Who Will Catch Us As We Fall by Iman Verjee

watching from a distance for so many days now and was taken aback by how large he was – how real – when not viewed in a newspaper clipping or through binoculars.
    â€˜Hello there.’ The voice was unassuming, bouncing with friendliness. An arm extended outward, gesturing for Raj to come closer. But he stayed fixed to the ground and even the greedy mosquitoes pinching his skin were not enough to force him out onto the road. ‘I won’t hurt you. I only want to answer your question.’
    Intrigued, Raj took a small step forward. ‘What question?’
    â€˜You must have one,’ replied Pinto, pausing mid-sentence as Raj came the full way out, taking fairy-steps toward the Saab, where he saw that the man was alone. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be waiting here every day.’
    Pinto was right. The purpose of Raj’s visit had been lost in all the excitement at seeing the man in the flesh, but now as he looked upon the wide-browed young man he remembered it again.
    He asked, ‘How did you do it?’
    Smiling as if it were a question he was used to, Pinto returned with, ‘What exactly do you mean by it ?’
    â€˜How did you become a hero?’
    Eyebrows shooting up; this version of the question was new to him, a strange and uncomfortable thought. ‘Who told you I was a hero?’
    â€˜Everyone says so. They say that you’re brave, that you freed us from the Wazungu . That even the Africans trust you.’
    Pinto’s index finger tapped against the steering wheel, his face clouded. ‘Is that what you want? To become a hero?’
    Raj’s heart picked up its pace as the dream purred inside him. ‘Isn’t that what you do?’
    The car turned off, returning the morning to its previous, bird-filled silence. Pinto pushed open the heavy door and his movements were so agile, so practiced at being invisible, that he was on one knee and face level with Raj before the boy knew what was happening. ‘Truth be told,’ Pinto started, ‘we all want to be heroes. We all want to make that difference in that moment of time, to be admired for our bravery and respected for our actions.’
    With every word, Raj nodded. Admired. Respected. They were the fingers that plucked at his dream, strumming it awake.
    â€˜But as long as you want to be a hero, you will never become one.’
    Raj’s excitement faltered. ‘I don’t understand.’
    â€˜People think I’m brave for spending all those years in jail, for putting up some posters on walls and helping others, but it’s not because I’m courageous or a hero,’ Pinto explained. ‘It’s because I know what is right and I’m willing to fight for it.’
    â€˜And what is that?’
    Pinto rose, dusted off his cotton-clad knees. He was a slim man, younger than Raj had thought, but there was a peculiar grace about him, an oldness of soul that Raj understood was what made Dilip Uncle say that the man was special. Back in the car now, the smile once again on his face, Pinto asked, ‘Do you know why the Africans trust me?’
    A shake of a small head, eager bristles of hair gleaming in the sun.
    â€˜Because I trust them. Because we work together as equals and treat each other as such, as Kenyans fighting for the same cause. That is what’s right.’ As the car revved loudly, Pinto shouted over its sound. ‘Next time you want to ask me something, knock on my door.’ And he was gone, a cream car in a flurry of dark red dust.
    That evening at the dinner table, it emerged that Pinto was in trouble.
    Raj’s father banged his fist down. ‘ Eh pagal hogaya? He’ll be killed for it, just wait and see.’
    A story was spreading through Nairobi that Pinto and his socialist comrades were plotting a parliamentary coup after their demands for a ceiling distribution of wealth and just rewards for the Mau-Mau freedom fighters was brushed