Anazi wanted to see her mother but her heart trembled with the force of her fear. She had changed since Mama had seen her last. She was different from ten years living among the Americans. She had left many of the old ways and perhaps Mama would see only the differences now. When Mama had sent her with the missionaries, it was so she could bring back knowledge to the village about the ways of the outsiders but Anazi had been gone ten years now.

She felt the heat of the island lay across her body like a damp heavy blanket. She welcomed the weight of it. The warmth eased the bone deep chill of her body. It seemed like she had been cold forever. In the four days since the boat had brought her from the mainland; she had been moving steadily toward the center of the island, toward home. Years ago, the Methodists had started clearing a road through the island, when they left, the Baptists has worked on it, then the Lutherans or had the Lutherans come before the Baptists? What did it matter. A missionary was a missionary.

The dirt road only went about two miles in then there was only a small overgrown footpath. Anazi had forgotten the beauty of the jungle. The trees grew closely together, mossy and thick with vines. The monkeys shook the leaves overhead with their wild antics. She ignored their squalling instead watching for snakes. Tanzania was home to four varieties of poisonous snakes and at least two types of constrictors. She had a strong walking stick of buru wood to clear her path but still it paid to be careful.

As she neared her village, she could smell the sweet scent of spicy meat roasting in the air and the squeal of children as they played. She stopped several 100 feet away and called out her greeting in swalli language. Two lean, tanned adolescents dropped from the trees with their blow guns in their hands. Anazi didn’t recognize either of them at first. But the taller one had a jagged scar down his jaw line.

Smiling, she called to him, “Beni, it is me, Anazi. I have come home.”

They paused , squinted harder at her, then Beni gave a happy little trill and ran up to shoved her hard in the shoulder, she shoved him back with great affection.

“Little brother, you have grown large. Where is Mama, is she well?”

He snorted through his nose, “Mama is like the jungle. Beautiful and eternal. I did not recognize you Anazi, you look funny with long hair. Are you a boy now?,” he shook his own long hair, “Any why do you cover your breasts?,” His calloused, quick fingers pulled at the edge of her pink Girl Power t-shirt, “You look like the missionaries. Did you bring some chocolate? I like chocolate.”

“Beni, I don’t have any chocolate.” Anazi smacked his fingers as they started to rifle through her bag. He laughed and pulled her bag off her shoulder and pulled himself back up the tree with an effortless one armed swing. Her belongings started raining down to the forest floor, “Beni, you’re as stupid as a tree sloth. Bring my things back.”

All she heard was giggling in the branches above, a gaggle of small half-naked children swarmed the ground around her, picking through the litter of her stuff. She heard a squeal of delight as one ragged little girl held up a shiny silver bottle cap. Several other bottle caps were tied in a dirty string around her neck. Another larger girl jumped on the smaller one and smacked the cap out of her hand. Yet another grubby hand grabbed it and ran before it hit the ground.

Anazi started to laugh, remembering her own childish raids on the missionary's possessions. She had put the shiny caps in her purse, thinking that the children would like to make jewelry out of them. With one last withering glance at Beni’s hiding place, she left the children to gather her things. Anazi wasn’t so stupid to think she could take them away from the children. It’ would be easier to get pantyhose on a spider monkey.

She knew other guards were in the trees watching her walk into the village with her strange jeans and rubber bottomed shoes. She was a very strange looking by Tanzanian standards. Anazi stopped at the woven mat covering the doorway to her mother’s hut. She took a deep breath and was startled as the mat was pushed open and she stood face to face with her mother, leader of her tribe.

Mama looked the same as when she had left. The same short straight black hair cut exactly at cheek level, bare white bone protruding from the piercing in her left nostril. She was the same warm earthy brown, her breasts bare in the heat. Anazi, all at once, felt the stickiness of her cotton shirt, the chafe of her jeans on her shaved legs, but mostly the tangle of hair hanging past her shoulders.

“Mama…,” she asked and was met only with her Mama’s knowing eyes flowing over her like a flame. Unlike the American’s eyes, Mama’s eyes had no rim of white around the edges. They were black like the night without stars, seeing all and they were looking at her.

“Mama.”

Slowly, her mother nodded once.

“Anazi, my daughter, you have returned. You are late. Come with me, I must get water to cook the stomi roots.”

She handed Anazi the rough wooden bucket and began to walk quickly toward the rear of the village, past the carcass cooking on the spit in the clearing, walking away from the others toward the distant pounding of rushing water. She seemed as strong as when Anazi had left. Her flesh was just as plump, her loin cloth slapping the muscled backs of her bare thighs.

