by Sophie Alal
“You
pulled too hard last time,” Anek says.
pulled too hard last time,” Anek says.
“No
I didn’t,” Namuli protests, unwrapping a bright knobbly fruit from a white face
towel. They are naked and the little wild aubergine sits on Namuli’s terrycloth
sponge like a speckled jewel. Jade with black lines, ripening to yellow.
I didn’t,” Namuli protests, unwrapping a bright knobbly fruit from a white face
towel. They are naked and the little wild aubergine sits on Namuli’s terrycloth
sponge like a speckled jewel. Jade with black lines, ripening to yellow.
There
is a preciousness about the way Namuli cradles the fruit. And she winks at
Anek, her eyes are feisty and warm, as if she knows how scared her friend
is.
is a preciousness about the way Namuli cradles the fruit. And she winks at
Anek, her eyes are feisty and warm, as if she knows how scared her friend
is.
“If
this culture is so great, then why did I walk like a duck for a whole week?”
says Anek, looking dubious.
this culture is so great, then why did I walk like a duck for a whole week?”
says Anek, looking dubious.
“Don’t
be silly. You think being a woman is easy, eh? Shut up and let’s begin.”
be silly. You think being a woman is easy, eh? Shut up and let’s begin.”
Namuli
tilts her face towards the fruit and bites it between her canines. Her lips are
distended, as if she does not want to harm her mouth. She winces when the
bitter fruit pops, splashing little grey seeds onto her teeth and tongue. She
spits out a yellow waxy tab followed by globs of foaming spittle. “Eeu eeu,
horrible!”
tilts her face towards the fruit and bites it between her canines. Her lips are
distended, as if she does not want to harm her mouth. She winces when the
bitter fruit pops, splashing little grey seeds onto her teeth and tongue. She
spits out a yellow waxy tab followed by globs of foaming spittle. “Eeu eeu,
horrible!”
The
hole in the little poisonous fruit is jagged, impressed with the sharp ends of
Namuli’s teeth. She dips her fingers into the belly of the caustic fruit and
holds it to her nose, sniffing deeply for freshness before reaching for the
downy triangle between her legs. “Hmm. This is it. We are on the way.”
hole in the little poisonous fruit is jagged, impressed with the sharp ends of
Namuli’s teeth. She dips her fingers into the belly of the caustic fruit and
holds it to her nose, sniffing deeply for freshness before reaching for the
downy triangle between her legs. “Hmm. This is it. We are on the way.”
“Is
anything changing?” Anek says, craning her neck to see whether there were two
little lips of flesh protruding from the Namuli’s vulva, which is now resting
against her fingers, lightly parted.
anything changing?” Anek says, craning her neck to see whether there were two
little lips of flesh protruding from the Namuli’s vulva, which is now resting
against her fingers, lightly parted.
“Sort
of.”
of.”
“In
my culture we don’t pull.” Anek’s curious eyes are shining a light terracotta.
She is a little apprehensive after the burning that hurt for four days. They
had fiddled with the wrong folds, bruising the delicate pink folds of flesh
that swelled, then turned pink like the conch shell in their Science Room
shelf.
my culture we don’t pull.” Anek’s curious eyes are shining a light terracotta.
She is a little apprehensive after the burning that hurt for four days. They
had fiddled with the wrong folds, bruising the delicate pink folds of flesh
that swelled, then turned pink like the conch shell in their Science Room
shelf.
“Shhh,
Matron said we should all do it. Pleasure pleasure pleasure,” insists Namuli in
a song like voice. Her too soft fingers are chubby, like those of a rich child
who has no chores. She senses the fear in her best friend. “If you are scared
now, imagine those other things going up there. Do you want Matron herself to
do you or what?”
Matron said we should all do it. Pleasure pleasure pleasure,” insists Namuli in
a song like voice. Her too soft fingers are chubby, like those of a rich child
who has no chores. She senses the fear in her best friend. “If you are scared
now, imagine those other things going up there. Do you want Matron herself to
do you or what?”
