If Not This Dream: Book Three: Màdawwàri

By Larry D. Clark

If Not This Dream is an 1134-page fast-paced novel presented in three books. The night before Zaki, his family, Safiyah Hadejia, and Thomas depart for Nigeria, Africa, to search for Mdawwri, Biggs shows him where his family has buried sixteen giant black-iron cauldrons full of gold coins, now worth billions. When the group arrives at Lagos, Nigeria, they board a Sikorsky S-92, a five-blade helicopter, and fly northeast. When they land at Hadejia, Ahmadu Hadejia, Safiyahs father, and his men surround the machine, all pointing assault rifles at it. The group exits the helicopter, all inspected by Ahmadu. After taking the group into his modern home, Ahmadu gives permission for his daughter to accompany them to the village of the circle, charging Zakis mother with her safety. Three weeks later, the group returns, this time Safiyah asking her father if she can return to America with the family. When he learns that his daughter has lost her virginity to Zaki, an infidel, he goes into a rage, threatening to behead his daughter and Zaki. Safiyahs mother pleads for mercy from her husband. He finally bans Safiyah from his home under curse, never to see her again. They escape in their chartered Sikorsky S-92, a five-blade helicopter.

The young pureblooded American Hausa fulfills his ancestors dream and embarks on his own dream, building a self-sustaining all-black private school and town outside Charleston, South Carolina. Tragedy propels Zaki into national spotlight. Interviews on Larry King Live, the Oprah Winfrey Show, and an overnight stay in the Obama White House on the fourth of July facilitate the acceleration of phase two of his dream. Phase three of the dream is for all African American people to return to their roots to rebuild their culture in the original Dixie states of America. Phase three will shake Americas foundation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9781504925112

Larry D. Clark

Larry D. Clark has taught high school English and Psychology of Self-development for forty-four years. This Grapes-of-Wrath descendent has undertaken an exhaustive twenty-year study of love that inspired the writing of his second novel, Will the Real Jeff Creek. He now lives in Richland, Washington with Pam, his wife of forty-seven years.

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© 2015 Larry D. Clark. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/28/2015

ISBN: 978-1-5049-2510-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-2509-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-2511-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015911950

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Contents

MÀDAWWÀRI

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

DEDICATION

If Not This Dream is dedicated to the following people who donated time and money to the If-Not-This-Dream Indiegogo account to make it possible for me to publish this book. Their love came pouring in with their support. Thank you everybody. I will remember you to the end.

Dr. Ryan Crafts; Alondra Solorio de Garibay; Michelle Towne; Mark S.; Anonymous; Melissa Gallagher; Alex 3; Brett Ehler; John and Angie Rodriguez; Anonymous; Anonymous; Lizvette0706; Oncqeen; Elvia Negrete; Anonymous; Meimei579579; Jackie Brewster; Anonymous; Whitney Stohr; Dkostoff; Linda K.; Anonymous; Joan Wood; April Ottey; Brooke Barnes; Taylor Cliett; Julie Bussell; Devin Olson; Gil McCargo; Jennifer White; Cekedra Cole; Diana Valdivia; Erika Rogel; Ivan Rogel; Odilon Villagrana; Matias Lang; Jeff Jorimle; Zack Vaeila; Johnathan Gonzalez; Nevaeh Gonzalez; Rechael Astudillo; Britney Moreno; Briana Moreno; Braciela Batalla; Victoria Garcia.

SPECIAL DEDICATION

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Larry D. Clark & Pamela A. Clark

My Girlfriend for 55 Years

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you Julie Bussell and Jennifer Hernandez for your assistance in setting up the Indiegogo account for If Not This Dream.

Thank you Gil McCargo and Julie Bussell for your help with my computer and photo assistance.

Thank you Linda Klavano for formatting the final draft of If Not This Dream for publication.

Thank you to my granddaughter Jordyn Clark for editing my photo for the author page.

