by Tim Merriman
“Police, Miss Rosa. Police,” Ramla warned.
Rosa could see four large policemen and half a dozen security guards moving through the crowd toward them. She caught Nancy’s eye, and Nancy passed along the message to Mickey to get the door open. Rosa pulled Daudi toward the limo but reporters held on to him, wanting to ask more. Ramla was not waiting for orders. She had Masozi in tow and they were moving through the crowd toward the open door. Mickey helped them in while Nancy stood guard in the doorway.
Daudi and Rosa were separated from the limo by dozens of reporters and onlookers. She waved at Nancy and yelled over the din, “Go, go, get them out of here. We’ll find a way. Go!”
Nancy pulled the door shut, and Mickey whisked her, Ilan, and two of the kids away into the dense afternoon traffic. Rosa searched for another way out. The police were less than ten feet away and Daudi was still trying to free himself from a cameraman determined to take one more photo.
A cab cruising along the curb saw her and she waved at it frantically. It stopped five feet away and the door popped open. She pulled Daudi into it as a policeman’s hand closed on the sleeve of Daudi’s costume. The man’s grip was firm but Daudi pulled forward into the cab. Suddenly the sleeve ripped away at the top leaving the policeman falling backward with a lion’s paw gripped in his clutching fingers.
The taxi pulled away from the curb and the driver asked, “Jambo, where are we going, please?”
“Jambo,” Daudi said in amazement. “You are from Africa?”
“I am from Tanzania, and you?” the smiling driver asked.
“Kenya,” Daudi answered.
Rosa watched the retreating faces of policemen, one of whom was jotting down their cab number.
“Please take us to Eighty-ninth Street near the park, sir,” Rosa suggested. She was buying time to think. She called Nancy’s cell phone and got a prompt response.
“Aunt Rosa. Are you two okay?” Nancy asked.
“We’re fine and in a taxi headed to the park. Is Ilan with you? I need Plan B to begin.”
Ilan picked up the phone and said, “Are you okay?”
“We’re fine, Ilan, but we need the apartment you offered by the park. I don’t want to be tracked to a local hotel.”
“You remember the address, right?” Ilan asked.
“I’ve got it in my pocket and we’re headed there. Bring Masozi and Ramla and we’ll talk about what we do tomorrow. See you there. Bye.”
The cab driver was more than curious about the costume Daudi wore. “You are Simba, my friend,” he remarked.
“I am dressed like Simba only. I am just a boy,” Daudi replied, suddenly realizing just how small a boy he was and how futile his effort must seem. He had never felt more like giving up, but he knew how disappointed the others would be to quit now. He was tired. He laid his head back on the seat and sighed deeply.
“You make a handsome Simba,” the driver said cheerfully. “Be careful that the lion does not scare the poodles in the park,” he joked.
Rosa realized the costumes would now get them noticed when they didn’t want the attention, so she called Nancy back to remind her to have the kids change back to their regular clothes, which were under the costumes. Her situation was a little more challenging. The gown was designed as a sequined bustier and a separate skirt. She could pull off the skirt, but only had on tights underneath. She thought she’d probably look like a hooker, but better that than a good fairy as she walked near the park, she supposed. Certainly, she’d seen worse outfits in the streets of New York.
She asked Daudi to pull off his Lion costume and although she didn’t notice, he seemed almost too ready to shed the persona. They would have to carry the costumes the last block or so after the driver let them out, but she didn’t want the driver to be able to reveal where they were headed.
Traffic was slow due to rush hour, but they eventually rolled to a stop and she paid the driver.
“Asante sana. Thank you,” the cabbie said to Daudi as they climbed out. “Asante sana,” Daudi replied. It reminded him of his home with Mamere and made him feel sad. Africa had never seemed so far away. He had not thought about when or how he would get back in some way. He had not said anything to anyone, but he was beginning to think he would not need to worry about it. He was tired to the bone in a way that made him think perhaps he would be seeing Mamere sooner than he thought. He felt as though he had been told by the gatekeepers of the Emerald City to go away.
