"The Page" by John S LES, part 4

And now Part 4..."The Page" continues!


"The Page"

by John S.  LES 

©

That night I could not go to sleep.  I tried to talk to my father, but he kept saying that I was way too involved.  He did know of UN council meetings stepping up discussions on what to do with the melting down of the temporary various ceasefires in Bustani.  I asked him if I could take the day off and just run down to Virginia to see Jamila.  Jamila was my first true love.  I couldn't just sit by and do nothing.

I used my computer and bank card and the little bit of savings I had to buy round trip tickets online for Washington, DC.  I got up extra early for school, grabbed my bookbag filled with just my laptop and a sandwich, and off to Grand Central Terminal I went.  I boarded an 8:05am Amtrak train to Washington, DC., which was scheduled to arrive at 11:20am.  Once I reached Washington, I then took a coach bus into Arlington, and then a cab to Jamila's house.

My school had already called my parents, and they in turn were now calling my cell phone.  I left a voice message that I would call them back by 3pm.  Zach, Will and Tanya kept sending me text messages of my impending doom at home and school, but I wouldn't respond until after I got to my destination.  I knew by now my father had probably tracked my cell phone signal switching towers all the way down to Arlington.  It was a Friday and I cut school to see my girl, to either save our relationship or say good bye once and for all.  He had did something very similar many years ago when he was courting my mother and she gave him the cold shoulder after she caught him talking to another girl.  He went through a tough time trying to convince her that she was the one he really wanted and that he had made a mistake.  He never left her side ever since.  I didn't want Jamila leaving my side without one last stand.  My parents hadn't cut off my bank card access to my savings and checking account, so that was a good sign?

Jamila's family's apartment building was a very luxurious brownstone, not too far from the lively downtown area of Arlington.  I had arrived there just in time to have caught her coming home from school off of her school bus.  Even worse, what started out as a sunny day in New York, was now an overcast, eminent rainfall day in Arlington.  I didn't pack an umbrella with me and within minutes after arriving I was getting soaked in the drizzle of the rainfall.

At 2:45pm, Jamila did arrive at her building.  However, she was accompanied by her father as he pulled his black Lincoln Navigator up to a parking spot.  They saw me standing there in the rain, as if they were expecting me.  Me fulfilling that expectation didn't make the scowl on her father's face go away as they walked up to me under his large umbrella. 

"Young man, what is wrong with you?  You have your family worried sick!  You cut school!  You have the nerve to come to my doorstep to harass my daughter, when I told you to forget the relationship?  You need to get your ass back to New York where you belong!"  His eyes burned right into mine as his tall, menacing frame frame hulked over me.

In spite of his physical and vocal intimidations, as well as the now pouring rain - I had to make my stand at that moment - or never, "I know where I belong, Sir.  I belong right where I am standing.  I have treated your daughter and your family with nothing but respect.  I've done everything the past almost two years to show you and your family how much I love Jamila.  She means everything to me.  Why you've all chosen to be disrespectful to me is beyond me.  But I think I at least have earned an honest answer and not be thrown to the side like a piece of garbage." 

My last 11 words were spoken with a release of pent up emotions.  My voice broke at the end.  Jamila and her father both stepped towards me and hugged me as I began to cry.  I couldn't help it.  The next few moments were a blur.  All I remember was her father calling my father on his cell phone and telling him that I had arrived, and promised my father that he would take care of me until my parents got there tomorrow.

"You are right, son.  You deserved better from us.  Especially me.  Come inside.  We need to get you out of this pouring rain before you get sick."

Her mother and father let me shower and change into an old pair of sweats that belonged to Jamila's brother. He and Jamila spent the next hour and a half apologizing and asking me how I got down to Arlington so quickly, only to end up standing in the pouring rain waiting for them to arrive home before they did.  What had started off a contentious situation had now melted down into what felt like a family situation.  They wanted to wait until after dinner to explain things.

Jamila's mother had cooked an excellent dinner.  Her father even called my father and spoke to him first before I spoke to him.  He felt responsible for letting the situation get out of hand and it leading me to take such a desperate measure to get answers.  "One of them was going to run to the other.  I am glad he did it first, because I would have had a heart attack if my girl had traveled to New York City alone.  Your son is special.  He can handle himself."  Even with all his niceties before I spoke directly with my father, my father still promised to kill me when he arrived tomorrow.


After dinner, Jamila and her family began to question me on what I knew about Africa and the country of Bustani.  Well, I was all ready to handle that and gladly told them what I knew.  They were impressed.  However, what they told me over the next hour would leave me speechless and clearly was a game changer in my being there.

Her father started out by asking me what I knew of his family.  I told him that I knew his father came to America for political asylum and that his family was from the Tumbili Mtu tribe who sought political freedom from the royal family of the Simba Mtu tribe.  He agreed that the Simba royal family was large and had ruled their country with an iron hand for nearly two centuries.  But not all of the royal family or Simba tribe were desirous to be dictators and a ruling class.  Some were moderates and foresaw a Bustani that had a different future in the next millenium.  A future where Tumbili and Simba could coexist equally in a democracy.

