Read Online The Camel Bookmobile by Masha Hamilton - Free Book Online Page A

simple games for a child’s early development.”
    “Miss Sweeney, these women have no-no interest in games.”
    “Humor me, Mr. A.”
    Mr. Abasi pursed his lips a long minute before he translated—at least, Fi hoped he did—as she pressed the book into the hands of the young mother.
    The woman took the book, but didn’t glance at it.
    “There are more,” Fi said. She reached for another book that showed photographs of homes built by craftsmen in America and Europe, and handed it to the second woman. She knew wives and daughters here built the houses, so she wasn’t surprised to see the woman look at the pictures with some interest.
    She turned back to the mother, who was still holding the book on child-rearing. “What’s your name?” Fi asked in her rudimentary Swahili.
    The woman looked shyly to the ground and then glanced up again, smiling slightly. “Leta.”
    “Give this a try,” Fi urged, tapping the baby book. “Matani can help you.” Fi wasn’t sure the woman understood. She looked around and saw Kanika, holding two books. “Tell her, will you, Kanika?” Fi asked.
    Kanika said something to Leta while Fi smiled encouragingly. The young mother stared into Fi’s eyes, as though the two of them were making a pact, before nodding and moving away with the book.
    “What do you think of this one?” Kanika asked, offering a book for inspection as Fi jotted down the title taken by the young mother. Fi glanced over. Snow Sense: Staying Alive in an Avalanche . She bit her lower lip. Some of these titles they were carting around by camel were beyond absurd.
    “Interesting topic,” she managed, making her tone neutral. “You know that word, avalanche ?”
    Kanika shook her head.

    “You remember snow?” Fi asked. “Well, an avalanche means a large rush of snow and ice and rocks sliding down a mountain.” Fi used both arms to demonstrate the movement of a landslide.
    Kanika tipped her head, considering, and then held out the other book, a biography of Gertrude Bell. “And this?”
    “She was a woman from England who became powerful in the Middle East,” Fi said. “She helped settle arguments between men.”
    Kanika set down the book on avalanches but kept the other.
    “By the way, Kanika,” Fi said, “I’ve got something for you.” From her bag next to the overturned pail, she extracted a copy of a glossy American magazine for girls. “Some of it will seem silly,” she said. “But I thought, maybe…”
    Kanika smiled broadly, showing all her teeth. “ Asante ,” she said. Then she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Miss Sweeney. Can we speak together?”
    Fi bent toward Kanika. The girl wanted to confide something, perhaps? Or sought some advice? Fi felt pleased out of all proportion.
    Before Kanika could speak, though, Mr. Abasi’s voice came between them. “Miss Sweeney,” he said, gesturing her back to her clipboard. “A dawdling sun would never rise, and then what?”
    Fi never understood how he managed to speak like that, entirely through his nose. “I’m headed your way, Mr. A.,” she answered, tossing a smile at him over her shoulder. She touched Kanika’s arm lightly. “We’ll talk soon,” she said.

The Teacher
    M ATANI FELT A LOW RUMBLE OF APPREHENSION AS HE saw Scar Boy’s older brother Badru approaching. Badru’s expression was that of one carrying news of death or drought. But then, Matani reminded himself, Badru often looked foreboding. He had a way of holding his head—chin thrust forward, forehead back—that hooded his intense eyes and left his cheekbones bold above the fierce line of his mouth. At the same time, there was something commanding about him, a bold quality that attracted attention.
    “You are here to chose a book?” Matani shaped his tone so it would not betray his doubt.
    “Taban sent me,” Badru said, using his brother’s given name. “He is not well today.”
    Scar Boy unwell was not news. There had to be more. “And what else?”