Off to Tanzania!
It was an otherwise ordinary Friday afternoon in summer, two weeks after her tenth birthday, that Elvia learned, with a thrill, that she was someone else. Her mother’s carefully tended sunflowers— precisely pruned to four feet, and not a centimeter taller— peeked through the sunny western windows as Elvia eagerly sorted through the stack of mail that had just arrived. Her father’s work papers, organized in neat rows, sat on a desk in a far corner, a symbol of the carefully orchestrated life her parents liked to live. In Elvia’s dull-as-dishwater home, every day was the same—safe and predictable. There were rules: She could study the violin, but not play soccer. She could take a June class in jewelry-making, but not join her friends at Copper Creek Camp, where all the fun was. She could walk around town, but not ride a bike. She didn’t even have a bike! For a child who longed to roam the world, and maybe live on Mars one day, the list of forbidden pleasures was suffocating. There was only one way out of her dilemma, and, as she pawed through the letters, she hoped against hope that she’d find it.
The slender envelope, addressed to her, and her alone, was at the very bottom of the heap. Her hands trembled with excitement as she tore it open, sure it would explain why she had fiery red hair, while her parents both had mousy brown. It would expose how an adventuresome girl like her got saddled with parents who always hugged the safe shore, rarely taking her any further than the local Shop ’n Save for a “great deal” on paper towels.
The letter was from Quick Results, a DNA testing company in Lagos, Nigeria. A few weeks back, when she’d seen an ad online, she’d leapt at the chance. For just sixty dollars—her monthly allowance—she’d get confirmation of the truth that, to her, was obvious: She’d been switched at birth. Or perhaps she’d been kidnapped from her cradle and sold to Earl and Sally Hill, her parents, who were desperate for a baby after losing her older sister, Jane, to cancer, many years before. She didn’t ask herself why her orderly, rule-abiding father and mother would swing a heartless deal on the black market. Logic played no role in Elvia’s daydreams. It was the sense of adventure they brought her that mattered: the sweet promise that someone, somewhere, would rescue her from a life of crushing boredom.
She withdrew the piece of crisp white paper and unfolded it, scarcely able to breathe. If the company’s report said that she was German, as her parents had always claimed, she’d be crushed. Still, she hoped to be someone else, and when Elvia wanted something to be true, it was, at least to her. She began to read, quickly scanning past a complicated table of numbers to reach the “Results Summary.” When she did, she gasped. “Elvia Elizabeth Hill,” the report concluded in black and white, as if it were no big deal, “is 99.1% Zulu, with a pinch of Irish thrown in. The chances are 1 in 14 septillion that she’s anything else.”
Elvia stared at the words, her mouth wide open. Then, driven by a sudden desire to be alone, she fled upstairs to her bedroom and locked the door. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her hands still aflutter, she reread the report three times, making sure she’d gotten it right. “Elvia Elizabeth Hill is 99.1% Zulu, with a pinch of Irish thrown in. The chances are 1 in 14 septillion that she’s anything else.”
“Zulu and Irish!” she thought, clinging to the startling news. “The Irish explains my red hair! And the Zulu, well, well. . . my skin is paler than one might expect... but it hardly matters. The important thing is that I’m not German. Quick Results is sure of it!”
As Elvia sat, reveling in her new identity, every feature of the room took on new brightness. The delicate pink roses on the wallpaper flushed red. The brown, mottled carpet beneath her feet moved, as if alive. The room tipped gently sideways. She felt dizzy in the most wonderful way. She knew that Zulu people lived in Africa. She’d studied them in school. How wonderful, to be one of them! “I knew it!” she gloated. “My parents aren’t my parents. But then she wondered, “If I’m not Elvia, then who am I, and how can I find my real family?”
Another child might have guessed the truth: Quick Results was a sham operation run out of a chicken farm at the end of a bumpy, run-down road. It didn’t have a lab, and its reports were rattled off by a swindler on an ancient typewriter. Elvia’s ancestors were, in fact, from Germany, and Sally Hill had birthed her in the usual way. But Elvia wouldn’t have believed the truth if it had stared her in the face. Instead, being who she was, she quickly embraced the fanciful notion that her bio-family lived in a faraway land, looked nothing like her, and spoke in a language that included “clicks” in addition to syllables and vowels. It was simply too exciting not to be true.