"Actually Isiah, Jamila never told you what tribe we belonged to,"  Her father leaned over and pushed his fingers into his eyes and removed the contact lenses in his eyes.  "You see Isiah, we are actually members of the Simba Mtu tribe."  He looked to Jamila and her mother and by that time  they had removed their brown contact lenses as well.  Their natural green eyes were very distinguishable.

"You see we were seeking asylum here in the US, but from our own tribe for coming from families who were considered moderates.  Moderates, once outlawed and murdered during my father's generation, are now being sought to help rebuild Bustani.  My wife's family was already here, as her parents had left for Canada two years before my father."

They went on to explain to me that Jamila's father had a brother who was still inside Bustani.  It was the son who his father left behind.  Masamba, who was only half Simba and half Tumbili, was gaining power and now threatening the safety of even moderate Simbu Mtu tribesmen who were there to help ease a transition of power in the country.

"Jamila has been upset with me because I have already made up my mind to return to Bustani this spring and bring my brother back to the US if things do not go well with the transitional government effort.  My wife, son and of course Jamila all want to join me.  We've been arguing over this for several weeks.  When Jamila learned that you wanted to be here this summer this summer, although it was good, honorable news, it only intensified our family squabbles.  But we've come to a decision.  I have come to a decision that will work for all of us.  I will leave for Bustani in late May with my son, when he is done with his classes at Yale.  Jamila and her mother will join us in early June.  She'll miss the last two weeks of school, but if all goes well we would all be back by August.  If you get that job as a page for your Congressman, you and Jamila can have all of August to see one another."


24 hours later, I was back home in New York City, still hearing it from my dad.  He lectured me all the way home. Even when Jamila's family shared with him, what they shared with me, he was still unimpressed, and angry with me.  It wasn't fun spending my Saturday night in my room talking to Zach, Will and Tanya about all this.  Nor was it fun to hear them telling me about the detention I was facing at school for missing classes.  I was a lead applicant to get the job as the page for my congressman in Washington, DC, while my girlfriend and her family want to vacation into a bubbling civil war torn country to save their family.

Will weighed in, "Bro, you are so screwed.  I mean you have like the hottest chick on earth, who now turns out to be a weird, green eyed descendent of some cat worshippers.  No wonder she's so tall and athletic looking?  We should have figured it out!  Man...she's probably a freak in bed!  But you're never going to know because she's going to be like 8,000 miles away from you for most of the whole summer.  Looks like you're going to be spending the night with your right hand?  Yo bro, do they have a page job in Bustani?

Zach was just as helpful, "Man!  I wish we could all go with her family.  It must be kind of cool to see these mysterious Cat People kicking ass over there.  I mean, the civil war part isn't good, but you have to admit most of us Westerners haven't even seen them.  Hell, most Africans haven't really seen them!  Bustani's landscape is suppose to be picturesque, like right out of a Hollywood jungle movie.  First, the Arab Spring, and now this?  There's a whole power change on the continent of Africa and we're living in it, watching it!"  He then started making fighting cat like noises.

Will, "Bro, it's not just over there.  It's here too!  People are tired of taking crap from the people above in power.  Times are getting hard and the rich don't want to part with their riches or share the wealth with the masses.  It's going to be a crazy ass summer, you watch.  Some of those Arab countries are going down, man."

Tanya, "Don't listen to these fools, Isiah.  I know you're heart is broken.  I know you love her so much, it's so sweet.  But you know she wants to be with her dad, whom she loves.  There's no way he's going to bring his whole family on a suicide mission?  Besides Bozo and Bozo here still have her IP address to her computer, so between you and her chatting online and them watching her we should be good on knowing how she's doing, right?  I mean between the four of us, we can keep a good track of what's going on in Bustani, can't we?"

Yes we could.  I had only SAT's to study for.  I had to finish my spring semester strong.  I had my father cutting up my bank card, putting call restrictions on my cell phone after 10pm, tracking my every whereabouts with my phone through his phone.  I was on 21st century lock down.

It wasn't until later that night that my brother Ishmael gave me a phone call on the house phone that my spirits picked up.  He told me he would have done the same thing had he been in my shoes.  He said he spoke to dad and that he figured the whole thing would blow over after two weeks and to just hang in there.  He also told me, that our congressman, Ken Hollingsworth, was also on the Foreign Relations committee.  He was known for taking impromptu trips outside the country, using his own money, to visit some of the places that the committee might be overseeing.  He was pretty sure that Africa was on the hot list with these Arab uprisings.

"That man travels like a fiend sometimes.  He's in London right now for the weekend.  He was in Sidney, Austrailia last month.  The man never sits down.  When he talks about countries, he talks from visited them, not from looking at place on a map.  When is your interview with him?"

"It's in three weeks."

"Well, you better do well.  Who knows, if you get the job, maybe you can convince dad to let you travel with him if he goes to Africa this summer?  You never know.  It's worth a shot."

While we closed out our conversation on the phone that night...some 8,000 miles away...Masamba had his first assassins test out a suicide mission.  A rival full blooded, Simba Mtu priest was killed when he was approached by what he thought were two friendly Simba Mtu men.  One of the men was dressed in red, the other green.  The men stood apart from one another, but close to him as they engaged in small talk.  Suddenly the man in red reaches over and touches the man in green...and a horrific explosion occurs. 

TO BE CONTINUED