Shine

by Jetse de Vries

  I went over to the chalkboard. Yes, chalk.

  I drew a character on the board. I made a narrow parabola—with the vertex at the top—and gave it two legs, two arms, two antennae, a huge smile and big, dark eyes. The kids were watching me, now. I looked at Miss Pak and she was smiling but she also had look of “what is he doing?” on her face.

  “This is Joe the Martian,” I began, “He is from Mars.”

  I drew a circle and shadings to represent the polar caps, dark Syrtis Major, and the light Hellas basin. Inspiration struck: I moved to the left and drew the sun, Mercury, Venus, and Earth.

  “This is Earth. Where we live,” I pointed, and then drew in a moon, “and the moon. And this is Mars, fourth from the sun,” I pointed again, “where Joe the Martian lives.”

  I proceeded to draw more planets. “These are Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. They have rings around them,” I drew the rings, with Uranus’ tilted near ninety-eight degrees.

  Past Neptune, on the far right side of the chalkboard, I drew a bunch of small circles, none much bigger than the moon I’d drawn. “These are what we call the KBOs. This one,” I pointed, “Is Pluto. People argue about whether it is a planet. I think so. It has three moons: Charon and two so recently discovered that they don’t even have names yet.”

  The kids seemed to be getting bored again. So, I drew a cat. With whiskers. And spots. Above Pluto.

  “And this is Beauty the Leopard. He is a male leopard.”

  The kids began to buzz.

  “Joe the Martian found Beauty on Pluto. He was frozen solid.”

  “Miss Pak! Miss Pak!” I turned around and one girl was waving her right hand in the air.

  “Yes, Husna-Beth?”

  “Why is the leopard frozen? Why is he on Pluto?”

  “Doctor?”

  “Uh—people—Basukuma—brought him there but left him behind. By accident.”

  “Why?” A boy asked.

  “The Basukuma were on their way to the stars.”

  THE GROWING ROCKS break easy. When Joe got back to his space ship he and his family went to sleep. The next day they were ready to go home. When they tried to leave, an electrical invisible fence surrounded them. They could not leave! They were stranded! That day they saw life on the planet! Out of the growing rocks came strange creatures! They were MIGHTIER than the Martians. The creatures had special rocks that blow up! Soon the creatures started to bomb the Martians! A feud started. The CREATURES against the MARTIANS.

  18 July 2011

  PIZZA AND BEER. Wooden tables and white plastic chairs under a roofed patio setting. I sat in the smoking section.

  Very shortly after my return to Tanzania, I managed to convince the faculty at St. Augustine’s—SAUT—to give me an office. I finished what NASA work I could, there, managing as best as possible with the intermittent electricity and Internet access. Eventually, they got me to teach some classes and were even able to pay me, although for a couple of years I had to live mainly off my closed-out NASA retirement account. Lucky for me, I’d withdrawn that money before the economy turned down in 2008.

  Five years later, I was doing well. No wife, no kids, but I had students and I had an apartment out near SAUT. About two or three times a month, I would come into the city in the evening to have pizza and beer at Kuleana’s. It is a good place—they help the poor street kids and it’s a magnet for foreign visitors.

  I sat alone with my laptop, taking advantage of the neighboring hotel’s wireless capability to skim the day’s news and respond to e-mails. In another year or so, the plan was to have wireless for the whole city—the Internet café owners were banding together to set it up and charge modest fees for its use.

  Then I heard a voice. A woman’s voice, with a hint of a Russian accent. “Paul? Paul Kishosha?”

  I turned my head around. Four Chinese men were engaged in vigorous conversation and cigarette smoking over a table covered with empty fish and chips baskets and beer bottles. Beyond them I saw a blond-haired, brown-eyed white woman at a table of six—there were two white women, a black woman, two black men, and an Indian man wearing wire-rimmed glasses.

  They were all looking at me.

  It had been some years, but I recognized the eyes. And the smile. Smiling, brown eyes that instantly made me feel somehow comforted, content, and beloved.

