Chapters (75)
I looked up from my own plate because I was curious about that too.
Anika and Sam’s surname is Murray because that is Sam’s dad’s last name. I didn’t know what Anika’s was before she married.
My name had been Owen, same as Pop, until Luca came and Mom and I became Owen-Ricci. But this baby was no Owen and that name—my name—wouldn’t mean anything to it.
“We’re not sure yet, mate,” Luca said. “We’ll have to have a think about it.”
Then dinner went back to being quiet.
But I started to think how names are important—and what Mr. Khouri had told us last year about Uluru, up there in the Northern Territory.
That’s what it had always been called, until some guy came along and decided to name it after someone else—a politician called Sir Henry Ayers. Uluru became Ayers Rock, but not really—because that name didn’t mean anything, no matter how many people wrote it down that way in books or on maps.
“Maps don’t always tell the truth,” Mr. Khouri had said, “and sometimes maps are used to give power or take it away—just look at Africa.”
He pulled down the Collins World Map from where it was rolled up above the blackboard. Sure enough, there was Africa, right in the middle.
“Africa is often drawn to seem smaller, or roughly the same size as North America, when it is in fact three times the size. . . .” Mr. Khouri stepped to the side of the map, picked up a piece of chalk and drew the shape of Africa, like an elephant’s ear, only so much bigger than on the map.
“But why would they make Africa smaller?” someone asked.
Mr. Khouri put the chalk down and clapped his hands clean, powder swirling for a second as he looked between us and the Africa he’d drawn.
“Well, the most famous map we use today is just one type—called a Mercator projection. It was the standard projection for easy navigation, but it was also made during an era when certain empires tried to hoard all their power, and to take it away from other nations, so it suited them to make Africa seem smaller than North America. . . .”
“So why do we learn it then, sir?” Aidan asked, screwing up his nose. “If they’re all wrong like that?”
“A very good question, Mr. McMillan.” Mr. Khouri rolled the map back up, but he didn’t answer Aidan’s question. The bell rang and everyone bolted for lunch—except for me. I hung back for a bit.
“Why, sir?” I asked.
Mr. Khouri shrugged. “What can I say, Winifred? Sometimes maps are used to take power away from people, along with their land and language. And sometimes they help to change history—or erase it.”
“That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.
“No, it doesn’t.”
