The Leopard Tree

by Tim Merriman

  “And what is that, exactly, Daudi?” Masozi asked.

  “We are headed to the Emerald City, Masozi. We are going to see the great and powerful Oz. We are going to see if Kamau Akama is the one who can grant our wishes to make all children in Africa healthy and unafraid.” The gate agent had left the door to the plane unattended as she went back to the desk to make the announcement that the doors were closing and all passengers should be on board. Daudi and his friends slipped down the jetway and onto the plane. With only one row of three seats left, the flight attendant on board assumed the children belonged there and quickly shooed them into place. She smiled and said, “I bet your mom is glad you made it. Where is she sitting?” Daudi motioned a few rows behind, hoping that someone back there would look like she could be the mother of the three. Fortunately, someone rang a call button and the attendant quickly shifted focus and moved away.

  “Did it work, Daudi?” Masozi whispered. “Are we on our way?”

  Daudi heard the airplane door close and the engines start. Within seconds, the jetway was pulled aside and the airplane began to back out of the gate. Only when the wheels left the ground, did Daudi dare to breathe. “Yes, Masozi. We did it. We are on our way.”

  Chapter Five

  Daudi, Ramla, and Masozi sat silently in their seats, afraid to talk above a whisper or draw attention to themselves in any way. Daudi had no idea how long they would be on the plane or how they would successfully transfer planes once they reached Tokyo, but he decided the best thing to do was to wait and see what opportunities presented themselves. Several hours passed with Daudi reading from the book he had tucked in his shirt along with the packet that Mamere had sewn in his pillow. Masozi wanted him to read the part about the tornado lifting the house from the ground over and over again, because he felt like that was what was happening when the plane took off. He wanted the assurance that Dorothy had landed safely from her experience and that the same end was likely for them.

  Finally, Masozi and Ramla slept. Daudi, still restless, pulled the airline magazine from the seat pocket and read about things he had never seen or done or even dreamed about. He studied the ads, read the airline president’s pledge to great service, and then turned the page to an article that seemed to be written just for them and their immediate need. Daudi sat up and grew more excited as he read about a Children’s Summit to be held at the United Nations in the coming month. The article said that delegates from around the world were being flown to New York to meet with U.N. leaders and discuss the current needs of youth in their countries.

  Daudi carefully pulled the sheets out of the magazine and tucked the article into his shirt. He wondered why Sister Mary and Rosa had said nothing of this conference. In his weariness, he thought perhaps they just didn’t want him to know about it. After all, Miss Rosa had not been very encouraging when he asked about going to America. Maybe they thought it was useless to even try to make a difference, but he was determined to do whatever he could, just like Mamere had always said. It never occurred to him that perhaps they simply hadn’t known about it.

  Thirteen long hours after they had taken off, the plane landed at Narita Airport in Tokyo. People immediately began leaving the plane, but Daudi heard the purser announce that those traveling on to San Francisco did not need to exit the aircraft as they would be on their way again immediately after refueling and picking up the passengers from Tokyo. The crew changed in Tokyo, so there was no need for Daudi to attempt an explanation of why their “mother” got off without them. Ramla and Daudi waited patiently for the plane to fill again, but Masozi was desperate to move around.

  “Quit squirming,” Daudi cautioned, as the plane took off to begin the remainder of the flight to San Francisco.

  “I cannot help it, Daudi. I am so tired of sitting and my leg stump is aching. I do not know whether to take off the metal leg or not. I no longer have a crutch since we left so suddenly.”

  Daudi felt a twinge of guilt for not thinking about Masozi’s crutch as he had engineered their escape. Because the metal leg did not fit well, it rubbed a raw place if left on too long and only alternating with the crutch helped make it tolerable.

  “I am sorry, Masozi. You should do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable.”

  “Then off it comes.” Masozi began the task of unbuckling the metal prosthetic, but the buckle seemed to be stuck. He tugged on it with more force than he usually used. The buckle came loose, but so did the leg, so quickly that it shot across the aisle right in front of a very startled flight attendant.

  “What on earth?” She gingerly picked up the errant leg, and looked at Masozi’s one good foot. “Did you lose something?” She smiled as she handed the leg back to him.

  “I am sorry, Miss. It just got away from me.” Masozi flashed a huge grin in her direction that completely won her heart.

  “That’s okay, just be careful. Do you need any help with that?” Ramla scowled at the attendant and began to help Masozi herself. “Okay, guess not. Where are you kids headed?”

  Daudi pulled the article and his passport out of his shirt and gave her an earnest look as he handed them over. “Here, this is talking about us.”

  “Oh, I see. And who is meeting you when we land? Do you have the papers the airline gave you?”

  Daudi thought quickly while Masozi and Ramla wrestled with the metal leg in the small space, trying to jam it under the seat and out of the way. He felt his shirt as though he was looking for something, and then said, looking directly at Ramla, “Masozi, do you have the papers they gave us? I do not seem to have them with me.”