Anek
cups a hand over her mouth, directing her whisper to Namuli’s ears. Namuli is
wincing. Her face is pinched in concentration. Anek’s eyes are wide with
conspiracy thinking about graphic phallic images; tampons, penises, other
things that could not be mentioned.
cups a hand over her mouth, directing her whisper to Namuli’s ears. Namuli is
wincing. Her face is pinched in concentration. Anek’s eyes are wide with
conspiracy thinking about graphic phallic images; tampons, penises, other
things that could not be mentioned.
“Did
Matron say the real reason for doing it? Or it is a secret, like s-e-x,” she
stammers.
Matron say the real reason for doing it? Or it is a secret, like s-e-x,” she
stammers.
“Me,
I think it’s obvious. No need to deep think.”
I think it’s obvious. No need to deep think.”
“Best
friends last FOR EYVAR and EYVAR and EYVAR,” they sing in unison, remixing a TV
commercial for Nice pens, mimicking the posh sounding Irish accents of the
elderly nuns in the convent.
friends last FOR EYVAR and EYVAR and EYVAR,” they sing in unison, remixing a TV
commercial for Nice pens, mimicking the posh sounding Irish accents of the
elderly nuns in the convent.
The
wisps of hair under their arms are fine, a dull browny white. It appears dusted
with baby powder and dunked in sweat. It also smells, sour sweet, like rancid
pineapple. They are both eleven. And had it not been for the vagary of a few
seconds, just thirty seconds till midnight, they might have celebrated their
birthdays on the same day.
wisps of hair under their arms are fine, a dull browny white. It appears dusted
with baby powder and dunked in sweat. It also smells, sour sweet, like rancid
pineapple. They are both eleven. And had it not been for the vagary of a few
seconds, just thirty seconds till midnight, they might have celebrated their
birthdays on the same day.
“I
have a secret to tell you. You know what they call IT in the Red Pepper?”
Namuli asks with eyes glinting in mischief.
have a secret to tell you. You know what they call IT in the Red Pepper?”
Namuli asks with eyes glinting in mischief.
Anek
shakes her head, feigning ignorance about the most raucous tabloid. Namuli
stands up and looks around the cubicle walls. She sees no one passing by, but
there are people in the vicinity. She squats again and the cold breeze bites
goose flesh on her wet skin.
shakes her head, feigning ignorance about the most raucous tabloid. Namuli
stands up and looks around the cubicle walls. She sees no one passing by, but
there are people in the vicinity. She squats again and the cold breeze bites
goose flesh on her wet skin.
“Twin
Towers,” Namuli whispers triumphantly, satisfied that she is more
knowledgeable, and by that measure more mature.
Towers,” Namuli whispers triumphantly, satisfied that she is more
knowledgeable, and by that measure more mature.
“Stale news. These days it’s Kandahar,” says
Anek, rebuffing her friend in a stroke of one up man ship. “Twin Towers is so
last year.”
Anek, rebuffing her friend in a stroke of one up man ship. “Twin Towers is so
last year.”
Namuli
rolls her eyes, the atmosphere in the chilly bathroom is sour, and she sulks.
rolls her eyes, the atmosphere in the chilly bathroom is sour, and she sulks.
In
three minutes. Namuli is done with pinching and firmly stretching her labia
minora. She places the aubergine in her four legged soap dish
which sits on a ledge. The two friends squat in front of plastic buckets,
rubbing pink Geisha soap onto limp damp loofahs, scrubbing out dust and
Vaseline cleaved to their pores. Only their eyes are free of foam as they rinse
their glistening bodies with cupped hands filled with water. The terrazzo floor
carries away the day’s dirt into a drainage ditch. Bathing is much nicer in the
evening, when the sun has heated up the overhead tanks, unlike at dawn, when
the cold and the crowding of girls in the bathroom oblige it to be a quick
affair. Their buzz cuts and warm chocolate skins make them look identical, but
time is changing their frames. The delicateness of their child-limbs are
ushering in puberty, gonads are awakening tiny buddings which begin to get
rounded more each new school term.
