The Real Willy Wonka

It is still dark and the first birds have yet to greet the day. Washington wakes and readies himself, before joining the others. He is late so he runs in a zig zag out of the ramshackle maze that is home. Some call it a labor camp. Humming shadows pass alongside him, holding machetes.

Washington and the other boys hum with the men and it turns into a song for the sun as he peers over the hilltop. Their silhouettes writhe in a line, like ants on the move. The picture of them is almost beautiful as they trudge toward work. On closer look, perhaps beautiful is not the word. All singing, all trudging, their mud-caked clothes dangle over skin and bones. Their voices swell in rhythm with the march, as bare feet after bare feet follow the line. Toward the back, feet after feet get smaller and smaller, younger and younger. The smallest pair in the back runs to keep up. A boy of five is the youngest of laborers on the cacao farm.

The line pauses, as always, to acknowledge the volcano across the mountain. Washington wonders what school would be like. Would he like it better than this? Would he be a good student? And will he ever know?

The youngest looks back toward camp, yearning for breakfast and Maa Nandi. Maa Nandi, the elder matriarch always told the story of Xotay and Ukundu to the remnant children. They were either too young to work the fields, or too poor to pay for school.

“On opposite sides of the River Kwango live two Peoples: Xotay and Ukudu. Xotay’s happiness, even its very survival depends on Ukudu. They are as connected as the threads in a spider’s shimmering web. Curious that they have never met at all. While Xotay have more than they could ever need, Ukudu has only suffering. Xotay knows of it and sends prayers to Ukudu."

#

Somewhere else, it’s Tea Time at American Doll Cafe inside Rockefeller Center! The American Doll store writhes with patrons on this winter Saturday. A triad of mothers, daughters and dolls. The server has placed “Maryellen” in a doll size high chair. She's all set up with a pink placemat, pink plate, pink cup. Her ten-year-old owner asks the server if Maryellen can take home the pink items. She squeals with delight to hear the answer. Maryellen and owner, Zoey have made a long pilgrimage here from Rumson, New Jersey. And then there's Mom.

Zoey holds the last bite of her crustless sandwich to Maryellen’s mouth. Mom checks the time. Fifteen minutes before Maryellen’s salon appointment. Mom hopes Zoey has long forgotten her crazy idea about ear piercing that doll.

“Why can’t Maryellen get her ears pierced?”

“Let it go. It's not happening. Should we get desert? We have time, Zoe.”

Mom signals to the server, now swamped with five other Moms and five other Zoeys and five other Maryellens, all with pressing needs. Mom feels she’s helping by breying rather than forcing the server over.

“Yooo hooo! Helloooo?! We’ll split the double chocolate layer cake!”

Zoey’s shoulders curl into a sulk.

“What about Maryellen? She loves chocolate! And I want my own too.”

She doesn’t know how to tell if she’s already full from the sandwich. There won’t be enough room in her pear sized stomach for cake. Mom turns to Zoey, finally setting a boundary.

"I don’t think so, honey, thee pieces is too much.

“If Maryellen can’t get her ears pierced then she gets a slice of cake!”

Zoey turns red. The server kneels down to Zoey's level, making eye contact.

“It’s very rich chocolate with layers of buttercream. You might want to share it with Maryellen so she doesn’t get sick!"

“Is the chocolate from the Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory?” she whines. The server debates whether to lie.

“Zoey has discovered the movie. She thinks Willy Wonka owns all the chocolate in the world.” Mom offers.

The server nods. “Zoey, here at American Doll, we use KOKA chocolate. It's better than Willy Wonka.KOKA chocolate comes from the land of exotic gorillas."

Zoey perks up a tiny bit. The server debates an urge to add, and besides, you won't find Augustus Gloop's body parts in your candy bar.

#

It’s hailing somewhere in the Black Forest in Germany, close to the border of Alsace Lorraine. Here in one of KOKA's satellite laboratories, Matilde Bocobsa presents the recent findings to the Board of Trustees.

“We’ve created legitimate biomarkers by isolating DNA at three cocoa farms, enabling the creation of a database of those markers specific to each farm. This means KOKA can trace chocolate bought anywhere in the world back to its place of origin! KOKA will now know the precise geographic location of its cocoa! We will now be accountable for our fair trade status."

The Board Members applaud Matilde and her research team, hiding their outrage over Mathilde’s ambitions and its repercussions.

#

It’s a smoldering day in Atlanta, but icy cool inside the KOKA Corporate Campus auditorium. Joyce Vale addresses the packed audience of stakeholders. In a dated Armani suit, the raven-haired KOKA CEO stands energized on a giant stage.

“The past murky handling of supply chains is over! KOKA will now lead the way in fair-trade sustainability practices. We are the first of the competitive giants to boast a certified 100% Green Supply Chain! KOKA For Good. say it with me.”

The crowd chants, KOKA for Good! The chants are of those who do well and mean well: “the Xotay” as Mama Nandi would call them. A giant glowing cocoa bean rotates on the Jumbotron screen like the Shroud of Turin. Shiny wrapped KOKA chocolate balls rain down on the stakeholders from the rafters.

“Now when people buy KOKA chocolate products, they can be sure they are casting a vote for human rights, for hope, for conservation!”

Balloons float from the heavens in the colors of the Ghana Flag. A photo of a boy, none other than Washington himself, rotates on the Jumbotron. Their literal "poster child" has been digitally "cleaned up." Washington smiles in his KOKA Brand T-shirt. He may or may not have smiled that day for the photo. Anything can be altered. But his eyes are the same sad eyes they always were.

"Now, under our watch, children like Washington can go to school. He will no longer labor under impossible working conditions."

The stakeholders will never meet Washington, but they feel they have helped him. They have cast their vote for good.

Back at the Tea Room, Zoey grabs Maryellen from her pink high chair, excited to be dashing off to the next thing. Mom sighs. such is life before she tosses down a twenty for the server to cover the cakes they ordered long after the check was dropped. Three cakes was a mistake, she thinks to herself. The server appears.

“Can I pack up all that for you?”

“Ya know...I was thinking. Can you give them to the homeless, or something? I can't believe my eyes, there were at least three tents on this corner alone, and My God, with winter coming? What is happening in this city? So sad."

The server looks at her a little too long, deciding whether to let Mom feel good about her idea or tell her that due to health regulations her beneficent wish cannot be granted. Mom hands him a five dollar bill and walks away, leaving their three partially eaten cakes behind. The server removes the plates and tosses the remnants into American Doll kitchen’s industrial sized trash bin. Back to the earth from whence they came.

#

Washington did not go to school, not yet. He still sings on his way to work. The camp has had a face lift with KOKA branding touches here and there. Worker pay has gone up from the equivalent of 80 cents a day to 95 cents! Children younger than Washington still work, but they hide when the KOKA drone flies over. Nandi still cooks breakfast in the labor camp and tells the story of Xotay and Ukudu to the remnant children—the ones too young to go to the fields and too poor to afford school.

“...A prophecy was handed down by Xotay elders that one day, a single member of Xotay will cross the river to see Ukudus. The Xotay member would feel their suffering and bring the Ukudu back with them to their side of the river. The Xotay would then know sacrifice and suffering. The Ukudu would then know abundance and joy.

The prophecy has not yet come to pass.”

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