  “Elena Ivanova! Karibu! Welcome to Mwanza!” I got up and started toward her, leaving the laptop and half-eaten pizza, but carrying my cold, sweating bottle of Serengeti.

  She stood and we embraced, then we both stepped back as her hands slid down to my waist. “Wow,” she said, smiling. “Wow!”

  “How have you—“

  In Russian, she said, “Go get your pizza before the flies get to it—join us! Join us!” She pushed me back toward my table, while her five companions moved their chairs to make room for one more.

  Their pizzas and beer were arriving as I set down my closed laptop with my pizza plate on top of it. I ordered a couple more bottles of beer—they only let you order beer if you have food.

  In Kiswahili, Elena explained to the others, “This is Paul Kishosha. We went to school together at Moscow State University.” She turned to me and said in Russian, “My God, that was, what? Sixteen, seventeen years ago?” And then, in Kiswahili, she said, “We graduated together.” She turned toward me, “And then you went on to...”

  “Florida. For my Ph.D.”

  “That is right, Florida. And now you are with NASA?”

  “I was. I’m living here, now. At St. Augustine’s.”

  She introduced me to her companions. They, like her, were science journalists. The other white woman was from Canada; the black woman came from Kenya. One of the black men was from Uganda, the other from Rwanda. The Indian was a fellow Tanzanian, born and raised in Dar es Salaam.

  “What brings you all to Mwanza?” I wondered.

  Elena responded, “A conference of east African science journalists and researchers.” She looked proud. “We have over a hundred and thirty others joining us tomorrow when meeting gets underway.”

  The lights suddenly went out and I heard a collective, “Awwwww.”

  Flaky electrical grid. I was used to it. I began pulling out a cigarette as I asked, “So, what happens at these meetings?”

  The servers came around with lit candles. They placed one on our table as the Canadian woman—I don’t recall her name—said, “We look at ways to improve how we’re explaining the latest science to our readers, viewers, and listeners.”

  “We’re looking at ways to grow our audiences, interact with more scientists, and fund international travel to cover scientific meetings,” Elena added.

  I picked up the candle and used it to light my cigarette.

  SOON THE FEUD ended. The creatures died off. Two days later, a space craft came from Earth. The Martians told the people that they could not get off the planet. The people were panic stricken. The men gave a hundred shilingi to Joe and a small, metal whistle to his child, Abyon. The men sent for more men, women, children, and supplies by a secret radio. They were happy.

  19 July 2011

  WE SPOKE IN a mix of Russian, English, and Kiswahili.

  “I have to get to meeting,” Elena kissed me again.

  “It is still dark. And raining. What time is it?”

  “I don’t—” she leaned over the bed, fumbled around, and came up with her cell phone. “Six seventeen.”

  “And the meeting starts when?”

  “Eight.”

  “No problem. I can get you on a taxi at seven-thirty.”

  “Can I use shower?” she placed an arm across my chest and rested her head on my shoulder.

  I laughed, “You can, but you won’t like it. It is a bit cold.”

  She kissed me again, and then she started to get out of the bed.

  “Where is light switch?”

  “The power’s still out. There’s a flashlight on the floor, right bel—”

  “F
ound it!”

  She got up and headed toward the bathroom. I sat up, found my cigarettes, and lit up.

  “Paul? What are those?”

  She was shining the light across my one-room apartment, toward the corner opposite the front door.

  “Oh those,” I smiled, “A little hobby of mine. You didn’t see those when we came in?”

  “Was dark. And I was preoccupied, as you may recall.”

  I smiled.

  “So, what are these?” She walked over to my one table in the whole place. She was admiring my puppets. They were made of modeling clay. Joe the Martian was hot pink, and Beauty the Leopard was yellow with black spots. They were standing in one of my three Mars sets—the one with layered rocks. My camera and tripod were nearby, but not pointing toward the characters.

  She noticed the camera. “You take pictures of these?”

  “Stop-motion animation. My nephew, Enos, and I, we’ve been learning it from the Internet. Something we’re doing for the kids.”

