The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro

The Adventures of Riyaz: The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro Copyright © 2020-2022 TJFR Press, Inc. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN – 9798628744895 Library of Congress Control Number: 2020900122 Juvenile Fiction First Printing: March 2020 Second Edition: October 2021 Third Printing: August 2022 Published by TJFR Press, Inc. ATTN: Talya Rotbart 200 Quebec Street Bldg. 300, Suite 111-26 Denver, CO 80230

The Adventures of Riyaz: The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro

By Talya Rotbart Illustrations By Frank Farrar

TJFR Press, Inc. Denver, Colorado

Chapter One: “Your Head is in the Clouds”

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he teacher opened a window in the hope of getting some relief from the heat. No breeze came in, just dust and flies landing on the boys who were covered in sweat. At least the flies were a welcomed distraction, dancing, buzzing, hopping on desks and open books, and teasing the teacher’s nose in a very entertaining way.

Mr. Juma, for the teacher had a name, swatted the annoying pests with the geography book he was holding.

Crash! Boom!

Pencils fell to the floor, boys jumped in their seats, all eyes momentarily came into focus.

Calmy, as if nothing had happened, Mr. Juma lifted and opened his book to the geography lesson of the day.

“Chapter 5, Page 72,” he called.

Pages turned, backs straightened, ears perked up.

“Lake Tanganyika is the world’s second-deepest lake,” Mr. Juma drummed.

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“Repeat after me, children.”

“Lake Tanganyika is the world’s second-deepest lake,” repeated the boys, like a band of percussionists.

“Africa’s highest mountain is Mt. Kilimanjaro,” Mr. Juma continued. The boys chimed in without being prompted: “Africa’s highest mountain is Mt. Kilimanjaro.”

One boy, seated nearest to the windows, gazed outside.

Above the roofs and trees, beyond the marketplace and the railroad tracks, there it stood. Dependable, majestic, a giant that had achieved world stardom.

So far, and yet so close. Its name was written right there in the geography book, in black ink, on Page 72. Mr. Juma, a reservoir of world knowledge, said 3

so, as well. Tourists from far away lands come in pilgrimage to Tanzania, hoping to get closer to its peak and the open heaven of Africa.

“Riyaz!!! Your head is in the clouds,” Mr. Juma boomed.

Riyaz knew exactly where his mind had wandered, and where it always strayed: Mt. Kilimanjaro.

The giant called to him in a haunting and exalted song, words of freedom and adventure, open space and wildlife.

“Come, come to me,” it urged.

The temptation was becoming irresistible, so much so that a plan had taken root, and the more Riyaz thought about it, the more he knew that the time had come to accept the invitation.

Until then, “Nitakuona hivi karibuni — see you soon,” my friend.

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Chapter Two: Snakes and Creepy Creatures

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iyaz‘s parents owned a small general store in the farming community of Shinyanga, a 600-mile journey from his school in Dar es Salaam.

Abdul, his father, and Roshan, his mother, sent him to the Islamic religious school in the hope of providing him the best possible education.

Age 9, Riyaz didn’t understand why he had to be so far away to study. He could count and really liked math. If he stayed, he argued without success, he could help his parents at the shop.

Being away was hard and lonely at times. When his friends would go home after school and on weekends, he stayed at a boarding hostel with other boys who, like him, lived far from home.

One advantage, Riyaz recognized,was that he didn’t need to ask his parents for permission to do anything that he wanted to do.

Well, officially, he still had to ask the headmaster for permission. “But wasn’t the headmaster too important and busy to disturb with small requests?” Riyaz reasoned.

And so it was that on many mornings Riyaz would walk to school and, 6

in the afternoon, he would take off with one or two schoolmates who he easily persuaded to join along.

His favorite destination was the Selander Bridge, built a long time ago, in 1929. He would jump in the murky and cool water beneath the four-lane overpass and swim, and splash with his friends.

Riyaz didn’t realize it, but he and his friends were never alone in the dark

waters beneath the Selander.

Always present were poisonous snakes and creepy creatures who called the Indian Ocean home.

Often in his childhood adventures, Riyaz gave proof to the old saying, “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

Chapter Three: Giraffes, Gazelles, and Little Boys

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iyaz had been taught right from wrong.

He would never take something that didn’t belong to him, for instance. Or hurt anyone. Or say a bad word. No! His parents had taught him well.

