“Do you have Michael Jackson?” Benson asked.
“I might at home. I’ll look for it.”
“What happened to him?” Alepho asked from the back seat. “What did he do to himself?”
Another Alepho question. Although plastic surgery was simpler to address than the dating issue. Or Botox. Or SlimFast.
“He had a little too much surgery, but he also has vitiligo. It’s a disease that causes the skin to lose its pigment.”
“I saw people in the camp get that sickness,” Alepho said.
That must have been interesting from their perspective. A person gets sick and turns white. What a contrast that would be. I’d never seen anyone as dark as they were. There wasn’t even a lighter area on the underside of their arms. And Benjamin was the blackest, just as they’d said. “Do any of you remember the first time you saw a white person?”
“In Ethiopia,” Benson said. “We were afraid because we were having rumors among us that white people took our people to their land. But it was just horror rumors created by the boys who have no knowledge about the world.”
Or did know some history, I thought.
“The very first time I see them,” Benson continued, “the two white men and three women were visiting us at Pugnido Refugee Camp. The women start crying when they see a lot of the boys are suffering and eating the grass soup. But we look at them and we ask ourselves, ‘What is wrong with these people’s skin? Are they sick?’ After that the white people brought a lot of food to us, and we completely believe that they are very nice people. Every time they come they give us some candy and cookie, which we call biscuit, and some soaps. We tried to crowd around them a lot, but the teachers chased us away with sticks. Every time they visit we welcomed them by gathering in our schools and singing this song. ‘We are very glad to see you today. All of our visitors.’ ”
He didn’t seem the least bit inhibited about singing. I’d noticed in other situations that although Benson was not extroverted and did nothing to draw attention to himself, he was confident and self-assured in a way that suggested he didn’t worry about what other people thought.
“This was repeated many times,” he added. “They were the only people our lives were depending on. Someday you come to Africa. I will show it to you.”
“Yes, I would like that very much.” I’d always dreamed of going to Africa one day. It would be great to go with someone like Benson.
The zoo parking lot was nearly empty except for the usual lineup of school buses. Tourists were still scared off by the threat of terrorism in public places.
As we waited in the ticket line, schoolchildren swarmed us. Benjamin looked especially tall surrounded by them. The kids were friendly and direct. Some asked if they could touch his skin. He seemed honored by the role reversal from the refugee camp.
Inside the gate, a flock of coral flamingos greeted us. They had been there ever since I could remember, and I’d been coming to the San Diego Zoo for at least forty-five years.
“I have never been to a zoo before,” Benson said. “I want to see the great apes. In Sudan we only have baboons, and they are very aggressive.”
“Great apes first then.” We headed off to the ape enclosures. A male orangutan with jowls like dinner plates sat beside the glass apathetically watching the human crowd while two youngsters behind him wrestled over a stick. We took many pictures. Good thing I brought three rolls of film. After the gorillas, chimpanzees, and, according to the sign, “sex-crazed bonobos,” we headed farther down the canyon and past smaller enclosures of a variety of species.
When we came to the cage of a medium size yellow-backed bird, Benson stopped and pointed. “That bird builds its nest of clay. It fishes in the river and puts the wriggling fish inside his nest. The fish flops all around and makes the nest smooth. When it is done, the bird puts the fish back in the river.”
I read the sign below the cage. It said nothing about that amazing behavior Benson described. “Wow, a fish-recycling bird. Benson, you could teach our zoologists a few things about behaviors.” I loved hearing them describe the wildlife and culture of the place they’d left when still so young. The fondness in their voices left no doubt that their love for their homeland was bone deep.
We came upon some tough-looking, large, gray, short-legged birds with beaks like two machetes—the African gray hornbill.
“We catch those in Sudan,” said Alepho. “You must be careful of the bill.”
The whole bird looked scary, especially that bill. “You’ve eaten them?”
“Yes, we eat them. They are everywhere in Sudan and Kenya.”
The San Diego Zoo lies across several hills with deep valleys in between. We wandered wherever the path took us. They showed interest in all the animals. I’d never noticed before that the majority in this zoo came from Africa. When we encountered signs that said, ethiopian eagle, or kenyan cow, they became indignant. “This animal from Sudan,” they told me. “I see this animal there.” None of the signs credited Sudan. Years of war had done that. Just like it had been too dangerous for journalists, zoologists hadn’t been there either. A whole land, its people and animals, lost to the rest of the world.
Atop Hoof Mesa, we came upon a beautiful large red antelope. Alepho said, “I know this animal. It eats snakes.”
That sounded like the myth of the minotaur. Or as believable as their seven-foot-tall mother. “Antelopes are herbivores,” I corrected.
“No,” he insisted. “It make the sound of a snake at the entrance to the hole. When the snake comes to see, the antelope kills it and eats it.”
Alepho was usually so sincere and logical. I searched out the description plaque on the antelope’s enclosure to show him. Known to kill and eat other small animals. So much for book learning and hard and fast rules about herbivores. “You’re right.”
I checked my phone. No call from Bob.
