by Tim Merriman
Two minutes of commercials whirled by and Barry was back with more questions.
“Rosa, obviously these kids have no official papers. Do you worry authorities will find all of you and deport them?”
“I do, Barry. And I feel personally responsible. We were separated in Nairobi and I eventually found them in Pennsylvania. What they did to get here is nothing short of a miracle. To be sent back now would be the worst kind of injustice.”
“Tell us about them. What are their personal stories?”
The cameraman came in close on each of the kids, and they fidgeted and pulled back a bit in the hot brightness of the klieg lights.
“I think they can probably speak for themselves.”
“By all means. Daudi, why don’t you start?”
“Mr. Prince, sir, I grew up in Kenya but my grandmother, Mamere came from French-speaking Africa. She was a young girl when she was brought to Kenya by my grandfather. She raised me. ”
“And she raised you because you lost your mother, right?”
“My mother died of AIDS when I was two. I was born HIV-positive,” he said quietly and as a matter of fact.
“You seem to be doing well. What has allowed you to live with a very challenging disease?”
“Mamere, my grandmother. She worked in a clinic, and sold my grandfather’s cattle that she inherited to buy precious medicines for me. She told me that I am special, that I needed to live to do good things.” His face clouded with the memory of the letter Mamere had written just before her death.
“And you’re still on the medicine and doing well, I hope?” Barry asked.
“No, I have not had regular medicines since Mamere died many months ago. I am an orphan now. Medicine, when we can get it, is very costly, and I have no money. I believe I may die soon.” His admission stilled the room. Rosa caught her breath and felt a tear slide down her cheek at the simple declaration of fact.
“I don’t know quite what to say. Can’t you get help? Can we help?” Barry seemed very concerned.
“Miss Rosa has taken me to a doctor who will help. He would like to put me in a hospital now, but first I must speak with the secretary general of the United Nations.”
“That’s quite an ambition. Do you think Secretary General Akama will meet with you?”
“I know he is a very important man and very busy. I ask him now to meet with us. It is his decision. I know that.”
“Well, let’s see if we can’t help his decision-making, Daudi. Your health is vitally important. And what about you, Masozi? You are blind and have an artificial leg that looks handcrafted.”
Masozi held out his leg proudly. “Yes, it is most beautiful, my new leg. Our friend on the train made it for me. Mister Gus is a very skilled gentleman. I am blind, Mr. Barry, but I am not deaf. My ears and nose now serve as my eyes,” he explained.
“I understand an accident took your vision and your leg.”
“I was not born in Kenya. I was born in Darfur province in Sudan. Like many African countries, we have had too much war. My father and I went to the well one day and a mine exploded under our feet. My father was killed. I would have died but I was taken to a refugee camp with a clinic. They cared for me, the Doctors for All Countries. I was taken to Kenya by a Catholic charity.”
“And the rest of your family, Masozi. Why didn’t you go back to live with your mother?”
“While I was at the clinic, soldiers took over our village. I was told the entire village died. I had seven brothers and sisters. I do not think any of them are still alive.”
Barry was silent for a moment, trying to get a grip on how this young boy managed to live under such a burden of pain. “I’m so sorry to learn of your loss. You obviously are very confident and get around well.”
“Me? I am an Olympic winner. I won a medal in a foot race in Reno at Special Olympics with only one real foot. It is a good thing it was not a feet race,” he said, chuckling. “I like to run.”
“That leg must give you wings, right?”
“Oh, no. I won with my old leg. It was made by a mechanic in Kenya from an old car part, but it was very sturdy. I foolishly caught it in a train track in Illinois. My friends saved me from the approaching train by pulling me from my leg.”
“Masozi, I am told Ramla will not speak. Can you tell us about her?”
Masozi reached out for Ramla’s hand. She squeezed his hand slightly to indicate her acceptance, preparing herself to hear what she could not bear to hear. Masozi began hesitantly, unsure how much to say.
“She is not from Kenya also. She comes from Rwanda. Soldiers came to her house and did terrible things to her sisters and mother before killing her entire family. Her father and brothers were forced to watch. She hid and so survived, but saw everything. She did not speak for years, but now she is saying a few words to us. She keeps us safe.”
Barry paused to shake his head, removing his glasses and mopping his forehead a moment.
“I’m not out of questions. I’ve just had to absorb what I’ve been hearing. It seems too much for any person, and yet here you all are. And you still face the danger of being deported.”
“Barry, I think being sent back to Africa would not be a bad thing in their view,” Rosa explained. “East Africa is their home and they never intended to stay here. That wasn’t the point. They just want to finish what they came to do first.”
“Explain that please, Rosa, right after we come back from this message.”
During the commercial, Barry spoke to Rosa. “Rosa, I confess I can’t remember ever being this affected during an interview. I have a lump in my throat the size of a baseball. You are a most courageous group. Please ask for help. Ask whatever you want.”
“Five, four, three, two, one. We’re back. Quiet,” Linda said.
“Rosa, you were explaining the quest.”