But for a curious and enterprising 9-year-old boy, there was a whole blurry area between doing the “right” thing and what adults would consider “wrong.”

Fortunately, Riyaz thought to himself, “I am not an adult.”

He had plenty of time to see clearly and know better, and he had every intention to take full advantage of his ignorance while he was still a boy.

Besides, was it wrong to have a great imagination?

Was it wrong to dream of grand adventures?

Was it wrong to wish to run free like the giraffes and gazelles or climb trees like the blue monkeys?

Of course, not.You didn’t have to be a grown up to know that!

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Imagine, just imagine, the fun to be had.

It was in this frame of mind, and with a lot of time to think, rather than to do his homework, that genius struck.

The weekend was fast approaching. With resolve, and yet a trembling hand, he knocked on the headmaster’s door.

“Enter” called a male voice, in Swahili.

Riyaz turned the door handle with sweaty hands.

He rubbed his palms against his shorts.

If the headmaster had a name, Riyaz didn’t know it, and he was pretty sure that none of his classmates did either.

“Ah, Riyazee, what brings you in my boy?”

That was a friendly enough welcome, and Riyaz took it as a positive omen.

He handed a letter he had been holding to the headmaster.

“What do we have here?”

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Riyaz gulped. Wasn’t it obvious?

Riyaz hoped that the headmaster would read the letter and then set him free. No questions asked. Easy as jumping in the river under the Selander Bridge?

Nope. Riyaz made a wheezing sound.

“What’s that, I didn’t hear you?” Mr. Headmaster said.

“Well, I have an uncle, my mother’s brother, that is,” Riyaz managed. “He has invited me to spend the weekend at his place.”

The headmaster read the letter, making a few “uh, huh” sounds as he skimmed over it.

Sweat was now running down Riyaz’s back and it had nothing to do with the heat. He had the nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, what he was doing was wrong.

“Well, Riyaz, that is wonderful. Have a nice time with your uncle. We’ll see you on Monday.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

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Riyaz backed out of the headmaster’s office, closed the door gently behind him, and gasped for breath, as if he’d been swimming underwater the entire time.

He’d done it!

By the time Riyaz recruited Kiango and Uhuro, two friends who he convinced to come with him, he felt almost giddy with the realization that his plan

was working.

“It was so easy,” he bragged to his friends, forgetting his fearfulness in front of the headmaster.

Turning toward his favorite mountain he shouted joyously: “Kilimanjaro, here I come!”

Chapter Four: Home Before Dinner

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iyaz, as the self-appointed leader — after all, this was his idea — pointed to Mt. Kilimanjaro.

“Look, we can see it from here, let’s just go! It’s not too far.” Kiango and Uhuro nodded in agreement. Surely, they would be back before dinner?

If the three boys had paid closer attention to Chapter 5 in Mr. Juma’s geography book, they might have realized that Mt. Kilimanjaro, the highest peak in all of Africa — towering more than 16,100 feet above its base — could be seen on a clear day from hundreds of miles away.

But book learning wasn’t a priority for Riyaz and his two friends. They were, after all, adventurers.

The boys started walking, passing goats who uttered a funny bleating noise when the boys tried to pet them.

They passed clucking chickens feeding on small gardens, and waved at a friendly group of kids playing soccer on an empty dirt lot.

“Come and join us!” the kids shouted.

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Kiango and Uhuro briefly thought of abandoning their mountain trek to play, but Riyaz was already far down the road, so they scurried after him.

Soon, the three friends reached the city limits.

“Look, we can see Mt. Kilimanjaro from here, too, it’s even closer!” Riyaz joyfully exclaimed.

Before them were fields with all variety of crops. They recognized the long green leaves of “mchicha,” or spinach, and Uhuro started to tell Riyaz and Kiango all about his favorite dish made with spinach, curry, and peanut butter. Riyaz felt his mouth watering. And his stomach rumbling.

Next, they walked through a field of “bamia,” or okra. Kiango, not to be outdone by Uhuro, recounted how he loved it when his grandma — who by the way also used curry... nah, nah, nah, nah, nah! — made her bamia stew with coconut sauce.

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Riyaz’s tummy growled even louder.

Surely, Mt. Kilimanjaro was not so far that they couldn’t be back on time for mchicha or bamia?

The sun was still high in the sky and boys kept walking and walking and walking some more, until they were too tired. They sat by the side of a dirt road, staring at Mt. Kilimanjaro, which seemed to be just ahead, awaiting them.

