Moore than Forever

by Julie Richman

  Leaving the rondavel, “Are you ready?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Lunch. I’m taking you out, Baby Girl,” and he pointed to a shack down the dirt road and started dragging her along at his long-legged fast pace, “for the best nshima and ifisashi you will ever eat.”

  “Do they have beer?”

  “Do they have beer, she asks. Do they have beer? I’m going to get you trashed on Mosi Lager and spend the rest of this afternoon fucking your brains out.”

  “Promises, promises.” Mia snarked.

  Stopping dead in his tracks, Mia crashed into him, “That you will pay for, Ms. Silver,” and with a flash of his All-American boy smile, he dragged her into the shack for a traditional Zambian meal to later be followed by a very All-American dessert.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The first facility of the morning was located on the edge of the city in an economically depressed neighborhood. The halls were lined in institutional green tiles and the smell of disinfectant accosted the senses immediately upon entering the building. The impact on Mia’s spirit was instantaneous as she intuitively felt the emotional ante upped significantly.

  Specializing in prosthetic services for victims of disease, accidents and violence, the patients on this particular hall had lost various limbs and many had been waiting months to be fitted for their prosthetics. Others were in various stages of rehabilitation.

  The hall was lined with at least sixty patients patiently waiting for their turn to see the lone prosthetist. Sitting down to talk with them, learn their stories, hear of their attempts to assimilate back into their former lives and livelihoods was engrossing, fascinating and devastating all at the same time. With rapt attention, Lily, Marit and Mia listened, the Castillo women recording the stories as Mia visually documented the whole experience.

  Prosthetist Mubita Lungu was a bear of a man, although Mia suspected that this imposingly large figure was in actuality more of a teddy bear than the tough grizzly he appeared to be. Watching him work with a patient to adjust the fittings for a new transtibial prosthetic leg, his precision, patience and expertise were a joy to observe. This was a man who took pride in making a difference in others’ lives.

  “So, I have to ask you this,” Mia began. “Did you ever play professional football?”

  “Your football or ours?” he was going to make Mia work for it.

  Rolling her eyes at him, “You don’t look like a soccer player.”

  With a hearty laugh, “I played for Tulane.”

  “That’s a great school,” based on his size and bulk, Mia was not surprised to learn that he’d played Division I football, but was a little surprised that he’d lived in the states and returned to Zambia.

  “I’d kill for a good etouffé,” he was serious.

  Laughing, “Do you miss the states?”

  “I like to visit, but I’m needed here,” his dark eyes flashed sincerity.

  “Yes, I can see that,” Mia surveyed the long line waiting for him. “Well, I won’t take up anymore of your time. But I do have one last question. What do you need? What would help you do your job better?”

  “Another set or two of hands,” was his immediate response, “another prosthetist and an assistant would make this a lot more manageable. We’d be able to help many more patients in a timely manner and get them back to their lives and their jobs.”

  “And there’s no budget for that?”

  This time it was Mubita’s turn to roll his eyes at Mia.

  “‘Nuff said,” she gave his massive shoulder a friendly squeeze and left him to attend his patients.

  “We need a scholarship program for prosthetists as well as bringing over more PT’s,” Mia advised Schooner, “and they need funding for assistants,” as they settled into the van to head back to the construction site.

  “What makes you say that?” he had not been with Mia in the prosthetics area that morning.

  “Sixty people waiting in a hall to see one man,” she was frustrated by the conditions she had just seen.

  “Dad, I could do so much more here, even just helping out, expediting things. This is so much more important than anything I’m doing at Yale.” Liliana was clearly questioning her pampered upbringing and feeling the call to make a difference. She was ready to throw caution to the wind and move to Zambia.

  Berto gave Marit that wide-eyed look, perfected by every parent of a teen, that said, “Please deal with your daughter.”

  “Liliana, it is exactly what you learn at Yale that will make you more valuable in an environment like this once you have your degree,” Marit espoused, knowing full well that reasoning with the passion of youth was a futile exercise.

