The Leopard Tree

by Tim Merriman

  Alma lunged forward to grab Daudi as he swayed and fell from the stool, unconscious. “Someone help me, here, please!”

  Rosa took his limp body from Alma’s arms as a collective gasp went up from the crowd. Tears streamed down her face as Ilan helped her carry Daudi from the stage. Ramla pulled Masozi along behind them, leaving Alma alone on the stage to finish out the program and calm the crowd.

  Rosa cradled Daudi in her arms as sirens approached. Ramla stood behind her, with one hand on Daudi’s head and one on Rosa’s shoulder. Masozi held Daudi’s limp hand, muttering protective prayers quietly in Swahili. Police kept the crowd back to let an ambulance pass.

  Paramedics took a quick history from Rosa and loaded Daudi into the ambulance. Rosa, Nancy, Ilan, Ramla, and Masozi climbed in with him. They could hear the crowd singing We Shall Overcome, one hundred fifty thousand voices raised in hopeful prayer for Daudi and those like him all over the world.

  Nancy held her aunt by the shoulders as the ambulance raced to the NYU Hospital emergency room. Rosa looked up at her, distraught. “What have we done?” she whispered.

  “Not your fault, Aunt Rosa. He’s probably going to be fine. Let’s just wait and see,” Nancy assured her, hoping it was true.

  “He’s probably just exhausted,” Ilan suggested, but Daudi remained unconscious.

  The ambulance was in the ER bay in moments. Daudi was taken immediately into a private examination room. Rosa stayed with him while the others took a seat in the waiting room. In less than an hour, Daudi had been examined by the ER doctors and was moved to intensive care. The entourage moved to a different waiting area that was more comfortable, but more distressing. This waiting area implied the situation might be more serious than any of them had thought. Hours passed with no word from the doctors. They said little to each other, not knowing what to say.

  Rosa turned to Masozi. “You must be hungry. I’ve lost track of the time. We must keep our strength up to be with Daudi when he is better.”

  Masozi spoke the question in all their minds. “Will he get better, Miss Rosa?”

  She put on her bravest face and wrapped her arm around Masozi’s shoulders.

  “I hope so, dear. I hope so. We all must hope and pray and think about how far you’ve come, how strong you’ve all been.”

  “Let me take everyone down to the cafeteria for some pizza. They have the best hospital food in New York at this place,” Ilan suggested.

  “You go on down. I’ll come after I’ve talked to the doctor,” Rosa suggested.

  She continued to wait while the others headed to the cafeteria. In another half-hour, the doctor finally emerged from the intensive care unit.

  “Miss Carson, Daudi is very ill. He has viral meningitis. Under ordinary circumstances, that would be good news, since viral meningitis is not as serious as the bacterial kind, but this situation is a little different. In a child whose immune system is compromised by AIDS, this is not good news at all. I’m sorry.”

  “What will happen?” she asked, afraid of the answer, but needing to know.

  “I can’t say. We’ll do all we can. He’ll have the best care, but all we can do is offer support and hope for the best. The virus has to run its course. You’re welcome to stay here all night. The chairs and couches all double as beds for family in times like these.” He turned to go, then stopped and said, “I’ve been following this story for some time, Miss Carson. Tell me, did he get to meet the secretary general of the U.N. as he hoped?”

  Rosa thought she had wept every tear she had, but more trailed down her face.

  “No, he didn’t. But he got to tell millions of people his thoughts and share his vision of a peaceful world. Mamere, his grandmother, would have been very proud,” Rosa said quietly.

  He patted her hand and murmured, “Get rest as you can. This may be a long haul.”

  The doctor left and the kids, Ilan, and Nancy returned.

  “Did you learn anything, Aunt Rosa?” Nancy asked. Rosa straightened her shoulders, determined to show the same strength that Daudi had. She spoke in a matter of fact voice, doggedly keeping the tears at bay.

