Echoes From a Distant Land by Frank Coates Page B

engineer, Ira Ketterman, and his amazing breadth of knowledge. He said one of Ira’s greatest skills was with cameras, and that he had taught Sam how to take photographs and even how to develop and print them.
    Sister Rosalba pressed him for more.
    Ever since he was a child, Sam could conceal nothing from Sister Rosalba if she had set her heart to knowing it. She had a way of searching his eyes to find the corners of his mind that contained the truth. When she asked him for more about the engineer Ira Ketterman, Sam told her about Ira’s offer of an education.
    â€˜He offered to send you to university! And you did not accept?’ she asked, aghast.
    â€˜I did not,’ he said, appalled at his weakness for revealing matters he’d promised to keep to himself.
    â€˜Sam … Sam … Why?’
    He dropped his head. ‘You know, Sister: it’s Papa, and … well …’
    She patted his shoulder. ‘It’s all-a right, Sam. I understand what you’re saying. I know your traditions, your culture. Why do you think I don’t give you a big long hug like I want to, ah? Yes, Iknow you Kikuyu don’t like these big shows of affection. Yes, I understand about you Kikuyu. But this … this was such a big chance for you.’
    He nodded, feeling worse now that she’d voiced what had been his own feelings.
    â€˜Oh, Sam. I’m sorry. I will go to the chapel and I will pray for you.’ She nodded, deep in thought. ‘Yes, I will pray, because I have already said too much and I shouldn’t speak what you don’t want me to say, but …’ She looked up at him again. ‘But what have you done, my son?’
    She turned then, and hurried away towards the little palm-fronded chapel.
    Sam watched her go while resisting the temptation to feel sorry for himself. Rather than mope, he went to the new garden plot and threw his energy into tilling the hard earth in preparation for planting.
    After an hour, he looked over the plough-ox’s haunches to see Sister Rosalba storm past him. He knew that walk — it was the way Sister Rosalba walked when she was angry — and she was headed towards his father’s hut. He let slip the reins and followed her at a discreet distance.
    Kungu Wangira was inspecting the new granary his wives had built. It was needed now that the extra produce that his hardworking fourth wife contributed had come to harvest. He saw or perhaps sensed Sister Rosalba’s approach, and turned to await her arrival. Sam had always thought his father was slightly intimidated by the forthright little Consolata nun.
    â€˜Mr Wangira,’ she said, standing bolt upright before him.
    That particular stance was familiar to Sam too. Whenever Sister Rosalba had serious matters to discuss, she stood ramrod straight to maximise her diminutive stature and she always put her head back so as to fix her eyes on her target — in this case his father — who looked slightly uncomfortable being on the receiving end of such intense scrutiny.
    â€˜Sam has told me about-a his decision to stay home.’
    Kungu shot a glance at Sam.
    â€˜What do you think about-a that?’ she demanded.
    â€˜Ah, Sister Rosalba. He is a fine son. He will make our family strong. He works hard.’
    â€˜That is all very well, but what about-a the Kikuyu people?’
    â€˜The … Kikuyu people?’
    â€˜Of course. What about-a the Kikuyu people? Who will make them strong?’
    His father appeared at a loss for words.
    â€˜Mr Wangira, self-government is coming. Your boy could be a leader. The Kikuyu need someone like-a Samson.’
    His father opened his mouth to speak, but Sister Rosalba was in full flight.
    â€˜I have been tutoring that young man for ten years.’ She pointed directly at Sam, who had until then thought she was unaware of his presence. ‘Ten years! And is it so he can work in your farm? Is it so he can carry sixty-a