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Authors: Wanjiku wa Ngugi
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hackers to break into the law files and retrieve the information I needed. Melinda had the reputation of being a master at computers, and she fancied herself an expert in cyber warfare, but I didn’t think it wise to ask her. I could break into Zack’s home office, but what if there was nothing there? What I needed was some basic facts with which to confront my husband and extract more information.
Mark kept on coming to mind. He must know Kasla. He had talked about business links to Africa, Kenya, oh yes, that night at the wedding. Without Melinda, there was no way of getting to him.
And then an idea dawned on me. My mother used to tell me the longest road was usually the shortest. I needed to locate the Kenya adoption agency with which Kasla had partnered. The partner agency in Kenya would lead me back to America.
6
J ane Kagendo came to mind. She had not come to our wedding because she’d been involved in a case involving alternative clinics. She was not at her desk when I phoned, but after ten minutes, she returned the call. I explained my situation. She had not heard of Kasla in Kenya or, for that matter, in New York, or any such partnership. Could she get me a list of all the registered adoption clinics in the country? I asked.
“I thought I was done with clinics, adoptive or otherwise, after my legal battles over Alternative Clinics,” she said.
“Please, Jane, I just want adoption agencies,” I said, a little embarrassed that I knew so little about her battles. The text she had sent us did not contain details about the case.
A day later, she emailed me a list of six registered agencies. Most were church-based, a few government- or quasi-government-managed. I called them all. Two agencies did not answer, but the other four said they had never heard of Kasla. The matter needed further investigation by someone on the ground. I felt uneasy at the thought of taking Jane from her serious work to pursue a whim. Then Wainaina came to mind.
I was in my last year at CCNY when I met him at an NYU lecture on technology, philosophy, and the new media by a famous Harvard professor; it was part of a summer workshop on globalization and the social media. In his arguments for a universal ethical imperative, the professor quoted Immanuel Kant, first in German and then in English: “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.” I did not understand the jargon, and I suspect I was not alone, but we all were completely mesmerized by his sonorous delivery.
Amid the respectful silence, a young man raised his hand. There was total silence when I whispered to the woman next to me: “He has a body to die for.” The man with the cordless mike happened to be passing it and must have had it on, because my comment was caught by a live mike. Laughter broke out. I felt like disappearing in a hole. I tried to laugh along with everybody else to hide my embarrassment. The young man was not flustered.
“The only problem, sir, is that you seem to assume the universal ethical imperative resides in the West, a white platonic model to be copied or mimicked by Africa and Asia,” he said, and sat down amid murmuring.
Though the professor was expecting a question that sought his wisdom and not a comment that questioned his assumptions, he maintained his calm. The young man’s courage impressed me, and after the lecture, I sought him. Sponsored by his newspaper, he had come from Kenya just for the summer workshop. We exchanged phone numbers, and I called him a few times, but our communication gradually dwindled to zero.
I called the Daily Star, the paper that had sent him, and luckily, I got him. “The man with a body to die for,” I started by way of introduction. He laughed and remembered me, expressing regret that we had communicated so little. He was just finishing up an article on an investigation, but he promised to get right back to me.
When he did, I went
Mark kept on coming to mind. He must know Kasla. He had talked about business links to Africa, Kenya, oh yes, that night at the wedding. Without Melinda, there was no way of getting to him.
And then an idea dawned on me. My mother used to tell me the longest road was usually the shortest. I needed to locate the Kenya adoption agency with which Kasla had partnered. The partner agency in Kenya would lead me back to America.
6
J ane Kagendo came to mind. She had not come to our wedding because she’d been involved in a case involving alternative clinics. She was not at her desk when I phoned, but after ten minutes, she returned the call. I explained my situation. She had not heard of Kasla in Kenya or, for that matter, in New York, or any such partnership. Could she get me a list of all the registered adoption clinics in the country? I asked.
“I thought I was done with clinics, adoptive or otherwise, after my legal battles over Alternative Clinics,” she said.
“Please, Jane, I just want adoption agencies,” I said, a little embarrassed that I knew so little about her battles. The text she had sent us did not contain details about the case.
A day later, she emailed me a list of six registered agencies. Most were church-based, a few government- or quasi-government-managed. I called them all. Two agencies did not answer, but the other four said they had never heard of Kasla. The matter needed further investigation by someone on the ground. I felt uneasy at the thought of taking Jane from her serious work to pursue a whim. Then Wainaina came to mind.
I was in my last year at CCNY when I met him at an NYU lecture on technology, philosophy, and the new media by a famous Harvard professor; it was part of a summer workshop on globalization and the social media. In his arguments for a universal ethical imperative, the professor quoted Immanuel Kant, first in German and then in English: “Act only according to that maxim whereby you can, at the same time, will that it should become a universal law.” I did not understand the jargon, and I suspect I was not alone, but we all were completely mesmerized by his sonorous delivery.
Amid the respectful silence, a young man raised his hand. There was total silence when I whispered to the woman next to me: “He has a body to die for.” The man with the cordless mike happened to be passing it and must have had it on, because my comment was caught by a live mike. Laughter broke out. I felt like disappearing in a hole. I tried to laugh along with everybody else to hide my embarrassment. The young man was not flustered.
“The only problem, sir, is that you seem to assume the universal ethical imperative resides in the West, a white platonic model to be copied or mimicked by Africa and Asia,” he said, and sat down amid murmuring.
Though the professor was expecting a question that sought his wisdom and not a comment that questioned his assumptions, he maintained his calm. The young man’s courage impressed me, and after the lecture, I sought him. Sponsored by his newspaper, he had come from Kenya just for the summer workshop. We exchanged phone numbers, and I called him a few times, but our communication gradually dwindled to zero.
I called the Daily Star, the paper that had sent him, and luckily, I got him. “The man with a body to die for,” I started by way of introduction. He laughed and remembered me, expressing regret that we had communicated so little. He was just finishing up an article on an investigation, but he promised to get right back to me.
When he did, I went
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