  “He has viral meningitis. Ordinarily, that’s not too bad, but for him, it’s very serious. He has no immune system left to fight it off.”

  Masozi turned his face upward. “Will he die, Miss Rosa?”

  Rosa looked at the beautiful, sad faces of Ramla and Masozi. She gathered them in her arms and kissed their heads.

  “We can pray. We can hope he will not. But there is no way to know.”

  They were all quiet for a long time.

  Ilan opened the window in the waiting area and they could hear music from the park in the distance. The rally seemed to be going on into the night.

  “It’s beautiful, the singing. Someone’s got to listen to that many voices lifted up as one. You’ve started something people have been waiting for, a new peace movement for this century. The four of you have made a miracle,” Ilan said.

  “We only came to meet the wizard. And still there is no wizard,” Masozi said with disappointment. He was thinking that if ever they needed a wizard, they needed one now, to help save Daudi.

  As if on cue, a somber group of men came out of the elevator, some in dashikis, some in suits. They came straight towards Rosa and the children, but Ilan intercepted them, concerned that they might be from INS. That was the last thing Rosa and the kids needed right now. Within a few minutes, he was shaking hands with the men and bringing them into the waiting area.

  “Masozi, Ramla, Rosa. This is Mr. Kamau Akama. He is the secretary general of the United Nations, and has come to meet each of you,” Ilan said by way of introduction.

  “Miss Carson, I am so sorry to have seemed uninterested in my African friends. Our conference was, like so many political matters, very focused on the issues and very divorced from the reality of these young people. I apologize for that. We care deeply about each of you and do want to hear you. That is why I am here. How is Daudi? We understand he is very ill.”

  Rosa suffered a momentary flash of anger that it took Daudi landing in the hospital to gain the attention of the U.N., but then realized exactly what had just happened. She extended her hand with grace and sincerity, saying, “Thank you for coming, Mr. Akama. I know you’re a very busy man. Daudi is not well. He’s still unconscious and the doctor is very concerned. Perhaps Masozi and Ramla can fill you in.”

  The secretary turned to the other children.

  “Masozi, Ramla, it is an honor to meet each of you. I have read of your tragic personal stories. I cannot change the past, but I pledge to you that I will work to make the future better for you and others in your circumstances.”

  “Mr. Akama, we hoped you would have the answers to our questions. We know there is no magic to make the world a better place, but someone must begin the change,” Masozi stated. “We hoped that you might be that person.”

  “I think Masozi, that you and your friends have been those people. It is easy to become complacent about those in need when so many of us have never known what need really is. You have brought a most important message, Masozi. If you have hope, we should all have hope.”

  “We know only the future can change,” Masozi added.

  “And we will work to change that,” the secretary general said humbly. “We will work night and day on that.”

  “Thank you,” Ramla said quietly.

  A nurse came out of the ICU in green scrubs and beckoned to Rosa.

  “Miss Carson, Daudi is awake and wants to speak with you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She turned to the secretary general. “Can you wait a moment to see if they’ll let you in to speak with Daudi? It is very important to him.”

  “Yes, of course,” he replied, following behind her into the ICU.

  The doctor was standing next to Daudi’s bed. Rosa caught her breath, seeing how small and frail Daudi looked in the big white hospital bed. How had she not noticed how tired he was, how much we
ight he had lost? She would beat herself up later, she thought, but now there was something more important to do. Daudi’s eyes flickered open and he smiled weakly at Rosa.

  “Daudi, the secretary general of the United Nations is here. He’s come just to see you.”

  “Really, Miss Rosa,” he said. “May I meet him?”

  “Doctor?” Rosa asked simply. “Please?”

  “Yes, I suppose, but only a moment. He needs his rest.” He looked behind Rosa’s shoulder to the secretary general. “Thanks for getting here in time, Kamau,” the doctor said. Rosa looked up, puzzled.

  “You invited him personally, Doctor?” Rosa asked.

