*Author's Note: Anny and all persons engaging in sexual activity are at least eighteen years of age.
*Disclaimers: This story has been edited by myself utilizing Microsoft Spell-check. You have been forewarned; expect to find mistakes.
*.*
Kampala Afrika Jefferson hurriedly searched for some clean clothing. It was already after seven o'clock. She had to get Amhara to the day care center, then had to get to her first class.
She finally grabbed a pair of cutoffs and a blouse, mentally chiding herself for not washing any clothes that weekend. With one more check of her hair, she grabbed Amhara's diaper bag, making sure that there were plenty of diapers, two juice bottles a change of clothing and a box of animal crackers.
"Who's Mommy's big girl, huh?" Kampala sang as she made her way from Apartment 2B to the automobile that Gordon King had purchased for them.
"Me," the two and a half year old girl giggled happily.
"That's right, you!" Kampala agreed.
After hooking the child in her car seat, Kampala had to dig her shorts out of her buttocks. Sitting on her car seat, Kampala could feel the velour fabric tickling her bare buttocks.
"Damn, should have just thrown these out, huh?" she asked herself.
Happyland Day Care Center welcomed Amhara and relieved Kampala of her diaper bag. Kampala gave the girl one more kiss before rushing to the campus of the University of Louisiana at DeGarde.
Finding a parking spot was a challenge; obviously several students were signed up for the summer semester. Finally, she hurried from car to classroom, even managing to find a seat in the very front of the room.
Kampala Afrika Jefferson reflected on what had taken her from Devonshire Street Projects of Elgee, Louisiana to a clean two bedroom apartment in DeGarde, Louisiana, an apartment with rent and utilities paid and an additional two hundred and fifty dollars a month living expenses.
She was the fourth child, the oldest daughter of Konstance Mary Jefferson. Konstance had been born to a crack addicted mother and foisted on her maternal grandmother. Kconstance's grandmother had a deeply entrenched distrust of white people and had pounded her beliefs into Konstance's head. Konstance also made her own observations of the world around her and came to the belief that white people were doing their best to keep all black people enslaved.
Konstance also believed that black people were trying to deny their own heritage, their own roots. This, in turn, gave white people even more power, more dominance over blacks.
Alcohol gave way to marijuana use and marijuana use gave way to meth use. When shorting meth did not provide the rush, the relief, Konstance started smoking the drug. To pay for her addiction, Konstance stole what she could. When she couldn't steal, she turned tricks.
Her first child was named Uganda Afrika Jefferson. Her second child was named Zambezi Afrika Jefferson. The third child was stillborn so Konstance did not name the boy.
She raised her children in the same manner she'd been raised. Slaps and shrill admonishing's were dealt out on a regular basis. Far too few encouraging words or hugs were ever given.
Schooling was hit and miss; Konstance rarely woke up before two o'clock in the afternoon, rarely remembered to make her children wake up in time to attend class. Uganda, Zambezi, Kampala, their younger sister Kasai Afrika Jefferson, and their youngest brother Durban Afrika Jefferson advanced to the next school year simply because their teachers had long ago quit caring.
When Zambezi was eighteen, he dragged Kampala with him to a party a girl was hosting. He liked the girl and hoped to impress her; he'd stolen some of Momma's meth and even one of her syringes.
At the party, Zambezi lost track of his sister. When he found her four hours later, she was incoherent; could not tell her brother where her clothes had disappeared to.
Nine months later, Kampala cried, screamed, sweated and cursed and gave birth to Amhara Afrika Jefferson. The black nurse in the maternity ward quietly encouraged Kampala to keep going to school.
"You too young give up," she said to the exhausted girl. "Hear me? You too young this be all there is to your life."
"What the fuck you know about my life, huh bitch?" Kampala angrily demanded.
"Waters Street Projects, girl. Waters Streets, know what I'm saying?" Venus O'Toole said.
"And now you got you a little girl needs see there more to life than just getting by. There's more to life than drinking and drugging and getting high and getting knocked up. There's more to life than getting you that check on the third and being all broke ass by the tenth," Venus continued. "Go ahead. Tell me that ain't your life, go ahead, tell me, huh?"
Mrs. Mendelson, a case worker with St. Ann's Parish did meet with Kampala, did purse her lips and agree to assist Kampala in continuing her education. She arranged for Amhara to have a regular baby sitter so that Kampala could go to school. She also arranged for Kampala to have parenting classes.
And when Kampala did get her diploma, Mrs. Mendelson put Kampala and Amhara into her car and drove mother and daughter to the office of King Sanitation.
