Golden Boy

by Tara Sullivan

  I pick up our three bowls and hand them to the restaurant lady with our thanks.

  “Oh, but we have to let the rest of the family know you’re safe!” exclaims Asu.

  “What?”

  “The rest of the family: Mother, Auntie, Chui, everyone! I didn’t have enough money to call them, but there’s so much to tell them! Alasiri’s going to jail! You’re safe!”

  Kweli tips his head toward me, his brows drawn together. “Now there’s a good idea,” he mutters.

  I feel torn: Part of me wants nothing more than to talk to them all again—Mother, to tell her it’s not her fault I was born the way I am; Auntie, to apologize for taking her money and thank her for telling me about the albino MPs; Chui, because he cried for me—but another part of me is still angry at them.

  “They’re probably glad I’m gone,” I grumble.

  “How can you say that?” snaps Asu. “Were you there to see? Mother took a double shift at the factory while I searched for you in Mwanza. She worked eighteen hours a day, and Chui dropped out of school, all to raise money quickly so someone could come after you.”

  I feel ashamed.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage. “It’s just . . . they always treated me so differently. It felt like I was such a burden. That everyone was always mad at me.”

  “Habo.” Asu sighs. “You’re family. Even if they didn’t love having you around all the time, they still love you.”

  I stare at her for a long moment, looking at her tired face, weighing the truth in her words. Could it be true that, in spite of everyone’s feelings about me, they loved me somehow? I think of the times Mother held me when she thought no one was looking, and how Chui talked to me about his dreams when we were driving across the Serengeti. The tightness I’ve always carried around inside my ribs loosens like a coil of wire unspooling. It’s a good feeling.

  “Sawa,” I say at last. “Let’s go talk to them.”

  “Finally,” Kweli humphs. He reaches out and rests a hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. “I’m glad you’re doing this, Habo. I had no peace thinking that your family didn’t know you were safe.”

  I nod, and since his hand is on the base of my neck, Kweli feels this and smiles.

  “So,” he says, “one last delay.” He pulls a handful of small bills out of the pouch around his neck and hands them to Asu to count. “I don’t know exactly what it costs to call Mwanza, but that should cover it. Let’s go find Eshe. We’ll tell her it’s an emergency and give her a little extra because of the hour.”

  “Ndiyo,” I say. “Asante.”

  “Asante sana,” echoes Asu when she sees the money in her hand.

  “Karibu,” says Kweli, and he turns, leading us to Eshe’s house. After a few steps, I slip my hand into Asu’s again. She smiles down at me. Her dark brown eyes sparkle from her earlier tears.

  “It is hard to believe I found you,” she murmurs.

  “I know,” I say. Then I look up and smile at her. “I’ll have to do a new carving for Kweli called ‘Happiness.’ But he’ll have to give me a very big piece of wood first.”

  Asu laughs and squeezes my hand.

  We find Eshe’s house and explain the call we want to make. She takes our money and helps us talk to the operator to find the number of the store up the road from Auntie’s house. When it’s ringing, Eshe passes the phone to me.

  For a moment I hesitate, but then I remember an impossible promise I made to a little boy more than three months ago.

  “Hello?” asks a stranger’s voice, heavy with sleep.

  “Hello,” I say, grinning. “My name is Habo. I’m calling from Dar es Salaam. I need to speak to Kito.”

  KISWAHILI WORDS & PHRASES

  A

  asante thank you

  B

  bibi ma’am; respectful term for a woman

  bongo flava Tanzanian hip-hop music. Lyrics usually address social and political issues such as poverty and corruption.

  bwana mister; sir

  D

  dala-dala minivan used as local bus

  H

  habari gani? what’s the news?

  hodi hodi “hello hello”: phrase used instead of knocking to enter a house

  hujambo “hello”: literally, “how are you?”

  K

  karibu welcome/you’re welcome

  khanga traditional clothing

  kwaheri good-bye

  M

  manyara a region in Tanzania; type of wood used in fencing

  marahaba response to “shikamu.” Literally, “I’m delighted.”

  mbili two

  mganga witch doctor (singular)

  mkunga midwife

  mmoja one

  mpingo East African blackwood tree

  mtoto boy

  N

  nane eight

  ndiyo yes

  ni to be

  nne four

  nzuri good

  P

  pepo ghost

  punguani idiot

  S

  sabahani excuse me

  safari journey

  saba seven

  sana very much

  sawa okay

  sita six

  shikamoo polite way to greet elders. “I hold your feet.”

  T

  tano five

  tatu three

  thelathini thirty

  U

  ugali thick cornmeal porridge

  W

  waganga witch doctors (plural)

  waganga wa jadi users of magic and advisors to chiefs (inherited position)

  waganga wa kienyeji roadside charlatans; similar in activities to waganga wa jadi, but not a prestigious or inherited position

  waganga wa tiba asili traditional healers

  Y

  yeye he

  Z

  zeruzeru albino; literally, “zero-zero”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Although Golden Boy is a work of fiction, the situations portrayed in it are real.

