I looked at the face staring back at me. The
difference between the other kids and I were barely visible. You could
only say that it was so if you countsomeone having different hair and a
different nose or even skin which islighter than others. But I am not
different. My hair is long and curly and mynose not so broad but neither
is Hannah’s.
Hannah,the most popular girl at school can command an army of boys to do chores forher and even carry out the punishments which our teachers set her. The boys would gather around her at break time each campaigning for a moment of her time even if this meant slaving away in the basking heat of the October sun. Hannahwas not considered a mu coloured despite her fair skin and smooth hair. No she was fully integrated into the school society to which my inclusion was fully debatable. Yet I was still a threat to her.
After a few attempts at making my life a living misery at school by pinching me everytime I raised my hand to answer a question, Hannah decided it would be in herbest interests to plant me in her girl squad for which I could not be botheredto be a part of for my world would never be like hers. I was used to playing with boys since I was a baby. My brother Chisanga and I play football with hisfriends or spend time stealing mangos from other people’s houses on our wayback from school. Mrs Mwalubemba, my class teacher’s home is the most victimized. It has no wall fence but a gap in the wire fence begs for little rascals to clamber up the trees and leave only the mukoli (mango seed) for her.Her dog danger is anything but. He normally lies there on her cobra polishedveranda glad for the company he gets from us. It is not until late in theafternoon after we are long gone that Mrs Mwalubemba emerges from school. This is our way of revenging all those unnecessary punishments accorded to us.
I brush my hair back quickly and tie it into a tight ponytail. It is almost 6:30and Janet will be here soon to walk to school with me. My uniform is ironed andmy shoes polished to perfection. The only thing missing is my homework which is maths. My brother Chisanga should be able to help me out with that. I have noknowledge of Mathematics whatsoever and I am too spoilt to care. Papa will letme off the hook if I put my best face forward and convince him that in fact myhead tortures me so much that I surely cannot concentrate. He is normally fine with this excuse on a good day provided my English homework and French are excellent. No problem there. They come naturally.
‘Shey Shey!!! Are you ready? You need to come and eat your breakfast!’ Mama calls from the kitchen. I grab my new purple Japan school bag and head on down thehallway to the kitchen. Chisanga is almost done and waiting impatiently for me to finish. Ba Clara is also in the kitchen. She normally rises early at 5am todo the chores around the house, a task which she most detests. Her face isalways very long towards me in the morning because I am not required to doanything.
‘Ah mwana wangu’ Mama says coming to smack a huge kiss on my cheek. Morning is thebest time because I know I have her full attention before the termites of the town take over our compound. ‘You look very mwah! But you need to hurry up andeat OK’. I smile and nod at Mama but God knows I hate porridge.
'I hope you have done your homework this week little lady. Not like last time when you came to running to me for help at break time!' or I could just fake that I have forgotten it at home and face the disgraceful punishment of lifting bricks fora few minutes that my now toned arms have become accustomed to. Of course Ihave not done my homework!
'Oh man!Chis can you not just help me? You know I hate maths. Besides what is the point of having a big brother at school if you cannot look out for me?' I whine eventhough we both know he cannot protect me when it comes to bullies. He is a huge ladies man but he is a big coward with fights and can barely stand the sight of blood. Good thing we do not knock each other out at school.
'I thought you might say that so….I came up with a plan. You know your play mumSharon?'
'Ofcourse I know her. I am stupid in maths, not generally stupid' I say takingslight offence.
'Well you could write her a letter and tell her am into her….you know that I likeher'
'ooooohhChis and Sharon sitting in a tree….erhm wait that would make you my play dad.Eeeew gross no way I am already considered a freak enough as it is without yourhelp thanks.'
'Shekinah come on they only make fun of you because you have something they don't have.Long hair. Have you seen how long it has taken for Clara just to grow hers? Youare our little angel now write that letter…no go and get your water ready and bath then sort that letter out ok?'
