Tori is the product of an unplanned pregnancy. This is known only because she is discovered abandoned. We know nothing about her biological parents or background. Giovanni finds her and brings her to Mira and they decide to keep her.
Tori is average in the best possible way. Unlike other members of her adoptive family, she gets to have quit a few normal experiences and blends in with “regular” people just fine. From an early age she looks to her father and brother as her protectors and puts her mother on a pedestal of realistic perfection.
Tori doesn’t attend public school, but she receives an education and has opportunities to socialize with her human peers. When she grows up, Tori attends college and remains, for the most part, shielded from the dangers the rest of her family faces daily.
After graduating from college, Tori is burdened with the decision of what to do next. She’s at a point in her life when she can continue to tip-toe between the two worlds she was raised in or finally make a choice, choosing one over the other.
Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords
Many years ago a young girl left the safety of Canada for adventure in Africa. This was in a generation when young girls didn’t go anywhere on their own and certainly not to the “the dark continent.”
I was that young girl and going to Mali demanded that I adapt to:
A different climate. I exchanged the snowy cold of Alberta winters for the arid Harmattan winds of the Sahara. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the force of the heat that pressed on me as I stepped off the airplane. Over the days and weeks that followed I learned how the heat saps your energy until you feel that you can barely drag yourself around. A person who shall remain nameless said that the Africans were lazy. This person lived in an air conditioned house, drove an air-conditioned car, and worked in an air-conditioned office.
A different culture. I very quickly packed away my mini-skirts and wore a pagne, the rectangle of cloth that women wrapped around themselves to be a skirt. I hired a house-boy – sounds degrading, but the $8 a month I paid him supported a family of seven. (My salary was about $140 a month and that was ample to live on.) I learned the proper greetings that came before any exchange whether it be buying a stamp or fruit at the market. I learned to bargain. The list goes on.
A different language. I spoke French, but not fluently so I had to work at perfecting that. I also tried to learn a little Bambara, the most common local language. My students put me to shame. They could speak four or five local languages, had learned French (the official language of the country), and were studying English (I was their teacher) and German in school.
But above all, I had to adapt to time travel, for most Malians lived the way they always had. Modern conveniences consisted of basic items such as kerosene lanterns and little else.
I brought home with me a love for Mali, the Sahara, and Malians that burns as brightly now as it did then.
It was the plight of Malians that inspired my novel series. Since I couldn’t wave a magic wand to make life better in Mali, I chose to do that fictitiously. I wrote my books to entertain, but also with the hope that readers would see the world in a broader perspective. I hope that doesn’t make my books sound preachy, because they’re not intended to be, but I don’t think I could have written them in any other way given my experiences in Mali. The wide warm smiles of Malians stay with me always. I hope that warmth and positive outlook is conveyed in my stories.
“You asked for this,” I tell myself as I stand in front of the unruly grade nine students. They’re big. They’re loud. They’re bold. And, I’m not all that much older than them.
They’re my PFL class—Perspectives for Living. I’m supposed to teach them life skills—self-esteem, drug and alcohol education, sex education.… They’re here because the drama teacher and the art teacher are fed up with them and only the academic kids take the other two options offered—French as a Second Language (which is the bulk of my teaching assignment) and music.
I have great plans for this class, field trips to see court in session, guest speakers, etc., but I can’t do any of that until I get some control. The first couple of weeks do not go well so I hatch a plan.
“Here’s the thing,” I say. “You guys put yourselves in groups of four and every Friday I’ll take a group for lunch. You pay for your meal. I’ll pay the tip.”
Group one pile into my car that first Friday and we drive to a small restaurant near the school. We have a great time. Group two and three go equally well. The atmosphere in the class begins to change.
“Shut up! Mrs. Jones wants to talk.” This is the biggest, toughest kid in the school talking and they do. Shut up, that is.
Then it’s group four—five boys from Lebanon with very shady reputations. “Where’s A?” I ask.
Waiting for us in the parking lot. And he is. Sitting in the driver’s seat of his own car. I didn’t know he was old enough to drive. He gets out and gallantly opens the passenger door for me. Great! I get to ride shotgun which wouldn’t be bad normally, but the car is festooned with huge fury dice and pompoms, and upholstered in plush red velour.
“It’s okay. I’ll sit in the back,” I offer.
The young man insists I take the front seat. I slide in and sink down as low as I can. I don’t particularly want to be seen in this car. It’s not a matter of snobbery, honest. It’s a matter of professional reputation. As with the other groups, lunch is a huge success. They reveal a side of themselves that I would normally never have known. Underneath the bravado, they’re kids.
Nor do we neglect the academic students. My fellow French teacher and I offer to take the grade nine students to a French restaurant at the end of the year. Seventeen kids take us up on the offer. We have a wonderful time. They even use a bit of their rudimentary language skills with the waiters, who it turns out, don’t speak French at all…
To see the rest of this article and learn more about Darlene Jones, visit the ECS blog.
Thank you for taking the time to read this post. If you like it let me know and share it with others. See you next time, Toi Thomas. #thetoiboxofwords
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Biography: Subject EC:B 1-Tori