  “What pa—? Ouch.” Ramla was pinching Masozi’s arm, her eyes never leaving Daudi’s. “I mean, oh. The papers.” Masozi smiled and then said, “Daudi, I am sorry. I think I left them in the washroom back at the airport when the plane stopped. Were they important?” His face was the picture of innocence as he grinned sheepishly in the flight attendant’s general direction.

  She watched the entire exchange and sensed that there was more to this story than met the eye. But she wasn’t about to have the pilot turn the plane around now and inconvenience over 200 other passengers. These children clearly posed no security threat, and they could sort this out on the other end just as easily. She said, “Don’t worry. We can get replacements when we land. In the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on you and if you need anything, you just let me know. My name is Carole.”

  * * *

  “I have never seen so much food. They keep feeding us,” Daudi said, leaning over Ramla to whisper to Masozi. “And Miss Carole brings us something new to drink every few minutes. I wish we could stay on this plane forever.” He was thinking more about what they would have to face when they landed than the food, but Masozi had another view.

  “I just want to be back on solid ground, Daudi. I do not know any of the noises in this monster plane. Even the Leopard Tree was not so frightening,” Masozi whispered. “And I am so tired of sitting still.”

  “It is landing soon, Masozi. Be patient. Then I am not sure what will happen when we get to the American airport. We have no proper papers. I have a passport, but you and Ramla do not. I fear they will put us all in jail and send us back to Kenya right away.”

  “We are on our way to see Oz, Daudi. You said so and I believe you. We will figure something out,” Masozi said.

  “I hope you are right.”

  Ramla shook her head as if disgusted with both of them. She would follow the two of them anywhere, but she was afraid of what they would find when they landed and wished she was back in the orphanage with Sister Mary.

  * * *

  The children grew silent as the big plane landed. One by one, everyone else on board filed off, looking at the youngsters as if they were from another planet. They had been on the plane for almost 20 hours and they looked it. They were so travel-weary that they could do nothing but wait as Carole had instructed them. She finally came for them, and said, “Okay, it’s time to go. We’ll get your paper
work sorted out and I’m sure we can find whoever’s supposed to meet you on this end.”

  She escorted them through the long corridors, pushing the wheelchair she had brought for Masozi. He protested to no avail. “I am perfectly able to walk. I have my metal leg. I feel silly in this.” She simply patted his shoulder and smiled at Ramla and Daudi hanging on to each side of the chair. “Is he always this hard to get along with?”

  Ramla flashed her an unhappy look that said “You don’t know him well enough to make fun of him,” but Daudi did not respond. He was trying to figure out their next move, but had never been in this situation before, so had no way of knowing what to expect.

  Carole left them at immigration in the presence of an African-American woman in a uniform. She handed over Daudi’s passport and the article from the magazine.

  “It’s a strange thing. They seem to be traveling alone without any official papers except this. If their story is true, then someone from the U.N. should be meeting them here.”

  The immigration agent told them to be seated and studied the passport and the article. She then studied each of them in turn, but seemed most interested in Masozi, clearly feeling sympathy for the blind boy without a leg.

  “Sorry kids. Nothing we can do until your U.N. person gets here.” She pushed Masozi’s wheelchair to the side of the bench seating and looked to Carole. “I’ll call the authorities and we’ll get it taken care of,” she said. Carole nodded and looked at the children.

  “I’ll leave you here then. I’m sure they’ll take good care of you.” She gave each one a quick hug and then wished them well as the automatic doors whooshed close behind her.

  Daudi and Ramla sat on the padded benches next to Masozi and watched as a crowd of people from India suddenly surged into the area, directed there by the passport inspection officials.

  Daudi and Masozi whispered back and forth while Ramla studied the people. When the mass of bodies totally covered the immigration desk and she could no longer see the agent, she tapped on Daudi’s knee and pointed toward the exit. Daudi whispered in Masozi’s ear and he stepped out of the wheelchair. They walked out of the exit door, leaving Daudi’s passport and the article with the agent. Once clear of the immigration area, they scurried to the door that showed access to ground transportation and stepped out into the cool breeze common to the San Francisco Bay. They shivered a bit in their light African clothing, but had no way to get warmer unless they went back inside, and that was not an option Daudi would consider. A shuttlebus pulled up to the curb and Daudi instantly decided they needed to be somewhere else, even if it landed them in more trouble.

  “Ramla, quickly, Masozi. Get on the matatu.” They moved with others climbing onto a large bus with an open back door. He hoped the bus driver would not want money but as he watched, he didn’t see anyone else paying for the ride. They found a seat at the very back and sat quietly, hoping the bus would take them far away from immigration officials.

  “Where are we going now, Daudi?”

  “Kansas, we are going to Kansas,” he said resolutely with no certain idea of how they would get there. He knew enough about government officials to know that they would be looking for three Kenyan children. He felt sure that Rosa had searched the airport for them, and not finding them, probably contacted the local authorities. Even though they had no families remaining in Kenya and nothing to go back to, Daudi imagined that Rosa and Sister Mary would want them to return. If nothing else, they had committed a crime by stealing the boarding pass and taking the plane without paying for the trip. That could not be ignored.

  “We must get to Kansas and there we will find the yellow brick road, some way that will take us to New York in time for the conference where we can talk with Kamau Akama. I believe this.”