three minutes. Namuli is done with pinching and firmly stretching her labia
minora. She places the aubergine in her four legged soap dish
which sits on a ledge. The two friends squat in front of plastic buckets,
rubbing pink Geisha soap onto limp damp loofahs, scrubbing out dust and
Vaseline cleaved to their pores. Only their eyes are free of foam as they rinse
their glistening bodies with cupped hands filled with water. The terrazzo floor
carries away the day’s dirt into a drainage ditch. Bathing is much nicer in the
evening, when the sun has heated up the overhead tanks, unlike at dawn, when
the cold and the crowding of girls in the bathroom oblige it to be a quick
affair. Their buzz cuts and warm chocolate skins make them look identical, but
time is changing their frames. The delicateness of their child-limbs are
ushering in puberty, gonads are awakening tiny buddings which begin to get
rounded more each new school term.
As
daylight dies into a pink glow, tall windbreakers of pines and eucalyptus trees
catch their last rays. They are the only girls in the communal bathroom. Namuli
removes the fruit from the soap dish and replaces the fruit in her terrycloth
wash towel.
daylight dies into a pink glow, tall windbreakers of pines and eucalyptus trees
catch their last rays. They are the only girls in the communal bathroom. Namuli
removes the fruit from the soap dish and replaces the fruit in her terrycloth
wash towel.
“Out
of the bathrooms, now!” a primary seven pupil shouts, in a high voice that
sounds exasperated.
of the bathrooms, now!” a primary seven pupil shouts, in a high voice that
sounds exasperated.
Surprise
knocks the broken aubergine from Namuli’s hands. It is flying. For a fraction
of a second, Anek catches it in her still soapy palms but it slips away to the
scum coated ditch. She is relieved that she has escaped. How could she betray
their friendship, by not partaking in this rite of passage?
knocks the broken aubergine from Namuli’s hands. It is flying. For a fraction
of a second, Anek catches it in her still soapy palms but it slips away to the
scum coated ditch. She is relieved that she has escaped. How could she betray
their friendship, by not partaking in this rite of passage?
<>
“School
rules are a leveller,” Anek remembers her dad saying, as they dry themselves
and pull their after school frocks on. “And sameness is a comfort.” The frocks
are a post WWII cut, plain front bodice, short sleeves and hems below the knee.
They have existed since the first congregation of Sisters of St. Francis opened
their school in 1950, and until now, only underclothes were arbiters of inner
personality. Even the school culture has remained unchanged, frugal, like the
lives of the old nuns in the convent: tea with a bun and jam for breakfast,
repeated at four o’clock, weekly music classes, physical education three times
a week and sports over the weekend. Lunches and suppers taken with strict
regularity.
In little doses the elderly
Baganda Matrons release their colourful subversion in the dull school routine.
Secrets with neither force nor sharpness flow gently like water, wearing smooth
set-in stone school rules. During Home Room classes the pupils become ladylike
Baganda by osmosis. Anek feels conflicted, remembering that her mother has
already warned her not to partake in any strange culture at school. Especially
not that of the Luloki, the lake shore people. Their ways are different from
ours, Anek hears her stern voice in her head. Her father simply supported his wife.
rules are a leveller,” Anek remembers her dad saying, as they dry themselves
and pull their after school frocks on. “And sameness is a comfort.” The frocks
are a post WWII cut, plain front bodice, short sleeves and hems below the knee.
They have existed since the first congregation of Sisters of St. Francis opened
their school in 1950, and until now, only underclothes were arbiters of inner
personality. Even the school culture has remained unchanged, frugal, like the
lives of the old nuns in the convent: tea with a bun and jam for breakfast,
repeated at four o’clock, weekly music classes, physical education three times
a week and sports over the weekend. Lunches and suppers taken with strict
regularity.
