suit and a white blouse with black hose and three inch heels, she glided over to the big picture window that looked out.  Being on the eighth floor, the office had an overview of much of the city.  Mr. Becker, still standing, watched her as she moved and admired her youth, vitality and gracefulness.  He didn’t know that every move she made and every item she wore down to the sweet scented perfume was planned out ahead of time by Cheryl’s friend Terry.

             Cheryl stood on her tip toes and turned her head as if to get a view of something just barely out of sight.  Terry had known that this would emphasize the curve in her calves and that Mr. Becker would be watching.  She dropped a pen from her hand and bent over from the waist to pick it up.  She knew full well that a lady should stoop to pick up an item, but Terry had pointed out to her that almost any man enjoyed the view of a woman bending over in high heels more than one stooping.

             “You have such a beautiful view from up here!” Cheryl exclaimed.

             “If you think that’s something you should see it from 10,000 feet,” Mr. Becker suggested.

             “You mean . .” Cheryl started “ . .  . from a plane?” she said as she turned around with a smile on her face.

             “No, I mean from my plane,” Mr. Becker said as he raised his chest a little and sucked in his stomach.

             “I have a twin engine Cessna that I fly around in mostly for fun but also for business at times.”

             “Oh, really?  Would you take me for a ride?” she asked in a cooing voice.

             “I suppose I could arrange it,” he said with a smile and a wink.

             “ . . . Mrs. Becker wouldn’t mind, would she?” Cheryl asked coyly.

             “This is business,” Mr. Becker said.  “This is your first flying lesson, and I am going to charge you.  Mrs. Becker never minds me doing business and earning money.”

             “Oh . . . I see . . .” Cheryl responded disappointedly.  “How much will it cost me?”

             “One dollar,” came the response.

             “Only one dollar?” Cheryl said gleefully.  “When can we go?”

             “Will tomorrow be OK?  Or will the next day be better?”  he asked.

             “Let’s go tomorrow afternoon, if it’s OK with you,” she responded.

             “It’s set, then.  My driver will pick you up at three, and bring you to the airfield,” Mr. Becker stated.

             Cheryl rushed over and kissed him quickly on the cheek, and gleefully scampered out of the office.  Mr. Becker smiled as he enjoyed the lingering aroma of her perfume.  He rationalized that he was just helping out a lady in distress.  Still, he hoped his wife wouldn’t find out.