They heard the congested sound of an old and rusty pickup truck sputtering its way, ever so slowly toward them. Riyaz stood and waved, and the truck coughed and coughed until it stopped.

An ancient man sat behind the steering wheel. He wore a shredded straw hat that seemed to be the favorite snack of the goat sitting in the front seat next to him.

Very politely, Riyaz explained that they were on their way to Mt. Kilimanjaro, and could they please sit in the open cargo bed until they got closer? The man responded by turning his head toward the back.

“Asante! Thank you!” they cried while jumping aboard.

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Chapter Five: “My Friends, Where Are You?”

T

he back of the old man’s truck was filled with bags of rice and sweet potatoes, and the boys quickly made themselves comfortable.

They were happy. Kiango started to drum on the potato bag in front of him and they all joined in, singing and drumming.

A caravan of jeeps filled with tourists passed them on the road. The boys waved and smiled, and the tourists waved and smiled back. A few snapped pictures of Riyaz and his friends. And the goat in the front seat.

The pickup truck’s tires agonized on the dirt road, emitting a screeching sound over each rock and dirt mound. After a series of loud banging noises, the truck stopped.

To the left, a few hundred yards off, shaded by a family of trees, was a mud hut, red like the dirt road they’d traveled on.

Riyaz and his friends jumped down and waved goodbye to the old man and his goat. The truck coughed once more and started toward the hut.

Ahead, the road continued straight toward Mt. Kilimanjaro.

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“Come, come to me,” it called to them.

Pleased to be so near, and rested after their truck ride, the boys marched on.

They were hungry. Without too much trouble, they found banana plants.

Yellow on the outside and ripe and sweet inside.

Riyaz put a few extra bananas in a little bag he had taken with him, and put one banana in each of his pockets.

His friends did the same.

The sun was beginning to set, but they kept on walking.

“Almost there” they repeated, like a mantra, until the sky turned red, then orange and purple, and then... the light was no more.

Darkness had fallen.

Where had Mt. Kilimanjaro disappeared to? It had been there, right in front of them, and now, like some magic trick, it was gone. Missing.

As the moon and stars came out, so did the strange, frightening sounds.

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Was that the roar of a lion?

The boys walked in close formation.

They could no longer see their feet, much less the ground they walked on.

Stopping for the night was not an option. They had no shelter, and wild animals lurked. They were sure of it.

Their imaginations raced ahead, even as their pace slowed to a near fatigued standstill.

A shadow became a humongous, man-eating spider. Tree branches became slithering snakes. Fireflies were the glowing eyes of a pack of ravenous coyotes.

Suddenly, they saw a light in the dark. Perhaps, Mr. Headmaster had sent someone to rescue them? Or maybe the old man and goat had returned, concerned for their safety? Whoever it was, Riyaz, Kiango, and Uhuro hoped they had food.

The boys were so excited and curious that they cast off their fatigue and ran headlong toward the light.

In the dark, and fueled by excitement, the boys soon were separated.

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Breathless, Riyaz kept on running until, all of a sudden, he tumbled into a ditch and felt a searing pain in his ankle.

“Kiango!” he cried. “Uhuro!”

“My friends, where are you?”

Riyaz held his foot with both hands, his face grimacing from his injury.

“Kiango! Uhuro!” he called again. Only the cackling laughter of a distant hyena answered.

Then silence. Ear-shattering silence.

Riyaz waited for what seemed like an eternity. Then, there was a rustling in the bushes. Dried branches crackled nearby.

What if it was that lion or those hyenas? Or even an angry, 7-foot-tall gorilla?

Finally, the approaching beast broke the silence.

“Riyaz? Riyaz? Where are you?”

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It was Kiango.

“I’m down here!”

“Where?”

“Here, down here.”

Kiango, with Uhuro in tow, followed Riyaz’s voice.

Reunited, at last, his friends explained to Riyaz that the farther they’d gone, the farther the light had gone as well. Then it disappeared, just like Mt. Kilimanjaro.

When Kiango and Uhuro realized that Riyaz was not with them, they retraced their steps.

Two amazing things then happened. Back with his friends, the pain in Riyaz’s ankle was almost gone, and then it was gone.

And, as dawn broke over the horizon, Mt. Kilimanjaro returned to its throne from its nighttime recess.

“This way,” the mountain summoned. “You’re almost here.”