They watched the cab pull away and walked toward the park and then reversed and went down Eighty-ninth Street toward an apartment on loan from the Global Press. It was often used for correspondents in town for a few days before heading out on their next assignment.
The apartment was a comfortable, three-bedroom walkdown a half floor below the street with its own back patio in a former alley, now sealed on all sides by buildings. Rosa and Daudi checked out every room and the patio, waiting for the others. The limo arrived fifteen minutes later and Masozi was first in the door.
“Miss Rosa, Daudi. We thought the police had taken you away. It sounded very serious, very serious.” Masozi was almost yelling.
“Yes, Aunt Rosa. Don’t scare me like that again,” Nancy warned. “I thought it was all over when the police moved in on you guys. You were lucky a taxi was so close.” She stopped long enough to take a look at the rich décor of the apartment. “Hey, this place is kind of a little palace, isn’t it?”
“Only the best for our staff and clients,” Ilan quipped. “Actually, it’s used a bit for entertaining by the execs and it keeps some of our best foreign correspondents from running away for more money. It’s not a bad place to be dug in for a few days.”
“I’m impressed, Ilan. Leave me here and you can go wash and cook for my hubby and three hungry urchins.”
“Miss Nancy, you have urchins, sea creatures?” Masozi asked.
“Bigger and hungrier, Masozi. My kids are about your ages but even bigger eaters than you. Speaking of food, how about it?” Nancy asked.
“Ilan, would you order in and see if you can find African food this time?” Rosa asked. “We need to get busy.”
“Sure, but turn on the news. We should be the news unless North Korea tests a nuke or something else big happens.”
Rosa turned on the big-screen plasma set on the wall and found GNN. A commercial was on so Ilan ordered food while the others waited for the news to come back.
“Here it is, we’ve got Cooper Thompson, shhhhhhh everyone.” The lead was about the kids and the footage was perfect. “This afternoon as the Children’s Conference at the U.N. let out for the day, delegates were confronted with the reason they are here. Three young African orphans wearing The Wizard of Oz costumes and carrying picket signs demanded the attention of the international press. Their story is probably best told in their own words.” Thompson’s image faded into a shot of the kids walking with their signs and saying jambo to delegates who streamed by and stopped to chat. Then the camera focused in on Daudi’s earnest face gleaming through the Lion’s makeup and his words were enchanting. “I am one of millions of children who are HIV-positive, but cannot get medicine. My friends also have challenges. We do not want your pity. We want your help. Come to New York City’s Central Park tomorrow at noon. Bring a friend. Help us tell the United Nations, the American president, the companies that make medicine, the companies that make war machines, the world. It is time for everyone to help in whatever way they can. It is time.” The sound faded away as the camera froze on Daudi’s face.
“Wow,” Nancy said
“Really wow!” Rosa remarked. “Better than I hoped.”
“Wait, it’s not over,” Ilan said.
Cooper Thompson was finishing with an end note, “This breaking story will be explored further with personal interviews of these courageous kids on Barry Prince tonight following this newscast.”
“How can that be?” Rosa asked. “We aren’t on Barry Prince.”
“I forgo
t to tell you,” Ilan said. “You’re on Barry Prince tonight.”
“Oh my gosh. I have to call everyone in Vandalia,” Nancy gushed.
“Ilan, seriously, what’s going on?” Rosa asked. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Barry’s producer called me in the limo, patched in from our office. His guest for tonight cancelled. You’re a big, breaking story. He wants an exclusive.”
Rosa was stunned. This was far more than she could have hoped for, but she was immediately aware of the danger this could create for the children.
“Double wow, wow!” Nancy could not quit saying, “wow!”
“Who is Prince Barry?” Daudi asked quietly. “Is this good?”
“The prince called?” Masozi joked. “So we are not going to meet the wizard after all. It will be the prince. I like this.”
“When is this happening, Ilan?” Rosa asked.
“Film crew’s here in fifteen minutes to set up. We’re live in an hour. “
“Oh my. Daudi, you’ll be on television all over the world. It’s an amazing chance to tell your story,” Rosa explained.
