"The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind" by William Kamkwamba, Prologue–Chapter 2

I continued to climb, slowly and assuredly, until I was facing the machine’s crude frame.

Without anyone seeing, I ran into the blue gum grove behind my house, leaned against a tree, and tried to make myself clean.

They’d take me aboard their planes and force me to fight, leaving me for dead along the magic battlefields. And as my soul drifted alone and forsaken above the clouds, my body would be cold by morning.

I ran all the way home to where my father sat against the house, plucking a pile of maize.

“Oh yes, we were just in time,” he said, then started laughing in that way that made me so happy, his big chest heaving and causing the wooden chair to squeal.

In a land of poor farmers, there were too many troubles for God and man alone. To compensate for this imbalance, he said, magic existed as a third and powerful force.

During this time, just northwest of our village, a ferocious black rhino began wreaking terror across the land.

This man was Mwase Chiphaudzu, whose magic was so superior he was renowned across the kingdom.

Standing atop the Rock of the Edible Flies, the chief pointed down to a giant swath of green earth and turned to Mwase.

So Mwase returned to Lilongwe and got his family, and before long, he’d established a thriving empire.

His skin was so dry and wrinkled, his feet looked like they were chiseled from stone.

Hunts were usually initiated by one man, the mwini chisokole, or owner of the hunt, who called together all the willing men from the surrounding villages.

Once when I was very young, a magic dancer appeared in our courtyard, strutting like a cock and hissing like a snake.

In these places where they practice, their potent magic takes on many shapes.

Magic lions are sent to kill delinquent debtors, and snakes the size of tractors can lie in wait for you in your fields.

This leads to great confusion in the kingdom of the devil, and this strife leaves many dead and injured, which is why children make the perfect soldiers.

We respected the power of juju, even feared it, but my family always trusted our faith would prevail.

These men were appearing in films shown in the local theater, which was really just a thatch hut with wooden benches, a small television, and a VCR.

The exploits of Rambo and Delta Force became confusing to some, who’d never imagined men escaping entire armies, while still managing to kill so many people.

After removing the core, we chewed up bits of maize pith and shoved them down the barrel, followed by paper spitballs to create a seal.

As usual, we found a line of truck drivers, market women, farmers, and traders waiting outside under the blue gum trees to share their concerns and grievances.

“We have an issue that requires your intervention. The land you granted me fifteen years ago is being encroached upon by my brother’s son. I need you to help so there’s no bloodshed.”

“We have an issue that requires your intervention. The land you granted me fifteen years ago is being encroached upon by my brother’s son. I need you to help so there’s no bloodshed.”

The cartons discarded by the drunkards at Ofesi once held Chibuku Shake Shake, a kind of beer made from fermented maize that is popular in Malawi.

After washing out the booze, these cartons were ideal for making the chassis of a toy truck.

After washing out the booze, these cartons were ideal for making the chassis of a toy truck.

That way, when you saw a tire track in the dirt, you knew instantly if it belonged to the great fleets of Kamkwamba Toyota, for instance, or Gilbert Company LTD.

We then dug up large, round tuber roots called kaumbu and carved them into wheels, using blue gum poles as axles.

If it weren’t for the great Scottish missionary David Livingstone, the Yao and Chewa might still be at odds today.

My father endured this teasing, because what else could he do?

Fumulani was singing one of his most beloved songs, “Sister,” about his estranged wife.

Struggling to stay composed, my mother said, “I’ll have to think about that one,” then turned and ran away.

In a matter of seconds, the man lay on the floor with blood gushing from his ears.

“Kamkwamba,” he said, “I’ve always advised you not to indulge in these unnecessary fights. Someday you’ll be killed or kill someone else, and look what happened here. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to lose you...."

The following night while asleep, my father was visited by a dream. All he saw was darkness, nothing but an endless expanse of black.

We lived in this house for three years until our growing clan became too big.

My bedroom became my fortress against the squabbling girls, a hideaway where I could be alone with my thoughts.

Phiri was breathing heavily and ready to attack. His hands were in fists and the veins in his arms bulged like tree roots.

Although mangolomera never weakens, it can be neutralized for short periods of time using the green vines from a sweet potato plant.

Phiri kicked and screamed like a tethered animal, but my father held on tight.