We headed toward the new hippo enclosure. This was one of the few times besides the ball game that we’d ventured outside the diverse midcity area, where tall dark boys attracted little attention. Here people looked, some even stared. Of course, as we stood by enclosures and they shared stories of fleeing from, hunting, or eating the creature on display, it was bound to attract attention. A few people asked questions.
Standing in the lower level of the enclosure, where only a piece of glass separated us and the swimming hippos, Benson said, “We know this animal. Hip-po-pah-to-mas. We eat them sometimes but you must be very, very careful when hunting. The hippo can bite a man in half with those teeth. If you swim underwater, they cannot get you, but then maybe the crocodile will.”
Hippo or croc? I think I’d stay out of the water.
An older white woman sitting on a bench near us was listening. She leaned forward and asked Benjamin, “Where are you from?”
“I am from Africa,” Benjamin said proudly.
She smiled. “Where in Africa?”
“Sudan.”
“I thought so. Are you Dinka?”
“Yes, you know the Dinka?”
“I’ve traveled throughout Africa.” Her tone was serious. “I know of the Dinka. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stood up and shook each of their hands. I introduced myself and she told us about her travels. When the time came to say goodbye, she clasped each of their hands warmly in hers. Tears welled in her eyes and she choked out, “I know what is going on in Sudan, and I’m glad you’ve come here. I wish you well in America.”
As we walked away, I looked back. She was fumbling through her purse and pulled out a tissue and sunglasses.
We climbed to the top of another mesa and watched the polar bear cubs. Once again, schoolchildren swarmed us. A teacher gave me her card and insisted we visit her classroom. The school was an hour away. Maybe someday.
I checked my phone again. No Bob.
&nb
sp; “The pandas?” Benson asked.
I pointed up. “Let’s ride the sky buckets back to the entrance. They are that way.”
They were hesitant at first about flying through the air in a bucket but finally agreed. Benson and Alepho joined me in the first car. It bumped and jerked against the platform. Their eyes grew wide and they grabbed the sides. As it settled on the cable, like a boat on water, and we swung high above the whole zoo, they relaxed and began to take in the spectacular view, locating enclosures we’d visited on foot.
“Have you heard of Disneyland?” I asked.
“No, what is this Disneyland?”
“Our next adventure.” Hopefully we could arrange some days off work together. Hopefully they’d have work.
We had lunch at an outdoor place that was supposed to look like Africa. They didn’t notice. Had the decorator missed the mark?
After we toured the snake house and visited the huge Galapagos turtles who reached their heads up for a scratch, Benson asked for the third time. “The pandas?”
“We’re finally getting near.”
I’d never seen the pandas either, because the line was usually longer than I wanted to stand in. We walked down the adjacent canyon to the panda line, which was unusually short due to terrorist threat. A large male slept beside the bamboo forest and a female with her back to us sat motionless. A sign said that the baby was on vacation.
“The pandas are just like their pictures,” Benson said.
Alepho studied the chart describing their extraordinarily high-risk reproductive cycle.
“Miracle any survive,” I said.
He smiled.
The pandas hadn’t moved in ten minutes so we headed farther down the canyon to the bear enclosures. They’d never seen one in person. No bear species in Africa. A bus passed. The large grizzly stood on his hind legs and gave a friendly wave. Huggable as a teddy. “They are actually really dangerous,” I warned. As though they were at risk of encountering one.
We came to the lions’ enclosure. I stopped to admire them and recalled the Lost Boy in the video talking about lions. Had these guys ever seen one on their journey?
Alepho came down the hill but kept going. As he passed, he said, “I hate lion,” in a tone so profound it gave me shivers. In his honor, I walked on.
By the time we finished with the elephants, giraffes, and rhinos, and some creepy critters—like a scorpion the size of my hand that Benson said he’d been stung by a few times—I’d gone through two rolls of film. I checked my phone. No Bob. How long did it take to get drug-test results? When did I stop waiting and start contacting more stores?
It was almost three o’clock; I didn’t want us to miss the seal show. They’d been surprised that my dog would leave the garage on command. I couldn’t wait until they saw Rusty the seal.
At the stadium, we headed down the side aisle for some shady seats. Alepho entered the row first and the others followed.
Several empty seats beyond us a middle-aged woman made sure I saw her dirty look and rose, clutching her purse against herself with both hands, and moved away, across the stadium.
Really? Purse-snatchers in wingtips and golf shirts hang out at seal shows? Her behavior was as cliché as a Saturday Night Live skit.
Rusty’s escapades made up for her rude behavior. I’d never seen anyone enjoy the seal show as much as my four companions.
Afterward, I went into the women’s restroom. A pretty young dark-haired woman approached me. “Are you with those boys?” she drawled in a thick Texan accent.
After the experience with the rude woman in the stands, I bristled at “those boys” in that accent and couldn’t keep the sharpness out of my reply. “Yes, I am.”
“I saw this 60 Minutes special. Are they all some of those boys?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Could you please give them my blessing?”
