uphill.
She grabbed her things, made a quick call to Jamal, their family driver, for pickup and fled the building. A well-dented matatu packed with passengers revved its engine and missed her by two feet as it sped away from the curb. She gasped, then coughed out a lungful of exhaust fumes. And there was the reason she didn’t drive. One had to have a little daredevil and adrenaline addict in them to navigate the streets of Nairobi. Being a passenger was scary enough, but she trusted Jamal. He’d been her family’s driver since she was an infant, hired right after her parents had employed his wife as a housekeeper and cook, because at the time, with Hope’s medical needs and heart surgery, they’d needed the extra help.
She made her way to where she spotted Jamal waiting. The October sunshine cleansing her face made up for the emergency room “aromas” and exhaust fumes. Boy, was she glad their family home was outside the city. Although lately, she hadn’t spent much time there.
“Jambo,” she said, climbing in with the oversize woven shoulder bag she carried her life in: clinical books, notes, wallet, a few toiletries and probably a few items lost at the bottom that she’d forgotten about entirely.
“Jambo, Hope,” Jamal said, closing her door, then making his way around to the driver’s seat.
She quickly pulled off her socks and shoes and slipped her achy feet into the sandals she kept tucked under the front seat. She sighed and leaned back.
“Home?” Jamal asked.
“No, I need to stop at the university first. Then Chuki’s, then home.” She wouldn’t be able to truly relax until she dropped off inhaler samples for Chuki’s little sister. Her friend’s family had been struggling financially for a while now, and the least Hope could do was to try to help out. Especially with the strike going on.
Jamal glanced at her through the rearview mirror before turning his focus on the road.
“You look pale. Dalila told me to tell you she’s making some fresh mandazi just for you. She said not to tell your parents. She’ll have stew ready by the time they come home,” he said, winking at her through the rearview mirror.
“Mmm.” Hope closed her eyes and savored the mere idea of a warm homemade doughnut. Her only vice. Her stomach growled, and she pressed her hand against it. “Dalila is an angel,” she said, barely lifting her heavy eyelids.
“I know,” he said, grinning.
Hope gave in to sleep as she smiled back. Not much of a nap, given that the campus building where her brother’s research lab was located wasn’t far enough for the solid dose of REM sleep she needed. She woke up at Jamal’s prompting and dragged her groggy self toward the building and up the stairs to her brother’s genetics lab.
“Jambo,” she said, closing the door behind her and hanging her bag on the hook meant for his lab coat. She glanced over her shoulder, pretending not to notice the annoyed look on her brother Dr. Simba David Alwanga’s face. “Dr. Alwanga” to all his staff and colleagues—especially the ladies—but family always used his middle name, David. Hope, however, had called him Simba ever since she could talk, and she was the only person who could get away with it. He hated the fact that he shared a name with an animated movie character. She loved it.
“Jambo. No sandals in the lab. You know that,” he said.
She did know. Standard lab safety called for closed-toe shoes, something she’d gotten in the habit of wearing during medical school, especially when working with patients and blades or needles.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every cell on me needed to breathe,” she said, collapsing onto the swivel stool in front of the counter across from where he was labeling petri dishes. “Besides, I’m not staying long. Please tell me you got some.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up.
“I promised, didn’t I?” he said, still labeling and setting the dishes in organized rows.
She shook her head and chuckled at his smugness. Even as his sister, she had to admit he was a good-looking guy, on top of having a phenomenal reputation in the research world and a natural charisma women seemed to find irresistible. That actually worried her a bit. She had a hard time imagining him settling down, but at the same time, she didn’t want him trapped by some woman who only cared about his name and success. Men could be so blind.
“I do appreciate the fruits of your effortless labor, dear brother, but one of these days you’re going to meet your match, and she’s going to laugh at your smooth-talking ways.”
He flicked the on switch for the sterile hood that occupied a good five feet of the narrow lab’s right wall, set his tray of dishes under it, then leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.
“Smooth talking? It’s this face and the brains behind it,” he said.
Hope rolled her eyes. She knew he was kidding for her benefit. Mostly. It took about two seconds for his eyes to narrow.
“You look terrible,” he said.
“Did you really just compliment your looks, then insult mine? Just give me the samples,” she said, hoping to deflect his concern.
“Hope, trust me, not even mud could mask your beauty—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, tell me you haven’t tried that one in public,” she said, tossing her head.
“—but you really do look pale. And yes, that one got you these,” he added, pulling two sample-size boxes out of his lab coat pocket and handing them to her.
“Thank you!” Hope jumped off the stool, took the boxes and gave Simba a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to work.”
“Not so fast.” He guided her back to the stool and made her sit. So much for a quick exit. Hope knew when she was in for another lecture. A part of her understood the good place it was coming from.
As the youngest, she was stuck with the position of the family baby. Considering how “delicate” she’d been as a real baby, Hope was used to her every breath being scrutinized or worried over. Yes, it was love, but it was also irritating at times. At twenty-five, she knew how to get things done. So far, she’d been successful with every step of the career that her parents had carefully outlined with her. It was just that, as a woman, it seemed as if she always had to work harder for the same success and accolades as her male peers. Even her brother. So yes, she was tired.
“I know I look tired. I am. I just left hell, but I’m headed home right after dropping these off, so I’ll be fine. Jamal is waiting for me. Okay?”
Simba rolled another stool near hers and sat down. He pressed his lips together and looked off to the side before turning to her. There was no trace of his fun demeanor left. This was all lion king.
“Listen to me, Hope. This isn’t just about today. I’ve noticed you going downhill for months now.”
“I’m an intern at a public hospital. What do you expect?”
“I expect you to have good days and bad days. But be honest. You’re miserable, Hope. Your face is like an open book. I see determination and exhaustion, but never joy. I see no peace in you.”
Hope
