by Tim Merriman
“Yep, that’s the question,” the old men said in unison.
The kids looked at each other. They were disoriented from the journey, unsure of how long they’d slept or where they were now. They had no way of knowing whether these men would be friend or foe. While Daudi tried to decide whether to tell the truth or continue to claim they were from California, one of the old men spoke up.
“Well, hell, we ain’t being very friendly. My name is Lane and this here’s my brother, Campbell. We’re the Witts. Guess you could say that makes just one of us a half-Witt. Trouble is, we never know which one.” Lane and Campbell both chuckled heartily at the joke they’d told a hundred times. As they looked at the puzzled faces of the children, their laughter died back.
“Well, hmmph. I reckon it don’t matter much who you are or where you’re from. You look like you could use some grub. Come on, we’ll see what we got.” Lane’s assumption drew a winning smile from Masozi. He scrambled down the ramp without assistance, sliding the last foot or so until Lane grabbed his arm to steady him. Lane’s eyes sent a silent message to Campbell. Clearly, these kids needed help more than they needed questions. Campbell nodded as he handed Ramla and Daudi out of the trailer.
* * *
Daudi, Masozi and Ramla followed the two elderly ranchers into their house. On top of every horizontal surface there seemed to be a furry heap. A dozen dogs of all sizes and kinds adorned the couch and chairs. As many cats had taken over the hearth, bookcases, and tables. One cat was using a bloodhound for a pillow. The children had never seen so many animals in one place. They were a little frightened, but the animals didn’t seem at all concerned about their presence. Finally, one of the big retriever-type dogs roused itself to come sniff and lick in the direction of Ramla’s hand. She crowded behind Daudi, but the wagging tail and sloppy grin won her over and she tentatively petted the big yellow dog. Her attention made him wiggle with delight.
“Well, looks like you found a friend, young miss. Not a one of these critters would think of hurting anyone. So feel free to pet ’em all you want,” Lane said. “They’ll prob’ly ask for food, but I reckon you better get yours first. You kids hungry by any chance?”
Daudi started to say something but Masozi was faster. “We would be most grateful to have anything to eat,” he explained, flashing his famous smile to see if that might increase the chances of getting fed sooner rather than later.
“Hmmmmm. What have we got, Campbell?“ Lane asked. “We got lots of them frozen pizzas, don’t we?”
“Yep, we must a bought a dozen of them kind you can heat up and eat. I’ll get ’em going,” Campbell said, bounding into the kitchen like a young man. Lane turned on a CD player and beautiful music came out of speakers placed all over the house.
“I like that music. What is it?” Masozi asked.
“It’s classical Mozart, my young friend.”
“Mozart,” Masozi mused. “Like my name.”
“And what might that be?” Lane asked.
“He is Masozi. I am Daudi, and this is Ramla,” Daudi volunteered, pointing at his friends. He was beginning to feel comfortable in this unusual house filled with animals, beautiful music, and delicious smells wafting from the kitchen. Campbell brought two pizzas and four plates balanced on his arms, set them down, and headed back to the kitchen for soft drinks.
The dogs looked up hopefully as the pizza smell pervaded the room, while the cats wrinkled their dainty noses. The children ate and drank their fill, laughing as they fended off nosy animals, and listened to Lane and Campbell hum along with the CD. When the music ended, Lane pulled a guitar from its stand and Camp took a vintage mandolin from the wall. The Africans were spellbound as the farmers began to play everything from bluegrass to Tchaikovsky. When the brothers began a soft rendition of Amazing Grace, Daudi, Masozi, and Ramla nodded off to sleep one by one, amid the animals sprawled on the couch. Camp found lightweight blankets and covered them, figuring the couch was as good as anywhere for them to bed down. He smiled as he pulled the blanket around Ramla and tucked in the corners. She was wrapped tightly around the big, yellow dog who looked up at Camp and heaved a blissful sigh before sliding back into his doggy dreams.
* * *
Rosa rented a car at the Topeka airport and drove back to Salina, thinking she would easily find the kids in the hands of authorities there. She wasn’t sure if the county would feel comfortable releasing three African children to her custody, but she hoped she could at least get to them and talk to them before immigration officials did. She pulled up to the office building with the Children and Family Services logo and shuddered at the institutional look and feel of the place. She recognized that these people tried to act in the best interests of children, but wondered why they couldn’t do it in a friendlier, more colorful environment.
It took less than five minutes to learn that the children had been in Salina but hadn’t been seen since breakfast at the hotel the day before. Rosa called the number she was given for the orphanage in Independence and talked briefly with Tammy Davies. Tammy was able to identify the children to Rosa’s satisfaction, but didn’t offer much help beyond that. She already had her hands full with her own charges and the grilling that she had received from the authorities in Salina about why she had been transporting the children in the first place. She was unwilling to spend any more time on the three runaways, whom she characterized as “ungrateful.” Rosa didn’t bother to point out that Tammy had made a huge mistake by taking the children across state lines. She even held her tongue and didn’t accuse Tammy of kidnapping, though she hoped she made an impression along those lines after enduring Tammy’s excuses and dismissal of the children as more trouble than they were worth.
