Alisa Siegel - My Name Is Konisola

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: My name is Konisola / Alisa Siegel.

Names: Siegel, Alisa, author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190187034 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190187069 | ISBN 9781772601190 (softcover) | ISBN 9781772601206 (EPUB) | Classification: LCC PS8637.I27 M9 2020 | DDC jC813/.6dc23

Copyright 2020 by Alisa Siegel

Editors: Heather Camlot and Kathryn Cole

Cover illustration Talya Baldwin, i2iart.com

Printed and bound in Canada

Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the support of the

Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council for the Arts for our

publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the

Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund.

Published by

Second Story Press

20 Maud Street, Suite 401

Toronto, ON M5V 2M5

www.secondstorypress.ca

For Noam and Daniel

This is a story of generosity. Of how open-hearted strangers stepped into the life of a mother and

a child. Of how remarkable coincidences,

good fortune, and human connections rescued

a young girl. And of how darkness became light.

One

The memory box is made of a dark wood.

Its rectangular, about the size of a shoebox.

Inside, some gold hoop earrings.

A few bracelets. A thick necklace.

A worn pink leather wallet.

A slim red diary.

A photo of a woman and a young girl.

These are her most precious possessions.

Konisola presses her nose tightly against the airplane window. She can make out the streets and houses of the city below. Is that her school, over there? Or is that it, farther to the left? When she twists her neck, she can see cars and trucks inching slowly forward. Gradually, everything on the ground becomes smaller and smaller. She strains her eyes, trying to keep the objects sharp. But its no use. Everything turns to dots.

Konisola has never been on an airplane before. Shes only seen them in books at school and overhead in the sky. She always dreamed of being able to fly.

She just never imagined it would happen so soon. Or in this way.

Just a few hours earlier, she and her friends were outside at recess. Youre IT, Konisola! they yelled. It was her turn to be the chaser. They were playing Boju-Boju , their version of hide and seek.

Watch out! Im coming to get you! Konisola laughed and screamed as she sped around the yard. She was nine years old, younger than some of her friends, older than others, taller and faster than all of them. She tagged one after the other. Her chest felt like it would explode. Just as she was about to catch the last one, she stopped abruptly.

There was her mother at the edge of the schoolyard, two knapsacks at her feet. What was she doing here in the middle of the day?

Her mother motioned to Konisola from the fence. Konisolas heart pounded as she ran to greet her.

Mama!

Six days had passed since she saw her last. Six days since that terrible night. Konisolas mind raced with a thousand questions. She saw her mother pull at the folds of skin between her thumb and pointer finger. She always did this when she was nervous. And her mother was wearing large, dark sunglasses. Not large enough to hide the dark shadow on her cheekbone, still bruised and swollen.

Come quickly, her mother whispered in her ear. She took her firmly by the hand. We must go.

Go? But its the middle of the day. Where do we have to go?

Ill explain later. Hurry now! her mother said sharply. We dont have time. She yanked Konisola toward the street.

What is happening? Konisola wondered. Why is she taking me out of school and away from my friends? Why now?

I dont want to go yet! she shouted, louder than she had intended. She dug in her heels and pulled in the opposite direction. Were in the middle of a game and Teacher has a special art project planned for us this afternoon.

Konisola, this is more important! We have to get out, before they see us. Quickly now! Dont be difficult, her mother hissed. We must not call attention to ourselves. If we do, all will be lost.

Konisola shuddered. Who were they ? And what would be lost? She had no idea. But she saw the steel in mothers eyes and knew she had to go. She looked back at her friends playing in the schoolyard. It would be the last time she would see them.

TTT

A black car stood waiting on the roadside. Konisola and her mother slipped inside. It was steaming hot, hotter even than outside. Konisolas legs felt wet and sticky on the vinyl seat. She played with the buttons on the door and lowered the car window.

Close it, Konisola! her mother snapped.

But Im boiling. I need air.

Close it quickly! We cannot be seen by anyone.

Why not? Where are we going?

Her mother fumbled with some papers. Her hands were shaking. On one document, Konisola saw a photo of herself with some writing.

We are going away. Far away.

Away? She and her mother never went away.

You must be brave, Konisola, her mother said. We must do this so that you will be safe.

TTT

The airplane climbs into the sky. Konisolas questions multiply and she cant hold them in.

Where are we going? she asks her mother again.

To another country. To Canada. No one will hurt us anymore.

Where is Canada? she presses. Where will we live?

We will see, Oyinkan , my honey. No more questions now.

Konisola cups her hands over her ears. The sound of wind whistles in her head.

My ears feel funny, she announces loudly, like something is stuffed inside of them.

Try swallowing, child, a woman behind them suggests through the space between the seats. If your mother allows it, I can give you some chewing gum. That helps too.

Her mothers eyes are already closed, her breathing heavy with sleep.

My mother says I can have some gum, please, Konisola says softly to the woman behind.

The woman reaches her hand between the seats and gives her a stick of gum. Konisola unwraps it quietly and begins to chew. Her mouth fills with sweet water. She rests her head against the back of her seat. She chews and swallows, chews and swallows. Her ears clear.

Canada. She repeats the word to herself. Canada.

Two

The airport in Toronto is big and busy. Konisola and her mother follow the crowd of travelers. Down escalators. Along wide hallways. Past restaurants and shops. Until they reach a large room with officers in bulky uniforms, guns tucked into their holsters.

Citizens to the right. Visitors to the left, someone hollers. Have your passports ready!

The two of them drift forward in the thick forest of people. Konisola takes her mothers hand. Its cold and damp. It feels like fear. But theres also the comforting jangle of her mothers bracelets. Konisola knows how much her mother loves the few pieces of jewelry she owns. Today she wears it all: along with the banglesthe necklace, the blue earrings.