A Calf Named Brian Higgins

Landing in Nairobi

“Who comes all the way to Africa without a Plan B?”

Hannah grunted and rolled her eyes at her mom. After

fifteen hours of flying, she was exhausted. And her

stomach still ached from the turbulence. Maybe I should

have listened to Dad and stayed home. She wanted to cry. My

stomach is killing me. I need a ginger ale.

Her Uncle Brian who lived and worked in Kenya was

supposed to pick them up at the airport and was not there.

“What are we going to do now?” Hannah asked. Her mom

sighed. She took a step closer to Hannah and put her arm

around her. With one swift roll of her shoulder, Hannah

pushed her mom off. She tilted her head to the side and

raised her eyebrows as far up her forehead as they would

go. Through her flared nostrils she exhaled an exaggerated

breath and started tapping her foot on the tile floor.

Scanning the room for her uncle, Hannah noticed she

and her mom—the only white people in the Nairobi Jomo

Kenyatta International Airport—stood out like two small

children lost in Times Square in New York City. Her white

skin made her feel more uncomfortable than afraid. People

rushed by. She stopped tapping her foot and observed.

Men were dressed in short sleeved button-down untucked

shirts with loose-fitting lightweight pants and black rubber

sandals. All the colors of their clothes were plain. There

were very few women in the airport. Unlike the colors the

men wore, the women wore vibrantly patterned dresses,

mostly large floral prints, and black rubber sandals. Seeing

her reflection in the glass divider at customs made Hannah

gasp. She looked down at her clothes—a white short-

sleeved t-shirt, a long navy skirt that reached the floor,

and orange and blue Asics running sneakers—bothered by

how much she stood out. She adjusted her tortoiseshell

eyeglasses and tried to ignore her nervousness. Her mom,

who seemed oblivious to everything, hustled her along to

the desk to purchase visas.

Without expression, the male employee at the counter

said, “US Passport and US fifty dollar.” Her mom handed

him Hannah’s passport and $50. He looked Hannah up

and down, reviewed her passport and handed it to her.

Hannah smiled and thanked him. He nodded, put the

money in a drawer and repeated, “US Passport and US

fifty dollar.” She watched her mom hand him her passport

and another $50. He returned her passport and waved

them forward. Her mom thanked him and walked ahead

like a Pointer dog in search of the perfect spot to bury its

bone. Hannah rolled her eyes and sighed, and followed

her mom, who looked back every two seconds even though

Hannah was right behind her.

There was still no sign of Uncle Brian. They looked

through the windows to the outside. Unmarked black cars

resembled gypsy cabs Hannah had seen in New York City.

Her parents had warned her they were illegal and never to

take them no matter how long the wait was for a yellow

cab. Her mom tried to put her arm around Hannah and

she pulled away again, but this time not too far. It was

dark outside and Uncle Brian was still not answering his

phone. Outside the airport there were even more strangers

and probably fewer people who spoke English. For the first

time since they had left home, Hannah nestled in close to

her mom.

A man approached them holding a sign, HIGGINS.

He had dark skin and his short hair was black with

white flecks. In a soft, accented voice, he said, “Meredith

Higgins.”

She looked at Hannah. What do you want me to do? I

don’t know who this guy is. She felt her heart skip a beat and

hoped her mom would handle it.

Shifting her gaze from Hannah to the stranger, her

mom answered. “Yes.” Her voice trailed up as she spoke,

like she was answering his question with a question. In

that moment, the Pointer dog had become an innocent

puppy.

The man handed her an envelope. She took Hannah

by the upper arm, positioned her where she could see her

and opened the envelope. Her face lost its color and her

skin looked even paler next to the dark skin of the African

man. She handed the stranger her duffel and grabbed

Hannah’s hand so hard that this time she could not pull it

away. Truth be told, she did not want to.

Uncle Brian and the Zinc Lady

“What’s the matter? Where’s Uncle Brian?” Hannah sat

close to her mom in the back of one of the same unmarked

cars she had been taught to avoid at all costs. See, Mom?

She wanted to say. We’re in what’s probably the same exact

thing as a gypsy cab and everyone is still alive.

“He’s stuck on the road somewhere. His bus broke

down on its way here. This man is going to take us to a

hotel for the night and we’ll go to Kisumu tomorrow.”

As they drove, it looked a lot like New York City—

bright lights and tall buildings. Streets were crowded with

people. “Oh,” Hannah said. Feeling better with a plan,

she reached into her backpack and got out a half-eaten bag

of Sour Patch Kids. “Why didn’t you just tell me that in

the first place? What’s the big deal?” She groaned. “You’re

so frantic.” She ate some candy and glared at her mom

but kept her thoughts to herself. You always mess everything

up. At least Dad’s not here. Uncle Brian is going to show me

around and take me to buy some cool Maasai bead jewelry.