  “Bullshit,” Lily rolled her eyes.

  “Liliana!” Berto attempted the role of disciplinarian, something he clearly was not well practiced at with his daughter.

  Biting her lip to stifle a smile, Mia knew better than to look up. She felt Schooner’s elbow in her ribs and smacked his arm.

  “Remind you of anyone?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Moi?” she looked at him with wide, innocent eyes.

  “The one and only,” he laughed, giving her hand a loving squeeze.

  Mia laughed internally at the thought that she had probably not been the easiest teen in the world and had given Lois and Bob a run for their money.

  The architect and construction foreman were waiting in the empty field when they arrived.

  “Are you ready for a groundbreaking?” the architect asked Schooner and Berto.

  “We will be in two days,” Schooner’s excitement was palpable. A little boy getting to build something new. “We’re just waiting for one more signoff and then we’re green-lighted.”

  “Come, let me show you the final revisions to the facility,” he motioned to a small trailer that was a new addition to the field since the day before.

  Touching his arm, Mia advised Schooner that she was going over to the orphanage to shoot photos of the children.

  Heading out the door as Mia was entering, the four school aged children tumbled out into the fresh air. She could feel the pent up energy radiating off of them. Recess, Mia mused, always the favorite part of the day for any student, anywhere on the planet.

  Bupe was sitting at the table in the dining room spoon feeding one of the infants.

  “May I join you?”

  “Yes, please come sit.”

  Mia laughed as she watched Thomas spit out the green mush he was being fed. “How old is he?”

  “He is currently our youngest, only eight months old.” Bupe was persistent in getting the spoon into Thomas’ mouth.

  Feeling her heart pang, “I have an eight month old at home. Nathaniel. Boy, do I miss him.” Mia picked up her camera and shot a few frames of Thomas proudly wearing his lunch.

  “Is this your first time away from him?”

  Mia nodded and then consciously changed the subject to avoid becoming a blubbering mess. “Did Sonkwe know Schooner was coming?”

  “Yes, he’s known for about a month that Schooner was responsible for the new facility and the equipment for the other facilities. At first, he thought, can this be the same person?” Thomas was now on to a hard cracker and appeared much happier.

  “There’s probably not a lot of people named Schooner and he is truly one of a kind,” Mia couldn’t help but smile.

  “He looks like a movie star.”

  “Please don’t tell him that,” both women laughed. “There’s something that I want to send to you when I get home,” Mia smiled at Bupe. “Schooner took a picture that summer of Sonkwe holding a soccer ball. He has the hugest smile on his face. I will send you a copy of it.”

  “I would love a picture of Sonkwe as a little boy.”

  “So what happened to Thomas’ parents?” Mia watched as Bupe cleaned his face and then shot a few more frames of the fresh faced baby.

  “His mother was a young single mother, onl
y a teen. She tried to deliver herself without going to a medical facility and hemorrhaged. By the time she was discovered and received medical attention, it was too late. We never knew who the father was and no one claimed the baby.”

  Trying to catch her breath, “Oh my God, that is heartbreaking.”

  “All of their stories will stir your soul. I just thank the Lord every day that they are all safe with us. If you want to read their stories, we keep a blue binder on a shelf in the classroom that documents their histories.” Picking Thomas up, “Little one, you need a diaper change and a nap.”

  Following Bupe out of the dining room, Mia went down the hall to the toddler play room, noting, as she approached, how quiet it was.

  Laying on brightly colored mats, it was rest time in the toddler room for the three children. Quietly, Mia stood in the doorway so as not to disturb them. She thought of shooting a few frames, but then thought better of it, not wanting the noise of the camera’s shutter to intrude on their naps.

  As if sensing Mia’s energy, one of Msikana’s eyes popped open and in an instant her face came to life. She was up and across the room in a nanosecond, arms wrapped around Mia’s leg.

