When she was twelve years old, Raha earned a scholarship to study at a boarding school in England. She kissed her little sister's round cheek. She patted the cow's brown shoulder. She hugged Mama's wide waist. Then Raha and Baba, her father, rode the crowded bus to the airport.

“I named you Raha, which means happiness,” Baba said. “Remember that.”

As the plane took off, Raha looked out the window at the goat herds and brown rivers of Kenya. She gazed down at the green fields where she used to run like the wind.

At school in England, Raha wished Baba had told her to study hard and to practice running every day. That was much easier than staying happy.

The teachers gave her dozens of math problems to solve, essays to write, and books to read. She ran to her classes through cold rain, clutching her books inside her blue blazer.

At school in England, it wasn't easy for Raha to stay happy.

Her running coach gave her a striped shirt and white shorts, shoes with cleats for sprints, and another pair with spongy soles for cross-country.

Raha had always run barefoot at home, and the shoes felt tight on her toes. But all the other runners wore shoes, and Raha didn't want to be different.

The team practiced every weekday afternoon. On Saturdays, everyone watched rugby—everyone but Raha. On Saturdays, she ran alone on country lanes lined with thistle and blackberries. She ran over fields thick with mud. The cold air stung her throat, and her shoes stuck in the mud, slowing her down. She missed running barefoot and fast under the hot African sun.

Each day at lunch, Raha sat alone in the large hall, eating rubbery roast beef and Brussels sprouts. She wished she were home, eating spicy soup from a calabash bowl and laughing with her family. Her mouth craved fish and coconut, or a golden papaya, juicy and sweet.

One Saturday, Raha ran up a hill and found herself in a barnyard. One of her classmates, a day student named Thomas, stood just inside the barn doors.

After he greeted her, Raha asked, “Why aren't you watching rugby?”

“I have to help my father,” said Thomas. “Would you like to see the cows?”

Raha entered the barn, and the familiar smell of cows surrounded her. “We have a cow at home,” she said. “I call her Rafiki. That means friend.”

Raha rubbed the swollen sides of a brown cow.

“She'll give birth to a calf soon,” said Thomas.

On Monday, Thomas invited Raha to sit with him and his friends at lunch. They talked about the track meet coming up in two weeks. At home, Raha had always looked forward to running races, but now she had a churning in her stomach. How would she run fast in those clumsy shoes?

The next Saturday, Raha ran to Thomas's farm. She didn't see him at the barn, so she ran up the hill to the fields above. She found Thomas's brown cow lying on her side and breathing heavily.

“Poor thing, your calf is coming,” Raha said. “You need help.” She looked out over the fields, but there was no one in earshot.

Raha didn't know how to deliver a calf, but she knew how to run. She pulled off her shoes and ran, barefoot and fast, as she used to run at home.

She ran over the fields, past the barn, and to the white house where Thomas lived. Raha found Thomas and his father, and they followed her back up the hill.

When they reached the upper field, the cow still lay on her side. Beside her, the calf was already born, but it lay slick and still. Please, Raha thought, let them be alive.

“The calf is breathing,” said Thomas's father. He dragged the calf to the mother's head. The cow, smelling her newborn, struggled to her feet, nuzzled her calf, and started to lick its wet fur. The calf opened its eyes.

“We came just in time,” said Thomas, still panting.

“Yes, thanks to you,” Thomas's father said, nodding to Raha. He looked at the calf. “She'll be needing a name.”

“How about Rafiki?” Thomas suggested. Then he smiled at Raha and said, “It means friend.”

On her run back to the school, Raha felt like a bird flying over the patchwork of green fields.

In the shower room, Raha stood in her clothes under the hot water, letting the mud run off her. She grinned. Baba, she thought, I'm living up to my name.

On the day of the races, busloads of runners and spectators came from other schools. Thomas waved to Raha from the crowd. She wore her striped shirt and her white shorts. Her feet were bare.

The runners lined up, and the starting gun exploded. Raha ran like the wind.

Aim Plus Middle School Assessments

English Assessment

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