The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba Read Free Book Online Page B

could be alone with my thoughts. I became a terrible daydreamer, partly because as I got older, the folktales of my childhood began to pale in comparison to the fantastic goings-on at the farm—things more real and incredible than any fiction my father could have imagined himself.
     
    O NE OF THE SEASONAL workers Uncle John hired to help with planting and harvesting was named Mister Phiri, a man of near-heavenly strength. Uncle John didn’t even use tractors to clear the land and trees. Instead he sent Phiri, who was so powerful he’d walk from tree to tree and rip them from the earth, as if they were weeds.
    Everyone knew Phiri’s secret was mangolomera, a form of magic that delivered superhuman strength. Mangolomera was the ultimate self-defense, a kind of vaccine against weakness. Only the strongest wizards in the district could administer this potion—a kind of paste made from the burned and ground bones of leopards and lions, and mixed with roots and herbs. The medicine was rubbed into small incisions made on each knuckle, usually by a magic razor. Once mangolomera was in your blood, it could never be reversed and was always gaining strength. Only the toughest men could manage this ever-growing power, or else quickly self-destruct.
    Phiri was so strong that no person or animal could challenge him. Once while working in the fields, a black mamba snake slithered over his foot and prepared to strike. But Phiri wasn’t afraid. He took a simple blade of grass and whipped the snake on the back, leaving it paralyzed. He then grabbed it by the head and snapped its spine. People said he carried another mamba in his pocket as a charm, and this snake was too afraid to bite.
    But Phiri’s power was so potent and always growing that it made him constantly want to battle. When this happened, my father had to intervene.
    One afternoon I was playing in the yard when I heard a frightening noise coming from the fields, like the sound of twenty leopards roaring. I raced down to find Phiri nose to nose with another worker named James. Phiri was breathing heavily and ready to attack. His hands were in fists and the veins in his arms bulged like tree roots. When he opened his mouth to scream, the earth below our feet seemed to tremble in fright. Someone said Phiri had given James money to buy some items in Kasungu. But James wasn’t educated and couldn’t read or count, so the shopkeepers cheated him and kept their pay.
    Before I knew it, Phiri began punching James. Phiri was short and thick, and James was tall and also very strong. The two traded blows back and forth, and for the moment, James was holding his own. But I knew it was only a matter of time before Phiri’s mangolomera exploded and crushed poor James.
    Around that time, my father also heard the commotion. Fearing for James’s life, he rushed over to break up the fight. Although mangolomera never weakens, it can be neutralized for short periods of time using the green vines from a sweet potato plant. You know how Superman becomes weak at the sight of those shiny green crystals? The same is true for magic people and sweet potatoes, I don’t know why.
    Anyway, the second Phiri saw my father arrive, he shouted to him, “Mister Kamkwamba, PLEASE …some vines for my head! I don’t want to kill this man!”
    Seeing no vines nearby, my father instead ran over to Phiri and wrapped him up in his arms. Phiri kicked and screamed like a tethered tiger, but my father held on tight. He took him to our garden and pulled several long stems, then wrapped Phiri’s head and elbows. Within seconds, Phiri’s heart cooled down, and he collapsed from exhaustion. That day, seeing my father wrestle something as dangerous as mangolomera made me believe every story I’d been told about the Pope’s awesome power.
    The next morning, Phiri arrived for work looking and feeling okay. However, James reported being sick and had to miss the entire week. His hands and arms were so swollen he