Enkerai awoke in a warm soft bed. It was the kind of comfort he hadn’t felt in days. But it was an alien comfort, very different to that of home. The smell was the first difference he noted, rather than the light fruity smell of home, this was a bit heavier, earthier. It set Enkerai on edge.

Sitting up, Enkerai took in his surroundings. It was a small room, the walls were painted with a calm blue paint, and the walls were bare apart from one small framed photograph hanging on the wall opposite him. Besides the bed, the room was furnished with only a simple cupboard with the door ajar, through which Enkerai could see some clothes hanging in plastic bags. Enkerai was relieved to see his staff lay leant up against the cupboard.

He swivelled around so that his feet touched the floor and almost knocked a jug of water over, his eyes widened as he remembered his thirst and immediately brought the jug up to his face, emptying the jug with fervour. As he drank he stared at the photo on the wall – a small child with a huge grin on his face, to his right was a short man with a cheerful, wide-mouthed grin, and on his left a tall stocky woman with what looked like a red rope wrapped loosely around her neck and a comforting motherly smile on her face.

“Thought I heard something shifting around up here,” Enkerai turned to see the wide-mouthed grin from the photograph in the flesh; it was worn by a wearier and rounder face now. “Dehydrating is never a pleasant affair is it?” the short man did not move from the doorway, but straightened the light blue string vest he wore over his bare chest.

“Thank you for your help,” Enkerai said quickly and dipped his head in gratitude.

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you there half-dead on my field – it’d be bad for business,” the man winked, “now follow me, I’ll get you some food.”

Enkerai nodded and followed him out of the room down a narrow, blue wallpapered hallway, and down a wooden staircase. At the bottom was a small tidy kitchen with a round table in its centre surrounded by three chairs. Light streamed in from a window behind the sink, illuminating the room with a soft morning light.

“Take a seat,” The man motioned to the table, and Enkerai sat immediately. “Cereal’s all we’ve got. Our usual merchant from Manyatta hasn’t come for some reason, so we’re lacking in eggs.”

“Th-That’s fine,” Enkerai said looking down and trying not to think about the reason why the trader had not come from his village.

“That’s your town right?” The man asked cautiously, “Your clothes and your hair, that’s what the kids wear out in Manyatta.”

“Yes,” Enkerai mumbled and the man inquired no further, instead he turned back to the stove. He then took a pan of heated milk and poured it into a bowl. He then poured in a mixture of flakes and nuts from a jar. He dropped a spoon in it and gave it to Enkerai.

“There you go, young…”

“Enkerai,” Enkerai replied and began raising the spoon to his mouth.

“Stop,” ordered the man, causing Enkerai to freeze, “You must thank the One for the food first. It is a tradition in our household.”

Enkerai lowered his spoon, closed his eyes and mouthed random meaningful looking words, pretending to pray – praying was no tradition of his – then he dug in. The food tasted good, as he shovelled it down, and it warmed him from the inside out. He had only been able to survive the last few days with berries he remembered were not poisonous, and in this region, there were not many varieties like that. Once he had finished he looked up at the smiling man, who was staring out of the window watching something.

“Thank you, uncle,” Enkerai said.

“Call me Irokun,” the man responded, “And think nothing of it, I simply did what any normal person would have done.”

The man straightened up and motioned towards Enkerai.

“Come,” he said warmly, “I want you to meet my son.”

Enkerai nodded and stood up; he followed the man out into the bright morning light and breathed in the earthy smell. It was still different, but it wasn’t unpleasant. A farm stretched out ahead of Enkerai, it looked like it may have housed corn. The harvest would be good by the looks of things.

As Enkerai followed Irokun around the side of the house he began to hear a light swooshing sound, it was gentle but rough at the same time, and very methodical. As he turned the final corner of the house he saw what was causing it – a boy about the same age as he, dressed in a dark blue string vest and many-pocketed pair of green shorts, and what looked foot-long length of red rope hung from the nape of his neck, swaying gently as he moved. The boy held what looked like a wooden rake in his hands and stood in a rectangular patch of coarse golden sand, his bare feet dug into the grains as he slowly moved the rake through the sand to create circular patterns.

“Son,” Irokun gently called, grabbing the boy’s attention. The boy paused mid sweep and brought his rake up to his side.

“Dad,” he responded simply, with a plain look. He then caught sight of Enkerai and turned to regard him curiously. Now with a clearer view, Enkerai noticed that what he thought was rope was in fact, a queue – a long braided piece of hair, much like his own ponytail, but wrapped in ribbon.

“Oré found you when he was jogging yesterday,” the man said, looking at Enkerai amused. Enkerai turned to Oré and realised, the boy had probably saved his life.

“Hi, I’m Enkerai, I’m from Manyatta village.” Enkerai extended his hand, “Thanks for saving my life.”

“Enkerai.” the boy smiled, and took his hand, “Nice to meet you. I’m Oré, farmboy extraordinaire.”