In little doses the elderly
Baganda Matrons release their colourful subversion in the dull school routine.
Secrets with neither force nor sharpness flow gently like water, wearing smooth
set-in stone school rules. During Home Room classes the pupils become ladylike
Baganda by osmosis. Anek feels conflicted, remembering that her mother has
already warned her not to partake in any strange culture at school. Especially
not that of the Luloki, the lake shore people. Their ways are different from
ours, Anek hears her stern voice in her head. Her father simply supported his wife.
<>
During
art and craft the next day, all is normal in the imaginative composition class.
Mr Kizito, the art teacher, walks along the rows in curious attention, talking
himself hoarse and correcting shaky lines on unbleached parchment, mixing
paints and demonstrating how to lift off errors with a damp brush. Like magic,
the smudges painted by unsure hands turn into creatures with actual faces, and
imagined blobs begin to look like real plants. Anek feels strange. She colours
the forests purple, and the river runs red between two mountains. The yellow
moon in the sky is blotted out and turns orange.
art and craft the next day, all is normal in the imaginative composition class.
Mr Kizito, the art teacher, walks along the rows in curious attention, talking
himself hoarse and correcting shaky lines on unbleached parchment, mixing
paints and demonstrating how to lift off errors with a damp brush. Like magic,
the smudges painted by unsure hands turn into creatures with actual faces, and
imagined blobs begin to look like real plants. Anek feels strange. She colours
the forests purple, and the river runs red between two mountains. The yellow
moon in the sky is blotted out and turns orange.
The
first cramp grips her groin, then her back. Unaware of what is going on, sweat
breaks on her brows and fear petrifies her. She wonders whether it is malaria
or food poisoning, but this is a strange new pain. Her jaws slacken and she is
sailing off her stool, hitting the floor like a lump of potter’s clay. Although
it is a warm rainy afternoon in March, Anek feels stifled as the air stops
circulating about her.
first cramp grips her groin, then her back. Unaware of what is going on, sweat
breaks on her brows and fear petrifies her. She wonders whether it is malaria
or food poisoning, but this is a strange new pain. Her jaws slacken and she is
sailing off her stool, hitting the floor like a lump of potter’s clay. Although
it is a warm rainy afternoon in March, Anek feels stifled as the air stops
circulating about her.
The
pupils crane their necks at her, on hearing the cacophony of pencils and
brushes falling. A jam jar rolls and shatters into a million little crystals. A
biscuit tin half filled with water drenches the water colour pallets on the
long hard wood table. She measures the curl of every smile and the weight of
each whisper for meaning, and knows that something is very wrong with her. Anek
looks at the eyes staring at her and starts crying. Her tears are hot with
shame. She eases off her seat and feels a sticky stream run down her leg. She
tugs at her skirt, drawing the back side of her frock to the front, and sees a
patch as wide as an avocado and red as the tomato soup served with the main
courses on Feast Days.
pupils crane their necks at her, on hearing the cacophony of pencils and
brushes falling. A jam jar rolls and shatters into a million little crystals. A
biscuit tin half filled with water drenches the water colour pallets on the
long hard wood table. She measures the curl of every smile and the weight of
each whisper for meaning, and knows that something is very wrong with her. Anek
looks at the eyes staring at her and starts crying. Her tears are hot with
shame. She eases off her seat and feels a sticky stream run down her leg. She
tugs at her skirt, drawing the back side of her frock to the front, and sees a
patch as wide as an avocado and red as the tomato soup served with the main
courses on Feast Days.
<>
High
heels, cinched waits, make up, and perfectly painted nails. It is so cool. “But
why is this so painful?” Anek mumbles to no one in particular, thrashing, then
curling on the green leather of the cot. Painful pangs tear through her belly.
