The Governor of the Northern Province by Randy Boyagoda Page A

that followed.
    Meanwhile, the majority of the nation’s people, including its many orphans, had been in straits since this magnificent independence, rarely provided with light at night or refrigeration for what food they had, both of which compounded already high levels of malnutrition and illiteracy. This juxtaposition, along with a closing photo montage set to an Elton John–Peabo Bryson duet, and a 1-800 number branded on the screen, got Bayard Jellyby to thinking.
    â€œIt is just plain un-Christian for these young boys to be without my two favourites way back when I was just a little trigger myself, bedtime reading and ice cream. These things transcend all cultures, all religions and both races, which is why my family and I are sending them along to the African nation of Atwenty. God Bless America, and may theirs bless them.”
    Jellyby made this speech to the San Antonio news crew he arranged to profile him and his family as they packed up and sent along his personal collection of National Geographic back issues to the orphanage. The magazine’s famous yellow borders and exciting, informative pictures were bright enough to be read at night regardless of light bulbs, he reasoned, which was important, since young African minds could be more than terrible wastes. He explained all of this at the swelling close to the local NBC affiliate’s Community Hero spot for that week.
    The Texan knew that it was no good sending over ice cream, let alone refrigerators. Instead, he cleared his Harlingen warehouses of the previous season’s Fourth of July Freedom coolers and hired a cargo plane from a private security firm. He added a monetary donation and listed in the cheque’s memo “Rocky Road, Tin Roof, etc.” He also threw in some soccer balls, having been convinced that baseball bats might be misused and pigskin possibly offensive on religious grounds. Practicalities required the priest to modify the Texan’s requests, which were detailed in an accompanying letter. Because ice cream, like red meat and disease-free prostitutes, was only to be found on embassy row in the capital city, Father Alvaro bought some chocolate with what money was left over from the Texan’s donation. After, that is, the conversion fees and processing charges and national surtaxes were variously assessed. He also sold most of the coolers that were left after customs and port inspections to the beer bars that squatted around the orphanage. He reserved a couple to hold and haul the broken-up bottles—a far safer method than using doubled-up soiled pillowcases—and also for six to eight quality four-by-six photos of the boys smiling and reaching into the coolers. This had been the only particular request from the Texan. The priest did as best he could to oblige, and a Tucson graphic design firm was later commissioned to airbrush ice cream cones into the little black hands. Pamphlets were eventually available beside in-store credit card applications at registers in each of the Texan’s stores.
    Father Alvaro gave out a soccer ball for best bottle retrieval once a month. He awarded the yellowy National Geographic s and mushy chocolates for best elocution and memorization of a Bible reading from the series he offered every morning after their breakfast of rice pap and mashed banana. When he was eighteen, Bokarie won for both speaking and memory on a selection from Hosea, which the priest had read to the boys in hopes of getting them to forswear violence and the other temptations and dangers outside the orphanage. Bokarie would draw on it again.
    For this reason have I hewed them by the prophets, I have slain them by the words of my mouth: and thy judgments shall go forth as the light. For I desired mercy, and not sacrifice: and the knowledge of God more than holocausts. But they, like Adam, have transgressed the covenant, there have they dealt treacherously against me. Galaad is a city of workers of idols,