I love my brother. He was the only one that cared enough to come to my rescue whenever someone taunted me. He was alsoevery ones best friend but without fail, I was first in his world. I was his only little sister. Sure we had Clara (Ba Clara) as she insists on beingaddressed but somehow she and Chisanga do not click very much. Probably because Ba Clara is a bit bossy and a bully. She will get us to do all the unpleasant chores when Mama is not around and eat the fattest piece of chicken. On top ofthat she was already sobolaling (eating) from the pot when cooking but we couldnot say anything or else 'tamwalye pa 16:00 hours' she would warn whilst wagging a cooking stick in our faces.
'Iwe ka Shey, you still haven't finished ay? Kanshi why do you behave like this? You are spoilt and so lazy! No one is going to marry you at this rate! You act like we claimed all the blackness in this family! You need to be a little less mwenye.' Ba Clara shouts at the sight that I have not yet finished my food.
'And whosaid she was being married off?' Papa's big voice interrupts from the doorintercepting the kitchen and the dining room. He is a big man our papa with abelly huge enough to hide little children in for hide and seek. He is in hispyjama trousers and has no shirt on leaving his belly to glisten in the rays oflight coming in. His hair is greying but cleverly disguised using the blackstuff he puts in his hair. I think it is shoe polish but whenever I ask Chisanga, he just laughs and says it is none of my business. Papa walks over tome smoothing back a loose curl. 'Stop planting that foolishness in my baby’s head Clara do you hear? She is turning 11 this month and has no business contemplating marriage. Just do your chores'. He may not be my real father, but he is far better for I cannot fathom why my real father would have abandoned me. Rumour has it Mama had an affair. Whatever that is. Then she married Papa.
I quickly get up thankful at the sight of Janet at the door. Chisanga comes along too with his friend keeping a good enough distance to make sure we are notknocked over by cars. Soon as we reach the school gates we discover that we are 5 minutes late. The prefect has just locked the gates and we are excluded outside as late comers. Mrs Mwalubemba patrols the parade with a stick in herhands ready for the smacking to ensue. It is almost as though she lives for it.I don’t see why she even needs those high shoes when she is already taller than my Mama and word has it that when you are very naughty, that heel could wellland on your head.
With my complexion, that is not a fate I am willing to endure. Mrs Mwalubemba thrives off children’s blood. I normally escape this thanks to Sharon but I can alreadysense that today is not going to be my lucky day and normally when this feelinghits me, it is usually correct. Sharon usually says that I should not thinkthis way because God does not like it. That if I think a certain way, things will come true even if they are bad. I try to block the thought out of my head but it is a tough process. Mrs Mwalubemba stops at the front of the parade andstarts up the national anthem. Even we who are outside must stand at attentionand sing
‘Stand and sing of Zambia proud and free. Landofreck and joy in unity….’ We sing at the tops of our lungs as proudly as we can despite singing the lyrics wrong. At the end of the song Mrs Mwalubemba marches around ordering punishments to those with long nails, those with badhaircuts, those with the wrong pair of socks on (this includes anyone who hasone sock a darker shade of grey than the other) and the girls who have permed hair. The prefects excited to show their diligence, promptly take down the names of everyone from grade 1 to 7. They all march to their classrooms afterhaving their names taken down then the attention is turned to us late comers.
‘So Mwelwa, you think just because you are coloured you can come to school late?!’
‘Don’t talk to her like that Robert! What does that have to do with anything?’ my brother defends. Janet stands next to me holding onto the straps of her schoolbag. She is trembling and I pray to God she does not pee her pants otherwise this will not end at all well for us. She is the only girl in school with whom I can relate. Robert smirks at my brother. Nobody likes him. He normally feeds off the vampire meals that Mrs Mwalubemba leaves after sucking us dry.
‘All of you must remain after school and pick litter’ he says at the top of his voice.‘You must start from block A until the headmasters office then report back tome so I can mark off your names. After that you have to come back for maintenance’. Is he serious? That is more chores than I can handle in thisheat. Janet starts to cry but is threatened to lift blocks so she sniffs her snarling mucus back and wipes her tears. We walk silently to class fearing yet another punishment from Mrs Mwalubemba. She is bound to give us her own dosage because now we are late for class. The blood is soon to spill as the witch awaits.
