Facing the Lion: Chapters 6–11

Let’s praise the brave
And castigate the cowards.

All the time I was preparing for my final exams that year, I was preoccupied with what was to come, with being ready.

The best-known, most prominent family always goes first, then the second best-known and so on, down to the least known.

My family, the Lekuton family, always goes first because it is huge and because many of my forefathers were leaders. Within the family it goes by seniority, so they started with my father’s older brothers’ children.

And the rest of my family was all around me, to show solidarity and to make sure I didn’t embarrass them.

At this point, the only thing we were allowed to eat was saroi. It’s milk and blood that’s been fermented for days.

For the Imuget ceremony, each new warrior selects another warrior who he feels will be a trusted friend forever, one he can confide in during times of hardship and times of happiness.

For the Imuget ceremony, each new warrior selects another warrior who he feels will be a trusted friend forever, one he can confide in during times of hardship and times of happiness.

I didn’t want to be a failure. I’d already left my home and my village and stayed at school. I wanted to keep going, and I wanted to do well. I had started to develop a new ambition toward the end of my time at the missionary school.

Kabarak was a very prestigious school. It was sponsored by Daniel arap Moi, who was then president of Kenya.

I was very shabby, with my plastic garbage bag over my shoulder, and everyone was staring. I was so embarrassed it seemed like my legs couldn’t carry me.

Some of the other kids were like me, but not really like me. None of them were as ragged, and none of them looked as tired as I felt.

I kept thinking about how I had so little money in my pocket, just enough to buy some bread at the canteen.

The elite in numbers and education were the Kikuyu.

The subjects were the same as at a good high school in the United States, although the curriculum was different.

The road to Marsabit was unpaved, and heavy rains could make it impassable.

At home, I could bear hunger and being out in the heat and the rain because I’d be taking care of our livestock.

You compete to get into high school, and you compete to get into college. A lot of students are left out along the way. In Kenya you are accustomed to competing your whole life.

But it was the soccer match, at four in the afternoon, that was the highlight. Students came, parents came, politicians and other dignitaries came.

It was only about a year since I had run from my first lion, and now the goalkeeper for the other team had become a lion to me. The soccer field had become the plains of northern Kenya, the great savanna.

We were at home, we were pumped up, momentum was on our side. We knew we could win.

And Kabarak had beaten the other school in three of the four events that day, so everyone was happy. It was a madhouse! Total jubilation.

I certainly didn’t want to offend my seatmate by using the wrong fork. And I wanted to be sure not to make any other mistake, like eating from the wrong side of the plate or starting with the entrée when I should have started with the salad, or something like that.

She was supposed to take me from the international terminal to the domestic terminal so I could catch my flight to Syracuse.

The cows up there were a good breed. They were more drought resistant and gave more milk than our cows.