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Chapter Six: This is Kilimanjaro

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he sun rose and slumbered another three times following the boys’ reunion.

Each day, Mt. Kilimanjaro encouraged them onward — “come to me” — and each night it vanished.

Riyaz, Kiango, and Uhuro had no cameras. They had no journals in which to write their experiences. But they didn’t need them. They knew the memories they were collecting would never be forgotten, not even if they lived to be as old as the man with the goat.

For Riyaz, the dream of Kilimanjaro was coming true.

Along the journey, he witnessed boundless green lands and crops. Herds of wild animals grazed or drank from watering holes. In the trees above, playful monkeys jostled with flocks of colorful birds for the best perches.

Riyaz and his friends drank at watering holes alongside the animals, who didn’t seem to notice the thirsty trio. It was not the same water that came out clear and clean from the fountains at their school. But it was water and they were so thirsty.

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Riyaz was aware that Monday and Tuesday had come and gone, and he’d missed school.

Would Mr. Juma notice?

Maybe not, since Riyaz always sat in the back of the schoolroom by the windows and was usually quiet. Hopefully, if he did notice, Mr. Juma would just think that Riyaz had extended his stay with his uncle and would return soon.

Riyaz looked up. He was so close. He couldn’t give up.

“Almost there.”

Wednesday morning, as they ate their last bananas while walking, the boys looked up at Mt. Kilimanjaro and couldn’t see its peak, which was wrapped in a blanket of clouds.

They stared and stared.

It took a few minutes for them to realize that they’d, finally, reached the foot of the African giant.

This is Kilimanjaro. This is it!

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They sat on big rocks for a long while and looked way, way up toward the sky.

They’d really done it!

Feeling quite wonderful, a cloud drifted over them like the one wrapping Mt. Kilimanjaro.

Riyaz dreamed for so long about the journey there, he’d never really given any thought to how he’d get back.

If Mr. Juma asked, Riyaz wouldn’t know which nations shared borders with Tanzania. He couldn’t tell him who was the Prime Minister of the country, or when it had achieved independence from Great Britain.

True, Riyaz wasn’t book smart.

But he was, without question, street smart.

So, when his ticket back to school arrived in the form of a tour bus — loading passengers for their journey back to Dar es Salaam (the large sign in the bus’s window listed its destination) — Riyaz didn’t hesitate for a moment.

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It might have been Riyaz’s charm, or his sincerity. More likely, it was the fact that the bus driver had a son who attended the same school as Riyaz, and knew the administrators were worried sick about the three boys.

Without giving the kids a hint of what trouble they were in for when they returned, the bus driver bid them aboard, and soon Riyaz, Kiango, and Uhuro were headed back, seated, in air-conditioned comfort.

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Chapter Seven: Riyaz is Back

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he tourists on the bus were friendly. Although Riyaz didn’t speak their language, everyone smiled a lot. Some of the tourists even shared treats with the boys that were quite delicious. Riyaz especially liked the sodas in cold, glass bottles. He drank three. And he dozed.

Finally, arriving back in Dar es Salaam, Riyaz parted with Kiango and Uhuro just outside the school grounds. His friends were eager to go home. They patted each other on the shoulders and said their goodbyes.

For Riyaz, school was home.

His arrival in the courtyard created quite a stir.

Classmates and friends ran to him like he was a celebrity.

“It’s Riyaz! Riyaz is back!” they shouted.

That was not the greeting that Riyaz had anticipated. In fact, he’d imagined quietly tip-toeing to his desk in the back of the classroom, as if he’d just returned from the washroom.

Riyaz’s hope was extinguished the moment he saw that Mr. Juma, hearing 32

all the kids’ commotion, had arrived to see him standing there, mud up to his knees, straw and grass weaved into his matted hair, and chocolate (from the bus treats) tracing the outline of his lips.

“Riyaz is back! Riyaz is back!” the students chanted.

Mr. Juma could see for himself that, indeed, Riyaz was back.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, Mr. Juma.”

“Well then, you’d better go to the headmaster’s office right away.”

“Oh boy, am I in trouble?” Riyaz wondered.

Couldn’t Mr. Juma forget that he had missed school? Just this once? His eyes pleaded for mercy, but he knew it was a lost cause when his teacher added, “Go right away.”

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Chapter Eight: 36 Kilos, Almond-Eyes

R

iyaz’s feet felt like he was walking through wet cement as he trudged to the headmaster’s office.

