K i n c s Business BY MARTHA S. HOOKER
Blind Ali Sees the Light
by Carolyn London A l i l a y huddled at the foot of the monkey-bread tree. The hot African sun was directly overhead; however, it was cool in the shade. Ali reached his hand out. He loved to feel the smooth trunk of the tree. Ali strained his ears trying to hear what the men were saying. He hoped they wouldn’t notice him, for he knew that they’d drive him away if they saw him. But he did so much want to hear what they were saying. After all his whole future was at stake! How he wished that he could see them—but he was blind. How he longed to know what they were plan ning to do with him. He rubbed his eyes. How many times in the past few months he had rubbed them hop ing that all of a sudden they would be well and that he would be able to see again. Suddenly he stopped and lay very still. He heard a voice which he had come to dread in the last few weeks. His heart almost stopped beating as he listened. “ He’s got to go, that’s all there is to it. He’s a nice boy, and I like him, but I’m scared. No, he’ll have to go. If he didn’t have an evil eye would his father have died and would he be blind now? No, it’s evil . . . and I’m afraid.” “ Yes, Many Goats, you are right,” Ali recognized the voice of the town chief. “We can’t let a boy with a witch spirit live in our town. I’d suggest you take him to the mission aries in the next town. They’ll take care of him.” “ Ha!” another voice spoke, “ they’ll take care of him all right. I know them! You know what those white people do? They feed those boys until they get nice and fat and then they boil them down and make soap out
“ I don’t want to be cut up for soap. I don’t want the lions to eat me. I don’t want to be blind and lonely,” Ali cried aloud. “ Now who would want to cut you up for soap?” a friendly voice came out of the darkness. “ Ay! I didn’t see you coming . . . I mean, I didn’t hear you coming!” Ali jumped with fright. He turned his head trying to pierce the darkness with his blind eyes. “What are you, where are you?” “ Don’t be frightened,” the friendly voice spoke softly. “You’re Ali, aren’t you?” “Who are you?” Ali cried, “ How did you know my name?” “ Oh, just call me Friend,” the voice answered. “ Friend? That’s a funny name” Ali began to feel less afraid because the voice sounded so friendly and quiet. “Well, that isn’t exactly my name, but it will do for a while,” the voice replied. “ Now tell me, what’s this about cutting you up for soap. I heard you talking about that when I came up the path.” “ Oh, I heard my stepfather’s friend telling him that the white people at the mission make soap out of little boys.” “ They do, huh? That’s funny, I never heard about it,” the voice an swered. “Well, that’s what he said, and Many Goats wanted to get rid of me, so I ran away . . . and . . .” then little Ali began to cry again. “ Now stop crying,” said Friend as he patted Ali on the head, “ and let’s hear all about this. Tell me what the man said.” So Ali explained how he’d over-
of them. That’s the way they take care of boys!” “Who told you that?” the chief asked, “ someone’s been lying to you.” “No, sir, I know it for a fact,” the strange voice answered. “ I saw a box of soap up there one day, and it had a picture of a little boy on it.” “ That doesn’t prove anything.” “Well, you’ll have to get rid of him today,” the chief warned. “ Tonight’s our big demon dance and we can’t have a blind boy in the town.” Ali heard Many Goats’ voice fade away in the distance. Many Goats was looking for him at home. “ Now’s my chance,” Ali thought. He groped around until he found the stick that he used to guide him self over the paths of the town. Care fully he picked his way along the path that he knew led out of town. His heart thumped with fear. He hoped that no one would stop him. Ali walked and walked. He had no trouble following the path be cause it had been worn smooth by thousands of bare feet. He was miles from his village when he began to realize that it was getting night and that he was tired and hungry and faced with the possibility of spending the night alone in the bush. Thoughts of wild animals, hyenas and lions, filled him with terror. All of a sudden it seemed to little blind Ali that his sorrow and loneli ness were more than he could bear. He sank to the ground. He was just too tired to go any farther. “ I’ll just sit down here and rest,” he said aloud. It was so quiet. He longed to hear another human voice. All he could hear was the whirr, whirr, whirr of the locusts and the squawk of the hombill birds that flew overhead.
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