“When Daudi’s grandmother died and he was taken to the orphanage, he took along his only personal possession, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Dorothy took a most unusual journey in the book. She thought she needed to find the wizard to get her heart’s desire. To get to the wizard, she followed a yellow brick road. And that’s what they’ve been doing, following their own yellow brick road across the country in hopes of meeting Kamau Akama and finding some answers.”
“And you are the Good Witch Glinda who has the answer all along.”
“Not hardly. I’ve done very little really. They’ve done all this through sheer determination and the help of good people along the way. Daudi became very ill in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, or they would have gotten here completely without me, I have no doubt. Right now, I am their friend, nothing more, trying to help them finish this very important mission.”
“That seems to be a lot. What do they want now that they’re here? What do you want for them?”
Rosa was quiet for a few seconds and Barry didn’t prompt her to speak, though Linda went a little crazy behind the camera making hand signals to mimic puppet speech.
“Conservative estimates say eighteen million children in sub-Saharan Africa are orphans. Two-thirds or more are HIV-positive like Daudi. Many like Masozi have lost limbs. Some like Ramla are forever changed. How do we give hope to the hopeless? How can we buy medicine for those who need it when our precious money is invested in better bombs, faster planes, and subsidizing torture in countries like Uzbekistan? How do we articulate the need when the real need is humanity?”
“Aren’t they meeting at the U.N. about these very issues this week?” Barry asked sympathetically.
“They are. And these well-meaning people, many of whom have never talked with a child with AIDS, will agree that they should all try to do more. They will return to their work and nothing will likely change. We cannot buy peace. It’s not a commodity like war seems to be. It is earned on the ground running refugee camps, emptying orphanages by taking these lonely children into our homes, and treating people kindly so that these terrible things do not happen in our world. We must—” Rosa
paused, not quite knowing what to say next. “We must remember the words of Ghandi when he said ‘Be the change you want to see in the world.’ We must all do what we can. Right here, right now, I am doing what I can to help these three children. It may not be much in the grand scheme of things, but it’s a start. I love these kids. I’m not sure I’ve ever told them that, but they are my family.” Tears welled from her eyes and Barry seemed frozen.
“We’ll be back in a moment,” he whispered solemnly. In two more minutes they again counted down the break and Barry returned.
“What now, Daudi? What will you do? What will we do?” His meaning was evident.
Daudi looked directly into the camera with his most earnest face.
“We wish to humbly request that everyone in the New York City area, and everyone anywhere else who can afford to come here, will meet us tomorrow at noon in Central Park.”
Rosa added, “You should know that we don’t have a special events permit, and we know we will likely be taken into custody during this event. But this may be our last chance to speak to the world. We would like for you to come with your cameras, Barry. We’d like Secretary General Akama to be there also, along with the other important people gathered at the U.N. Please come talk to someone who really has to live with the problems you are trying to solve. It may change your perspective on what the problem really is and how to go about creating solutions.”
“Hordes of people flocked to Woodstock to hear rock music, drink, and smoke exotic plants. Surely we can all take off a lunch hour to join you tomorrow. New Yorkers, I’m one of you. I’m going to be there. Join us, won’t you?”
Barry looked into the camera and leaned forward. “Daudi, Masozi and Ramla, I want you to know that I will personally be there at noon and I’ll bring friends. We want to shake your hands in front of the world and talk more about how we all can help. This is Barry Prince. If you cannot join us, please go to the GNN website where you’ll find an address to send an e-mail to the president of the U.S. and the secretary general of the U.N. Thank you all.”
The picture shifted to the news and Rosa turned it off.
The video crew was already disappearing out the door, cleaning up just as efficiently as they had set up.
“I can’t believe this just happened,” Rosa said.
“When is this gonna be on?” Nancy asked. “I’ve got to let everyone know.”
“It was just on, Nancy. That’s why it’s called Barry Prince Live. It was on TV as it happened. It will repeat later in western markets but everyone in the world will see it in the next twelve hours,” Ilan explained.
Chapter Seventeen
“What are you thinking, Daudi?” Rosa asked.
“I don’t know, Miss Rosa. I think the interview went well, but our yellow brick road ends here, does it not? We came to meet the wizard, someone who will make it safer where we live. And now we know the wizard is not really very interested in hearing from us after all. It is like the book more than we thought. Except there will be no errand we can do that will make the wizard change his mind and meet with us. So we will go tomorrow, talk to those who care to listen and then we will go home.” Daudi’s voice held disappointment, but he realized that perhaps he had been mistaken all along. The secretary general could not perform magic. It would take a commitment from all people, everywhere, to make the difference that needed to be made.
“You understand that this will all likely be beyond our control tomorrow.”
“What do you mean, Miss Rosa?”
“I think maybe we should just get you to the doctor tomorrow and let the rally go. If the authorities take all of us into custody, it may take days or weeks for you to get appropriate medical help. And it certainly won’t be with someone like Dr. Willis.” Daudi thought about what Rosa said for a moment, but Mamere’s voice was in his head. She had often quoted Margaret Mead, saying, “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens could change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”
“I think we must go ahead as planned. Even if other people do not come, we will have one more chance to give our message to the news people. Perhaps we must be like Dorothy and not count on the wizard to deliver the answer. Maybe the answer is in us.” Rosa reached out to hug Daudi. How could he be so wise and so willing to sacrifice himself for something the world may not be ready to hear? Daudi pulled back from the hug and looked Rosa in the eye.
