8.

MAKINDYE HILL

June 1989

“Didn’t I say that I wanted that girl removed before I left for work this morning?”

Suubi had walked into the pantry to get a glass from the shelves and get water from the fridge. She had been constantly thirsty all day. When she heard Mr. Kiyaga’s voice, she stopped. Someone has annoyed Daddy, she thought.

No answer came from his wife. Mr. Kiyaga carried on, “I don’t want her mixing with my children anymore. We now have three servants and that’s enough. Besides, you know that things have been disappearing since she arrived.”

“What do you want me to do,” now the wife’s voice came from further in the house, “throw her out on the streets? I took her back where I found her but her aunt had died. She doesn’t know her relations.”

“She’s lying. Where did she come from? How can she not remember where she came from?”

“Suubi was very young when she was abandoned and no one had seen any relations visiting. I can’t just send her away; she’s too young.”

“Then take her to the police.”

“And where will I say I found her?”

“You should’ve known she was underage when you employed her.”

“Like you came up with any options! I’ve put announcements on the radio. Someone will claim her.”

Someone is coming, run! Get out of the house before they see you!

“Here she is, Mummy. You’re not allowed in here. Go back where you came from. You are making Mummy and Daddy argue.”

“Yeah, they never quarrelled before you came.”

“Let’s go, Katiiti. We’re not supposed to talk to her.”

What are you smiling about, Suubi?

I am happy.

Shhh, they’ll see you talking to yourself.

I have my own bedroom in the boys’ quarters, I mean the annex. Daddy says that “Boys’ quarters” is a colonial word. I like “Annex,” it is an educated word. The annex is not really bad. Mukasa the shamba boy who doubles as our askari at night sleeps in one room. Daddy says that Mukasa is not a “shamba boy,” another colonial word, but the gardener. Mutono, our ayah and Naiti, who is our cook, all sleep in the annex. I’ll lie down for the rest of the day . . . some children in Africa go without food. I’ve seen them on TV.

Now you’re properly unhinged. Stop calling him “Daddy.” He’s not your father. What were you thinking sneaking back into their house? You’ve been told to stay in the boys’ quarters until your relatives come to claim you.

It is the annex and I was thirsty. I think a headache is coming on.

You could have waited for Naiti to bring your food and asked for water but no, you must be in their house. Now you’ve set him off.

It’s the servants: they won’t even let me touch a book, they’re terrible. Before they came everything was fine. Naiti hates bringing food to me. Oh, I told her that her name is spelt N-i-g-h-t: she didn’t know. How ignorant! I think she’s been telling lies about me and turned the family against me. That’s why everyone has changed suddenly. Before the servants came, everyone loved me.

They asked you to leave the house because you stole things from the children, you wore their clothes, and you kept calling them Mummy and Daddy.

You make things up. I slept in that big beautiful house and watched films and listened to music. I read a lot of beautiful books and I was very, very happy.

Remember when Mrs. Kiyaga took you back to the Palace? You cried all the way. The landlady wouldn’t have you back because Kulata is dead.

I’ll go back to school! I’ll catch up. I brought my books and uniform with me. Now I understand why Mummy gave me all this money. It’s to buy things I need for school. I need a pair of shoes, socks, knickers, another uniform, a school bag, books, and pens. It’s a long way to school but if I set off at five-thirty in the morning, by eight I will be in Old Kampala. It’s seven or eight miles away but from Makindye to Ndeeba is rolling down hill, from Ndeeba to Namirembe Road is a flat straight walk, the only climb, Namirembe Road, past the mosque and I am at school. When I bring home a good school report, they will forgive me, they will love me again, wait and see. There is a funny taste in my mouth. I am so tired I want to sleep.

That money was your pay. Save it. Find another job and save some more. In the end, find a market stall and sell second-hand clothes while you wait to find a man and marry.

What is that itching up my leg?

The scar, you got it when you were abducted: the only mark you’ve failed to erase.

You lie: I have never been abducted. Suubi was almost screaming now. Stop coming to me.

And so Babirye did.

When Suubi sat down on her bed, tiredness spread all over her body like a wave. She felt like lying down but instead picked up a magazine she had already read and flipped through the pages. In the end, she lay on top of her bed and felt pains in her neck. She remembered that she had felt similar pains earlier in the day. Perhaps her head had slipped off the pillow awkwardly the night before. She put down the magazine and closed her eyes.

A wave of shivers hit her. They gripped her skin first and then exploded like fireworks of chilled tiny darts leaving a spread of goose pimples. She held her arms across her chest as if to trap the fleeing heat. She looked outside to see whether rain was coming. There were no clouds. She rocked her body to regenerate heat.

She was leaving the toilet for the third time that evening—the problem with drinking a lot of water—when the shivers launched another attack. This time, they crept right through the skin, through the flesh, into the bones and froze the marrow. By the time she got to her room, her legs were numb and her teeth chattered. Curiously, the three steps to her room seemed higher. Her chest was hot. As she reached for the doorframe to steady herself, hot tears started to stream down her face, yet she was not crying.

