by Tim Merriman
The Guardian of the Gates led them through the streets until they came to a big building, exactly in the middle of the City, which was the Palace of Oz, the Great Wizard.
Just then Ramla said, “Oz.” In a clear bright voice, she repeated it as if magically opening the gates to the city. All of them looked at her, momentarily stunned by the unexpected sound of her voice.
Rosa hugged Ramla and kissed her on the cheek. “Oh, Ramla, you have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.”
“Ramla, we are almost there. Oz. Are we not, Miss Rosa?”
“I think we’re very, very close, Masozi. We’ll drive to New York City as soon as Daudi gets rested up. It’s just a few hours drive away now.”
“Keep reading, Miss Rosa,” Masozi urged. “Keep reading.” Ramla nodded in agreement. It was a moment of hope for Rosa. Ramla had become more open and maybe in New York, they could get Daudi the help he needed. She returned to the book.
There was a soldier before the door, dressed in a green uniform and wearing a long green beard.
“Here are the strangers,” said the Guardian of the Gates to him, “and they demand to see the Great Oz.”
“Step inside,” answered the soldier, “and I will carry your message to him.”
* * *
They read until Daudi’s lunch came on a tray. Rosa made another cafeteria run and after lunch they read for another hour. The kids napped through the afternoon while Rosa retrieved her laptop from the car and began on a follow-up story. She had her camera bag with her and took photos of them as they slept. She knew she needed to get her next story out to the news media as quickly as possible. She left a message for Ilan and arranged a hotel room near the United Nations building in New York City while she waited for him to return her call. Finally, her cell phone whinnied.
“I’ve found them, Ilan. I’m with them now in a hospital in Harrisburg. Daudi is very sick, but has gotten medication and seems to be doing better. I’m scared for him, but I’m going to take them to this conference. I’m just hoping they’re not disappointed by what happens there. They have no real invitation or credentials and we could be bringing the immigration folks down on us.”
“If that happens, ask for help. I’ve got powerful friends in the city and you know a few folks as well. We’ll do what we can, but you’ve got to keep feeding me updates. If you need help, you need millions of people behind you and these stories are getting you that support.”
“I’ll get you something by deadline, Ilan. I’ve knocked out about four hundred words and taken a few photos this afternoon.”
“We haven’t had so much clamor for follow-ups since the days of Princess Di. Keep in touch, Rosie,” Ilan said, hanging up.
Rosa returned to writing and polished off her latest story. She picked up her laptop and wandered the halls, mining for an Internet connection until she got to the lab area and discovered her airport symbol had three black bars of continuous contact. She logged on and fired a folder at Ilan well before the magic moment that ended the day for his shift at GP. She stopped by the cafeteria and grabbed some snacks, then returned to the room to find the nurse had taught Daudi how to use the TV remote. The kids were engrossed in channel-surfing, an activity they had never had the opportunity to try before.
Dr. Simpson stopped in again as she came on duty in the late evening to see how Daudi was progressing.
“Daudi, you doing well? The cough seems better. How do you feel?”
“I am feeling strong as an elephant,” he said, giving his best grin. The day of rest and medicine, coupled with Rosa’s reappearance and support, had done him a world of good.
“You’re responding really well to the medicine in the IV. That’s good.” She looked over her shoulder at Rosa. “I think you could travel tomorrow if you want to go on to New York.”
“That’s good,” Rosa said. “The conference in New York starts in two days and we need to be there and settled before that. I checked the schedule on the Internet.”
“I don’t usually care for patients in rooms like this, but you’re special, Daudi. I’ll check back on you when I can during my shift tonight. You’ll probably be gone before the other doctor makes rounds tomorrow, so I’ll make sure you get what you need.”
Masozi interrupted. “Thank you for helping our friend, Doctor. We were very worried.”
“I can understand that. You know, I’ve been admiring your leg. There must be a long story behind that,” Dr. Simpson said with interest.
“And Masozi will tell you all of it if you are not careful, Doctor,” Daudi added teasingly. “He is a master storyteller.”
“Maybe another time. I have to get to work right now. Can I speak with you outside a moment, Rosa?”
Rosa stepped into the hall with the doctor.
Dr. Simpson began, “I have a very old friend at NYU Medical School and I’ve sent you his e-mail address. He’ll help Daudi when you get there. Just check in with him and let him know who you are. He’ll be expecting you. And I’ve let him know that I’ve started Daudi on the latest retro-viral drug, but you need to know that it may or may not help at this point.”
“Is your friend up on the latest treatments for HIV/AIDS? Will he know how to help Daudi?” Rosa asked.
“He’s the chief of internal medicine and can put the best people in the field on this. If he doesn’t know the most current treatment, he’ll know who will and be able to call on that help. We’ve really done all we can here.”
“Thanks. I’m grateful for what you’ve done. Now I’ve got to follow through with my promises to the kids, so we’re going on to New York City in the morning. You’ve been a great help, Dr. Simpson.”
“Hang in there, Rosa. I admire what you’re doing. I’d better get to work. It’s almost coffee break time,” she added, joking about their first encounter. She winked and hurried off.