  Ramla nodded and Masozi did also. They were of one mind. They simply had no idea how to get to Kansas in the first place.

  When the bus reached the rental car area, people grabbed their suitcases and hurried off, anxious to be first in line at the counter. Daudi and his companions followed the crowd. In the car rental building they wandered, confused by the sights and sounds surrounding them, trying not to attract attention. Everyone else seemed too busy to notice them. They could see no police around the large waiting area. Nervous and tired, they sat down to wait for inspiration.

  “Daudi, are you making a plan?” Masozi asked. Ramla leaned over to listen.

  “I am not sure what to do, Masozi. What do you think?”

  “Check the book. Maybe the book has the answer,” Masozi suggested.

  It was not a bad idea, though Daudi wasn’t sure the book contained the sort of wisdom that might help them now. He pulled the dog-eared book from his shirt and let it fall open on its own. Because they had read it so many times from the beginning, the first crease that fell open landed near the end of the second chapter.

  “How can I get there?” asked Dorothy.

  “You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is sometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible.”

  Before Daudi could go further, Ramla jumped up and ran toward a group of people that were headed out the door. She tugged on the habit of a nun who turned around suddenly. Ramla jumped back, shocked that the nun did not look anything like Sister Mary. The nun realized she had frightened Ramla and followed her back to the boys.

  “Please little one,” she said in a strangely accented English. “It’s alright. I am Sister Anna, happy to meet you.” The woman reached out her hand to Ramla and smiled. “You do not be afraid of me.” Although she was about the same size as Sister Mary, this nun had an Asian face unlike any that the children had seen before. Ramla shrank back behind Daudi, who stood up to plead with the woman. “She meant no harm, Sister. She thought you were Sister Mary.” Having said that much, he was unsure how to proceed.

  Masozi had been listening to the exchange and decided to help by turning on his unmistakable charm. He smiled broadly and said, “Please Sister, we are on our way to Kansas to live in a home for special children. Could you help us?”

  “Where your chaperone, little ones? How you traveling?”

  Daudi immediately saw the opportunity. “We were to be met by school authorities here, but they did not show up. Little Sisters of Mercy took care of us in Ken-, in California and will do that also in Kansas, but we must get there.” Daudi suddenly realized the fewer people that knew they were stowaways from Kenya, the better.

  “That’s different order than mine, but I cannot leave you alone. I’ll get policeman.”

  “Please, Sister. Do not do that. I am HIV-positive. If I am turned over to authorities, they will keep me here for days and make me wait before letting me go to Kansas and maybe they will not even let me go. I have no hope of getting back on medicine in time unless I get there very quickly. They are expecting me and have medicine ready for me.”

  The nun studied his face and read the truth of what he said in every word. She had been headmistress of a school and prided herself on knowing when a child invented a story. This child was filled with real concern.

  “If I get you on bus to the city of school, will you go straight there? Where is school?”

  Daudi tried to think fast. He knew no cities in Kansas, just the word Kansas. “It is the city Kansas, I think.” He had no idea what he was saying, but he looked genuinely distressed.

  “I so sorry. You must be very frightened. You must mean Kansas City. Does that sound right?” The nun hovered over them with tremendous concern.

  “Yes, yes!” Daudi and Masozi said in unison. “That is it. Kansas City.” They seemed delighted to recall the name and she was instantly relieved.

  “This is simple, then. I know Monsignor there. He will meet your bus. Wait here while I get rental car. I drive you to bus station and get you seats to Kansas. Plane might be faster. I can check, but I’m doubting you have money and I have trouble spending that much without approval.”

  “Oh please, Sister, a bus is fi
ne. Ramla does not speak and she is terribly frightened by the sounds of the planes. They sound like giant eagles that eat children. We would feel much better in a matatu.” Masozi realized his mistake immediately and his smile faded. He had picked up on Daudi’s desire to keep anyone from learning they were from Kenya.

  “A matatu?” Sister Anna smiled at the expression, killing Masozi’s hope that she hadn’t noticed.

  “A troublemaker, sister. That’s what buses are called in Kenya because they break down so much. We learned that in school.”

  “Ah, hakuna matata means no worries. I understand.”

  “You speak Swahili, Sister?” Daudi said in amazement.

  “No, no. Just what I learned from movie. Hakuna matata, this is big bus that will not break down. You will have safe trip.”

  In little more than an hour, Sister Anna had the children at a Trailways bus depot in San Francisco, each with tickets firmly in one hand and a bag of McDonald’s hamburgers in the other. They seemed delighted with the hasty dinner. She reassured the driver that a Monsignor would meet them at the other end. He promised her he would help them buy food with the small amount of money she gave them, when they stopped for breaks along the way. They sat side by side in the back of the bus, where they hoped no one would notice them. Ramla had found them a good witch in Sister Anna, though the nun would no doubt have rather been thought of as a guardian angel. Sister Anna had tears in her eyes as she put them on a bus, wanting to learn more about their story, but unable to take the time they deserved just now. She hoped she would find out what good soul had sent them on this journey for medical care and loving nurturing at a school for special children. Clearly they could not be more special.