Hello my name is Odlaw Slazinsky. I am a twenty-eight-year-old photojournalist, and I am searching Europe for my father.
I never met him. I was raised by my mother, and the wonderful community of Sunshine, Washington. They tell me that his name is “Waldo”, and that they were never able to learn all that much about him. All he left behind was one photograph of himself. The image is striking: A lanky, caucasian male with beady black dots for eyes. He wears a garish red and white striped shirt, blue jeans, brown shoes. He has round glasses, a beanie cap (the colors match that of his shirt), and the outfit is completed by a walking cane. They tell me he NEVER took off this costume. He wore it even when he slept.
It was when I arrived in Scandinavia that I began receiving the emails. These cryptic messages and photographs of various locations featuring large crowds with thousands of people.
I was closing in on “Waldo”. I could tell that he was toying with me. But I had come too far to quit now. He was so close, and I didn’t care if I had to tear all of Scandinavia apart to find him. The taunts from my father are incessant. He once even texted me at 3 AM, “U will never find me :)”.
And, sure enough, he was hidden somewhere in each photograph: behind structures, within the huddled crowds. This was by itself strange, but there was still something stranger. There were other people. Others dressed in red and white striped clothing. Sporting walking canes. Wearing glasses. Who are these people? How are they all connected?
Each time I find him in the photographs, I circle it and send an email back to him. In response, he sends no more than a new photograph to solve and a single alphabet letter.
He’s toying with me. The messages are now being sent by mail. He knows where I am. But where is he? Where is Waldo?
Unfortunately this emotionally draining journey has dried up all of my savings, and that’s why I need your help so that I can finish this. There are places in Scandinavia. Structures long forgotten. I think the people in these photographs meet in such locations. What they do there I can’t possibly begin to imagine.
I’ve figured out what the letters mean. They spell something: “Trygg Havn”, which is Norwegian for “Safe Haven”. Trygg Havn is an old fortress on the western Scandinavian Peninsula. I am going there once I can secure enough travel funds. Waldo might think that our lives are nothing more than a childish game, but I intend to teach him the meaning of war.
I am coming home, Waldo.