  She had a look of surprise as she turned her head and scanned around the room, presumably looking for evidence. “What kids?”

  “Other people’s kids. In the schools. Around Mwanza. I make short videos that explain various science concepts. I visit the schools and show them to the children. Or, some kids play them, themselves, on cheap laptops provided by one of the NGOs. I also do shows for the street kids—the ones who aren’t in school.”

  “Do these guys talk? Have voices? You do voices?”

  I laughed, “My nephews and one of my students—well, former student—they do the voices.”

  “And these videos, they are on Internet? How many videos? Can you show me some?”

  “Don’t you need to get that shower?”

  “Uh—yes. Can you show me videos later, after the meeting? You can join our group for dinner...” She was excited.

  “I can do that, sure.”

  I kissed her quickly, and then she started for the bathroom. Half way there, she turned back toward me and twirled the flashlight beam just below my waist. “Care to join me?”

  I smiled and said, “That’ll make it a little warmer.”

  THE DAY THE other men came to Pluto they had a parade. The people would allow the Martians to stay. Now it was 25 April 4075. Abyon couldn’t wait for the ninth of May, for it would be her birthday. Soon Martians moved to the people city. This made Joe remember the time when he was only 8 years old. He had gone on a school trip to Earth.

  18 April 2013

  “TO SUMMARIZE, WE’RE expecting a little light rain in the morning and partly cloudy conditions this afternoon with a high of twenty-eight. Tonight, overcast with a low around sixteen. Up next on StarTV MorningStar News, we’ll meet Doctor Paul Kishosha, creator of Joe the Martian’s Adventures, a new show airing each Saturday morning at nine, here on StarTV,” the beautiful young anchorwoman, Teresia Bilame, teased.

  During the commercial break for Coca-Cola, HIV prevention, and wireless smartphone services, I was directed to put out my cigarette and join Miss Bilame on a set that resembled a western-style living room—a couch, a couple of comfortable chairs, a coffee table, bookshelves behind the couch, and a television.

  Miss Bilame faced one of the cameras and read from the teleprompter, “Welcome back to StarTV MorningStar news.” She smiled and said, “Joining me this morning is Doctor Paul Kishosha, the creative force behind Joe the Martian’s Adventures, a new program running each Saturday morning here on StarTV at nine.”

  She turned toward me, “Dr. Kishosha, how are you this morning?”

  “Paul, please. And I am well. Very well on this fine Thursday morning, Miss Bilame,” I smiled.

  “So, tell me about Joe the Martian. The show has been airing for three weeks, now. How is it going?”

  “Uh—so far, very well. Excellent indeed.”

  “And your subject is science?”

  “Our subject,” I winked, “is entertainment. For children. And their parents and grandparents. Everyone,” I smiled again. “It is an entertaining show with a little sense of humor so that the whole family can enjoy. But, you are right, it is also about science.”

  “And, so, what is a typical show like?”

  “Each show has a variety of things. There is always an animated piece featuring Joe the Martian and Beauty the Leopard and a visit with a real, east African scientist, doctor, or engineer. We also like to show children doing a science project—like planting trees and flowers in their schoolyard, or setting up a weather station. And there is always an update on what is happening in the sky with the stars, planets, and the moon. We offer tips on disease prevention and protecting the environment, and we like to show something going on in nature—wild gorillas, flamingos on Lake Natron, an erupting volcano, the silence of snowfall on Kilimanjaro, things like that.”

  “Let’s see a clip.”

  They showed a couple of minutes of the five-minute claymation piece about Joe and Beauty exploring the dunes of Titan. These were compared with the linear dunes on the coast of Namibia, and other dunes in the Sahara. It was from our second episode.

  “The Martian,” Miss Bilame smiled, “is really cute. Titan, that is a moon of,” she looked at an actual note card that she picked up from the coffee table, “Saturn, right?”

  “Indeed it is, Miss Bilame. A wonderful world orbiting our sixth planet from the Sun.”