In the muted elegance of the office building, Sheila Jakes greeted Kampala warmly and fussed over Amhara. Kampala wondered what the white woman wanted from her.
"Amhara; that's such a beautiful name," Sheila complimented. "What does it mean?"
"Amhara's a region in Ethiopia, a land where my people are free," Kampala snapped.
"Oh? Have you ever been there?" Sheila asked, undeterred by Kampala's anger.
"Yeah, right," Kampala spat. "I just flap my wings and fly there."
Kampala again bent to the task of filling out the paperwork Shelia had handed to her. Next to her, Mrs. Mendelson shifted nervously.
"All finished?" Sheila asked pleasantly as Kampala scrawled her signature. "Ms. Rodriguez will see you now."
"Who? Why?" Kampala asked.
"Ms. Jefferson? Hi, I'm Michelle," an attractive Latin woman smiled, extending her hand.
Kampala found herself in a small office, being questioned about goals, aspirations, plans. She stammered and stuttered her way through the interview, wondering what was going on.
"Kam, can I call you Kampala? I'm going to put you at the top of my list," Michelle smiled warmly. "Mr. King has final say-so, but I'll try to twist his arm, okay?"
"Say-so on what?" Kampala demanded.
"The Nicole King Scholarship," Michelle said, smile faltering. "Mrs. Mendelson didn't tell you?"
Two days after that odd meeting, Kampala received a phone call on her government cell phone. Some white man, she could tell it was a white man, was telling her he had high hopes for her. The day after receiving that phone call, an attractive blonde woman was ushering Kampala and Amhara toward her minivan, driving them to her new apartment.
"This all mine?" Kampala asked, not believing her eyes.
The apartment was as large as the apartment she had just left on Devonshire Street. It did not smell of cooking oil and burned food. The furniture did not reek of urine. She had a bedroom. And Amhara had a bedroom. And Amhara had a bed, not a cardboard box to sleep in.
Kelli King, Gordon's wife smiled as the beautiful girl just gaped at her new surroundings. Then she put the keys of the apartment into Kampala's hand.
"You're enrolled for the fall semester; you'll be taking twelve hours," Kelli said. "Kampala, all we ask is that you do your very best. Kneed anything? My phone number and Mr. King's phone numbers are right here, on your refrigerator. Just call us."
With a final hug to the still astonished girl, and a kiss to the sleeping child, the white woman was gone. Then Kampala's amazement gave way to anger.
All of this wealth had been available and Whitey was keeping it all for themselves. They could have been sharing all this with her, and her brothers and sister and her momma, but they'd kept it for themselves. She didn't know why these crazy ass Crackers were giving it to her, unless it was some kind of nasty trick.
A few weeks later, Kelli came and knocked on the door of Apartment 2B. She asked Kampala why she'd not been in class that week.
"I'm supposed leave Amhara here by herself?" Kampala asked. "I brung her first day and white ass bitch made me leave her class."
"Oh, Kampala, I am so sorry!" Kelli gasped. "I could have sworn; no one told you?"
The Nicole King Scholarship was paying for a day care for Amhara. They were paying the gas and insurance and upkeep on a Toyota Camry; there was even a car seat in the rear of the car.
"Kampala, I am so sorry," Kelli kept apologizing. "I just assumed Michelle went over all of this with you."
Her first semester, Kampala found like-minded people to hang with. They too were disenfranchised African-Americans, bitter with the cards life had dealt to them. There were even some like-minded professors on the ULD campus.
Gordon King, and his wife Kelli King found out about Kampala's arrest when Happyland Day Care called, asking if they knew why Kampala had not come for Amhara.
"Three days?" Gordon cried out. "That poor baby; Kelli will lose her mind."
Kampala roused herself when she heard the guard call out for her. She called back and got to her feet.
"Step back," the police officer snapped as she reached out to unlock the cell door.
Kampala was shackled and led down a maze of corridors to a small cinderblock room. Inside, Kelli King sat, beautiful face drawn tight.
"Why in God's name did you not call me?" Kelli screamed the moment the door closed. "And what were you doing at that protest anyway?"
Then, to Kampala's utter shock, Kelli King burst into tears. She wanted to hug the white woman, but her hands were bound to her waist.
Afterward, there was a flurry of activity. Cells, vans, another cell, a courtroom, a white woman said she was Kampala's attorney spoke some gibberish to a white man in a dark robe, then she was unshackled and pushed into Michelle Rodriguez's Mercedes-Benz.
