“If you can’t speak, just listen. That’s what someone once said to me.” He poured me some coffee and sat down on the wooden log across from me.
“Good advice.” I accepted the cup and smiled. He’d remembered my words, and for some reason, that made me happy. “You don’t like coffee?”
“I love coffee,” he replied, watching me take a sip.
“Really?” I prodded. “I’ve never seen you drink it.”
He leaned back, picked a cloud, and fixed his eyes on it. I didn’t think he was going to answer when he finally spoke.
“I was drinking coffee in the parking lot when it all started that day. At the mall. The taste of it was still in my mouth when the building collapsed. I retch every time I have coffee now because it takes me right back to that moment.”
I didn’t know what to say, because I had no idea what it was like to be surrounded by acres and acres of something that you loved, but could never taste. Instead, I cradled my coffee and followed his gaze toward the sky. We watched silently as the clouds drifted past the majestic face of Mount Kilimanjaro, like wispy veils of silver.
“THIS ONE, SCHOLASTICA.”I pointed to the letterAin the book and encouraged her to copy it on the sheet of paper before her.
She seemed to have trouble understanding, so I went ahead and wrote a smallAat the top of the page.
“Your turn,” I said, handing her the pen.
She looked at me, then at the paper, and scribbled something completely different in the corner.
“Like this:A,” I said, as I wrote the letter.
She repeated the sound perfectly, but herAwas nowhere close to mine.
I flipped to a blank sheet and filled the entire page with a bigA, exaggerating the strokes. “Can you do it like this?”
She copied my letter slowly and held it up.
“Yes!” I clapped my hands. “That’s it! How about this one?” I asked, indicating aBin the book.
Her expression was blank, so I wrote a bigBand showed it to her.
She bent over the desk and replicated it perfectly.
“Well done! This isA, and this isB.” I pointed out the letters in the book. She peered at them but had no reaction.
“Here.” I pulled the book closer to her. “Can you see them now?”
Scholastica looked at the pages and brought them even closer, until her nose was inches from the center crease. Then she smiled.
“A.”She showed it to me, before picking up her handwritten one and waving it gleefully.
“Good!” I beamed at her. “Can you find aB?”
Once again, she held the book near her face and examined the words.
“B!” she exclaimed, when she found one.
We were still celebrating when Goma entered the library.
“Scholastica is learning the alphabet,” I said. “But I think she needs glasses.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. Poor vision goes hand in hand with albinism. I’ll make an appointment for her to see Dr. Nasmo. He’s the optometrist we use in Amosha.”
“That’s great! You hear that? You’re going to get fitted for glasses.” I made hand gestures for Scholastica. It’s strange how much we can communicate with expressions and body language when words are not an option. And stranger still, is how much more authentic the conversation can feel.
“Oh, wait!” I rummaged through my bag and pulled out Mo’s spare frames. “Let’s see if these help. They won’t be perfect, but . . .” I placed them over her ears and stepped back. “How’s that?”