So, in September, when her science class read You Will Save the Lions, by Dr. Zenzele Bhembe, a Zulu researcher in Tanzania, she latched on. Dr. Bhembe and his wife lived romantic, interesting lives amongst the lions that they loved, and Elvia was drawn to them instantly. They were her biological parents, she decided, once more tossing reason to the wind in favor of the thrill. “It’s obvious,” Elvia thought, peering at the photo of Dr. Bhembe on the back cover. “I have his nose.”
Elvia couldn’t wait to get to Tanzania, but she knew she couldn’t get there on her own, at least not yet. She didn’t have a driver’s license, and, anyway, there was an ocean to navigate and an equator to cross. Still, in the strange way that coincidence sometimes intervenes, the problem solved itself. In mid-October, her “fake” mother threw her a wildly unexpected bone. “Guess what? I won a raffle at work,” she said. “Roundtrip airline tickets to Tanzania. We’re going on a wildlife safari, honey, to Tembo National Park. The trip of a lifetime.”
It was so out of character for her mother to say such a thing, that Elvia thought she was kidding. The Hill family never did anything unusual. Her parents hadn’t taken her outside of Oregon, much less halfway around the world. But when she realized her mother was serious, her eyes grew wide and her face lit up. It was true!
“Tanzania!” she shrieked with delight, dancing through the living room. She couldn’t believe her luck! Her parents were finally spicing up her life, and, more than that, Tembo National Park was where Dr. Bhembe worked. It was a cosmic sign. The stars had aligned. She was going home!
As she twirled about, the family cat, Nilo, eyed her from a strategic position near the fireplace. In a flash, he disappeared from view, escaping to a dark, safe place under the sofa, out of reach.
Sally smiled. “It’s for two weeks,” she explained. “Afterwards we’ll fly to Zanzibar and tour the spice farms.” Earl frowned from a nearby doorway. “I need to talk with you Sally,” he said, in his I-need-to-talk-with-you-Sally voice, which, fortunately, he didn’t have to use very often. He ushered his wife into the laundry room and quietly locked the door.
“What are you thinking?” he whispered, his face a mask of concern. “We can’t take Elvia with us. It’s not safe. I thought we’d planned this vacation for just the two of us.” Sally kept her voice low, so Elvia wouldn’t hear.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I know it’s not what we agreed. But with Mrs. Seibert ill, we don’t have a babysitter. We can’t leave Elvia with a stranger for three weeks. It would ruin our trip. We’d be worried the entire time.”
Earl conceded the point. Elderly Mrs. Seibert, who’d cared for Elvia since she was an infant, was recovering from a heart attack. She was confined to a wheelchair and wouldn’t be able to work anytime soon. And none of their relatives would step in. The leaves of the Hill family tree were scattered across the country. Earl’s parents lived in faraway Miami, in a retirement home that barred anyone younger than fifty-five, while Sally’s were always “here and there,” traveling the world. Even Elvia’s aunts and uncles were out of the question. They lived busy, child-free lives in Boston, Chicago, and Memphis.
“But it’s so dangerous,” he argued. “Who knows what could happen? There’ll be lions and cheetahs and leopards. Maybe we should cancel.”
“Oh, let’s not,” Sally pleaded. “We’ve already paid Safari Adventures up front, with no chance of a refund. And Safari Adventures is a top-notch company. Remember what they said on their website? Safety is their number one priority.”
Reluctantly, Earl came around. Eight thousand dollars was a huge amount of money to throw away, and he and Sally were always on a tight budget. The safari was booked and paid for now. He nodded his assent and bravely squeezed Sally’s hand. When he opened the door, he caught a glimpse of their daughter ecstatically cartwheeling into the kitchen, pots and pans clattering as they toppled to the floor. Earl and Sally had no idea, of course, that Elvia planned to use the trip as an opportunity to relocate to Africa, to live with make-believe Zulu relatives. If they had, they might have driven her to the nearest psychologist’s office rather than flying her to Africa. But they were clueless, so the trip was on.
Over the ensuing weeks, Earl and Sally finalized the plans. They arranged for a neighbor to “cat-sit” Nilo. They added Elvia to their flight itinerary. They emailed Safari Adventures, alerting the company to expect three Hills instead of two. And they paid the “rush” fee to make sure Elvia’s passport arrived on time. It was a whirlwind of activity. Christmas came and went in a blur. But the day for their departure finally came. On a chilly January morning, two hours before dawn, they dragged three neatly packed suitcases and two tidy carry-on bags to the curb, where an airport shuttle awaited them. Elvia was so hyped-up that she could hardly sit still.