Hannah,the most popular girl at school can command an army of boys to do chores forher and even carry out the punishments which our teachers set her. The boys would gather around her at break time each campaigning for a moment of her time even if this meant slaving away in the basking heat of the October sun. Hannahwas not considered a mu coloured despite her fair skin and smooth hair. No she was fully integrated into the school society to which my inclusion was fully debatable. Yet I was still a threat to her.
After a few attempts at making my life a living misery at school by pinching me everytime I raised my hand to answer a question, Hannah decided it would be in herbest interests to plant me in her girl squad for which I could not be botheredto be a part of for my world would never be like hers. I was used to playing with boys since I was a baby. My brother Chisanga and I play football with hisfriends or spend time stealing mangos from other people’s houses on our wayback from school. Mrs Mwalubemba, my class teacher’s home is the most victimized. It has no wall fence but a gap in the wire fence begs for little rascals to clamber up the trees and leave only the mukoli (mango seed) for her.Her dog danger is anything but. He normally lies there on her cobra polishedveranda glad for the company he gets from us. It is not until late in theafternoon after we are long gone that Mrs Mwalubemba emerges from school. This is our way of revenging all those unnecessary punishments accorded to us.
I brush my hair back quickly and tie it into a tight ponytail. It is almost 6:30and Janet will be here soon to walk to school with me. My uniform is ironed andmy shoes polished to perfection. The only thing missing is my homework which is maths. My brother Chisanga should be able to help me out with that. I have noknowledge of Mathematics whatsoever and I am too spoilt to care. Papa will letme off the hook if I put my best face forward and convince him that in fact myhead tortures me so much that I surely cannot concentrate. He is normally fine with this excuse on a good day provided my English homework and French are excellent. No problem there. They come naturally.
‘Shey Shey!!! Are you ready? You need to come and eat your breakfast!’ Mama calls from the kitchen. I grab my new purple Japan school bag and head on down thehallway to the kitchen. Chisanga is almost done and waiting impatiently for me to finish. Ba Clara is also in the kitchen. She normally rises early at 5am todo the chores around the house, a task which she most detests. Her face isalways very long towards me in the morning because I am not required to doanything.
‘Ah mwana wangu’ Mama says coming to smack a huge kiss on my cheek. Morning is thebest time because I know I have her full attention before the termites of the town take over our compound. ‘You look very mwah! But you need to hurry up andeat OK’. I smile and nod at Mama but God knows I hate porridge.
'I hope you have done your homework this week little lady. Not like last time when you came to running to me for help at break time!' or I could just fake that I have forgotten it at home and face the disgraceful punishment of lifting bricks fora few minutes that my now toned arms have become accustomed to. Of course Ihave not done my homework!
'Oh man!Chis can you not just help me? You know I hate maths. Besides what is the point of having a big brother at school if you cannot look out for me?' I whine eventhough we both know he cannot protect me when it comes to bullies. He is a huge ladies man but he is a big coward with fights and can barely stand the sight of blood. Good thing we do not knock each other out at school.
'I thought you might say that so….I came up with a plan. You know your play mumSharon?'
'Ofcourse I know her. I am stupid in maths, not generally stupid' I say takingslight offence.
'Well you could write her a letter and tell her am into her….you know that I likeher'
'ooooohhChis and Sharon sitting in a tree….erhm wait that would make you my play dad.Eeeew gross no way I am already considered a freak enough as it is without yourhelp thanks.'
'Shekinah come on they only make fun of you because you have something they don't have.Long hair. Have you seen how long it has taken for Clara just to grow hers? Youare our little angel now write that letter…no go and get your water ready and bath then sort that letter out ok?'