  “Yes, we are acquainted. We come from the same country. I e-mailed him. I wasn’t sure I’d get through to him today, but I am grateful it worked.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Daudi, this is Secretary Kamau Akama.”

  The secretary sat next to Daudi, shook his hand and then held it. “You have come a very long way, young man.”

  “Yes sir. I traveled here to speak with you.”

  “Masozi told me. I assure you that we care very much about you and others who have lost their families.”

  “I know that, sir.”

  “I hope I’m not a disappointment. I know you were expecting a wizard, not a common man.”

  “A common man can be a wizard, sir.”

  “What do you mean, Daudi?”

  “Mamere, my grandmother helped me understand. She once said wars are made by men and wars are prevented by men. We are all equal in responsibility to find the peace in the world. She protected me,” he said faintly. “And she told me to have courage and do good things. The truth is my problems do not matter much. The world is full of bigger ones. I know you alone cannot solve them, but I wanted to meet you, a man from Africa, to make sure that the problems do not get forgotten in the politics. We must all make a difference. You can help more people to understand that. Thank you for coming here.” Daudi closed his eyes, exhausted by the exchange.

  The secretary started to say something, but decided anything he might say would sound inadequate in the face of Daudi’s wisdom. He squeezed Daudi’s hand and whispered, “You will be in my prayers.” He patted Rosa’s shoulder on his way out of the room.

  Rosa sat down next to Daudi.

  “How do you feel, Daudi?”

  “My head hurts very much, Miss Rosa. I know I am very ill. If I die, please take me back to Africa.”

  Tears ran from her eyes and from his. She kissed him on the forehead.

  “I am not afraid, Miss Rosa. Mamere explained that my disease could bring me to her. I am ready to see her again.”

  “Oh, Daudi, I want you to stay. I want us to be a real family. You, me, Masozi, Ramla.” Rosa could barely speak.“I love you, Daudi.”

  “And I love you, Miss Rosa. Tell Ramla and Masozi they can be proud. We did as we said. We met the wizard, did we not?” He smiled and closed his eyes.

  The alarms on the monitoring equipment brought the doctor and three nurses running. Rosa was pushed out the door as they worked over Daudi. She stood on the other side of the glass and cried quietly, afraid of the results of this long day. They pulled the curtain to keep her from witnessing what she feared most.

  The doctor emerged in moments and shook his head slowly from side to side. “I am so sorry, Miss Carson.”

  Rosa wailed out loud, howling as her heart shattered. The doctor attempted to comfort her as she sobbed and her body heaved with overwhelming emotion. She was beyond words. When she regained some measure of control, she asked the doctor to let her tell the others. He agreed, knowing a private moment had arrived. He asked if she wanted to see Daudi one last time.

  “He’s in here, Doctor,” she said, holding her hand over her heart, “not in there.” She walked slowly back to the lounge and her face told the story she least wished to tell. Masozi heard Nancy say, “Oh no. It can’t be.”

  “Daudi, my brother?” he asked. Ramla took Masozi’s hand, placed it on top of hers and Rosa’s.

  “Daudi has gone home,” she said, holding the children to her. “There’s no place like home.”

  Epilogue

  African storytellers speak of a matriarch elephant, a large female who lost her young baby. She carried its limp body on her tusks for days, mourning her loss before abandoning the body to nature’s recyclers. Nothing prepares a mother for the loss of her child, no matter what species.

  The Kenyan sun silenced the afternoon as a dust-covered Land Rover rolled to a stop at the orphanage. Sister Mary emerged from the dormitory and shaded her eyes to see who was visiting. Her kids were taking a mid-afternoon nap to escape the heat.

  Both doors cocked open and Rosa emerged from the driver’s side as Ramla helped Masozi swing out to the ground. Sister Mary waved at Rosa, recognizing her dear friend and the wayward kids who had disappeared from her care so many months before. She had been expecting them, having received Rosa’s letter with the detailed account of Daudi’s death and the completion of the adoption proceedings. The two women hugged and saw the sorrow of the elephant mother in each other’s eyes.