Rosa went back in and found the kids glued to the TV set. Masozi listened intently while Daudi interpreted the pictures shown. She saw that they were watching a newscast that was featuring one of her follow-up stories.
“This is no coincidence, is it?” Daudi asked her.
“This is how I found you, Daudi. Telling your story is the only way I had a chance of locating you,” Rosa said quietly, hoping they understood her reasoning. “People seeing these stories and the photos admire your courage and determination. They want to know more.”
Daudi continued to watch as the reporter went into greater depth using portions of Rosa’s wire story and adding their own information on AIDS.
“Seventy percent of the eighteen million orphans in sub-Saharan Africa are HIV-positive or have full blown AIDS,” the reporter stated. “Most of those twelve and a half million children lack the money or even the availability of medications to slow the progress of the disease. They live in underfunded refugee camps and orphanages, often with no more than a cup of corn for their daily meal. Without medicine, without food, without adequate clothing or education, they live without hope for the future,” the reporter continued.
“But we do have hope for the future,” Daudi said emphatically. “I have hope. Mamere had hope. Why do they say we have no hope? Anyway, hope does not cure people, medicine does. We just need the medicine. Sister Mary needs help and money and medicine. Why is there not more help?” he asked with a better understanding of the reality than any reporter.
“That’s why your story is important, Daudi. Each of you has lived with hope through unreasonable circumstances. Others who see your success want to understand what keeps you going. What gives you hope for the future?”
“There is so much of everything in the U.S. Can the people here not share with the people in places who do not have enough of anything? Why are there not enough drugs for all of the people who are sick?” Masozi asked.
“Why indeed?” Rosa answered. “I can’t exactly answer that. The people who make it want to sell it, but those who need it lack the money to buy it. Governments don’t always unders
tand the importance of helping. Unfortunately, the leaders in the United States have chosen to invest heavily in wars instead of things that actually help people, like medicine and education.”
“And so when we tell what has happened to us to Kamau Akama and others at the United Nations, it will help. People will know the truth,” Daudi said resolutely.
“It might help,” Rosa answered somberly. “But it may not. They may not react as we hope.”
“Mamere would say we must do the right things, no matter what others do. It is right to tell the truth. It is right to ask the United Nations to help. To ask the United States to help.”
“Yes, you deserve to be heard. That’s why we’re going to New York.”
“Oz!” Ramla said quietly.
Rosa hugged her. “Oh Ramla. You’re talking again. Why haven’t you talked before?”
“Afraid,” Ramla answered simply.
“Keep talking, Little Sister. I love hearing your voice,” Masozi added.
“To Oz,” Ramla said and then blinked large tears down her cheeks. “Please, Miss Rosa?”
Rosa felt overwhelmed by the emotions of hearing Ramla begin to open up and the peril of revealing these vulnerable kids with such deep pains to the world of journalism, politics, and frustration. Then she thought better of protecting them. They had, after all, traveled half a planet to be heard.
“We are going to Oz, my dears. You will be heard. One way or another, we are going to make this happen.”
They cheered and hugged as if some great victory had already been won. With Ramla speaking at last, it was indeed a victory of immense power for they knew her story was the hardest in many ways. She had a right to the intense privacy she had carried. And she had a right to be heard whenever she was ready to share her story.
Rosa left and bought a pizza for pickup nearby when she saw the unappetizing dinner of Salisbury steak that came from the hospital kitchen. The kids picked at the dinner tray while she was gone, but they engulfed the pizza when it was unboxed, instinctively recognizing some of the most prized fast food in America.
After dinner, Masozi again asked Daudi to read the book, and this time, he did not argue. He picked up the book, found the place they had stopped earlier and began.
But what interested Dorothy most was the big throne of green marble that stood in the middle of the room. It was shaped like a chair and sparkled with gems, as did everything else. In the center of the chair was an Enormous Head, without body to support it or any arms or legs whatever. . .
He read until Ramla fell asleep and then they all settled into a quiet, restful night. Rosa took the other bed and watched them for a long time before sleep overtook her. The hospital staff had been asked by Dr. Simpson to keep visitors away from the room and had purposefully kept the extra bed unoccupied. Rosa was unaware of the doctor’s intervention, but was grateful they had not been disturbed.
* * *
Rosa was up early, watching the news and reading newspapers. Every word, every photo she had sent the GP was being used somewhere in virtually every paper and on every news channel. The story had gripped the nation. After the doctor had removed Daudi’s IV during morning rounds, Rosa had decided they would leave by mid-morning. She was in the process of gathering their belongings when a stern-looking woman in a suit entered without knocking. Rosa looked up in surprise.
“Can I help you?”
“Ms. Carson. I’m Mrs. Britton, Shirley Britton. I’m the social worker for the Children’s Hospital portion of this facility and mistakes were made, or I would have been here yesterday. I understand from the staff that these children are from Africa, and although you signed for the admission, we still need a copy of your custodial papers for our files. Since we didn’t have that or a copy of the young man’s passport or visa, and there’s no indication of who’s responsible for these other two, I’ve called Children and Family Services and they should be here within an hour or two, so let’s get it all gathered so we can get the paperwork filed properly, shall we?” She beamed with pride in her efficiency. The children looked at Rosa and she smiled reassuringly at them before responding.