  The first materials that Habo and Davu read together in the library are all real. The children’s book they read aloud is a real book, True Friends: A Tale from Tanzania, by John Kilaka. All of the newspaper headlines they read came from real newspapers. Sadly, the stories of the people with albinism in Golden Boy are real as well. The two members of parliament that Habo sees on TV are real people, and so was Charlie Ngeleja. He died in Mwanza the way Auntie describes to Habo’s family. Charlie’s is just one story, but there are too many like his.

  When I came across a news story in 2009 that told about the kidnapping, mutilation, and murder of African albinos for use as good-luck talismans, I was upset that I had never heard about the tragedy before. I started looking for books on the subject and found none. The most I could find were a few articles from international newspapers and a documentary produced by Al Jazeera English: Africa Uncovered: Murder & Myth. This haunting documentary touched a nerve and sent me down the path of writing Golden Boy.

  Albinism, a genetic condition where the skin has no melanin, is five times as common in sub-Saharan Africa as it is in Europe, but not nearly as accepted. People with albinism suffer from poor vision and are very susceptible to skin conditions. Because of their impaired vision, it is common in Africa for people with albinism in Africa to be sent to schools for the blind, even though these schools cannot meet their needs. Even if they are allowed to attend regular school, they are frequently made to sit at the back of classrooms, where they can’t see the board. This leads to the under-education of adults with albinism and a misperception in society that they are stupid or somehow less capable of higher thought than others.

  Because of the lack of pigment in their skin, people with albinism burn easily and frequently in th
e sun. In developing countries, where sunscreen is generally priced for foreigners, mothers often have to take on a second job simply to cover the cost of sunscreen and protective clothing for a child with albinism. The average life expectancy in Tanzania for a person with albinism is between thirty-five and forty years of age, mostly as a result of skin cancer.

  Today in parts of Africa, especially in northern Tanzania, people with albinism are sought out, maimed, and killed because of a belief that their body parts are lucky, or that the death of an albino will lift a curse. In certain regions, it is believed that albino hair woven into nets will catch fish; in others it is believed that albino legs will cause a mine to produce gold. Though the specifics vary, the basic belief is widespread. Under the Same Sun, a nonprofit organization that works to rescue people with albinism from attacks and help them get access to a real education, reported on June 14, 2012, that so far in Tanzania, seventy-one people with albinism have been murdered, an additional twenty-eight have survived attacks with severe mutilations, and there have been nineteen grave robberies.

  Though children with albinism were always considered unlucky and frequently killed at birth, as were twins and people with deformities, the hunting of people with albinism is not some long-held tradition. Rather, the superstitions about albino body parts have only gained popularity in the last fifteen years or so. The use of human body parts for witchcraft purposes goes through cycles: At one time, the heads of bald men were seen as lucky; at another, the bodies of very old women. However, no trend has been as extensive or lethal as the current one: the targeting of albinos.

  Tanzania stands at the center of this trend, both in horror and in reasons to hope. The vast majority of the killings in all of East Africa have occurred in Tanzania, predominantly in the northern districts around Lake Victoria. However, Tanzania is also leading the way in albino advocacy, including allowing people with albinism to serve in the parliament and publicize this issue. One of the albino members of parliament, Al-Shymaa Kway-Geer, was appointed to her post by the Tanzanian government. The other, Salum Khalfani Bar’wani, even more wonderfully, was elected. These brave leaders are bringing the albino crisis into the news and into political discussion. They are working with international organizations and, most importantly, are serving as role models. Their visibility and work is vital. It inspires people with albinism to become more active in lobbying for equal rights and shows those in the mainstream that if you allow a person with albinism to benefit from education, they can succeed at the highest level.

  I traveled to Tanzania in the summer of 2011 to finalize research for Golden Boy. Not only did this allow me to do some key fact-checking (it turns out, for example, that the train leaves Mwanza at six a.m., not six p.m. like the railway website says!) but it also allowed me to meet with the staff of Under the Same Sun. UTSS moves people with albinism who have been attacked to safe houses, provides them with glasses and sun protection, and pays for their schooling. They also work on initiatives to help people understand albinism. Their informational campaigns teach that albinos are people just like anyone else, that albinism is a condition inherited from both the mother and the father, and that albinos have no magical powers and should be treated with respect and human dignity.

  If you are interested in engaging with this issue, there are multiple things you can do. You can collect vision aids (glasses, magnifying glasses) and sun protection (sunscreen, wide-brimmed hats, long-sleeved sun-proof clothing) and send them to organizations that will distribute them to people with albinism in Africa. You can raise money for advocacy groups that promote the humanity of people with albinism in government circles. You can also do some of your own advocacy by writing letters to members of the government, encouraging them to pay attention to this human rights crisis. Last, but definitely not least, you can choose to always treat those who look different from you with respect and kindness. Positive changes in the attitude of the world only happen one interaction at a time, one person at a time.

  Be that one person.

  Tara Sullivan

  AUGUST 15, 2012

  RESOURCES

  To find out more about the issues raised in Golden Boy, including more information on the current upsurge in ivory poaching and specific things that you can do to help people with albinism in Africa, please visit my webpage, www.sullivanstories.com.