The long journey involved two flights. The first was on Dutch Airways from Portland, Oregon, to Amsterdam, in The Netherlands. The second arced south, over the equator, to Arusha, a tourist town nestled at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro. It would be a trial for Earl and Sally. They were tense with anxiety. But excited Elvia couldn’t wait for the venture to begin.
Dutch Airways was famous for its fleet of modern, luxury airplanes, and Elvia soon settled in, happily contemplating the wonders that awaited her in Tanzania. She had a loose tooth, and Sally promised her that if she lost it in Africa, the tooth fairy would pay for it in Tanzanian shillings. Elvia no longer believed in the tooth fairy. She was ten now, and such childish notions were long extinct. But she played along. She’d never seen foreign currency, much less had any of her own. Each passenger had their own video screen, and Elvia focused on hers, scrolling through her entertainment options. Soon, she settled on Simbisi, Lost King of the Savannah, an animated movie about a young lion raised by parents who didn’t understand him. He sensed he was different, and it turned out he was right. He’d been separated from his parents, who were king and queen of the expansive savannah that lay between inland Lake Victoria and Mombasa on the Kenyan coast. The story of Simbisi’s journey to reunite with them, and find out who he really was, was exciting, with many twists and turns. Elvia loved the story. Simbisi had found his way home, and so would she. Soon, if all went according to plan, the lions in Tembo National Park would be her siblings, of a sort. In his book, Dr. Bhembe called them his “children.” The fanciful idea lit her up inside. She couldn’t remember Jane, who’d died before she was born, and she’d always hated being an only child.
When the movie was over, Elvia became restless and wanted to tour the plane. The “fasten seat belts” lights were off, and Earl agreed to walk her up and down the aisle. Overjoyed to be cruising thirty thousand feet above the ocean, closer to the Bhembes with each bump of turbulence, she grinned as she passed the other travelers. Earl, meantime, was relieved at how well the trip was progressing. Maybe he’d been mistaken. Maybe everything would go according to plan. He smiled as he told himself, with relief, “Elvia will be all right.”
He was wrong.
As they neared the back of the plane, a middle-aged African man seated on the aisle motioned for Elvia to stop. He was wearing traditional clothing: a yellow robe and a striped cap. Reaching out to touch her long, red hair, he asked in a thick accent, “May I? It’s so beautiful.”
Elvia nodded, pleased by the man’s attention, but Earl stiffened, a protective fatherly sixth sense kicking in. The passenger was too eager, almost hungry, as his hand found its mark. The glint in his eye was evil—the hairs on Earl’s neck stood on end—and he instinctively pushed Elvia ahead of him, toward the tiny restrooms at the far back, where they turned around and headed up the opposite aisle.
When they arrived back at their seats, Earl leaned over and quietly told Sally about the unnerving incident. They were only six hours into the trip, and there was already trouble.
“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Sally asked worriedly, also keeping her voice low. “I don’t know. But keep an eye on Elvia when we get to Amsterdam. I don’t want that man getting anywhere near her.”
When the mighty plane touched down and they disembarked into the terminal, Sally protectively steered Elvia into the nearest gift shop. Meanwhile, Earl scanned the visual display announcing arrivals and departures, looking for their Air Twiga flight. “Tanzania?” asked a deep voice behind him. Earl turned around and found himself face-to-face with the man in the yellow robe. They were about the same height: six feet give or take an inch.
“Yes,” Earl replied warily. “Why do you ask?”
The man eased forward and slipped a business card into Earl’s hand, giving him a smile and a wink as if they were co-conspirators in a crime. “I’ll give you the best price. Guaranteed,” he whispered, as if worried someone might be listening in. Earl examined the crudely made card. The man’s name was Jelani Kibiki, and he ran a company called True Believers in Arusha.
“Price for what?” Earl asked, his frown deepening. “I’m not selling anything.” Jelani blinked, and Earl suddenly realized that the man was sweating. Beads of salty perspiration glistened on his brow, reflecting the harsh airport lights.
“You’re not?” Jelani asked, his eyes growing wide.
Repulsed, Earl backed away and replied, “No. You’ve made a mistake.” Jelani retreated, too, no longer buddy-buddy.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said briskly. “I thought you were a businessman.”
“No, I’m a tourist. I’m taking my family on safari,” Earl replied, glad to be setting the record straight. He didn’t want the man bothering them again.
“In that case,” Jelani warned, wagging a finger at Earl as he walked away, “watch over that daughter of yours. She won’t be safe in my country.”