She got into bed and coiled tighter than a poked millipede. Still her body shuddered. Her breath was fiery so she breathed into her hands, which were icy. Then she grew hot and threw the blanket off. The T-shirt she wore was drenched in sweat. Her heart raced so fast she heard it pumping in her head. She tried to get up and take off her T-shirt but a new onslaught of chills overwhelmed her and she sank back into bed. It started all over again; the burning in her eyes, in her mouth, on her breath, and in her feet. Yet her skin was covered in goose pimples and her bed was icy. She stretched, pushing her legs as far away as they could go, arching her chest, and pulling her head up and away from her shoulders. As soon as she snapped back, she shivered again. Cold hands touched her and she jumped.

“She is burning.”

Naiti’s eyes were estranged from her face. At first they floated in the air. Then suddenly they darted here, there, like insects. Then they multiplied and grew bigger. They started to menace. They were coming for her, forming more eyes, growing larger. They dashed like millions of bats, screaming. Now the eyes surrounded her and then lost shape. They were a thing but were still eyes and millions of them but the thing was leaping.

She sat up, gulping for air.

All the servants were in her room. They stared. Their stares were worried. Naiti was talking.

“What is it? Why did you scream?”

“Your eyes; they are fine now but they tried to kill me.”

She collapsed back in bed. She intended to keep her eyes open and look out for the eyes but then she was sitting up in bed. Naiti knelt beside her.

“You screamed again.”

“I did not. I was awake,” but she was breathless as if she had been running.

She must have fallen asleep again, for next she felt a wet towel on her forehead and she winced.

“Shhhh, you’re burning.” Naiti kept wetting the towel to keep it cold.

Soon the pounding in her head ceased but then she shivered and turned on her side. Then she curled up and covered her head. At that point she felt layers and layers of blankets piling on top of her.

“Aren’t you people supposed to be in the house?” she asked the servants. They looked at her.

“It’s only me, Naiti.”

“I thought I saw all of you.” There was silence and she added, “Thanks for staying with me, Naiti.”

She was woken up. Mrs. Kiyaga was shaking her. The room was crowded with a lot of people but there were no screaming eyes. The sun had come down into her room: she shielded her eyes from it. Mrs. Kiyaga whispered something to Naiti. Then she bent down and smiled.

“How are you, Suubi?”

Suubi looked at the woman: it was the stupidest question.

“You are Suubi, aren’t you?”

Suubi nodded her head.

“Who am I?” the woman asked.

What’s wrong with her? But she said politely, “Mrs. Kiyaga.”

“Right, let’s get you out of here.”

She and Naiti held Suubi’s underarms and hoisted her up. When she stood up she tottered. Mrs. Kiyaga held her with both hands as Naiti put a thick jacket around her. Mrs. Kiyaga laughed, “You’re surprisingly heavy.”

Suubi smiled at being called heavy. She held both Mrs. Kiyaga and Naiti around their shoulders and they held her around the waist.

“When did you start feeling like this?” Mrs. Kiyaga asked as they walked out of the annex toward the large house. It was night. Suubi wondered where the sun in her room had gone. She looked back; her room was dark. “Suubi,” Mrs. Kiyaga spoke again. “When did the fever start?”

“An hour ago. Where has the sun gone?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

“Oh. Around four or five or six.”

“Have you eaten anything since?”

Shook her head.

“Would you like to eat something?”

Shook her head.

“Something to drink maybe?”

God, keep quiet! The voice sliced through her head.

Shook her head.

“Can we rest awhile please?” Suubi asked. They were halfway to the house.

“Come on. You’re a strong girl; I’ll let you rest when we get to the house.”

They climbed the steps to the house into the kitchen. It was a long way to the bedrooms. When she finally got to bed, Mrs. Kiyaga told her not to lie down yet. She gave her two Panadols and water. Naiti brought a jar of juice, a glass, and a side table. Suubi shook her head.

“You will drink a glass!” Mrs. Kiyaga was stern. “You are not going to lie down until you’ve drunk.”

Tears came into Suubi’s eyes as she poured passionfruit juice mixed with pineapple down her throat. She was not sure why she was crying but she could not stop herself. Everyone around her was whispering.

“Don’t fuss; I am supposed to be dying.”

She fell back into bed and slept.

She was woken up again. One of Kula’s dresses was laid out on the bed. Naiti was shaking her. Suubi had never seen Naiti being consistently nice to her.

“Get dressed.”

“That is Kulabako’s dress.”

“She said you can wear it. Here, let me help you get dressed. They are taking you to hospital.”

“What will they do when I die?” she whispered to Naiti.

“Shhh, don’t say things like that!”

“Everyone says,” her teeth were chattering again. “They say that I cannot live because I am too skinny.”

“Stop talking: the fever has gone to your head.”

When she was done, Suubi fell back into bed. Then Mr. and Mrs. Kiyaga were holding her—was she sure it was them, really? They were walking her to the Volvo. She fell asleep on the back seat. Next they were helping her out of the car. Next there were the blasted stairs again to climb. She sat on a bench but decided to lie down. Before she had caught her breath, a nurse came and helped her up. If only they would realize how tired I am!

“Come with me,” the nurse says, and she holds her around the waist.

They come to a large room divided into small cubicles using plasterboard. The first one has a microscope and a table lamp but they walk past it before she sees anything else. In the next one, the curtain is closed. They walk into the third one. It is cold in this one. The nurse turns on the light and it is too bright. There is a long narrow plastic bed propped high, right in the middle of the room. A sharp smell of aspirin mixed with other medicines pervades the air. The nurse shakes a thermometer violently, now peering at it intently, now shaking again. