The Legend of Lumani

Chapter 10: Name and Grave

The next day, Lumani watched the camp just as Kamau had taught him. He noticed where the guards stood, when they looked away, and how long it took anyone to notice anything.

By afternoon, he and Jabari found Ayo behind the water trough, pretending to scrub a bucket that was already clean.

“I have a plan,” he said quietly.

“Of course you do.” She didn’t look up. “Tell me.”

“Why does she get told first?” Jabari cut in. “I’m standing right here.”

“Nobody invited you,” Ayo said.

“Nobody ever invites me, and I always arrive. It’s a gift I give people.” He crossed his arms. “Go on, then. Tell us both.”

Lumani almost smiled. “We need a distraction. Maybe a fire behind the tool shed, where nothing important is kept. Just enough to pull every guard away.”

Jabari’s eyes went wide. “A fire. You want to start a fire. In the camp we live in?”

“A small one.”

“There’s no such thing as a small fire, Lumani. There’s fire, and then there’s how big it gets before someone finds out whose idea it was.”

“That’s why I need you for this part,” Lumani said.

Jabari blinked. “Me.”

“You’re good with your hands. And you don’t panic.”

“I panic constantly. I’m panicking right now. Very calmly, but constantly.”

Ayo shot him a look that said she’d had enough of his nonsense for something this serious, then turned back to Lumani. Her scrubbing slowed. “And while the guards are putting it out?”

“We stop the water first,” Lumani went on. “If nobody can fill a bucket, the fire buys us more time.”

“Time for what?” Jabari asked.

“You don’t need that part,” Ayo said.

“Right. Of course. I’m in charge of a fire, in a labor camp, for reasons I’m not allowed to know. Wonderful system. Very trusting.”

“Can you do it?” Lumani asked.

“Watch the fire,” Lumani said. “I’ve already picked your spot. It’s behind the stack of broken crates on the north side of the shed, low enough that the smoke will hide you. I dug the channel already. It’s hidden and runs right up to where you’ll be crouched. If the guards put the fire out too quickly, pour oil down the channel from there — just enough to keep it going. It should look like the fire just wouldn’t die, like the guards didn’t do a good job putting it out.”

Jabari was quiet for a second. “You’ve really thought about this.”

“I have.”

“Fine. I’ll feed your secret fire, for secret reasons, and ask no questions.” He paused. “Does this at least count as starting a rebellion?”

“No,” Ayo and Lumani said at the same time.

“Okay, Okay! Can I tell myself it does? Quietly? Later, alone?”

“Absolutely not,” Ayo said, but something in the corner of her mouth twitched.

“Jabari,” Lumani said, “go hold your position now. Wait there.”

Jabari wandered off toward the tool shed to scout his spot, already muttering to himself about secret fires and no respect.

“How long do you think we’ll need?” Ayo asked.

Lumani had already thought it through. “Long enough to dig, say something over her, and finish. An hour, maybe less if we hurry.”

“Then we make the fire big enough for that much time,” Ayo said.

She looked at him. “If it goes wrong, it’s just us. Jabari doesn’t know why. That stays that way.”

“Just us,” Lumani agreed.

“I’ll light the fire,” Lumani said. “Then go for the pipe. You take the well.”

“Give me your knife, then,” Ayo said, hand already out.

“How did you know I — “ Lumani started.

“Quick. We don’t have long once that fire catches.”

He passed it over without finishing the thought.

“I’ll see you at the tree,” Lumani said.

She held his gaze a moment, then nodded once. “See you at the tree.”

She turned and walked toward the well without looking back.

Behind the tool shed, Lumani knelt and struck a spark into the pile of rags and broken crates he had stacked there the night before. The fire caught quickly, even faster than he expected. For a second, he just stared at it, feeling the heat push back against his face.

“That’s plenty,” Jabari said, appearing at his shoulder. “Go. I’ve got it.”

“If it dies down too fast — “ Lumani started, and was interrupted.

“The channel. I know. You’ve explained the channel four times.” Jabari nudged him. “Go, before someone sees you standing here looking proud of yourself.”

Lumani left.

A moment later, someone shouted, and every guard in Camp Seven came running, along with half the workers, forming a line of buckets from the well to the smoke.

Jabari crouched behind the crates, watching two guards try to beat out the fire with wet cloth. The fire got smaller and almost died. Then, while no one was looking, a thin line of oil ran down the hidden channel. The fire jumped back up, big and fast, and both guards stepped back in surprise.

“It won’t go out!” one of them shouted.

“You’re not even trying,” the other snapped, shoving him toward the smoke. “Get in there properly.”

“I am in here properly! Look at it — it’s like it wants to burn.”

“Maybe if you’d checked the woodpile like you were supposed to last week instead of sleeping behind the — “

“Do not bring that up right now, Mbayo.”

They kept at it, more focused on blaming each other than the fire itself, which suited Jabari just fine. He sat back against the shed wall, arms crossed, doing a very good impression of a boy who had nothing at all to do with any of it.

In the meantime, Lumani was already prying the cover loose with his bare hands and shoving mud and rags deep into the dark opening. He packed it in tight, working fast, until he couldn’t feel any water moving through it at all. Not far off, at the well, Ayo sawed through the rope in a few hard strokes and let it drop, coiling away into the dark twenty meters down.

Masonga pointed at two guards. “Get water! Now!”

They ran for the well, buckets swinging. One guard reached, but there was no rope to grab.

“The rope’s gone!” he shouted.

“Then use the pipes!” Masonga yelled back.

Another guard ran to the nearest trough and turned the handle. Nothing came out. Not even a drop.

“The pipes are dry too!”

Masonga’s face went pale, then red. He looked from the well to the trough, like he couldn’t believe either one. Behind him, the fire had grown bigger and faster, throwing sparks toward the wooden guard towers.

“Move!” Masonga shouted, his voice cracking. “Get buckets from the far well! Go! Go!”

While the whole camp fought a fire and guards shouted about the water, Lumani and Ayo met again at the tree at the edge of camp, where Mama Leki’s body had been left.

They wrapped her with care, and Lumani whispered, “We’ve got you now,” before they lifted her together and carried her to a quiet patch of sand near the old shrine wall Kamau had once shown him in secret.

They buried her there, by hand, before the fire had even finished dying down.

“Should we say something?” Lumani asked, staring at the fresh sand.

Ayo thought about it. “Just her name. That’s enough.”

“Mama Leki,” Lumani said quietly.

“Mama Leki,” Ayo repeated.

They didn’t linger after that. By the time the guards gave up trying to figure out why the water had stopped, Lumani and Ayo were already standing in front of Masonga.

“We noticed the pipe cover was loose earlier,” Lumani said, keeping his voice light. “We think we can fix it.”

Masonga barely glanced at them. “Fix it, then. Fast.”

It took them less than a few minutes.

Masonga looked at the trough, then at the well. Both were flowing again, normal, like nothing had happened. He stared at the two of them for a long moment.

“How did you know where to look?” he asked. “My own guards ran in circles for an hour.”

Lumani kept his voice light and easy. “We’ve watched you work for years, sir. You always say the same thing: don’t stare at the mess, find where it started.”

Ayo nodded along. “You taught us that without even meaning to. When something breaks, you go straight to the source instead of chasing what’s on top.”

Masonga’s chest lifted, just a little. “I do say that.”

“We’re grateful to have someone like you to learn from,” Lumani said. “Not many kids in this world get that.”

Something in Masonga’s face went soft, pleased in a way that looked strange on him. He liked being admired, and it was clear not many people bothered to try.

“Good kids,” he said, waving a hand for them to walk beside him instead of sending them off right away. “Smart kids.” He looked back at the guards still stumbling around the yard, arguing over ropes and buckets. “Unlike some people who’ve had this job for years and still can’t find a leak.”

The nearest guard’s jaw went tight, but he said nothing.

“Maybe I should put these two in charge of the water lines,” Masonga said, loud enough for the guards to hear, almost laughing at his own joke.

Then he stopped walking, like the idea had only just caught up to him — and he liked the sound of it more the longer it sat there.

“Actually.” He turned to face them properly. “Why not? You two clearly understand this system better than grown men who’ve worked it for years.” He said it loud, mostly for the guards’ benefit. “From now on, you check the water lines every morning: both wells, the pipes, all of it. Report anything strange straight to me. Nobody touches that system without your say-so.”

Lumani kept his face calm, even as something in his chest went very still. “Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir,” Ayo echoed.

Masonga looked back at the guards one last time, savoring it. “Two children,” he said, shaking his head like it was the funniest thing he’d heard. “Maybe that’ll teach some of you to pay attention.”

Nobody said a word.

“Get back to your shed; your work will start tomorrow,” he said at last, still pleased with himself. “Both of you. Good work.”

Ayo and Lumani slowly walked back toward the shed, neither one quite believing how the day had turned.

“He trusts us now,” Ayo said quietly. “More than he trusts his own guards.”

“That’s nothing,” Lumani said. “Not for what’s coming.”

They found Kamau, Kofi, and Jabari waiting inside, and it didn’t take long for the news to spill out — Masonga had put them in charge of the water lines, both wells, the pipes, all of it is theirs to check every morning from now on.

Kamau stared at them like he wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. “He gave you what?”

“The water lines,” Ayo said. “All of them.”

For a moment, Kamau looked almost confused, proud, and almost afraid, both at once.

Jabari, who’d been quiet since they walked in, suddenly sat up straight. “Wait.” His eyes went wide. “Is that what the fire plan was for? You wanted him watching the water go wrong so he’d trust you with it after?”

Kamau’s head turned slowly toward Jabari, then back to Lumani and Ayo, his whole face changing. “You two started that fire?”

Nobody answered right away.

“Kamau — “ Lumani began.

“You started a fire. In this camp. On purpose.” Kamau’s voice was low, more stunned than angry.

Ayo and Lumani exchanged a look, and then, quietly, they told him everything they planned and completed successfully.

He didn’t yell or look angry. He sat with it for a long moment, the way he always did before he said something that mattered.

“You did this alone? Just the two of you, and Jabari for the fire?”

“We didn’t want anyone else at more risk than they had to be,” Ayo said.

Kamau shook his head slowly. “You gave her a name and a grave,” he said finally. “Do you understand how rare that is, in a place like this? People here disappear. They don’t get buried. They don’t get remembered.”

He looked at all of them with tears falling. “Thank you.”

For a moment, the shed felt almost warm.

Jabari let out a breath. “So I fed a secret funeral fire,” he said, “and you didn’t tell me why, because you thought I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“That’s about right,” Lumani said.

Jabari nodded slowly, like he was weighing whether to be offended. “Fair,” he admitted. “I probably would have told the fire itself, out loud, while it was burning.”

Ayo didn’t even look up. “You would have.”

“I would have,” Jabari agreed, almost proud of it. Then, quieter, some of the usual noise gone out of him: “She deserved it. I’m glad you did it. I just wish I’d known sooner what I was actually part of.”

“Next time,” Lumani said, “you’ll know from the start.”

“There’d better be a next time,” Jabari said. “I only have a few secret fires in me.”

He started counting them off on his fingers. “Like the one Lumani and I started two years ago that burned off half of Kofi’s hair.”

Kofi sat up so fast he nearly rolled off his mat. “That was you?”

“Us,” Jabari corrected. “Lumani held the stick.”

“I didn’t know it would catch that fast!” Lumani said.

“And there was the one where I burned Lumani’s pants because I was cold one morning and needed the fire bigger,” Jabari went on, ignoring both of them. “Lumani spent the whole day in his underwear.” He laughed.

“We were kids,” Lumani said, going a little red.

Kamau let out a small laugh, the first real one for a while. “You still are kids,” he said.

“And then there was the one where I burned Ayo’s — “ Jabari stopped himself, suddenly very interested in the floor. “Never mind.”

Ayo’s eyes narrowed. “Burned my what, Jabari?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“Tell me right now, or I’ll start cutting your fingers.”

“It’s genuinely not worth losing a finger over — “

“Jabari.”

“It was one hair ribbon! One!”

Kamau, from his corner, didn’t even open his eyes. “You better not have burned any of my things, Jabari, or I will cut your ears.”

“Everyone in this shed is very violent,” Jabari muttered. “I want that on record.”

For the first time since they lost Mama Leki, the warmth seemed to return in the shed.