  “Lady, you’re here!”

  Mia’s heart fluttered at the warm and spontaneous reaction her mere presence evoked in the little girl. Smiling, Mia whispered, “How are you today, Msikana? You can call me Mia.”

  Msikana looked up, not letting go of Mia’s thigh, “Mia,” she tried out the word and smiled.

  Reaching down, Mia picked her up and took her from the room so that they would not wake the boys. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  The little girl giggled and put her head down on Mia’s shoulder.

  Bupe was standing at a window looking out when she heard Mia coming down the hall. Motioning for her to come over, Mia could hear the noise before she could see what was going on outside.

  Gasping with delight at the scene before her eyes, Mia felt her heart flip-flop for a myriad of reasons. Was it the joy and influence of the past? Or the past and the present coming together? Was it the energy that made time and experience simultaneous? Or was it merely the look of pure bliss on Schooner’s face? Mia wasn’t sure exactly what it was about the scene before her that was making her heart soar, but she knew one thing with absolute certainty, this time, she wanted to be part of it.

  Heading to the door with Msikana still in her arms, Mia emerged into sunshine that was now punctuated with hooting and peals of laughter that floated on the breeze like church bells at noon. The construction site to-be was receiving its christening, as it had been converted into a makeshift soccer field populated by the school-aged orphans, hospital workers, the architect and his construction foreman, Dr. Roberto Castillo, the infamous “Coach Schooner” Moore and his star goalie, Dr. Sonkwe Banda.

  Standing on the sidelines watching the joyous, raucous match, Mia wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

  “Don’t cry,” the little girl looked stricken.

  “These are happy tears, Msikana. See that man over there, the one in the blue shirt. We’re going to cheer for him. We’re going to yell ‘Go Schooner’, ok?”

  The little girl nodded and yelled, “Go Schooner.”

  Shifting her onto one hip, Mia picked up her camera that was hanging around her neck. Realizing it would be impossible to shoot without putting the little girl down, Mia nudged a dial to shutter-priority to be able to capture the fast action and then pushed a small lever for continuous frame shooting and engaged her autofocus.

  “I’m going to need your help here,” she told the little girl, “when I say press, you’re going to need to press the button at the top and when I say stop, you need to take your finger off of it. Can you do that?”

  The little girl nodded, excited to help.

  “Ok, can you do that and still yell, ‘Go Schooner’?”

  Nodding again, she was up for the challenge.

  “Let’s do this,” Mia told Msikana. “Go Schooner!” and she brought the camera up to her face. “Hold tight,” she told the little girl as she momentarily removed the hand that was holding her to focus the camera and then brought it back around her, hoisting her back up.

  “Ok, we are ready to take some pictures. Press.”

  The little girl giggled, pressed the button and screamed, “Go Schooner.”

  Watching him run the field, locks of thick dirty blonde hair cascading over his forehead, Sonkwe Banda as his goalie, Mia felt as if she were being given a second chance. Someone had turned back the hands of time for her and gifted her with a moment that she had missed. This time she was getting to live it with him, to share in the joy. As tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks, she directed Msikana when to depress her Nikon’s shutter release. Not only would she have this moment etched into the memory plate of her mind’s eye, but it would also be captured as a memento of a shared recollection.

  The match ended with high fives and slaps on the back. Coach and his goalie sharing a victory. The Macha soccer league showing ‘em how it’s done. An elated Schooner and Sonkwe were creating a new memory born of a sacred time in their shared pasts. There was magic in this journey, and Mia had the sense that these two men were destined to accomplish great things as their paths intermittently crossed throughout their lives.

  Seeing Mia on the sidelines, an out-of-breath Schooner made his way over to her, giving her a sweaty kiss. “That was awesome,” he managed between pants.

  Bupe had set-up a small table with cups and pitchers of water awaiting the players.

  “Come let’s get you water, old goat,” Mia laughed.