  “Why, Doctor Kishosha, are the characters rendered in clay? Why not use computers? Is it too expensive?”

  “We use clay because it is fun. Kids respond to it. Yes, computer graphics would cost more, but, honestly, clay is more fun. And clay is something a child can work with at home.”

  “Speaking of cost, how did you fund your project, Joe the Martian’s Adventures, which runs each Saturday morning here on StarTV at nine?”

  I thought about Elena. I’d not have done anything like this if it hadn’t been for her. After seeing my novice attempts to use these characters to convey simple science concepts to children—that the Earth goes around the sun, the moon goes around the Earth, for example—she said, “You need to distribute these more widely. Put them on Internet. Television. Something.” Then she got really excited. “I think you can get funding for this! A science program on Internet—or TV—or both! I can help you! And—Oh, God, this is great! The east African science journalists—they know everyone. They can put you in touch with many African scientists...”

  I replied to Miss Bilame, “We’ve gotten started using a mix of sources. The government, of course, is a major sponsor, through COSTECH—”

  “That’s the Tanzania Commission for Science and Technology,” Miss Bilame interjected.

  “—and the EAC—the East African Council—they’re helping with distribution of the show to Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, and Burundi. We’re also working on getting some support from my friends at the space agencies in the US, Europe, and Russia to dub the show in other languages—English, French, Spanish, Arabic, Russian. We haven’t started with that yet, but we will. We’ll put these out by satellite and over the Internet for our international fans,” I smiled.

  “Fans?”

  “Oh, yes,” I chuckled. “Right now, you can download the shows we’ve already aired. And Joe and Beauty have their own social network sites. They already have hundreds of young fans. And we’ve been receiving e-mails from children all over Tanzania—some in Uganda and Kenya—just from the first three episodes. And the parents—they enjoy the wholesome programming and wonderful health and environment tips. Some of the kids make their own Joe and Beauty drawings on their computers, and e-mail them to us,” I held up a printout of one of the pictures and a camera operator zoomed in on it.

  Miss Bilame turned toward the camera to her left and said, “The web addresses for Joe the Martian and Beauty the Leopard are on the bottom of your screen. You can also go to Star-T-V-T-Z-dot-com for all the latest on the show. That’s Joe the Martian’s Adventures, each Saturday morning here on StarTV.”


  She turned back toward me and asked, “Any plans to make some Joe the Martian t-shirts?”

  I laughed, “When we do, would you like one?”

  JOE SOON BECAME very rich. He had a human guard to watch his house. The guard’s name was Magembe Juma the Seventh. He had a graceful wife named Magdelena Fumbuka. The next day was ccccold. The whole planet was under half a meter of snow and ice! Everyone stayed in their homes. The next day a red hot meteor struck the planet! All of the ice had melted. No one was hurt for the meteor hit somewhere else. The water was quickly drained into a crater.

  25 February 2019

  IT WAS A sunny day and all of Mwanza was beautiful and clean for Joe the Martian Day. Children and their families had spent the last week cleaning up their city. The solar panels on the homes on the hillslopes above the city were glistening. Some of these homes had been freshly repainted, as well. Visitors from all over east Africa—and beyond—began arriving on Saturday. The hotels were full. The restaurants were doing a brisk business. My staff gave tours of the Joe the Martian studios out near SAUT throughout the weekend.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of this day. It wasn’t my idea. The city council voted to declare ‘Joe the Martian Day’ to be the last Monday of February, now and into the future. It would bring in tourism dollars, they said. It would showcase the city for investors from all over the world, some hoped. Me? I was feeling shy about the whole thing. I was surprised, although pleased, by the impact that these characters and their approach to science education was having in east Africa—and beyond. But I was feeling uncomfortable about having to head downtown to preside over the First Annual Joe the Martian Day Parade. I wasn’t in this for the public attention.

  “Paul?” My notebook, sitting on the kitchen table, queried as I sipped a cup of hot tea. I was looking out over Lake Victoria through the back window of my hillside home of three years.