As they turned the corner, Anazi stood at the waterfall, the source of clean water for the whole village. It was more beautiful than ever, gushing like the waters of life from a high outcroppings of rock. Anazi dipped the bucket into the water as her mother dug into the soft ground near the back of the waterfall. Mama pulled out a large black knee sock from her loin cloth.

She started exhuming small white roots from the dirt and stuffing them into the sock. When it was full, she dipped the sock into the water for a minute then swung it over her head and smashed the roots against the rocky ground then she dipped it again. Her arm and back flexed with muscle until finally her knowing fingers tested the consistency of the root in the sock. Nodding to her self, she knotted the sock and slipped the knot under tie of her loin cloth. It hung at her waist like a bloated black leech. She motioned for Anazi to follow.

Anazi followed but her arm ached from the pull of the heavy bucket and she was sloshing water down her pants, leaving a sticky mess. Mama soon outdistanced her and by the time she reached the clearing, Mama was dumping the crushed roots out of the sock into a cook pan over the fire.

“Daughter, hurry with the water. I do not want the stomi to scorch.”

Hurrying, she tried to turn the bucket up to dump the remaining water in the pan but she couldn’t lift it without shaking. Her mother took the bucket away from her easily and tipped the water into the pan. It steamed and sizzled, the tinny smell of the root mixing with roasting meat on the spit to make an appetizing odor. Her stomach growling, Anazi tried not to think about the carcass turning over the fire. Instead, she concentrated on old Malbo.

Malbo, the oldest of the oldest, was layered with mounds of flesh, her eyes two small punch holes, and her chubby sausage fingers tended the meat. Years ago, a young Christian man with glass eyes had brought something called a Schwinn to the village. The bicycle had been a great source of amusement to the men and women of the village. The paths were too rough for him to ride it but he seemed determined to try. When his ministry called him back, he couldn’t carry the bicycle.

Malbo who was getting too weak to turn the meat by hand asked if she could have it. Everyone shook their heads at crazy old Malbo until she turned it into a motor to power the spit. Now, Malbo could sit comfortably and hand-pedal the bike, slowly turning the meat over the fire for hours. The chain glinted in the firelight and Malbo glistened with sweat. She smiled, the bristles of her pale mustache wrinkling over her toothless mouth and Anazi smiled back.

“Daughter.”

The words drug her back to her mother’s impassive face. She was hot in her clothes, baking actually.

“You were gone a very long time daughter. I was beginning to think your name had been given to the wind.”

“I was trying to see everything, Mama. The world outside is very different than home.”

“Why do have no children with you? No man? You are not young anymore, Anazi. You should have many children by now.”

“I am only twenty four, Mama.”

“I had five children by that age and had buried two husbands,” she shook her head sadly, “Perhaps, I was wrong to send you into the world with the white eyes but I needed to know about them. You have know your enemy.”

Pulling off her sweat soaked shirt, Anazi enjoyed the feel air on her skin but at the same time felt strange sense of nakedness. Shrugging off her uneasiness, she scrubbed her skin with the shirt, wiping away the sweat from under her breasts and tossing shirt into the cooking fire.

“Mama, you were not wrong. I saw such strange things while I as gone. I understand so many things now, things that I can share with everyone.”

Malbo handed Mama a knife and she cut a chunk of meat off the roast. She blew on it and popped it into her mouth, smacking her lips. She cut off another chunk of flesh and held it out to Anazi. Blushing, Anazi took the meat but did not eat it.

“Does the meat not please you daughter, it is fresh and well-cooked. Malbo is a good cook.”

“I..I’m…we’ll I’m a vegetarian, Mama.”

There was no word in swalli for vegetarian. Mama looked puzzled, “Vege..tor..ee..an, what is that?”

“Vegetarians don’t eat meat, Mama. Only vegetables.”

“No meat. Everyone likes a juicy piece of meat.’

“No meat, vegetables. “

“You like this?” Puzzled, she took the meat from Anaza hand and chewed it slowly then swallowed, “Meat is good.”

“Mama, what kind of meat is this? It’s an animal, yes?” Anaza was looking at the large carcass and wondering if a missionary was missing.

“Large pig. Good, tender. Like a fat white eye better, but there aren’t that many anymore.”

“Mama, you mustn’t cook people anymore. If outsiders found out, they would be very angry and cause much trouble for everyone.”