Thank you to Dorian Studios for permission to use the author photo. If you need individual or group photos taken, contact the Dorian Administration Office at 4212 W. Sunset Blvd. in Spokane, Washington. You can also call 1-800.826-3535. Dorian has studios in Boise, Denver, Kennewick, Seattle Spokane, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Portland and Oakland.

Thank you for the support and love of students from the three high schools where I taught English, Psychology of Self-development and Native American Studies during my forty-six-year teaching career: A.C. Davis High School in Yakima, Washington; LaSalle High School in Union Gap, Washington; New Horizons High School in Pasco, Washington. I believe you can fly!

MÀDAWWÀRI

CHAPTER ONE

Jacob and Jamilah Charleston awaited flight 178 from Los Angles, their son Zaki arriving home from U.C.L.A for his first summer break. They hadn’t seen him since Christmas, after the tragic death of his lifelong girlfriend Paula Walton. Unknown to them he was bringing home a new friend, a fellow student from Hadejia, Nigeria, a Hausa girl.

Jamilah couldn’t take her eyes off the entrance to concourse A, holding her hands over her pounding heart. Zaki’s grandparents, Moses and A’isha, rested on a bench nearby, both keeping an eye on the same entrance. Thomas Biggs positioned himself between the parents and grandparents of his protégé, eager to see Zaki and the young Nigerian beauty Safiyah Hadejia for the second time.

Delta Flight 178 glided gently down on the Charleston International Airport Runway, barking tires leaving puffs of white smoke behind, reverse engines roaring her arrival. The plane taxied to gate 4A, swarmed by airport attendants, gathering like protective bees around their queen.

Zaki, in no hurry to move from his seat, touched Safiyah’s face, still asleep beside him, her head on his shoulder. Her eyelashes fluttered as he looked down at her beautiful cocoa face.

Oh Zaki! I must have fallen asleep! she said.

A long time ago, Zaki teased.

We have arrived? she asked.

Yes we have. The plane is almost empty. I didn’t want to wake you up, Zaki answered.

Safiyah, gathering herself, stood and reached for her storage compartment. Zaki stood and placed a hand on her shoulder, moving beside her, and reached up and pulled her travel bag out. He didn’t hand it to her, but held it in his hand while reaching up to get his own. He turned to face her, a bag in each hand, smiled, and nodded toward the exit. They both said good-bye to the first-class flight attendant and walked through the plane exit into concourse A.

As soon as the young pair walked from the concourse into the atrium, Jamilah dashed toward them, her arms open wide, a broad smile on her face. Jacob hurried up behind his wife, wrapping his son in his arms, stepping back shyly when his eyes met Safiyah’s. Zaki introduced his parents to his Nigerian friend.

Can we hug this beautiful child? Jamilah asked.

Of course you can hug me, Safiyah answered, hugging each of them in turn.

Across the atrium Zaki’s white-haired grandfather Moses stood, opening his arms wide for his grandson, his faithful wife A’isha standing beside him.

Zaki took Safiyah by the hand and led her to his grandparents. Moses greeted her in the Hausa language.

"Gaishai you, Hello, I greet you."

"Salamu alaikum, Peace be on you," Safiyah answered.

"Kina lahiya? How are you?"

"Lafiya lau, in health," she said.

"Mi sunan you? What is your name?"

"Uere na Safiyah, My name is Safiyah," she answered. "Mi sunan you? What is your name?"

"Musa, Moses," he answered.

"You na jin harshen turanci kuwa? Do You Speak English?" Moses asked.

"Na yi na, Yes." Safiyah smiled at Zaki’s old Hausa grandfather, thinking of her own grandfather back home.

We are so happy to meet you, Moses said in English, bowing slightly.

What a joy to meet Hausas so far from Nigeria, she answered. I am so happy to meet all of you.

Okay, everybody! It’s my turn, Thomas Biggs said as he walked up to the little group of Hausas.