“What do we do?” Nancy asked.
“Relax!” Ilan said. “Food’s on the way. Barry’s not coming here. He’s in a studio and we’ll watch him on the big TV there. He’ll ask questions and we’ll answer them. It’s that simple and millions of people will watch. I don’t know how big his audience is but it’s huge.”
“Wait, I’ve read this. He gets something like the biggest prime-time audience of any show on TV when he has a big-name guest,” Nancy said.
“Masozi is a big name in Africa. Many have it,” Masozi chuckled, full of himself as always.
“Masozi, you cannot make your jokes on television,” Daudi said. “We must be serious, Masozi, if we are to be taken seriously.”
“I am sure you are right, Daudi. I am a little nervous, I think. Please read to us while we wait.”
Daudi realized that the book was back in the hotel room in his pack. He took a deep breath, thought for a moment, and then recited from memory.
“What do you wish in the Emerald City?”
“We came here to see the Great Oz,” said Dorothy.
The man was so surprised at this answer that he sat down to think it over.
“It has been many years since anyone asked me to see Oz,” he said, shaking his head in perplexity. “He is powerful and terrible, and if you come on an idle or foolish errand to bother the wise reflections of the Great Wizard, he might be angry and destroy you all in an instant.”
“This is not relaxing me, Daudi. Get to a better part,” Masozi said, shaking his head from side to side.
“Listen, Masozi,” Ramla said quietly, silencing both of them. Her moments of speech were infrequent, but meaningful.
Daudi continued, eyes closed as he recited the book. But it is not a foolish errand, nor an idle one. Daudi needed the comfort of the wisdom in the book to give his confidence a boost before taking on this new challenge of appearing on live television. He had to believe in what they were doing, no matter how tired he was.
Just then a delivery man brought bags of food to the door and the recitation ceased for a while as they dug into a feast of roasted goat, beans, rice, and round, flat bread.
“I do not know this food, but it tastes a little like Africa,” Masozi said in puzzlement.
“It’s Ethiopian, Masozi,” Ilan explained. “North Africa. Similar maybe but probably not as good as your food.”
They were so consumed with eating that another knock at the door made them jump.
“Don’t we have to worry about the police or immigration finding us, Ilan?” Rosa asked.
“I assure you, Rosa, I cautioned GNN that this had to be a small crew and the truck could not be parked out front. They’re sworn to secrecy. Also, Mickey’s watching the street. He’ll call us immediately if anyone appears that’s not invited.”
Ilan cracked the door open and found a GNN logo jacket in his face. He opened it more fully and six men and women trooped in.
“Hi, are you Ilan? Linda Ruiz. I’m assistant producer of Barry Prince Live and we have only a few minutes to work our magic before we go live with the satellite feed.”
“I hope your truck is not right out front. Yes, I’m Ilan. We don’t want to attract authorities,” he warned.
“We don’t want you harassed any more than you want to be. The truck is at the corner and we have a crew shooting park and street shots, telling the cops who stop that they need stock footage. It’s a cover that has worked many times, many places. You’re not in any danger from us. Are you Miss Carson?” she asked extending a hand of greeting to Nancy.
“Nope, I’m nobody. Miss Carson’s favorite niece, I mean, a friend. I meant to stay under the radar.”
“Again, please don’t worry. We’ve read all of Miss Carson’s articles and know a fair bit about these kids. We don’t want to cause them any more problems. ”
“Hi, I’m Rosa Carson. Please call me Rosa.”
“Please forgive this sudden intrusion. I don’t mean to be rude, but we need to get started right away.” She immediately took charge of the room. “Okay. Guys, set up quickly. Push the couch against the light wall. Shove the sideboard out of the shot. Kids, on the couch. Makeup, can you cut the shine?”
She reviewed the scene and nodded satisfaction. “Okay. I’ve got to call in and we’ll be live in about five minutes. Rosa, you and the kids are the only guests tonight for one solid hour. They will speak up, won’t they? We die when people respond with one-syllable answers.”