It is more severe than anything she has ever experienced. Not the delirium of
malaria, not measles, and not food poisoning. Her mental plane flips. In that
moment, when the second cramp breaks the lining of her nubile womb, she feels
like dying.
heels, cinched waits, make up, and perfectly painted nails. It is so cool. “But
why is this so painful?” Anek mumbles to no one in particular, thrashing, then
curling on the green leather of the cot. Painful pangs tear through her belly.
It is more severe than anything she has ever experienced. Not the delirium of
malaria, not measles, and not food poisoning. Her mental plane flips. In that
moment, when the second cramp breaks the lining of her nubile womb, she feels
like dying.
#
Anek’s
helpers run, in the light drizzle, to fetch the nurse who lives next door to
the infirmary. When they knock on the door of her blue and white cottage, they
have to wait for a minute before she opens. The supplicants look like little
lambs frightened by thunder. The class monitor curtsies, in a half kneel, the
kind the Matrons approve of.
helpers run, in the light drizzle, to fetch the nurse who lives next door to
the infirmary. When they knock on the door of her blue and white cottage, they
have to wait for a minute before she opens. The supplicants look like little
lambs frightened by thunder. The class monitor curtsies, in a half kneel, the
kind the Matrons approve of.
“Excuse
me nurse,” the class monitor says. “There has been a terrible accident.”
me nurse,” the class monitor says. “There has been a terrible accident.”
“What
happened?” the nurse says, cool, pushing back the mosquito screen door. She is
used to these pupil’s terrible accidents being no more than a scrape or a minor
allergic reaction.
happened?” the nurse says, cool, pushing back the mosquito screen door. She is
used to these pupil’s terrible accidents being no more than a scrape or a minor
allergic reaction.
“We
don’t know,” the class assistant says. Having not greeted the nurse she adds, “Good
afternoon. Yes, yes she’s bleeding.”
don’t know,” the class assistant says. Having not greeted the nurse she adds, “Good
afternoon. Yes, yes she’s bleeding.”
“Good
afternoon,” the nurse replies, giving the girls a crooked smile. Her fingers
are damp from washing and unadorned. She retreats and returns, pinning on her
lacy white nurse’s cap, then tying an apron about her slim waist. When they
arrive at the infirmary, she tells the two helpers to return to class. When
they are out of earshot, she faces Anek and says, “You are a woman now. This is
normal. Don’t cry. First, go to the bathroom and wash yourself then come back.”
She hands Anek a plug of cotton wool wrapped in linen gauze.
afternoon,” the nurse replies, giving the girls a crooked smile. Her fingers
are damp from washing and unadorned. She retreats and returns, pinning on her
lacy white nurse’s cap, then tying an apron about her slim waist. When they
arrive at the infirmary, she tells the two helpers to return to class. When
they are out of earshot, she faces Anek and says, “You are a woman now. This is
normal. Don’t cry. First, go to the bathroom and wash yourself then come back.”
She hands Anek a plug of cotton wool wrapped in linen gauze.
“But
I’m dying.” Anek groans.
I’m dying.” Anek groans.
“Hmm,
you are not dying,” Nurse Betty reassures her and laughs a little. She sighs
deeply, and hands her a small red pill and a cup of water.
you are not dying,” Nurse Betty reassures her and laughs a little. She sighs
deeply, and hands her a small red pill and a cup of water.
In
three minutes, the indomethacin kills the pain and Anek sits up. She cleans up
in the bathroom and returns to the consultation room. She plugs in the heavy
Morphy Richards flat iron and presses her frock in silence. As steam hisses up,
she steals glances at the nurse. Now calm, Anek notices her kind round face.
She is ageless, like the portrait of the president in the Headmistress’s
office, next to the Bishop, and the Founder Mother Superior in her severe black
wimple. She has always existed. In grace. Her dark hot combed hair always
resting in a bun on her nape.
three minutes, the indomethacin kills the pain and Anek sits up. She cleans up
in the bathroom and returns to the consultation room. She plugs in the heavy
Morphy Richards flat iron and presses her frock in silence. As steam hisses up,
she steals glances at the nurse. Now calm, Anek notices her kind round face.