Mr. Headmaster’s door was open, and all sorts of adults, who were not teachers for sure, were coming and going from it.

He spotted three police officers just inside, huddled near Mr. Headmaster’s desk.

“What are they doing here?” Riyaz wondered.

A tall man with a turban on his head and a camera around his neck was scribbling what one of the policemen was saying into a notepad.

Riyaz caught snippets of the conversation.

“4-foot, 5-inches.” “36 kilos.” “Almond-eyes.” “School uniform.”

They were all pieces of a puzzle that Riyaz couldn’t solve.

“What could this be about?” he asked himself.

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Seeing how busy Mr. Headmaster was, Riyaz considered ignoring Mr. Juma’s instructions and just heading back to the hostel and his bunk, which now was calling out to him — like Mt. Kilimanjaro — “Come to bed, Riyaz, come to sleep.”

But curiosity won out over fatigue, and Riyaz had to discover why all these strangers were in Mr. Headmaster’s office.

At first, no one seemed to notice when he slipped past the policemen and planted himself between two other men, dressed in business suits, who were standing there in silence.

On the wall of Mr. Headmaster’s office was a large map with areas circled in red and scrawls with words like “Rescue One” and “Aerial Surveillance” written inside the circles. Riyaz had no idea whatsoever what “aerial” or “surveillance” even meant. The people in the room were gesturing and pointing toward different places on the map.

After maybe a minute or two of this, one of the two adults sandwiching Riyaz between them looked down, surprised, and whispered, “Go back to class.You’re not supposed to be here.”

Riyaz whispered back, “Mr. Juma, my teacher sent me.”

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“But I can come back later,” he added in a hopeful voice.

The stranger stared at Riyaz, then Riyaz saw the man’s eyes slowly scan him from head to toe and back again.

“What’s your name again?” the stranger asked.

“I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t tell you my name...it is Riyaz.. just Riyaz.”

“Say that again, I didn’t hear you,” the stranger said.

“I am Riyaz,” he repeated, this time in a voice loud enough that everyone heard, and the room went instantly silent.

“Riyaz!” exclaimed the stranger.

“Riyaz!” cried Mr. Headmaster.

“Riyaz! Riyaz!” shouted all the people around the desk, like a chorus.

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Chapter Nine: Where Have You Been?

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ne man, who was seated with his back to Riyaz, turned slowly, then rocketed from his seat and wrapped Riyaz in a bear hug.

“Riyaz, oh Riyaz! Thank God!” Riyaz’s father, Abdul, held his son for the longest time, only releasing him, finally, so that Roshan, crying tears of joy, could have her turn, kissing him at least a thousand times.

Usually, Abdul was not the type of father who showed a lot of emotion, or affection. And soon, much too soon for Riyaz, Abdul’s expression turned from grateful to stern.

“Where have you been?”

No one in the room spoke. Even the pestering flies seemed to stop their buzzing for fear of further angering Abdul.

“Answer me!” Abdul boomed.

More silence. Roshan let go of Riyaz.

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“Oh my God, Riyaz, where were you? We were so worried. We thought….”

His mom couldn’t even finish what they’d thought.

Riyaz just looked down. What was he going to say?

“Tell us the truth,” Abdul said in a still very angry voice.

The flash of a camera made Riyaz blink. He saw that the man with the turban had just taken his picture.

Riyaz glanced at the window and recognized the silhouette of Mt. Kilimanjaro. As always, it gave him courage. With such a giant watching over him, he was never alone.

Riyaz began recounting his adventure to his parents, Mr. Headmaster, the three policemen, the two men in business suits,and all the other people in the room - people he had never seen before.

As he retold his story, even more adults crowded in, listening intently.

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In a corner, Riyaz saw that three of his classmates had also managed to sneak in, and he flashed them a quick, knowing smile.

Riyaz told it all and didn’t miss a detail: Mt. Kilimanjaro calling for him every day from his desk, the letter he wrote about a pretend uncle inviting him for the weekend, his friends Kiango and Uhuro, the old man in the pickup truck, his goat, the endless walking, the blue monkeys, the thousands of birds in the sky and trees, the giraffes and gazelles, the roar of the lion in the night, the cackling laughter of the hyenas.

No one spoke, so Riyaz continued.

How he twisted his foot, the muddy waters he drank, the bananas he filled his bag and pockets with, and how he prefered cold soda from a glass bottle.

