the judge would have continued, ‘there you will be taken to a place of correction where the leg you so carelessly lost will be replaced and made as good as new. After that you are sentenced to school with extra geography lessons because you don’t know the difference between Iceland and Ireland!’
Yola would be away for nearly a year. She would spend two or three weeks in hospital while she was given her new leg, and then a whole year at a convent school belonging to Sister Martha’s order.
She leant back and looked up at the little patch of blue through the leaves above her and felt that she already had wings. She wanted to shout and tell her friends and to laugh and sing, but she wouldn’t. Father had taken her on a journey and trusted her. She decided that, when the time was right, she would give Sindu the remains of her geography book, all that is but one picture – her picture of the Eskimos, that she would probably keep forever.
Yola began to lead a double life. Inside the compound she was palpably in disgrace. Senior Mother seemed to be everywhere, like a watchful vulture ready to hop in at the slightest sign of trouble. Yola wanted to see Shimima, but she had always been busy when the girl had passed by. Then, a couple of days after her ‘trial’, she heard a voice calling.
‘Eheeeh? … Yola Abonda, I hear great things of you!’
Yola emerged from her hut, where she’d been bruising herself trying to sweep with one hand. Shimima, on her way to the well this time, had placed her great water jar beside the gate.Kasembi is a language meant for calling out, and Shimima had a fine, strong voice.
‘Ehee …!’ Yola called in return, but snipped it short; Senior Mother had appeared at the door of Father’s house and was glaring at the unfortunate Shimima. Yola abandoned her sweeping brush and swung her way down towards her friend, anxious to head off trouble and trying to force her face into some semblance of seriousness. She had to pass Senior Mother on the way; bright eyes watched from under hooded lids. Yola prayed that she would be allowed to pass when, in little more than a whisper, Senior Mother spoke.
‘I’m glad for you Yola, Shimima is a good girl. Go with her, but keep your laughter till later. Remember, here you are in disgrace.’
For a second the lowered lids lifted – a suggestion of a smile, but a warning glance as well. Yola knew better than to turn to see if Sindu was watching. She hung her head and allowed her crutches to drag in the dust like the wings of a wounded bird.
‘Heyee, Yola? Was she casting a spell on me?’
‘No, you are safe for now Shimima, but you will be turned into a toad if you make me laugh,’ said Yola, keeping her head down. ‘I’m in disgrace. Let’s go.’
Shimima adjusted the ring of cloth on her head and swung the empty pot into place while Yola led the way, still dragging her crutches. They turned a bend in the path and Yola asked, her voice still subdued, ‘Shimima, you turn and look, are we out of sight of home?’
Shimima turned gracefully under her pot. ‘Yes, but wha … Eyeee, careful Yola!’
Yola had thrown both crutches away and had both arms around her friend. ‘If we’re out of sight Shimima, I’m free, the spell is broken!’
But Shimima had both hands up, desperately holding on to her water pot. ‘Yola, I may have two legs, but I have a pot on my head – whatever about your spell the pot must not be broken !’ Yola hopped back while Shimima got control of her pot and rested it gently on the ground. ‘It belonged to my husband’s grandmother. Imagine if I dropped it!’
‘Oh, Shimima, I have so much to say. Let’s find somewhere to talk.’
They found a clearing in the bush a little off the path. Here the two girls talked and talked, sometimes seriously, sometimes laughing with their foreheads pressed together. In the end, Shimima knew all about Yola’s trial, about Mr Hans – how lovely he was – and how Yola was
Yola would be away for nearly a year. She would spend two or three weeks in hospital while she was given her new leg, and then a whole year at a convent school belonging to Sister Martha’s order.
She leant back and looked up at the little patch of blue through the leaves above her and felt that she already had wings. She wanted to shout and tell her friends and to laugh and sing, but she wouldn’t. Father had taken her on a journey and trusted her. She decided that, when the time was right, she would give Sindu the remains of her geography book, all that is but one picture – her picture of the Eskimos, that she would probably keep forever.
Yola began to lead a double life. Inside the compound she was palpably in disgrace. Senior Mother seemed to be everywhere, like a watchful vulture ready to hop in at the slightest sign of trouble. Yola wanted to see Shimima, but she had always been busy when the girl had passed by. Then, a couple of days after her ‘trial’, she heard a voice calling.
‘Eheeeh? … Yola Abonda, I hear great things of you!’
Yola emerged from her hut, where she’d been bruising herself trying to sweep with one hand. Shimima, on her way to the well this time, had placed her great water jar beside the gate.Kasembi is a language meant for calling out, and Shimima had a fine, strong voice.
‘Ehee …!’ Yola called in return, but snipped it short; Senior Mother had appeared at the door of Father’s house and was glaring at the unfortunate Shimima. Yola abandoned her sweeping brush and swung her way down towards her friend, anxious to head off trouble and trying to force her face into some semblance of seriousness. She had to pass Senior Mother on the way; bright eyes watched from under hooded lids. Yola prayed that she would be allowed to pass when, in little more than a whisper, Senior Mother spoke.
‘I’m glad for you Yola, Shimima is a good girl. Go with her, but keep your laughter till later. Remember, here you are in disgrace.’
For a second the lowered lids lifted – a suggestion of a smile, but a warning glance as well. Yola knew better than to turn to see if Sindu was watching. She hung her head and allowed her crutches to drag in the dust like the wings of a wounded bird.
‘Heyee, Yola? Was she casting a spell on me?’
‘No, you are safe for now Shimima, but you will be turned into a toad if you make me laugh,’ said Yola, keeping her head down. ‘I’m in disgrace. Let’s go.’
Shimima adjusted the ring of cloth on her head and swung the empty pot into place while Yola led the way, still dragging her crutches. They turned a bend in the path and Yola asked, her voice still subdued, ‘Shimima, you turn and look, are we out of sight of home?’
Shimima turned gracefully under her pot. ‘Yes, but wha … Eyeee, careful Yola!’
Yola had thrown both crutches away and had both arms around her friend. ‘If we’re out of sight Shimima, I’m free, the spell is broken!’
But Shimima had both hands up, desperately holding on to her water pot. ‘Yola, I may have two legs, but I have a pot on my head – whatever about your spell the pot must not be broken !’ Yola hopped back while Shimima got control of her pot and rested it gently on the ground. ‘It belonged to my husband’s grandmother. Imagine if I dropped it!’
‘Oh, Shimima, I have so much to say. Let’s find somewhere to talk.’
They found a clearing in the bush a little off the path. Here the two girls talked and talked, sometimes seriously, sometimes laughing with their foreheads pressed together. In the end, Shimima knew all about Yola’s trial, about Mr Hans – how lovely he was – and how Yola was
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