Deborah Ahenkorah comes from Ghana, a country in West Africa. She has loved to read since she was a little girl. But all the books she read when she was little were American books and they showed a world that was different from hers. When Ahenkorah grew up, she started Golden Baobab. It is an organization that provides African children with books written by African people.

    Golden Baobab does this in several different ways. First, it organizes programmes and workshops (讲习班). These workshops support African writers. In these workshops writers can learn new things and improve their writing. Second, Golden Baobab connects writers to publishers (出版商). Finally, it offers the Golden Baobab Prize. This is the most famous way in which Golden Baobab works. Any writer who is an African citizen (公民) can compete for the prize, and each story must happen in Africa.

    "Children need books they can relate to. When they see characters who are like themselves in a story, they know that their experiences are important," said Tiffany Morris, who works for Golden Baobab.

    According to Ahenkorah, Golden Baobab has already helped create over 850 stories. She wants to make Africa's book publishing industry a success. "We could have an industry of books, games, toys and characters that come from stories that are made just for African children," she said.

    This is a big dream and also a big challenge. But Ahenkorah and Golden Baobab are working to make it come true.

    When I was five years old, I took a boat out on the river and went fishing by myself. I really wanted to catch a fish! But they were not biting. I stayed in my boat for three days, waiting. A few times, I thought I felt a fish at the end of the line. The first time I pulled in my catch, it was not a fish; it was an old bag. The second time, it was a shoe. Finally, at the end of the third day, I felt a strong pull at the end of the line. The pull was so strong that my boat raced around and around. I needed all my power just to hold onto the fishing rod. I pulled, and I pulled and I caught the biggest fish that ever swam on the earth! It was heavier than everyone in this room put together! Then something terrible happened! After I pulled the huge fish into my boat, I saw that the boat was going under water! Water was coming into the boat from all sides! I was not a very good swimmer, so I was scared.

    Although it was the hardest choice I ever made, I had to let the fish go. I pushed it back over the side of the boat, and we waved good-bye to each other as it swam away.

    As the taxi leaves, my father stands at the living room window looking out, watching me move off into the darkness, at 4:30 a. m. His grey hair is untidy from sleeping.

    Moments ago, he got up to carry my bag for me and went into the cold open air.

    He thanked me for a daughter's cooking and for having traveled so far to spend the holiday with him. I told him that I worried about he would feel lonely again in the empty house.

    "I have my plans," he said, in the moments before I walked out the door.

    When I arrived 10 days ago, I felt it was quiet and lifeless in the house. Then my brothers and I came and filled the rooms. But, now, they're gone, I am the last to leave.

    As the taxi began to move, I watched the lights go off, but my father didn't leave. Even though he couldn't see me in the dark, he stood by the window watching, beside the tree. It was a fresh tree. He buys one every year for the new year.

    The life is hard for my father: my mother died years ago, and now his children are far from home, our selfish choices taking us from one end of the country to the other, the life of the tree, cut for Christmas, is short; my father's is long and strong. But both of them are tall and straight.

    I leave behind two trees: one with silver-grey hair, the other still freshly green.

    Pat Hogan is traveling around the country in his car. One evening he is driving along a road and looking for a small hotel. When he sees an old man at the side of the road, he stops his car and says to the old man, "I want to go to Sun Hotel. Do you know it？"

    "Yes," the old man answers. "I'll show you the way."

    He gets into Pat's car, and they drive for about twelve kilometers. When they come to a small house, the old man says, "Stop here." Pat stops and looks at the house. "But this isn't a hotel," he says to the old man.

    "No," the old man answers, "this is my house. And now I'll show you the way to Sun Hotel. Turn around and go back nine kilometers. Then you'll see Sun Hotel on the left."