She is ageless, like the portrait of the president in the Headmistress’s
office, next to the Bishop, and the Founder Mother Superior in her severe black
wimple. She has always existed. In grace. Her dark hot combed hair always
resting in a bun on her nape.
Nurse
Betty balances a kidney shaped steel bowl in one hand, opens boxes and rummages
through drawers, looking for something that should have been there.
Betty balances a kidney shaped steel bowl in one hand, opens boxes and rummages
through drawers, looking for something that should have been there.
“I
can’t find any sanitary pads so let me show you how to make one,” she says,
pulling apart the green privacy screen on wheels. She hands Anek a white ball
of cotton wool and loosens two meters of gauze. She cuts them roughly, into
three pieces, with a shiny surgical blade. She rolls the cotton into a tight
wad and wraps it in one piece of gauze. The makeshift sanitary pad looks like a
cocoon with straps. “Make sure you tie these straps firmly around your waist.
Like this, like this, OK?” she explains, motioning at Anek’s hips.
can’t find any sanitary pads so let me show you how to make one,” she says,
pulling apart the green privacy screen on wheels. She hands Anek a white ball
of cotton wool and loosens two meters of gauze. She cuts them roughly, into
three pieces, with a shiny surgical blade. She rolls the cotton into a tight
wad and wraps it in one piece of gauze. The makeshift sanitary pad looks like a
cocoon with straps. “Make sure you tie these straps firmly around your waist.
Like this, like this, OK?” she explains, motioning at Anek’s hips.
Anek
goes behind the screen. It is the first time she has ever experienced any
privacy at school, the first time she is told to hide from the public. She
feels shy and embarrassed at seeing the knotted gauze ends sinking into her
flesh. It reminds her of the sumo wrestlers in Samurai Jack bleeding in cartoon
colour. This awareness of her own body fluids make her feel strange, and
different in a grown up way.
goes behind the screen. It is the first time she has ever experienced any
privacy at school, the first time she is told to hide from the public. She
feels shy and embarrassed at seeing the knotted gauze ends sinking into her
flesh. It reminds her of the sumo wrestlers in Samurai Jack bleeding in cartoon
colour. This awareness of her own body fluids make her feel strange, and
different in a grown up way.
“You
must keep clean. Yes? And nobody must know about it. It is your little secret.
This is very normal and all women go through this. Yes?”
must keep clean. Yes? And nobody must know about it. It is your little secret.
This is very normal and all women go through this. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Some
tea?” Nurse Betty asks, when Anek steps out from behind the screen. She is
pouring herself a hot infusion fragrant with lemon grass, fresh cinnamon,
ginger and mujaja basil. Beside her cup is a plate with golden brown balls of
mandaazi and a banana. She offers Anek some but Anek shakes her head in
refusal.
tea?” Nurse Betty asks, when Anek steps out from behind the screen. She is
pouring herself a hot infusion fragrant with lemon grass, fresh cinnamon,
ginger and mujaja basil. Beside her cup is a plate with golden brown balls of
mandaazi and a banana. She offers Anek some but Anek shakes her head in
refusal.
“Are
you sure?” the nurse says.
you sure?” the nurse says.
“OK,
just a little.”
just a little.”
Anek’s
hunger triumphs over modesty. Visiting Day is still three weeks away, and her
grub is almost finished. All she has left is half a tub of Blue Band margarine
and a cup of deep fried crunchy corn and groundnut mix.
hunger triumphs over modesty. Visiting Day is still three weeks away, and her
grub is almost finished. All she has left is half a tub of Blue Band margarine
and a cup of deep fried crunchy corn and groundnut mix.
“Well
then, get a cup from there.”
then, get a cup from there.”
Nurse
Betty points at a metal trolley standing next to a cupboard stacked with
medical supplies. It has a glass jar of sugar, a box of tea bags and small
spice bottle of tea masala. The tea things are draped over with a knitted white
doily. In the lower shelf are half a dozen melamine cups and a hand of ripe
yellow bogoya.