  “Would you like to join us at the Leopard Tree, Sister Mary?” Rosa asked. Sister Mary shook her head.

  “The children are waking up. I should stay close.”

  Rosa nodded, grateful that they would have this final moment alone with Daudi. She walked to the acacia tree with Masozi on one side and Ramla on the other, carrying Daudi’s well-worn book and a small bag of ashes. The acacia tree stood sentinel to the stillness of the day as they approached. They paused and looked.

  “No leopard today,” Ramla confirmed.

  They climbed into the large branch that had been their favorite.

  Masozi spoke first. “This place smells like home. But we will not live here anymore, will we, Miss Rosa?”

  “We can live anywhere, Masozi. We are a family now and we have choices. We can stay here and help others or we can go back to the United States and help those in need there. We can spend some time in both places if you would like. Unfortunately, there is no shortage of people in need. Daudi would trust us to make the best choice of how and where we can be of service.”

  Masozi looked pleased, but said, “I have never had choices before. I like it.” He opened the top of the bag and laid it across a broad branching limb.

  “I know Daudi lives in our hearts, Miss Rosa, but I think his ashes will be most at home here with the wind through the Leopard Tree.”

  “Not much wind today, Masozi, but you are right. He felt very much at home here in the tree with you and Ramla.”

  “Read, please,” Ramla said, handing Rosa the battered copy of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

  Rosa opened it to the very first page.

  Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer’s wife. Their house was small for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained . . .

  Masozi interrupted, “a rusty looking cooking stove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds.” His mischievous smile lit up Rosa and Ramla.

  “You know this by memory, Masozi?” Rosa asked.

  “Of course, but please go ahead and read, Mama Daudi.”

  “What did you call me?”

  Ramla reached up and turned Rosa’s chin toward her. “Please Mama, read.”

  Just then a breeze picked up, ruffling the tiny leaves of the acacia. The bag slid forward across the branch and gray ashes spilled into the wind, swirling on their way above the orphanage across the Maasai Mara. Rosa continued reading as she watched her kids settle into the tree.

  “Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar—except a small hole, dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family could go i
n case one of those great whirlwinds arose . . ..”

  THE END

  If you enjoyed The Leopard Tree, we hope you will leave a review at Amazon. And if you wonder what happens next with Ramla, Masozi and Rosa, check Amazon.com after October 1, 2013, for the sequel. Ramla and Masozi grow up to become . . . well, you will have to read the next book in the series to learn more.

  You will also find updates to our travels and background information on The Leopard tree at http://theleopardtree.com and https://www.facebook.com/theleopardtree.

  Lisa Brochu and Tim Merriman

  Postscript

  In April 2006, the Clinton Foundation aired a special on AIDS among children in Africa. By the end of that hour, the idea for this book was already taking root. We had been in Kenya in January of 2004 and like many visitors, enjoyed the incredible wildlife experience. Still, it was the personal stories of people who live there that touched us most deeply and created a desire to do whatever we could to help those in need. This book gives us the opportunity to act on that commitment with the donation of profits directly to humanitarian and conservation projects in Africa.

  The WonderfulWizard of Oz, in all its various forms, taps into special memories from childhood for each of us. In our adult lives, we became trainers of those who teach about conservation of natural and cultural resources in parks, zoos, museums, nature centers, aquariums, and historic sites all over the world. Meeting thousands of people who devote themselves to making a difference in the world continues to be a source of inspiration. We admire what they do and hope our small contributions added to the efforts of others will lead to something bigger.

  Ghandi said, “Be the change you want to see in the world.” That advice will always be our watchword. If you would like to learn more about how you might help children and communities in Africa and other places, join us at theleopardtree.com, where you can take the first steps to be the change you want to see in the world.