Fruuuumm, fruum – the sound of Mama’s long broom raking the dry leaves woke you every school morning. She did not give you chores except on weekends so you would not be late for school. At the edge of the compound, Papa’s chewing stick hung in the corner of his mouth. He liked to stand with his chest bare, confronting the cool morning breeze.
The chilly water shocked your skin pores and you quickly lathered your body, rinsed and hurried back into the room you shared with your sister. Maryam’s mouth was slightly open and a dribble of saliva patterned her pillow. Just as you pulled on your tights, the black one, Mama got for you when you began to see red every month, Mama thundered into the room. Continue reading
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