Rosa sat in her car, perusing the map and turning over the possibilities in her mind. She felt sure the children had found their way to America in the hopes of meeting Kamau Akama. She felt somewhat guilty for planting that seed, but she had no idea at the time they would actually try to make it happen. But here they were, for better or worse. They had made it to America flying on the wings of a foolish dream. Clearly, they had already figured out that contact with anyone in an official capacity might end their quest by getting them sent back to Kenya. They wanted to save the world by getting civilized people to care about the uncivilized death and destruction of families from war, AIDS, and starvation. Rosa shook her head, thinking this simple view of right and wrong was both ridiculous and profound. Worse yet, she found herself desperately wanting to help them get it done. Rosa smiled to herself and drove back to Topeka eastward on the interstate. She had no idea where they might be, but knew their mission would pull them towards New York City by whatever means they could manage. They’d already made it at least halfway, who knew where they might be now? Looking at the map, she thought her best option might be to continue along Interstate 70 north and east.
Just as that thought crossed her mind, she passed the county highway east of Topeka that Lane had turned down the night before. She drove on to Kansas City, found a roadside hotel and checked in for one night. As she’d been driving, she had pondered what she might do to find the children. She didn’t want to call the police with an Amber Alert—the last thing she wanted was to spook the kids further or have them hauled before immigration officials. The best idea she could come up with was using the public media with a message that might reach the kids directly.
Once she settled in to her room, she called the local television affiliate and asked for the program director. Bobby Hutcheson took the call.
“I’m Rosa Carson, a photojournalist freelancing mostly in Africa and Asia. You’re probably wondering what that has to do with Kansas City, but I have a wonderful story for you if you’d like to run it,” she explained.
“What kind of story?” Bobby inquired.
“Three African children, one blind, one HIV-positive and one orphaned by slaughter of her family in a remote village are in the U.S., trying to get to New York City to meet Kamau Akama
to tell their stories.”
“Do you have them where we can see them, interview them?”
“No, that’s the kicker. They’re in the country without proper paperwork. It’s a long story, but the upshot is that they’re on their own and probably scared to death. If the authorities pick them up, this could get ugly for them. I want to contact them through a news story, let them know I’ll help them.” She knew she was about to go from a professional pitch to outright begging, but no longer cared about her image. “Won’t you please interview me today? I have wonderful pictures of them you can use as stills behind the interview.” She hoped she wouldn’t have to play the Pulitzer card, but was prepared to do anything it might take to get on the air. She held her breath while Bobby thought about his response. The pause was excruciatingly long.
“Might work,” he said finally. The air slid between her teeth in a slow exhale as he continued. “It’s a slow news day. Can you come on in to the studio so I can see what you got?” he asked.
“You bet I can. Tell me where and when.”
“Soon as you can, to 125 E. 31st Street. You can’t miss it. Our uplink dishes are visible from I-70.”
“I’ll be there in an hour. And thanks.” She hung up and turned to her laptop. She pulled the best photos of the youngsters out of the photo management program on her Mac and turned them into a slide show. She watched it once, then rearranged them to give them the power that she knew they had to tell the story. When she left for the studio, tears were streaming down her face as she thought about the children.
Where are you, you crazy kids? Where could you possibly be?
* * *
The kids awakened to the smell and sounds of bacon sizzling on the stove. Lane was cooking, but Camp was nowhere to be seen. While breakfast was being prepared, the children found the bathroom and took showers, delighted to be clean after the long, hot day they’d had the day before. They laughed at each other in the baggy shirts that Lane had given them while he washed their clothes for the first time in a week. When the bacon, eggs, biscuits, and gravy hit the table, Camp magically appeared from doing chores outdoors and together they all dove in to the hearty farm breakfast with zeal.
“Where you kids headed?” Camp asked while loading gravy onto sliced tomatoes. Daudi thought about what to say. He was so grateful for the comfortable night’s sleep, clean clothes, and good food, he decided to tell the truth. He took a deep breath and hoped that the Witt brothers would continue to help. “We came from Kenya on a very special mission. We are going to New York City to see Kamau Akama at the United Nations. We must tell him it all has to stop. People cannot continue to maim and kill through ignorance. He must make it stop.” Camp and Lane exchanged glances across the table. There was much more to these remarkable children than they had guessed. He probed gently by asking, “Will you be using yourselves as examples?”
“Yes,” Daudi said. “I am HIV-positive. I have lived my whole life with this disease that will likely kill me very soon. My grandmother Mamere kept me alive with medicines I cannot get and could no longer afford if I could find them. I am beginning to feel the disease. It stalks me like the lioness after the zebra. I must accept this, but what I cannot accept is that there are so many more like me waiting in Africa. They wait for help that never comes. I must stay strong long enough to meet Kamau Akama.” Camp studied Daudi with new respect. It was hard to imagine the load this boy carried.