It was after midnight by the time they checked in to

Room 312 of the Intercontinental Hotel. Hannah had no

idea what time it would be at home and was too tired to do

the simple math. She got out a brush and started combing

through her knotted hair. It felt so good to get a brush

through it. No more tangles. Just the softness she was used

to. Pulling out her long brown strands of hair from the

brush, she realized she had lost her hair elastic sometime

during the last leg of her trip, but she had plenty more, a

pack of assorted colors. She grabbed a green one and tied

her hair back into a ponytail.

She stumbled into the tiny bathroom with her toiletry

bag—light pink with white polka dots—and turned on the

sink faucet. A thin stream of water flowed. She twisted the

knob as far as it would go, but the pressure did not change.

She could still feel the film from the soap on her face and

hands when she climbed into bed.

As tired as she was, she could not sleep. Her parents’

harsh words to each other from the night before she and

her mom left for Kenya were still fresh in her mind. She

heard her mom’s voice, her emphasis centering on the

pronouns like darts hitting a bulls-eye. He’s your brother,

Dan. You should be going, not me. I take that back. I am

happy to be taking our daughter to fulfill the promise we made

to your brother.

Just as sharp, her dad fired back. The promise we made?

We? I never promised to do anything.

Of course you didn’t. You never would. You’re too selfish.

I’m selfish? You’re the one dragging Hannah because you

want to go. Brian thinks he can change the world, Meredith.

He can’t. Poverty has been around forever and it always will

be. It’s bad enough right here in the US. In Africa, it’s worse.

No one person is going to change that, not anywhere.

You’re just too closed-minded to see that even if what

Brian’s doing helps save one life, he’s making a difference.

Oh, stop. You sound like one of those syrupy clips on the

news. And what do you know about it anyway? You’ve never

been to one of those places. And how’s this all going to work,

Meredith? Now you’re going to save the world? Make a

difference? You and Hannah?

Yes, Dan. We are.

Hannah remembered sitting in her bedroom holding

her Tibetan Terrier, Livvy, and listening intently. She

wanted to rush to her mom and side with her. But part

of her agreed with her dad. And throughout the years she

had learned it was best to stay out of it anyway.

There was a knock at her bedroom door. She heard

her dad’s voice. “Hannah? Can I come in?” His gentle tone

made her crazy. He can be so fake. Does he really think I didn’t

just hear that whole conversation?

“Yes,” she muttered.

“It’s not too late to decide you don’t want to go. You

can stay here. It’s your summer vacation from school, after

all.” They always want me to choose between them. It’s like

he’s saying, ‘Pick me! Pick me!’ “Mom’s been obsessed with

this trip since Uncle Brian started working in Africa,” he

grumbled. “In her Peace Corps days after college, she never

had the courage to travel so she stayed and worked in the

home office. She feels like now is her chance. But you’ll

have other chances, if you decide you ever want to go.” His

voice was slick like when salespeople get too pushy trying

to sell stuff.

Hannah hated when her parents made their problems

into her problems. And she hated that she did not want

to go and wanted to go at the same time. She felt like her

mom in her “Peace Corps days.”

“What about Uncle Brian? I already told him I was

going.” He’s the only reason I want to go. “And weren’t the

plane tickets like a million dollars?”

“Uncle Brian will understand. And no, the ticket wasn’t

a million dollars.” He chuckled. “It was a few thousand,

but it’s a refundable ticket, Hannah, so it’s your choice.

Think about it and we can talk more in the morning.” He

kissed her on the top of her head and walked out.

The pressure to choose whether or not to go—to

choose between her parents—consumed her. She wished

she could be half as relaxed as her dog, belly up and snoring

on her bed beside her. Her dad was right. It was her summer

vacation and she wanted to be with her friends. But she

loved adventures and her uncle. She lay down next to Livvy

and thought of the last time Uncle Brian had visited.

She had been sent to her room for lying to her parents

about unfinished homework. Sitting on the top step of

the staircase with her elbows resting on her knees and

her chin propped up in her hands, she listened to them

playing $25,000 Pyramid downstairs. Her mom gave

clues. “Lace. Piping. Mexico. Canada. Fringe.”

Unable to resist having the answer, Hannah called

out, “Borders!”

She expected loud cheers. Instead, there was silence.

“Want to play?” Uncle Brian broke the tension. He

got up off the couch, leaned his head up the staircase,

winked at her and smiled. “You got it, so you’re up!” They

played for the rest of the afternoon and somehow she was

no longer in trouble.

After dinner, her mom was making tea. Hannah

excused herself from the table and said she still had one

more test to study for.

“Want me to quiz you?” Uncle Brian asked.

“Sure,” Hannah answered. “It’s in science. Not my

favorite subject and I don’t really like the teacher.”

“Why not?”

“Because she says things like, ‘I zinc you know the

answer!’”

Uncle Brian laughed. “That’s hilarious. Come on, she

sounds funny.”

Hannah continued defending her case. “She has a

poster on the wall that says, ‘Think like a proton and stay

positive.’”

Brian laughed harder. “Well,” he admitted, “that one’s

a little more questionable.”

“She puts scratch-n-sniff stickers on our homework,

and…” She burst out laughing.