  DOCUMENTARIES

  Please be warned: The images found in the following videos are quite graphic.

  Africa Uncovered: Murder & Myth,

  Al Jazeera English documentary, July 28, 2008,

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W23rqCzVYzM (Part 1) ;

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsfWvnE4njs (Part 2)

  Deadly Hunt: Albinos in Tanzania,

  United Nations video report, October 19, 2009,

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&feature=endscreen&v=zd7RRr5Eubg

  White and Black: Crimes of Colour,

  Under the Same Sun documentary, 2010.

  “Zeru, Zeru: Being Albino in Tanzania,”

  a photojournalism piece by Franck Vogel, Visura Magazine.com,

  http://www.visuramagazine.com/franck-vogel-zeru-zeru#.UCwqe46PdRk

  NONPROFIT ORGANIZATIONS WORKING IN THE FIELD

  Please be warned: The images found on the following sites are quite graphic.

  Under the Same Sun: www.underthesamesun.com

  A Canadian charity founded in 2008, UTSS focuses on the education and support of albino students. UTSS educates the general populace to value people with albinism and works to ensure that people with albinism have access to education themselves. They provide student scholarships, school supplies, and lifesaving sunscreen and hats.

  Asante Mariamu: www.asante-mariamu.org

  Named after Mariamu Staford, the Tanzanian woman with albinism who survived an attack and the loss of her arms in 2008, Asante Mariamu runs “SunDrives,” raising funds for lifesaving sun protection clothing, sunglasses, and sunscreen. It also supports a dermatology clinic for people with albinism in Malawi and works to bring international attention to this crisis.

  The Salif Keita Global Foundation Inc.: www.salifkeita.us

  A nonprofit organization founded by Malian musician and singer Salif Keita, himself a person with albinism, SKGF brings media attention to the global plight of people with albinism, engages in advocacy for their rights and social integration, and raises funds to provide them with free health care, support groups, and educational services in the United States, Africa, and around the world.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, thanks are due to my wonderful husband, Nick Boivin. Thank you for encouraging me to chase the dream of becoming an author, badgering me to keep going through the rough spots, and cheering my every success. Thank you for doing the laundry and walking the dog when I needed time to write. I noticed and was grateful. And I didn’t really want that blue sweater you put through the dryer, anyway.

  To my family: Thank you for reading to me incessantly as a child and for always being excited when I wrote. To Mom, for going into innumerable bookstores in the United States and Ireland every summer and buying hundreds of books (staggered in difficulty to grow with my reading ability) that you boxed up and shipped to wherever we were living . . . and then proceeded to read with me every night. To Dad, for using whatever squeaky voices were required for the complete experience of Calvin & Hobbes, and then traveling with me to Tanzania and reading every single draft of my book when I got around to writing one myself. To my brother, Mark, for letting me read to you and pass on all that fun, even when you got all grown up.

  I am grateful to the staff of both the Canadian and Tanzanian branches of Under the Same Sun, an organization doing a remarkable job of helping people with albinism in Tanzania, for sharing their time and expertise with me. Special thanks to Vicky Ntetema, a woman fearlessly working for the human rights of people with albinism in Africa in spite of the ongoing t
hreat to her personal safety, who took hours out of her busy day to tell me her story and give me an understanding of both the problem and the work being done for a solution.

  A big thank-you also to my terrific writers’ groups, and to Carol McIntosh and Josie Doak, my insightful beta readers. To Susan Weber, Kim Girard, Carol Gray, and John Englander, who were there as I bungled through a first draft. To Katie Slivensky, Lisa Palin, Lauren Barrett, Julia Maranan, and Annie Cardi: Thank you for being with me through the slow and terrifying process of turning that first draft into a published novel.

  To the PEN New England Susan P. Bloom Discovery Award selection committee, for discovering Golden Boy and helping me catch the eye of my amazing agent, Caryn Wiseman. To Caryn, for that magical sentence “I’d love to see the full manuscript,” and all your tireless work since then to ensure that I got only the best out of being a debut author. And to Kate Ritchey, Cindy Howle, Ryan Thomann, Cecilia Yung, and all the marvelous people at G. P. Putnam’s Sons who have taken my story and, with boundless enthusiasm, turned it into a beautiful book.

  Finally, and most especially, to my phenomenal editor, Stacey Barney, for falling in love with Habo and having the vision to see this novel in the one you saw. I am continuously amazed at the care you take in bettering my writing. You pushed Golden Boy far beyond what I was originally able to imagine, and I know I couldn’t have gotten to this point without your guidance. I consider myself immeasurably blessed to have had you edit my first book. Thank you.

  tara sullivan was born in India and spent her childhood living in Bangladesh, Ecuador, Bolivia, and the Dominican Republic with her parents, who were international aid workers. She received a BA in Spanish literature and cognitive science from the University of Virginia, and a MA in Latin American studies and an MPA in nonprofit management from Indiana University. To research Golden Boy, Tara traveled to Tanzania, where she interviewed those working to rescue and educate Tanzanian people with albinism. She currently teaches high school Spanish and lives in Malden, Massachusetts. Golden Boy is her first novel.