Zaki turned and smiled, breaking from the spell cast by the Hausa conversation between his grandfather and his new friend. This time it was Zaki who opened his arms wide and enveloped his mentor in his powerful arms. Safiyah stood back and waited for her American Hausa to greet the man she had learned made so much of his life possible. She could see the love between them had created a powerful bond. Her eyes welled with tears, wondering why the entire world couldn’t follow their example.

Thomas, glancing over at Safiyah, seeing the tears in her eyes, extended a hand to her. She walked toward him and took his hand. The three of them hugged for a full minute, Zaki wiping the tears from her eyes, not certain what motivated them.

As usual, Thomas regained his composure and took control.

Okay, everybody, let’s gather these kids’ luggage and get them home for a good night’s sleep. Remember, we leave for Africa with the morning tide, Thomas said.

Within minutes the group started a two-car caravan to Ashirin, Thomas Biggs’ mansion. Zaki’s parents and grandparents traveled in Biggs’ 1948 Silver Raith Rolls-Royce. Zaki and Safiyah rode with Thomas in his black 2002 Bentley Azure. Safiyah sat in the front passenger seat with Thomas, Zaki in the back.

Safiyah ran her long cocoa-colored fingers along the polished wood-grain door trim. She then placed her hand on the soft, white leather of her seat and studied the center console, the numerous dials, the sound system, and the polished chrome gearshift lever. She turned her head and smiled at Zaki in the back seat, then turned her attention back to the man driving the car.

Mr. Biggs, this is a fine motorcar, she said.

Biggs looked at her and smiled. Thank you, Safiyah. You will learn motorcars are my one big vice. Someday I’ll show you my collection. And please, call me Thomas, he said.

In the back seat, Zaki smiled and leaned forward between his mentor and his Hausa tutor and turned on the CD player.

What do you have in here, Papa Thomas?

Select number three, Thomas answered.

Zaki pushed the number three button and leaned back in his seat, fastening his seat belt. The sounds of Piano Concerto No. One in Bb- began playing over the car’s sound system. Safiyah, recognizing Zaki’s style, turned and smiled at him. Zaki reached up and touched her shoulder. Thomas, doing his best to pretend he wasn’t there, drove on toward Ashirin.

As he turned off the highway onto the quarter-mile lane, the old walnut trees bordering both sides created a perfect frame for Ashirin. Its towering white columns stood like sentinels over the history of the Biggs family.

Safiyah leaned forward in her seat, both hands on the polished walnut dash, staring straight ahead at the mansion. Thomas, your home is so lovely, she said.

Thank you Safiyah, he answered. It is a big home for a single man.

Will I see the inside? she asked.

Are you kidding? Thomas answered. You will have your own suite, and Zaki will show you the entire house.

Safiyah turned and glanced back at Zaki. And will Zaki also have his own suite? she asked, still looking at Zaki.

Oh no. Zaki will stay in his own room in his parents’ home, Thomas answered, adjusting the mirror to look at Zaki, a teasing expression on his face.

Does Zaki live nearby? Safiyah asked.

His home is right behind mine, Thomas assured her.

When Thomas pulled the car into the circular driveway and parked, Moses was already standing in a position to open the door for Safiyah.

Here we are, Miss Safiyah, Moses said, as he offered the girl his hand.

You go on in with Safiyah, Zaki. I’ll bring in her luggage, Thomas said.

Oh no Mista Biggs. Let me carry in the luggage, Moses insisted.

Now Moses, you know you are not to carry so much weight anymore, Thomas reminded his old overseer and friend.

Zaki walked up and grabbed Safiyah’s two suitcases and her carryon, laughing at his grandfather and mentor locked in gentle combat. Let me settle this, he laughed. God made me to carry heavy weights. Besides, I can show Safiyah to her suit before I show her the rest of the house.

Safiyah laughed and followed Zaki up the lawn and to the steps leading up to the portico. Thomas hustled ahead of them and opened the massive, dark, walnut doors. Safiyah gasped as she stepped into the foyer and looked straight ahead at the blue marble staircase.