“We will be very cooperative, Mrs. Britton. Can we have an hour to get cleaned up and get our papers? I have them locked in my car for safe-keeping. I’ll fetch them after I get these youngsters headed for the shower.”
“Well, I suppose. I’ll come back at nine-thirty sharp. Please have all your paperwork ready. I have lots of questions to ask,” she said officiously. “They’re supposed to take care of this down at admissions, but I usually end up having to clean up the errors.” She continued to mutter complaints about the lack of attention to detail amidst hospital administration as she left the room. Masozi jumped up quickly. “What do we do, Miss Rosa? We have no papers anymore. Daudi’s passport was taken from us at the airport in San Francisco.”
“Time to go, Masozi. Gather your packs and Daudi, get your clothes on. We’re going to leave in about five minutes and hit the road to New York.”
“I am ready,” Daudi confirmed. “Let us hit the road. I think that is good to do, hitting the road, eh Masozi? We will hit the road,” he said, laughing at the mental image of them slapping the highway.
Rosa looked out the door and spotted a wheelchair at the end of the hallway. She walked straight to it and pushed it back to the room with authority, expecting no one to challenge her if she seemed to know what she was doing. It worked.
“Daudi, get in the wheelchair, and hold the packs in your lap. I’ll push and Masozi and Ramla will follow right behind us. We are going to avoid as many people as we can on the way out, so stay close.”
Daudi climbed into the chair, settled his pack in his lap and they left the room, moving swiftly for the elevator. They waited for the door to open and then saw the social worker coming out of a room down the hall. Rosa opened an exit door.
“Daudi, quickly, get up and follow me. Can you walk okay?”
“I am okay, Miss Rosa. We are with you.”
They shot down the stairs, taking only enough time to allow Masozi to negotiate the more challenging getaway. When they reached the ground floor she waved them back from the door while she went to the hallway to look for threats. An exterior door was just opposite their door to the hallway, so she waved them on across the hall.
They opened the door and an alarm split the air. Rosa realized too late it was a marked door to be used only in the event of emergencies.
“Hurry guys. We’ve got to get to the car and get out of here.”
They ran down a path through the shrubbery surrounding the hospital and out onto the parking lot. Rosa spotted her car and led them to it. They had just gotten into the car when they saw security guards converge on the exit they had left. She backed out of the stall and drove away, expecting any moment to be trapped by vehicles with flashing lights, but none came.
“Whew, that was too close for comfort,” she exclaimed.
“Oh, that was an easy one,” Masozi responded. “We have done this many times. It is most exciting to escape.”
“You have younger, better nerves than I,” Rosa complained. “I feel like I’ve just broken out of jail.”
“We go to Oz!” Ramla said with a big smile.
“Yes, Oz, Ramla. We are off to Oz.” Or somewhere, Rosa thought.
Chapter Fourteen
Rosa drove as quickly as she dared, sure that the police would be hot on her trail. Yet all seemed normal as she drove out of town and she began to relax when they reached the highway. The kids were in high spirits, knowing they had again made it out of harm’s way with local authorities and were now on the last leg of their journey.
“When will we be there, Miss Rosa?” Masozi asked. “What is it like? Is it really like the Emerald City? Kansas looked like the book described, but it was not magical after all.”
“It will take just a few hours, Masozi. New York has been called many things, but the Emerald City isn’t one of them. It’s mostly gray in bet
ween the neon lights, filled with tall buildings, some of them over 200 times as tall as you are. The city is on an island, mostly covered with concrete. But there is one nice big park full of trees and footpaths. And people. There’s lots of people in the Big Apple. You’ll need to stay very close to me at all times so we don’t get separated again.”
“We will be in a big apple?” Masozi asked, thinking what a strange place this must be.
“My fault. It’s an expression, like calling it Oz.”
“There are many apple trees here?” Masozi asked.
“No, not so many. It means you can find anything and everything here. Some is good stuff but much of it can be dangerous. We just have to stay together to be safe. Can we agree to do that?”
“Yes, of course, Miss Rosa,” Daudi said. He paused a moment before offering an apology with downcast eyes. “We know we should not have run from you and we are very sorry for the trouble we have caused you. We were afraid we would not be permitted to make our journey. We understand now that you will help us.”
“We’re on this yellow brick road together, okay?” Rosa asked, hoping they all agreed.
“Going to Oz,” Ramla said from the back seat before either of the boys could respond.
“Yes,” Masozi said.
“We are all together,” Daudi reassured her. “We will do as you suggest in New York City and we are grateful for your help. What shall we do at the United Nations, Miss Rosa? I have not been concerned about that, since it has been so far away. Now we must plan.”
“What do you want to say to them, Daudi?”
“I want to say what Mamere said so many times,” he responded without hesitation. “She said that children should have a chance to live at home and be well. They should get medicine when they need it. They should have enough food. They should not live in fear. I think this is important not just for children, but for all human beings.”