Oh, she was actually very sweet. How embarrassing. Served me right. I was just as capable of prejudging as the purse lady in the stadium. “I’d be happy to, but why don’t I introduce you to them and you can give it to them yourself?”
She looked nervous and sort of surprised, like I’d just offered to introduce her to Brad Pitt. Her husband joined us. They told the boys they were visiting from Texas, and Benjamin shared his story of arriving in America and how he’d been in Dallas. More photos.
We called it a day and headed for the exit. On the way, we passed backdrops for photo ops. Benson wanted one with the panda. Alepho looked too weary. Another headache? How would he hold down a full-time job?
“Benjamin,” I said. “Do you want a photo?” He turned and walked out into the passing crowd. No silly animal photos for him apparently. He stopped in the center of the main thoroughfare and waved his arms over his head. What was he doing now?
“American women, American women,” he called out, “come, come for a picture!”
Oh my. The crowd parted. They didn’t know what to make of him. Two women stopped for a moment and then tried to move on. He saw them. “Come! Come!” he insisted, flashing those bright teeth and herding them with his long arms. They gave in. He organized them in front of the elephant with a crown and pulled them close. Click. Click.
“Save one picture,” he said. “I must have one driving the car.”
“You’re not driving.”
“I know, I know. I just sit for picture.”
I saved two.
THEY HAD NO FIRE
Alepho
Judy asked us to go to the zoo. In the camp library, I had read that a zoo was a place where they kept animals. I’d never seen a zoo. I was excited to see what it looked like. How did they keep the animals?
Each cage had a description of the animal. Each animal had two names. One was the scientific name. I hadn’t heard those before. Seeing those names made me think, wow, the people here are very educated.
Everyone around spoke English so fast. A little boy, not as high as my waist, ran to a machine and got a soda all by himself. People looked at us and somehow seemed to sense that we were new.
Many of the animals at the zoo were the same as the ones we had seen back in Africa. But they looked very different than the ones in the wild. They weren’t alert or looking alive.
We said to each other in Dinka, “Laai aci nyin ngong,” which means the animals are suffering. They all looked impotent. They had no fire. Even the lions.
The lions in Africa had fire. During my journey the nights on the road were dangerous, especially between villages, when we slept in the bush.
One night, while sleeping with a large group of boys, something warm and moist sniffed at my face. I swatted at it with my hand. Soft footsteps padded away. I fell back to sleep.
A boy’s scream interrupted my dream. I sprang awake. Boys leapt to their feet and ran in all directions. A moonless night. We couldn’t see a thing. What was happening? Who was screaming?
We found the injured boy. His cheek was gone, leaving a hole where we could see all the way into his mouth. Some wild animal, probably a lion, had bitten off part of his face. The same wild animal had sniffed me first. I shivered, thinking of what might have happened. The next few nights I couldn’t sleep at all.
From then on, when we boys slept, we crowded toward the center like a pile of puppies competing for their mother’s milk. No one wanted to be on the edge and carried away by a lion. All through the night we awoke and crawled back to the center of the pile.
Even with our precautions, a few nights later a sleeping boy was carried away. In the morning, we found his hand, legs, and head. The eyes were gone. My heart wanted to beat right out of my chest. I just wanted to be with my mother again. Sleeping safely beside her in our hut, not worrying about food or water or wild animals.
When we came to the cage with the lions at the zoo, I walked on. I didn
’t need to read the little sign. I knew all about lions.
HIRED!
Judy
When I arrived home from the zoo, Bob Sullivan had left a message on our answering machine. “The drug tests for the four applicants have come back negative.” Hallelujah! “Please take them all for training Friday morning at seven, to the Encinitas Ralphs.” The very store I’d shopped at for years. “Alepho and Daniel are on the schedule for next week.” Next week. Wow. Two of them. Thank you, Bob Sullivan.
I needed groceries. I could ask who the trainer would be, say hello, and tell her a little about the students I’d be bringing for wrapper training. Couldn’t hurt. I wished it wasn’t so, but if people had some knowledge and appreciation of their background, like the two women at the zoo, their response to them was much more positive. It humanized the boys. They became individuals rather than very different-looking, possibly dangerous, outsiders.
The manager at Ralphs said that Karol would be the trainer. He directed me to where she was cashiering. I got my groceries and went to her register. As Karol scanned my items, I introduced myself and gave her a quick background on the four new employees who would be in her training class.
“I heard about that,” she said unpleasantly.
Her surliness startled me. Not even routine customer courtesy. I was speechless.
“Just be sure,” she added, “they aren’t late. I gotta get outta here. I’m going to Palm Desert at eleven.”
I left the store stunned. What had that been about? Maybe saying something to her had been a bad idea. Maybe it was just that she’d have more students for training when she was in a rush to leave early. Give her a break, don’t jump to conclusions. But we wouldn’t be late, that was for sure.
“You’re all going to training Friday morning,” I told Benson on the phone.
“That is very good news.” He sounded excited.
“I’ll be there at 5:45 a.m. to pick you up.” That was excessively early but Karol wasn’t getting any excuse from me to fail them. “When should I call and wake you?” Four guys and one shower.
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