  “Go Schooner,” Msikana looked up at him through her lashes, clearly flirting.

  He laughed, “Now, who is this pretty lady?”

  “I’m Msikana,” she was very matter-of-fact with him.

  Drinking his cup of water in one gulp and immediately refilling the cup, “Msikana, huh? That’s a very pretty name.”

  Again, she dipped her head, looking up at him through long lashes, eliciting laughter from both Schooner and Mia. Letting go of Mia’s neck, she reached out to Schooner.

  “Well, I’m kind of sweaty, but ok,” he took the little girl from Mia and she snuggled right into his broad shoulder.

  “I see you have a new friend, Coach,” a sweat drenched Sonkwe laughed.

  “Yes, I’ve just met Msikana.”

  Her head popped up off of his shoulder, “Go Schooner!”

  The two men laughed at the precocious toddler.

  “What does Msikana translate to?” Schooner asked Sonkwe.

  “It means ‘Baby Girl’.”

  Schooner shook his head, surprised. “Her name is ‘Baby Girl’?”

  Looking up from the LCD screen of her camera where she had been checking photos, Mia echoed Schooner’s words, “Her name is ‘Baby Girl’? She doesn’t have a formal name?”

  Schooner and Mia locked eyes for a brief moment. “Baby Girl,” his lips silently mouthed.

  Sonkwe shook his head, “A lot of orphans come through without names and they are known as boy or girl.” He poured himself another cup of water.

  Schooner looked at the little girl in his arms and then at Mia with a huge smile, “Be nice to me or I’ll get a younger model,” he teased.

  “You do that, Pretty Boy,” she couldn’t help but laugh.

  Snuggled back into Schooner’s shoulder, Msikana was finally taking the nap she had missed earlier.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Three more facilities packed the next morning, the need for staff and equipment growing more obvious with every site visit as they ventured farther and farther from the center of the city.

  “With all the visuals and stories, we should put together some kind of fundraiser when we go back home. Use L9/NYC as the host facility, do a fashion show and dinner or something,” Schooner was thinking out loud as they drove over to the construction site.

  “We would need to do it in conjunction
with a non-profit organization that the funds raised would be going to. Do you have an organization in mind?” Mia turned in her seat to face him.

  He was silent, but the look on his face said there was anything but silence inside that handsome head. His shoulders began to move as if he were dancing to a tune only he could hear, then his head began to bop, the All-American boy smile slashed across his face. Had he not been behind the wheel of their rented Jeep, Mia imagined he’d be cutting it up on his imaginary dance floor.

  “I think we should start a non-profit,” he was beaming as he looked into her shocked eyes.

  “You want to establish a 501(c)3 organization?” Her tone more than implied, “Are you crazy?”

  “Is that what it’s called? I’m glad you know this stuff. Yeah, that’s what I want to do. Start a 501 whatever,” he was sporting a very self-satisfied look. “You’ve done work with non-profits, haven’t you?”

  “We’ve written fundraising campaigns and done special events, but that’s pretty much it. It’s a business, Schooner, you need a staff for it and you need to be very accountable that for every dollar raised the lion’s share of it is going toward the programs and projects for which it’s being raised and not being used for administration and overhead.”

  “So, good business skills are necessary and strong contacts to people with a lot of discretionary income,” he pulled the Jeep into the parking area of the facility.

  Laughing, “I don’t think it’s quite that easy, but those are two very important elements.”

  Nodding, he got out of the Jeep. The architect and foreman were ahead of them in the field speaking with three other gentlemen. The architect was pointing to something that was currently nonexistent.

  Slinging an arm over Mia’s shoulder, he pulled her close, and whispered, “Time for me to be charming and possibly generous.”

  “You wrote the book, Pretty Boy,” she smiled up at him.

  With raised eyebrows and their secret smile, he uttered their trademark phrase, “Showtime,” giving her a chaste kiss as he headed toward the men and she made her way over to the orphanage.