Gonga hurried back home that night, eager to rest and make plans for his adventure. He wanted to time his arrival at the Magic Tree to coincide with darkness, when the lights would be most beautiful. He knew he was a fast walker, and could easily cover ten miles in less than three hours. But it was already past midnight, and he wanted time to plan his route to avoid the highest traffic areas.
He also had a strange desire to walk into the sunset at the beginning of his trek. Somehow, walking into the sunset seemed like it would add just the touch necessary to bring his wishes to fruition. Just maybe something would happen. Just maybe, somehow, he would re-gain contact with his family.
He lay awake for over an hour that night, and when he did sleep, confused images of his family filled his mind.
He spent the morning passing out flyers for work and took off early to pull up maps and plan his route.
The clouds had finally parted, and as he set out, he watched a spectacular red sunset. Gonga smiled to himself. Things had started well. Maybe, just maybe they would end well also. How in the world going to the Magic Tree would help him in his search for his family, he had no idea. But one can always hope. And so he did.
A scant three hours later, he stood in front of the Magic Tree, witnessing its glow for the first time in his life. He watched in awe as the lights faded almost imperceptibly from red to blue, or from blue to green and back again. It was bigger than he had imagined, and more beautiful. He smiled wryly. Few things managed to exceed expectations like that.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “You from Congo?” A teenager wearing an Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie regarded him solemnly.
Gonga nodded, wondering how the boy had been able to tell.
“I keep getting these random texts from someone. They think I’m their son or something. Or at least, they did. Till I texted back and told them they had the wrong number. They tried to call too. But I didn’t answer. My phone plan doesn’t cover international calls. No way.”
Gonga felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Then they started asking me to contact their son. Said that he was from Congo or something. Anyway, you looked different, so I thought I’d ask.”
Gonga stuttered, “My family in Congo…” then his words failed him.
In the hours of conversation that followed, he finally unraveled the mystery. In his family’s haste to escape the approach of a gorilla band, the notebook with his phone number and other contact information had been forgotten. His youngest brother had insisted that he had Gonga’s number memorized, and so when the family reached one of the major cities, they bought their first cell phone and tried contacting their son. But his brother had unwittingly flipped a couple numbers, and the only responses they received were ignored calls and strange text messages.
Until…Gonga visited the Magic Tree.
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