The three children discuss how to get home from Ghana.
“Let’s lick the pineapple juice and lick the map of Uganda! We’ll be home instantly!”
Dingo Pingo and Justinian try that. But the juice is dry on the page of the atlas. There is no longer the pineapple juice they need to travel.
“What do we do? Are we stuck here?”
“I hope not. I want to go home.”
“Home!” cries Isabella. She wraps her arms and her blanket around Dingo Pingo and Justinian and cries, “Home!”
“Isabella! Too loud!” scolds Uncle Junior. “You are too loud. Don’t shout in the house.”
“Daddy!” shouts Isabella.
The boys look around. They are in their sitting room in Kyamulinga! Anansi, the little black dog, lies on the verandah outside the door. The pineapple plate is still on the table. The pineapple chunks are still juicy. They had been gone. They had been in Ghana. But no one in Kyamulinga has noticed.
“The blanket,” whispers Dingo Pingo. “The little pineapple.”
“Now we know how to travel…” starts Justinian.
“…and how to get back home,” Dingo Pingo finishes his sentence.
“Okay, I think we understand now.”
“We had no pineapple when we arrived in Ghana.”
“That’s right.”
They look about them in the sitting room. The pineapple is on the floor where Isabella dropped it. The knife is gone. The warrior now has the knife. The plate is there. The backpack is there. The blanket is there.
“The blanket. That’s it!”
“The pineapple takes us.”
“A bite of this amazing pineapple takes us to anywhere in this atlas.”
“And the blanket returns us home.”
“Let’s go!” Dingo is excited to see Africa.
With the tiny withered pineapple and the atlas of Africa, the children set off. First is the island of Zanzibar. They travel to the third century CE. They visit the thriving Indian Ocean port. They see the fishers in their boats. They see the Asian and Arab traders on the dhows. They watch the Germans and British try to participate in the trade.
“Let’s go!” Dingo is excited to see more of Africa.
“Let’s go go go!” Isabella is always excited.
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