Oh Zaki. I have never seen anything so beautiful, she whispered.

Come on. I’ll take you up to your suite, and then I’ll show you the rest of the house, Zaki said.

Safiyah placed her left hand on the solid black walnut rail as she followed Zaki up to the first landing. She grasped the landing newel and followed Zaki up the left curved stairway to the U-shaped landing. Zaki set the suitcases and carryon down in front of the first door, opened it, placed his hand on the small of Safiyah’s back and escorted her into the room.

Zaki! This is beyond any bedroom I have ever seen in my life, Safiyah gasped.

Zaki encouraged her to explore the suite. He told her it had been remodeled several times throughout the years. She stopped in front of the black marble fireplace and looked at her dim reflection. She then moved to the French doors, opened them, and walked out onto the second floor portico. Zaki joined her.

Will this suit you madam? he joked.

It is so royal, she answered.

So are you, Zaki answered.

You are so kind to me, she said.

Someday I would like to be more than kind to you, Zaki said.

Safiyah turned and looked into Zaki’s eyes, her heart pounding. It is good you are staying in your own house tonight, she said.

Can I hug you? Zaki asked.

Safiyah moved toward him, reaching up, placing her arms around his neck. Zaki wrapped her in his arms, pulling her closer to him. She did not resist. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest. He hated to quit the embrace, but he didn’t want to take any chances of embarrassing the young woman from Nigeria. He held her at arm’s length, placing a hand on each of her shoulders.

Well, would you like to see the rest of the house? he asked.

I would love to, she answered, appreciative the young American had rescued her from herself.

She took his arm as Zaki showed her all the second-floor suites, including Thomas’s. He then took her down to the landing at the top of the main stairway and up the curved stairway to the third-floor ballroom. He walked to the grand piano, sat on the bench, stretched his fingers, and began playing Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. One in E Minor, Larghetto from memory. He looked across the ballroom at Safiyah, who had seated herself in a bay window, the spring sun presenting her in silhouette. Zaki blinked his eyes, visions of Paula Walton dancing across the polished oak floor. He felt Paula’s spirit in the room, a chill shivering up his spine. The apparition of Paula jumped and swirled across the room until she stood beside Safiyah, the light of her spirit enveloping the Nigerian girl’s silhouette. She reached out and touched Safiyah’s hair, and then she returned to the dance floor. When Zaki played the final note of Chopin’s concerto, she stopped behind him and whispered, She is perfect for you, Zaki. When Zaki turned around, his heart pounding, Paula was gone.

Safiyah stepped down from the bay window and walked toward Zaki. He smiled at her, Paula’s words still floating in his mind. He felt his old friend had joined them to give her consent. He stood, reaching out his hands for Safiyah and pulled her into his arms, holding her gently. Hesitant at first, she relaxed and allowed Zaki to pull her close. She would have kissed him, but he made no attempt, instead kissing her on the forehead.

Shall we continue our tour? he asked.

Oh, yes she answered. Your playing takes me to a special place, she added.

Thank you. I want to take you there often, he answered.

He took her by the hand and led her through the door, down the curved stairway, onto the landing, and down the main stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned left and walked her to the library. She surveyed the bookshelves and walked over to the fireplace.

Zaki, each room has the same beautiful, black-marble fireplace, she said.

Yes, back when the mansion was first built, the fireplaces provided heat for the cold South Carolina winters, he said.

They are beautiful, she said.

Come on, let’s go back to the great room, Zaki said, taking her hand.

He showed her the great room, followed by the formal dining room, and then the music room, where Thomas joined them.

I am so glad to have you in my home, Thomas said.

Thank you Thomas. It is such a beautiful home, she answered.

Thank you. Now, would you like to visit with Zaki’s parents for a while, or would you prefer to spend some time resting in your room? Thomas asked. I have some business I need to discuss with Zaki, so I need him for a little while, he added.