“What?” Brian asked.

Hannah could not control herself. Tears streamed

down her face. “There was this one time…” She could

barely get the words out. “She puts the stickers on our

homework.”

“You said that already,” Uncle Brian said, laughing.

“And I have no idea what’s so funny.”

Hannah took a deep breath and waved her hands

in front of her to refocus. “One time, we had all made

mistakes on our homework.” She started laughing again.

“And she thought it would be funny to use stinky scratch-

n-sniffs. And she chose poop.” Fully crying with laughter

at this point, she said, “And she had to dismiss us early

because the whole room smelled so bad!” She wiped the

tears from her eyes and caught her breath. “You’re right,”

she said. “She actually is pretty funny.”

The following morning Uncle Brian asked Hannah,

“On a scale of one to ten, how much would it humiliate

you if not only I drop you off at school, but I also go in and

see the legendary zinc and poop lady?”

Hannah laughed. “Ten is the most humiliating?”

“Yes,” Uncle Brian confirmed.

“Eleven.”

He gave her a joking jab in the arm. “Seriously,

Hannah, now that I know you’re learning about the

periodic table of the elements, I’m wondering if she’s going

to be teaching about water.” He paused. “And I wanted to

ask her if I can come in and talk to your class about access

to clean water in places like Sauri.”

“You mean like the wells being built in Africa that

you told me about?”

“Yes, but there are wells being built all over,” he

explained. “And it’s awesome. Because, you know, people

can die from bacteria in water.”

“Can’t they just take antibiotics or something?” she

asked.

“This is why I need to talk to Zinc.” He leaned into

Hannah. “I zinc I really do need to talk to her.”

Hannah laughed. “You can talk to her, but I zinc

you’ll zinc she’s crazy!”

As Uncle Brian had hoped, Hannah’s teacher invited

him back later that week to talk with the class about his

work in Kenya. He looked at Hannah. “Scale of one to ten?”

“Five hundred!” She laughed. She leaned into him

and whispered, “Just don’t embarrass me, okay?”

“I zinc I will try not to,” he whispered back.

Two days later and after a brief introduction by

Hannah’s teacher, Uncle Brian showed a slide with a

picture of a boy wearing a dirty white button down shirt,

a blue sweater with holes in it, and ripped blue shorts. He

was smiling and holding a cell phone carved out of wood.

Uncle Brian said, “This is Kiano. And he carved this cell

phone himself.” He pointed to the phone on the screen.

“Look at the buttons.”

Hannah looked around at her impressed classmates.

She could hear them whisper, “That’s so cool.”

“Kiano and his friends have phones like this and talk

to each other on them.” He put a pretend phone up to his

ear. “Allo?”

He took a step to the side and used his other hand to

hold up a different pretend phone. “Ah, allo!”

The kids laughed.

“The kids there use wooden cell phones because there

aren’t many cell phones there. Yet. This is in Sauri, Kenya,

where I live. I work for an organization in New York City

and my job is to find solutions to help end poverty so people

will have enough medicine, food, and clean water. And

having cell phones will help people communicate with

each other and others outside their community. I wanted

you to see Kiano because he knows about cell phones and

his family will likely get a cell phone before they have a

toilet.”

The class giggled. I should have warned Uncle Brian we

still act like five-year-olds sometimes.

“Really?” He laughed. “Because I said, ‘toilet’?”

The kids laughed harder. You said it again.

He looked at Hannah and she smiled and threw her

hands up in the air. He shook his head. The boy sitting

next to Hannah leaned over to her and whispered, “One

cell phone for the whole family?”

Hannah shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so.”

Uncle Brian continued talking. “More people in the

world have a cell phone than a toilet.”

The kids stopped laughing. The novelty of “toilet” had

worn off.

“2.4 billion people—1 in 3—lack access to a toilet.

And 663 million people—1 in 10—lack access to safe

water.”

Uncle Brian called on a student who said, “That

means 10% of people in the world don’t have safe water.”

The child paused. “That’s a lot of people.”

Another student called out. “And a third of the people

in the world don’t have a toilet?”

Uncle Brian nodded. He went on to talk about how

many kids in Sauri, including Kiano—but more often girls

than boys—need to walk a long way to get water each day

sometimes instead of going to school. The class asked lots

of questions and Uncle Brian answered them, including

what can be done to help like getting toilets and proper

waste removal systems, and building wells in places that

need them.

The bell rang and nobody moved. “Oh, sorry, I can

talk about this stuff forever.” Uncle Brian said. “I’m really

impressed. You know, Hannah’s the best niece a guy could

ask for.” Pausing a moment, he added, “She’s my only

niece.” He winked at her and laughed. “But seriously, she’s

awesome, and between her and having you guys as her

friends, I am really hopeful for our future, I really am.”

Hannah looked around. Everyone was smiling,

including her teacher, who thanked Uncle Brian and

whispered to Hannah, “I zinc you have a really special

uncle.” Hannah laughed. She looked over at Brian, who

was smiling so big she knew he must have heard.