Betty points at a metal trolley standing next to a cupboard stacked with
medical supplies. It has a glass jar of sugar, a box of tea bags and small
spice bottle of tea masala. The tea things are draped over with a knitted white
doily. In the lower shelf are half a dozen melamine cups and a hand of ripe
yellow bogoya.
Anek
convinces herself, that the arrival of this force, like electricity in a far
away village, is greeted with excitement. But the reality is neither smooth nor
simple. She remembers the showers, and
the torment of the previous week. It appears like a crude game of awakening
compared to this bleeding for five days. She lays in the infirmary all
afternoon, and when the last spasms of trembling and shame have subsided, she
raises and looks outside. Everything is as it always has been. The pine trees
and eucalyptus are still jostling for airspace, and the girls are in teams
playing dodge ball, cliques telling stories. Even the solitary bookworms are
invisible.
convinces herself, that the arrival of this force, like electricity in a far
away village, is greeted with excitement. But the reality is neither smooth nor
simple. She remembers the showers, and
the torment of the previous week. It appears like a crude game of awakening
compared to this bleeding for five days. She lays in the infirmary all
afternoon, and when the last spasms of trembling and shame have subsided, she
raises and looks outside. Everything is as it always has been. The pine trees
and eucalyptus are still jostling for airspace, and the girls are in teams
playing dodge ball, cliques telling stories. Even the solitary bookworms are
invisible.
Namuli
brings evening tea to the infirmary. She sets the mug and bun on a table and
sits across Anek on an empty bed.
brings evening tea to the infirmary. She sets the mug and bun on a table and
sits across Anek on an empty bed.
“Sorry,”
says Namuli with a rueful look.
says Namuli with a rueful look.
Anek
shrugs and blows steam off the cup’s rim. “Nurse gave me painkillers.”
shrugs and blows steam off the cup’s rim. “Nurse gave me painkillers.”
“People
were excited that you’ve hit chiba. So, are you going to pull at last?”
were excited that you’ve hit chiba. So, are you going to pull at last?”
Anek
cannot believe that even the popular girls are interested in her. Fake care,
she thinks. So, those mean girls who call her mulugwala are curious about her?
Here was their unwitting ambassador acting like they were all friends. Anek
raises herself and sips more tea. She knows that Namuli is her only real
friend.
cannot believe that even the popular girls are interested in her. Fake care,
she thinks. So, those mean girls who call her mulugwala are curious about her?
Here was their unwitting ambassador acting like they were all friends. Anek
raises herself and sips more tea. She knows that Namuli is her only real
friend.
Loyal.
“They
don’ wanna know,” says Anek, watching Namuli’s jaws slack in disbelief. Her
voice is singing again, like it might laugh.
don’ wanna know,” says Anek, watching Namuli’s jaws slack in disbelief. Her
voice is singing again, like it might laugh.
All
those girls had pulled. They were so cool and stylish compared to Namuli and
her, whose parents were strict about modesty. They knew how to apply make up,
wear perfume and high heels, and they go to Cineplex with boys during holidays.
Namuli with her buttery skin, was pretty and confident like them though. It
made Anek think that maybe she too could be special, if she pulled.
those girls had pulled. They were so cool and stylish compared to Namuli and
her, whose parents were strict about modesty. They knew how to apply make up,
wear perfume and high heels, and they go to Cineplex with boys during holidays.
Namuli with her buttery skin, was pretty and confident like them though. It
made Anek think that maybe she too could be special, if she pulled.
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Sophie Alal
is a writer, poet and journalist. She lives and works in Kampala and publishes
at Deyu African,
a platform for sharing African and Diasporic arts and culture.
is a writer, poet and journalist. She lives and works in Kampala and publishes
at Deyu African,
a platform for sharing African and Diasporic arts and culture.
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What You Might Also Like In This Issue
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Short Fiction
Poetry
Spoken Word