I would love to visit with Zaki’s parents, she said.

Once more Zaki took her by the hand. Let me take you over to my house, he said.

Within ten minutes, Zaki was back in the library with Thomas, Safiyah in the Charleston house behind the mansion, engaged in a Hausa conversation with Jacob and Jamilah Charleston.

Sit down Zaki, Thomas said. The day has been a whirlwind.

Zaki took a deep breath and exhaled. Tell me about it, he said. It feels good to just sit back and relax.

Don’t get too comfy, Thomas laughed. I brought you in here for a reason. Do you remember…?

Jamilah and Safiyah appeared in the doorway of the library, each carrying a large glass of freshly made lemonade, smiles on their faces. Jamilah carried hers to Thomas, placed a coaster on the table beside his chair and placed the glass in the center of it. Safiyah carried hers to Zaki. The two women turned and walked out of the room without saying a word, knowing the men had business to discuss.

When both women exited the library, the two men looked at each other and began laughing, each picking up his glass for a sip of the sweet, cold lemonade.

Your mother, Biggs said. I swear she is the best woman God ever placed on this earth.

I’ll toast to my mother, Zaki said, raising his glass.

As I was saying, do you remember me telling you in California there was something else I wanted to share with you along with my will?

Vaguely, Zaki smiled.

Well, let me sharpen your memory, young fella, Biggs teased. He got up from his overstuffed chair and gestured toward the library door. Zaki stood and followed him, both carrying their tall glasses of lemonade.

Thomas led Zaki into the hall, past the great room, through the foyer, and on to the tall, black walnut, double doors. Before opening the door, he stopped and placed a hand on Zaki’s shoulder.

Zaki, I am going to disclose something to you that has remained a secret in my family since the beginning of the 1800’s. I don’t have family to pass anything on to, so I consider you my heir. Thomas said.

The two looked at each for a long time, Thomas excited to offer his young protégé his birthright, Zaki honored and humbled that Thomas considered him family.

Thomas picked up a big, gray, track-and-field tape measurer from an entrance table and gestured for Zaki to join him. I’m going to take you for a walk, son. I am going to point out sixteen important landmarks around the farmyard just the way my ancestors have done it for years. It is imperative you burn the memory of these sites in your mind. When we get back from Africa, I will ask you to take me to the precise locations, Thomas said.

Are you serious? Papa, Zaki asked, turned somber by Thomas’s serious demeanor.

Very was all Thomas answered.

Once outside Thomas walked down the grassy knoll, directly out from the front of the mansion portico steps. He handed the tip of the tape to Zaki and directed him to back away from him until told to stop. Zaki pinched the silver rectangle at the end of the tape and began to back away from Thomas.

Keep going son, Thomas encouraged. More, more, more, stop! Now, place the end of the tape on the ground and make an X on the gravel.

Zaki did as ordered and remained in a squatting position as Thomas walked toward him.

Now, Zaki, the X is exactly twenty-five yards away from the center of the bottom step leading up to the front door of the mansion, Thomas said.

The landmark is this precise spot on the center of the bottom step, he said. The X you marked is exactly twenty-five yards due north of the landmark spot. Your job is to memorize the landmark spot and the X’s position twenty-five yards due north from it. Do you understand? Thomas asked.

Yes I do Papa Thomas, Zaki answered. Why are we doing this?

I will tell you as soon as we have identified sixteen more landmarks and sixteen more spots, Thomas promised.

Wow! You have great faith in my memory! Zaki laughed. Let’s check it out.

Forty-five minutes later, Thomas showed Zaki the last of the sixteen landmarks and the precise spots twenty-five yards north of each one.

That’s it son, Thomas said. Let’s go back to the library, and I’ll explain what we’ve been doing for the past hour.

Once inside the library, Thomas sat in his favorite overstuffed chair, Zaki sitting beside him. Okay, son, test number one, he said. Starting with the first spot, give me all sixteen locations, he challenged.