I love my brother. He was the only one that cared enough to come to my rescue whenever someone taunted me. He was alsoevery ones best friend but without fail, I was first in his world. I was his only little sister. Sure we had Clara (Ba Clara) as she insists on beingaddressed but somehow she and Chisanga do not click very much. Probably because Ba Clara is a bit bossy and a bully. She will get us to do all the unpleasant chores when Mama is not around and eat the fattest piece of chicken. On top ofthat she was already sobolaling (eating) from the pot when cooking but we couldnot say anything or else 'tamwalye pa 16:00 hours' she would warn whilst wagging a cooking stick in our faces.
'Iwe ka Shey, you still haven't finished ay? Kanshi why do you behave like this? You are spoilt and so lazy! No one is going to marry you at this rate! You act like we claimed all the blackness in this family! You need to be a little less mwenye.' Ba Clara shouts at the sight that I have not yet finished my food.
'And whosaid she was being married off?' Papa's big voice interrupts from the doorintercepting the kitchen and the dining room. He is a big man our papa with abelly huge enough to hide little children in for hide and seek. He is in hispyjama trousers and has no shirt on leaving his belly to glisten in the rays oflight coming in. His hair is greying but cleverly disguised using the blackstuff he puts in his hair. I think it is shoe polish but whenever I ask Chisanga, he just laughs and says it is none of my business. Papa walks over tome smoothing back a loose curl. 'Stop planting that foolishness in my baby’s head Clara do you hear? She is turning 11 this month and has no business contemplating marriage. Just do your chores'. He may not be my real father, but he is far better for I cannot fathom why my real father would have abandoned me. Rumour has it Mama had an affair. Whatever that is. Then she married Papa.
I quickly get up thankful at the sight of Janet at the door. Chisanga comes along too with his friend keeping a good enough distance to make sure we are notknocked over by cars. Soon as we reach the school gates we discover that we are 5 minutes late. The prefect has just locked the gates and we are excluded outside as late comers. Mrs Mwalubemba patrols the parade with a stick in herhands ready for the smacking to ensue. It is almost as though she lives for it.I don’t see why she even needs those high shoes when she is already taller than my Mama and word has it that when you are very naughty, that heel could wellland on your head.
With my complexion, that is not a fate I am willing to endure. Mrs Mwalubemba thrives off children’s blood. I normally escape this thanks to Sharon but I can alreadysense that today is not going to be my lucky day and normally when this feelinghits me, it is usually correct. Sharon usually says that I should not thinkthis way because God does not like it. That if I think a certain way, things will come true even if they are bad. I try to block the thought out of my head but it is a tough process. Mrs Mwalubemba stops at the front of the parade andstarts up the national anthem. Even we who are outside must stand at attentionand sing
‘Stand and sing of Zambia proud and free. Landofreck and joy in unity….’ We sing at the tops of our lungs as proudly as we can despite singing the lyrics wrong. At the end of the song Mrs Mwalubemba marches around ordering punishments to those with long nails, those with badhaircuts, those with the wrong pair of socks on (this includes anyone who hasone sock a darker shade of grey than the other) and the girls who have permed hair. The prefects excited to show their diligence, promptly take down the names of everyone from grade 1 to 7. They all march to their classrooms afterhaving their names taken down then the attention is turned to us late comers.
‘So Mwelwa, you think just because you are coloured you can come to school late?!’
‘Don’t talk to her like that Robert! What does that have to do with anything?’ my brother defends. Janet stands next to me holding onto the straps of her schoolbag. She is trembling and I pray to God she does not pee her pants otherwise this will not end at all well for us. She is the only girl in school with whom I can relate. Robert smirks at my brother. Nobody likes him. He normally feeds off the vampire meals that Mrs Mwalubemba leaves after sucking us dry.
‘All of you must remain after school and pick litter’ he says at the top of his voice.‘You must start from block A until the headmasters office then report back tome so I can mark off your names. After that you have to come back for maintenance’. Is he serious? That is more chores than I can handle in thisheat. Janet starts to cry but is threatened to lift blocks so she sniffs her snarling mucus back and wipes her tears. We walk silently to class fearing yet another punishment from Mrs Mwalubemba. She is bound to give us her own dosage because now we are late for class. The blood is soon to spill as the witch awaits.
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