And of course, Riyaz told them about Mt. Kilmanjaro, how it magically disappeared at night and reappeared at dawn, and how when the boys finally arrived at its base, he looked way up to the open heaven and how he’d been so close, he could almost touch it.

All eyes were on him as he finished, describing his final ride on a bus with 42

friendly tourists and the treats they shared.

“I am so sorry for having lied to you, Mr. Headmaster, and the letter I gave you. I don’t have an uncle in Dar es Salaam.”

He then turned to his parents. “I am so very sorry about worrying you mama and baba. Every day, I thought that surely this would be the day we’d reach Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was so close.”

The flies started hopping and buzzing again. The camera flashed a couple more times then stopped. The policemen left along with the two men in their business suits and all the other strangers.

The headmaster stood, amazed at what he had heard. He took Abdul and Roshan aside and spoke to them in a whisper. Riyaz couldn’t make out what Mr. Headmaster was saying, but he saw his father hesitate, then nod in agreement.

Abdul spoke again.“Son,we were terribly worried.We are very disappointed that you acted without thinking. How dangerous a journey you took without telling anyone!

Every action we take in life has a consequence. Sometimes it is good.

Sometimes... not so good.”

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Riyaz gulped. He knew he was going to be punished. Likely, more homework, and extra chores. Maybe he’d have to give up soccer and cricket for a time.

But he knew whatever discipline his parents would hand out, he deserved it. And, he could handle it.

After all, he was the boy who journeyed all the way to Kilimanjaro without a plan, without supplies, and without giving up.

Looking toward the window once more, Riyaz saw Mt. Kilimanjaro winking at him. “Please, come again.”

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About the Author Talya Rotbart writes books for kids and the child in all of us. Her inspiration comes from her own children, now adults, and the world around her. The source of her imagination remains a mystery.

When Talya isn’t authoring children’s books, she’s researching and cowriting adult fare with her husband, Dean, an award-winning journalist.

Talya’s two adult children, Maxwell and Avital, are also published authors.

Maxwell served as editor of this edition, and Avital designed the layout.

Illustrator Frank Farrar is a multi-talented artist whose collection of native American and western illustrations have attracted a worldwide fan club.

Both Talya and Frank are proud to call Colorado home.

Also Avaliable In:

French-English

Swahili-English

Les Aventures de Riyaz Basées sur une histoire vraie

Le Garcon Qui Repondit a L'appel du Kilimandjaro The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro Par Talya Rotbart Illustrations par Frank Farrar Traduction par Christine Pion

Spanish-English

Korean-English

Hindi-English रियाज़ की साहसिक कथा

리야즈의 모험

(सच्ची कहानी पर आधारित)

실화를 바탕으로 한 이야기

번역자

वह लड़का जिसने किलिमंजारो की पुकार का उत्तर दिया !

킬리만자로산의 부름에 답한 소년 The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro

The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro लेखक : ताल्या रोटबार्ट

글 탈리아 랏바트

चित्रण : फ्रैंक फर्रार

그림 프랭크 파라

अनुवादक: दिनेशचन्द्र बारोट

옮김 박정훈

Mandarin Simple-English 瑞亚兹的冒险 改编自真人真事

乞力马扎罗山的呼唤

Mandarin Traditional-English 瑞亞茲的冒險 改編自真人真事

乞力馬扎羅山的呼喚 The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro

The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro

作者: 泰雅 ∙ 罗伯特 插图: 法兰 ∙ 飞拉

翻译: 克里斯汀 ∙ 比安

作者: 泰雅 · 羅伯特 插圖: 法蘭 · 飛拉 翻譯: 克里斯汀 · 比安

Order Now From: www.gutenbergsstore.com

The Adventures of Riyaz

The Boy Who Answered the Call of Kilimanjaro __________

Based on the true story of a Tanzanian boy who sets out on an adventure, walking with two friends more than 450 kilometers from Dar es Salaam to Mt. Kilimanjaro. Along the way he uses his survival instincts, and learns some valuable lessons about goal-setting, family, and friends.

Talya Rotbart writes books for kids and the child in all of us. Her inspiration comes from her own children, now adults, and the world around her. The source of her imagination remains a mystery.

When Talya isn’t authoring children’s books, she’s researching and cowriting adult fare with her husband, Dean, an award-winning journalist.