Zaki was an honor student in high school and attending U.C.L.A. for a reason. He rattled off sixteen spots in less than two minutes.

Nicely done, Thomas said. Now, let’s discuss the reason for all this.

Zaki, in 1933 President Franklin D. Roosevelt invoked Presidential Executive Order 6102, which made it illegal for a United States private citizen to own gold, he began. In 1934 Congress passed the Gold Reserve Act, which took away all Gold Certificates and gold from the Federal Reserve Bank and turned it all over to the U.S. Treasury, he continued. This might not have meant much to many people in the country, but it was damaging to the financial interests of the Biggs family.

Zaki leaned toward Thomas, mesmerized by his history lesson.

My grandfather Henry Biggs, like most U.S. citizens with money, did not trust banks after the crash of ’29, and refused to turn the Biggs’ gold over to the government. Just two years before his death, he showed my father Preston the same sites I showed you today, Thomas said.

Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Papa?

Thomas smiled at Zaki. Yes, I am, son, he answered. Each of my ancestors could have made a fortune by turning in all the gold hoarded by their predecessors. At the time gold became illegal to possess, it jumped from twenty dollars an ounce to thirty-five dollars an ounce, and you know how gold prices have soared since those days.

So the spots you showed me…

That’s right, Biggs smiled. Each of those spots you marked today represents the precise location of a giant, sealed, forty-five gallon iron kettle standing on three six-inch legs. Six of those cauldrons contain 2,500 ten-dollar gold pieces, Thomas said. Ten cauldrons contain1,200 twenty-dollar gold coins, five of those filled with Saint-Gaudens.

Mouth open, Zaki stared at his mentor. Papa, you’re talking an astronomical fortune, he managed.

Yes, I am son, and it will all be left to you, Biggs said.

Me! Zaki said.

Yes. Remember, I told you I would reveal the rest of my will to you when you came home, Thomas said. Well, I just did. He chuckled.

Papa, I don’t know what to say, Zaki exclaimed.

You don’t have to say anything, but since you are a smart guy, let’s have a little fun, Biggs answered. What’s the price of gold in today’s market?

I’m afraid I haven’t had a reason to keep up with the price of gold, Papa, Zaki laughed.

Well, now you do. We not only have the buried gold on this property, but we also have gold bullion and twenty-dollar gold pieces in our banks in New York, Thomas said. Today’s price per Troy ounce is $363, he added. Now you can do the math, Biggs encouraged.

Zaki leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed, trying to calculate the value of the Biggs’ buried gold.

There would be 27,000 gold coins, he said.

That’s right, Thomas encouraged. Each one weighs in at one ounce, he added.

So, 27,000 times $363 per Troy ounce would be… He closed his eyes again, trying to do the math without a calculator. $9,801,000 and something, Zaki answered.

Right again! $9,801,000 and something, Biggs added. But, that is just the value by the ounce. Those twenty-dollar gold pieces will be in mint condition, worth so much more as collector coins, Biggs said. For example, Bradley and Henry Biggs each buried five cauldrons of 1933 Saint-Gaudens Double Eagles. Each coin would fetch at least $100,000 now."

Biggs leaned back in his overstuffed chair and laughed at the look on Zaki’s face. Those Saint Gaudens would be worth $1,200,000, 000, Biggs chuckled. Of course, they wouldn’t be worth that if we glutted the market with them. He laughed. Understand?

Papa, you don’t have any relatives you need to leave this fortune to? Zaki answered.

You’re the only relative I have, son. It’s all yours when I pass from this world, Biggs answered. He stood, hands on hips, and faced Zaki."

Zaki slumped back in his chair, shaking his head from side to side. Papa, this is too much, he said.

Biggs extended his hand to Zaki and pulled him to his feet. Just one more little chore, and then your inheritance will be complete, he said. Follow me.

Biggs led Zaki outside once again, this