CHAPTER ONE
Elina was a vibrant child who lived to be the center of her parents’ world, constantly dashing from her father’s arms into her mother’s embrace. Seeking a gentler environment to raise their daughter and instill old-fashioned values, her parents decided it was time to leave the chaotic city behind.
“Honey, I can’t stand this place anymore,” her father admitted one evening, looking out at the rust-worn streets and the vagrants drifting past their window.
That was Mark—a man of endless talents. By day, he was a dedicated junior school music teacher, but by night, he transformed into a charismatic stage actor, performing at local clubs under the spotlight. He was a true man for all seasons, split between teaching children and writing imaginative stage plays like The White Witch.
Through years of relentless hard work, Mark had finally cleared their mortgage. Now, he and his wife, Martha, stood on the eventide of their careers, deeply grateful and ready to retire to a quiet, breezy neighborhood nearby. After a lifetime of striving, their grandest dream was finally within reach.
‘‘Thank God, it’s happening,’’ Martha replied
The moving truck sat outside their cramped house, swallowing up boxes as workers stacked their entire lives into the cargo hold. Watching from a distance, Zoe felt a heavy wave of sadness. Leaving the building didn’t hurt, but leaving her friends did; she knew the easy, everyday hangouts were officially over.
Once the truck was fully loaded, Mark and Zoe climbed into their own car. They trailed closely behind the massive vehicle, shouting directions and guiding the driver through the chaotic, gridlocked traffic.
When the city chaos finally faded, they arrived at their dream home. It was beautiful. The house boasted three spacious bedrooms, a garage, and a sprawling, sunlit compound—the perfect spot to sit during quiet evenings and look back at how far they had come.
But their new beginning came with a curious backdrop. Right next door sat a weathered, pint-sized cottage. Its sole occupant was an old man who lived entirely in isolation, silently drifting in and out of his house like a ghost.
On the morning of Elina’s fifth birthday, her mother delivered a piece of news that felt less like a gift and more like a sentence: it was time to start school. Elina dreaded the idea. For months, her mother had tried to ease her into the concept, using educational cartoons and playful stories to paint school as an adventure, but Elina remained unconvinced.
After being scrubbed clean and zipped into her brand-new uniform, Elina looked up at her mother with wide, anxious eyes.
“Is it an absolute rule?” she asked. “Does every single child in the whole world have to go to school?”
Her mother softened, kneeling to meet her gaze. “Yes, my dear. Why do you look so worried? School is wonderful. You will make new friends, discover amazing things, and play every day. Just promise me you will respect your teachers and be kind to everyone.”
Elina pouted, looking down at her polished shoes. “But what if I don’t want to go, Mummy? Can’t you just teach me everything right here at home?”
Her mother’s gentle tone sharpened slightly. “I don’t ever want to hear you say that, Elina. Education is not optional. What would you do with your life without it? Besides, I don’t know everything, and I cannot teach you the whole world from our living room.”
“Listen to your mother,” a voice boomed from the hallway. Elina’s father stepped into the room, a warm smile on his face. “Remember what we watched on television last night? Sir Richard Branson was talking about the incredible power of believing in yourself. He built his very own spacecraft and flew right into the stars. If he can do that, imagine what you can achieve. Your future is bigger than anything you can imagine right now.”
Elina’s eyes lit up, her anxiety temporarily forgotten. “Yes, Daddy! I want to be just like Sir Richard Branson. I want to fly around space, too!” Her father chuckled and tapped her gently on the nose. “Well, that is exactly what your mother is trying to tell you. If you want to build spaceships and fly among the stars, you have to start with the basics.
There are no shortcuts to space, my dear. It all starts in the classroom.” Elina looked from her father to her mother, the fear in her chest giving way to a spark of excitement. She took a deep breath and nodded bravely.
“Okay, Mummy. Okay, Daddy,” Elina said, reaching for her backpack. “I will be a good girl, and I will study hard.”
Five-year-old Elina was the bright spark of her neighborhood. Energetic and warm-hearted, she could make friends with anyone, regardless of their age or gender. Her daily routes home from school or the bustling local market often took her past a cozy property just a few meters from her own house.
The house belonged to Mzee Blackwood. “Mzee”—a title of respect for an elder—was a beloved fixture in the community. Whenever their paths crossed, he would greet Elina with the genuine warmth of a proud grandfather. His kindness sparked a harmless curiosity in the little girl; whenever he wasn’t tending his yard, Elina would playfully peep into his compound, wondering what the popular old man was up to.
One sunny afternoon, Elina was walking back from the market, balancing her small errands, when she spotted him. Mzee Blackwood was out in his backyard, deep into his routine tidying.
Even in his twilight years, Blackwood was a striking figure—robust, strong-willed, with a smooth bald head that caught the sunlight. His signature working attire never changed: a pair of rugged, loose-fit denim bib overalls over a long-sleeved shirt, with a trusty pair of work gloves tucked neatly into his back pocket.
Intrigued, Elina skipped into the yard and looked up at him. “Is ‘Mzee’ your actual name?” she asked, tilting her head.
The old man paused his cleaning and let out a soft chuckle. “No, not at all, little one. I know almost everyone around here calls me Mzee, but my real name is Blackwood Rays. Since we are friends now, you can just stick to Mzee.”
She grinned. “Okay, Mzee! And you can call me Zoe Elina.”
“Oh, what a beautiful name,” Mzee said, his eyes crinkling with a warm smile. “You know, when your father first bought the house down the road, you were just a tiny baby in his arms. Now look at you, growing into such a big girl. How old are you now?”
“I’m turning five next month!” Elina announced proudly, holding up her hand.
“Wow, a big five! Happy birthday in advance, Zoe,” Mzee replied heartily.
Elina peered closer at the wrinkles around his eyes. “And what about you? How old are you? You look... really, really old.”
Mzee laughed out loud, wiping his brow. “Well, I might look it, but I’m not that ancient. I am seventy-six years old.”
“Seventy-six...” Elina repeated, her wide eyes trying to comprehend a number that big.
“Yes, seventy-six,” he nodded gently.
“Will I also get to be that old one day?” she asked softly, suddenly fascinated by the concept of time.
Mzee stopped his work completely, looking down at her with a gentle, reassuring gaze. “Of course you will, my dear. It is by the grace of God
that we get to live such long, full lives. You just keep being the wonderful, good girl that you are, and I know you’ll be celebrating your 100th birthday one day.”
‘’100th birthday!’’ ‘’Yes!’’
’’There, I would be very old, ’she said ‘’Yeah, by the grace of God’’
‘‘Now you talking like my father, he mentions about God all the time,’’ she said
‘‘Your father is a great man and greet him for me,’’ Mzee replied
‘Ok sir, have a great day,’’ Elina replied
Martha had been watching from a distance, her eyes tracking the quiet exchange between her daughter and the old man. When Elina finally glanced back, Martha caught her eye and cut through the evening air with a sharp, impatient wave signaling her home.
“Since when did you and that Mzee become friends?” Martha asked, her voice laced with suspicion the moment Elina crossed the threshold. “He is a good old man, Mummy,” Elina replied softly, kicking off her shoes. “And that’s what matters most.”
Stepping past her mother’s lingering gaze, Elina led the way into the warmth of the house, heading straight for the dinner table where the comforting aroma of food waited to defuse the tension.