Rosa laughed. “Ask Masozi a question and your hour is gone. Daudi will give thoughtful answers and has an amazing ability to reveal the depth of the challenges they face. He’s the real spokesperson for this group. Barry and your viewers will enjoy this. I promise.”
“We need a risky show. Sweeps week is coming up. I’m not supposed to say that, but we want all the buzz we can get. The last question Barry will ask will be ‘How can we all help?’ Be ready for that. I don’t need to know the answer now. You or Daudi can give it.”
Rosa was stunned by the speed of what was happening. Her mind was whirling around what the answer to Barry’s final question should be. What do we want people to do? She needed inspiration. She was thinking of Mamere and wishing she were there to inspire all of them.
Nancy noticed her distress and came over to comfort her. “Anything at all I can do, Aunt Rosa? I feel like a spare tire on a golf car, not likely to contribute much to the game.”
“It’s just nice to have you here. Somehow we’re going to survive this and one day you can tell your grandkids about it all. Right now, I’m just mildly terrified.” Rosa and Nancy hugged and watched the hustling video crew make their final preparations. At the appointed time, Linda asked them all to be very quiet and she counted backwards from ten as they watched edited video from the afternoon become the lead on the show. Then Barry Prince came on and began the introduction.
“Good evening, folks. Tonight on Barry Prince Live we have a rare treat. Three young people from Africa are going to share their personal stories and the unbelievable journey that brought them to New York City.”
Barry explained their appearance on all forms of national news earlier in the evening while picketing at the United Nations. The video rolling gave the kids their first look at themselves in costume and talking to delegates.
“How do we look on the television? I do not hear any of us speaking. What is going on?” he asked insistently.
“They’re showing you as the Tinman, Masozi.” Nancy said. “And Ramla is beautiful as Dorothy. They’re pointing the cameras at your signs. It is so cool.”
“Shhhhh. Microphones are on. It’s important we be quiet and listen for Barry’s questions,” Linda warned.
“Okay. You’ve seen the tapes. Rosa Carson is standing by. Rosa, please, tell us how you came to be involved with three young people from Kenya on their way to give a message to the U.N.�
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Rosa paused a few seconds, gathering her thoughts, and then plunged. “Hi Barry. First, thanks for this opportunity to let the kids tell their story. I don’t want to take too much of their time, but to give you some background, I’m a photojournalist and often go to Africa on stories for wire services like Global Press. I became acquainted with Sister Mary and the Nyumba wa watoto orphanage in Kenya. I’ve visited there for several years, attempting to help create awareness of the poverty, deprivation, and need in this and other orphanages throughout Africa. But it was at Nyumba wa watoto that I met three amazing young people, Daudi, Ramla, and Masozi.”
“They hitchhiked to the U.S. from Africa, I’ve been told. Is that true?”
“Totally true, Barry. They went with me to the Nairobi airport as part of an afternoon outing. Without anyone’s knowledge, including mine, they boarded an airplane and apparently did not have their tickets checked because they seemed to be with another woman. Bluntly, they stowed away in this environment of tight security and totally pulled it off.”
“That’s astonishing. And doesn’t speak very well for the security in today’s airports. Daudi, were you frightened?”
“No sir. We did not fully realize what we were doing to get here. We just knew we needed to get here.”
“That’s amazing. And what happened when you arrived in the United States?”
“Our plane took us to San Francisco. From there, we traveled on a bus to Reno, a van to Kansas, then in a goat trailer to Missouri. A farmer took us in his truck to Illinois, then we rode on a train to Pennsylvania.”
Masozi interrupted by saying, “Miss Rosa joined us in Pennsylvania and brought us the rest of the way to the Big Cherry.”
“You mean, Big Apple.”
“I am joking you, Mr. Barry. Of course, it is the Big Apple. Everyone knows that.”
Barry chuckled, “I’m impressed. You got my goat with that one.”
“Your goat was tied in front of your boma, Mr. Barry. Easy to get,” Masozi added with a sly smile.
“I need better writers. We’ll take a commercial break and be back. Don’t miss this incredible story, folks. This is an evening you won’t forget.”