henourchildrenwereyoung,wetook
themtravellingthroughNorthAmerica,
startinginCanada.Ouroldestchilddid
nottakekindlytobeingawayfromhome.Hishigh
expectationsoflifeoverseaswerequicklydashed
andhisreactionsformeda litanyofcomplaint.
Adearfriendsurprisedusbycomingtomeet
usaswelandedinVancouver.Benprotested,
“Butwhenarewegoingtomeetsomeonenew?”
Whenwearrivedtoourfamilyroomina Youth
Hostelheopenedthedoorandslammedit
quickly.“That’snota room,that’sa cupboard!”
Inthetagteamofparenting,I tookleaveofthefamily
fromTorontotoattenda conferencedowninCarolina.
It was,frankly,a relief.Benhadrefusedtowearclothing
thatrespondedtotheheatwaveoftheTorontosummer.
Hehada newpairofvinylsneakersthatlacedupover
hisankles.Hewouldnottakethemoffandsweated
hiswaythroughthedays,red-facedanddisgruntled.
WhenI returnedtoToronto,I offeredtotellBena
storyI’dheardovertheweekendwhilewewatched
hissisterplayinginthepark.Henodded.Atlength
I sharedanextractfromBryceCourtenay’sbook,
ThePowerofOne—anoraltellingofwhichhad
beenrivetingattheconference,andlikewise
seemedtomesmeriseBen.Astillnesscameover
usaswecurleduptogetherontheparkbench.
Senttoa boardingschoolasa friendlessforeigner,
a smallboybecomespreytobullies.Heismocked
mercilesslyandwetsthebedeverynight.Theolderboys
developa ritualofurinatingonhimasfurtherpunishment
andhumiliation.Whentheladfinallygoeshometohis
ZuluNannyintheholidays,hetellsherallofhismisery.
Knowingly,shecallsuponthemostpowerfulmedicine-
maninAfrica,Inkosi-Inkosikazi,whoeventuallyarrivesin
hisblackBuick.Heproceedstohypnotisefivechickens
beforelisteningtotheZuluNanny’sheart-rendingstory
oftheboy’stroubles.Thegreatmedicine-manletsit
beknownthathewillvisittheboyinthenightcountry,
inhisdreams,tofindthewayofthenightwater.
Benlistenedclosely,hehadknownthediscomfort,
if notthehumiliation,ofthenightwater.
Thenextday,Inkosi-Inkosikazimeetswiththeboy.
Hetellshimtoclosehiseyesthathemaygobacktothe
placehehasvisitedinhisdreams;theplaceofthethree
waterfallsandtherushingtorrent.Theoldmedicine
man tells the boy that he is a young warrior of the king
whowearsa beltofa lion’stail.Hemustdiveintothe
threewaterfallsthatliebelowandstepacrossthe
rockswithoutfallingintotherushingtorrent.Breathing,
diving,countingandclambering,theboycompletesthe
ritualtest.Heknowsnowthatif everheneedstheold
medicine-man,allhemustdotofindhimisgotothe
nightcountry,totheplaceofthethreewaterfalls.Heisa
specialkindofwarrior,witha beltofa lion’stail.Theboy
returnstoboardingschool,hestopswettingthebed,but
thebullyingandmockerycontinue.Now,though,thereis
safetywithin,hecanfindthenightcountryandtheplace
ofthethreewaterfalls.There,theycannottouchhim.
Wefinishedourstorytellingontheparkbench.Benstood
andstretchedandI sawtheflickerofhisusualenergy
sparkingagain.Everynightthatweek,heaskedforthe
story:“Tellmeabouttheboywiththebeltofa lion’stail.”
Soonafter,weleftTorontoforNewJersey,stopping
atNiagaraFalls.Amongsthugecrowdswequeuedfor
theMaidoftheMist,anoldferrythattravelstothefoot
ofthosethunderousfalls.Onceonboard,squealing
andwetinourplasticraincoats,wemoppedourselves
dryandshoutedourwonder.Theoldboatchugged
androared,churningasit turnedinthewater.
Weweretoldthestoryofa six-year-oldboywhohad
beensweptoverthefallsaftera boatingaccident.
TheMaidoftheMisthadbeeninstrumentalinrescuing
himafterincredulouspassengerssawhimbobbing
aboutinhislifejacketatthefeetofthefalls.Theboy
washauledonboard—alive.Benquestionedusfor
moredetails and shook his head in wonder. He took
himself off to ask the guide about the story as well.
Was it true? Had it really happened here?
At lunchtime, picnicking above the falls at a
small distance from the droves of onlookers,
Ben asked for the Maid of the Mist story again.
We spoke of the boy, his fall and his rescue, the
fate of the rest of his family, companions in the
boat. Ben’s eyes widened. “I can’t believe he
survived,” he exclaimed. Even at this distance,
safely picnicking on the grass in the drizzling rain,
the thundering power of water was all too real.
When his dad and sister went off to find drinks, my boy
asked for the lion tail story again. “Tell me about the boy
with the belt of a lion’s tail.” When I finished, he closed
his eyes. After a small silence, and without a shred of
self-consciousness, he declared, “I am a warrior now.”
W
STORIES OF COURAGE 59