“And your friends?” he asked. Masozi spoke up before Daudi could answer.“I have no great problems because I have Ramla and Daudi for friends. I lack vision and a leg, but these are minor troubles. I stepped on a land mine. Others are not so lucky when that happens. My father was killed. The mines are all over, planted by boys paid by the men who exploit our resources. The nuns in Sudan saved my life and sent me to Kenya where a mechanic made my leg. He was very good for it is now, just like the old one of flesh I once had.” As he spoke, he unconsciously adjusted the strap on the prosthetic, no longer paying attention to the angry red sores where the rough metal had rubbed his stump raw. “Ramla is quiet, but she has a story to tell also. Her entire family, her mother, her father, her grandparents, her brothers and sisters, were pulled from their house and killed in the night. Somehow they missed her, but we think she saw everything. She will not speak of it, or anything else. Still she takes care of us, warning us of danger with her great wisdom and courage.” Camp and Lane were quiet for a few minutes, still chewing their food, but pondering what they had heard.
Camp finally broke the silence. “You three have quite a story to tell. We won’t try to slow you down, but you can stay here and recharge your batteries, so to speak, for as long as you like. We’ll feed you and get you in clean clothes and even carry you a piece toward New York City when you’re ready to go. Can’t go the whole way ‘cause we have to take care of all the stock, but we’ll do our best to get you started.”
* * *
The children spent the day on the farm, helping the brothers do their work. They gathered eggs, fed the goats, watered the horses, and ran around the yard with the dogs after the chores were all done. In the afternoon the brothers took a nap. The Africans chose to sit in a tree that gently flexed its huge branches in the breeze. As Masozi and Ramla draped themselves over the limbs like young leopards, Daudi pulled the book from his shirt.
He had read only a few paragraphs when Masozi interrupted.
“Daudi. I think you are Dorothy.”
“Dorothy. That is ridiculous. Dorothy is a girl. I am not a girl. You need to have your eyesight checked,” he joked.
“I know you are not a girl. I mean you are like in the story. You are the leader with a mission that guides us all. And if you are Dorothy, then Ramla is the Lion and I am the Tinman.” Masozi slapped his metal leg with a big smile. Ramla frowned slightly, wondering whether being the Lion was a good thing or a bad thing. True, she was afraid of many things, but she also thought she had been very brave to come on this quest to protect Masozi and Daudi. Did they not appreciate the courage that had taken?
“Are you looking for a heart, Masozi?” Daudi asked earnestly. “I don’t think so. You have a very good heart.” Masozi grew thoughtful.
“I suppose I am looking for a heart, but not as you think. I am looking for people with the heart to change our world in Africa. Look at the people we see here. They have so much. They eat plenty, they play freely. They do not worry about what will happen tomorrow. They are safe. Why is it so different in our countries? Why is there so much pain, so many children who cannot play, so many who go hungry, so many without families? Why do good people like you have HIV?” Masozi sighed heavily. “Why are we here, Daudi? What can three children like us really do?”
Daudi was quiet for a moment and Ramla watched both boys with concern. It was rare for them to lapse into serious conversation in spite of the seriousness of their young lives.
“I am not Dorothy. You are no Tinman and Ramla is most definitely not lacking courage. But it seems we are on this yellow brick road to a fate we cannot be sure of. It is not yellow and has no bricks. It may not even lead us to Oz, but I have to believe what we are doing is going to matter somehow.”
“You think there will be good answers in New York City, Daudi? Do you truly believe that?” Masozi said, shaking his head with doubt.
“Mamere always told me when I seek answers, I should look in my own heart first. And that is what is driving me now. My heart tells me we must try to make a difference. A month ago, I did not think I would ever see Kansas. And yet here we are. Life holds many surprises.”
The three children sat quietly for a few minutes, absorbing the landscape and reflecting on the incredible day they had just spent. Though they knew they were still in Kansas, they felt they had been transported to the land described in their treasured book. Daudi pulled the book from his shirt and read in a loud, clear voice until the sun went down.
. . . in the midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely
patches of green sward all about, with stately trees bearing rich and luscious fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees and bushes. A little way off, was a small brook, rushing and sparkling along between green banks . . .
The children drew comfort from the familiar story and felt fully rested for the first time since leaving Africa.
When evening came, the brothers made a wonderful dinner of chicken, yams, and corn on the cob. After dinner, they retired to the living room and turned on the television to watch local news. The commentator discussed the county fair, the new bridge construction along the highway, and the weather. The colorful graphics and fast-paced programming captivated the young Africans.
When a close-up of Rosa Carson suddenly appeared on the screen, they were shocked. She looked just as she did when they last saw her in Kenya. She seemed to be looking straight at them from the screen. The Witt brothers watched with interest as the children crowded closer to the television.
“I have three young friends who have come from Kenya to America on a very difficult journey. I want to tell you about them,” she was saying. With great kindness in her eyes and voice, she related the children’s histories and showed the photographs she had taken at the orphanage. After her short presentation, she asked for donations to assist the orphanage in Kenya and then ended her appeal by looking directly at the camera.
“My African friends need help. I hope they know that I will always be ready to help them, no matter what they need. If you can help, please call me at 555-555-1254.” She hoped that the children would hear her and find some way to call her. She did not want to reveal that they may be in the country illegally and alone, but she desperately wanted to find them and make sure they were okay.
* * *