“Will they send us back to Kenya, Miss Rosa?”
“I think that is likely, yes. Our government is bogged down in controversy about illegal aliens. Officially, you are unwelcome visitors, even though most people would prefer you be allowed to stay and get medical help.”
“We must return anyway. We have no other home. We have met good people on our journey, but Mamere’s spirit is in Kenya. I must go there.”
“I understand, Daudi. We will try to make it so. I would like for you all to stay here as my family, but paperwork takes time. We’ll make sure you get home,” Rosa assured him. She felt as though she was watching his spirit slip away, already winging its way back to the red soils of Kenya.
Through the rest of the evening, they watched the varied news coverage of their picketing and talked about what they might do at the rally the next day.
“We need a stage, a platform, something at the rally. That’s impossible this late, isn’t it?” Rosa asked.
“There’s a stage already up in the largest grassy part of the park. I saw it today driving by. Must be for that Shakespeare Festival next week. I doubt it’s in use tomorrow. I’ll go to the Internet and find out.”
“Let it be true, Ilan. Can we just take it over or should we go through the parks department?”
“Seek forgiveness, not permission is what they say,” Ilan suggested.
“Who says that?”
“Almost everyone who’s breaking the rules. I know that’s not your usual style, but I think it may just work if lots of folks show up tomorrow.”
“I can’t imagine how it can be more than a few hundred at best. Folks have to work, don’t they?” Rosa conjectured.
“People are funny. New Yorkers are funnier. You may get a few thousand.”
“We can hope,” she said. “I feel like we should do something more but I don’t know what else we can try.”
“Then sleep on it. I’m going to take off. Enjoy your niece being here. Hide out until eleven-forty-five tomorrow and we’ll swing by to pick you up so we’re not exposed any earlier than we need to be. I’m going to get on the phone in the morning with the mayor’s office and see if I can find out whether they plan to help or hinder what’s happening. By now, someone’s bound to have called them and they must be worried at this point. You just had a monster-sized audience hearing your plea. I expect they’ll have park police out in force in the morning,” Ilan suggested on his way out the door.
Nancy joined Rosa in the kitchen after Ilan left.
“Cup of tea, auntie?” Nancy asked.
“Please, Nancy. Something without caffeine.”
Rosa poked her head around the corner and found the kids asleep in a heap on the giant couch.
“Do we move them?” Nancy asked, looking around her.
“Nope. Poor dears. They need the sleep. So do we.”
“One chamomile tea coming up. You’ll float right into the night, Aunt Rosa.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. I needed another good witch on our side.”
“Paul often says I’m a witch. I can’t remember ‘good’ being the adjective.”
Rosa laughed and they drank their tea in silence, both thinking about what to do in the morning. They turned in soon after finishing the hot drink and both were asleep in moments, exhausted by the day’s events.
Sunrise did not show in the walkdown apartment, so it was no surprise that everyone slept in. Ramla was up by eight o’clock, looking for food in the kitchen. Daudi joined her, but they found the pantry empty. They had finished the Afr
ican food the evening before. Rosa and Nancy were sound asleep. Masozi was soon up and grumbling about the lack of food.
“Let us go out to the street for just a few moments, Daudi. We can buy some bugles or whatever those nice round bread things are called,” Masozi suggested.
“We should wake Miss Rosa, Masozi. She will think we have run away again.”
“She is sleeping very hard. We will surely return before she wakes. Very few minutes, Daudi, please. Just to buy food and come back. Do you have money left?” Masozi asked.
“I still have forty dollars, enough for many bagels,” Daudi said. “But I will go alone. You stay here. It is much more safe.”
“No, we must stay together. We came here together. We must stay together.”
Daudi found a pencil and scrawled a note saying, “Miss Rosa. Masozi is most hungry. We go for food. Coming back very quick.”
They went up the stairs of the sub-street apartment carefully and looked both directions. No one was on the street in their block, so they walked toward the park on Eighty-second Street. They reached Central Park West Street and could not see a food place either direction.
“There in the park, Masozi. I see a food seller in the park. Would you care what we eat?”
“Right now, I would eat a rock if it had goat cheese with it,” Masozi quipped. They crossed the street at the light and started toward the food vendor. They found he was selling large Danish sweet rolls, fruit, and cartons of milk and juice. Daudi bought much more than they needed and they turned to go back to the apartment, but Ramla pushed them back away from the street. A police car had pulled up to the corner and stopped. Two men climbed out and walked toward the apartment from which they had just emerged.
“They are looking for us, I think,” Daudi said.
“Who?” Masozi asked.
“Police. They seem to be going to the apartment. This is very bad. We cannot return. We can hide in the park until they go away.”
“Okay, but do not drop the food, Daudi. We must eat while we hide.”