“Why? We don’t eat a lot of people. Maybe two, three a year. It’s tradition and the meat is very tender, good flavor. Makes us strong.”

“Mama, the white eyes, they will come and destroy us all if they found out about the eating of people. They made a law against it.”

“So that is their law, this is our law. You have been too long among the outsiders, daughter. You have forgotten how good a missionary can be in the cook pot.”

“I don’t meat anymore. I’m a vegetarian , remember.”

Cutting another chunk of meat from the pig, Mama slowly chewed it, savoring the flavor, “I have damaged you, my daughter. I should not have sent you alone among the enemy.”

“Mama, you didn’t damage me. I learned much about medicine, law, and politics. I can help us keep our way of life here safe.” Anaza squeezed her mother’s shoulder.

“Mama, no more eating the missionaries.”

“Veg..etor.un?”

“Yes, I’m a vegetarian but you can eat meat, just not people meat.”

“Vegetable meat?”

“Yes,” Anaza smiled. Finally, her mother understood.

“I will think on it, daughter.”

Months went by and Anaza drifted back into her old life. She enjoyed the freedom of bare skin and a simple life style. She worked hard, slept well, but the weirdness between her mother and herself stayed between them. Mama didn’t understand her reluctance to eat meat and Anaza couldn’t make her understand. Anaza had helped the village make more sanitary toilet facilities and she introduced aspirin and antibiotic cream.

Then, the new missionaries showed up. Sweating in layers of clothes and carrying boxes of bibles. The children hit them first, like a swarm of dung beetles, picking them clean. Anaza snickered behind her hand as they chased the kids, trying to grab their belongings. Anaza dreaded their meeting with Mama. In the past, Mama sometimes had chased them away, sometimes she allowed them to day for a few weeks until the heat chased them away and sometimes Mama made missionary stew.

Mama had listened silently as Anaza told her of the outside lands but she had not acknowledged that she had heard. Anxiety mounted as the missionaries were brought before Mama. Anaza breathed a sigh of relief as Mama welcomed them to a late dinner. She sent Beni out to kill some fresh meat. Anaza saw Mama pull Beni aside and whisper in his ear. Beni grinned and nodded. Big knothead.

Anazi entertained the newcomers, keeping them from bothering the more hot-headed members of the tribe. She talked to them about America, politics, and philosophy but Anazi found herself bored with their pretensions, with their embarrassed looks at her chest and bare thighs. She found herself wishing they would go back own world and leave her family alone.

She saw Beni in the distance, playing with the children, pretending to be an animal while the children hunted him. They crawled all over him, slapping him with their hands and jumping on him. She watched him die dramatically and the little heathens screamed with triumph. She smelled meat cooking in the air, Beni must have had a good hunt.

Suddenly, Anaza had a feeling of unease creep up her spine. Beni’s hunt had been really short. She started to go investigate the cooking meat when Mama entered the hut, her bearing regal. She dismissed the missionaries and approached Anaza with purpose. For the first time since she had returned, Mama smile at Anaza.

“Daughter, tonight’s meal will be in your honor. I had it made just for you.”

“But Mama, you know I don’t eat meat. Beni brought meat.”

“Yes, he brought a Vegetor..ian. It was hard to find one.”

“Vegetables?” Anaza said uncertainly.

“Beni killed a fat vegetarian. It was hard to find one but he was careful. The man did not eat meat. It’s good. You can eat it. Roasted Vegetarian.”

One of the missionaries looked up from the cooking pots he was playing with, “Vegetables?”

Anaza stood, unsure of what to do for a moment.

“Mama, had vegetable fed meat cooked for the night.”

“Oh like a corn-fed pig?” asked the bony one with the warts on his hands.

Hesitating for a moment, she looked at Mama, and then nodded, “Exactly, vegetarian meat.”

“Oh, organic. That’s cool.”

Anaza giggled. Yes, organic.

“Oh, organic. That’s cool but I don’t eat meat. I’m a vegetarian.”

Mama heard the magic word and examined the skinny one named Burt’s more closely, she pointed at him, “You vegootarean, yes?”

Mildly puzzled, he replied, “Yes, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Good. Good.”

Mama’s English was limited but Anaza could see the calculating gleam in her eye. The skinny one would be invited to dinner again some day, invited alone. Anaza started to warn him away but then she noticed for the first time that his upper arms were very plump for such a small body. Then, she noticed his eyes staring with undisguised lust at her upper thigh. Yes, he must come dinner alone sometime. She loved vegetarian.

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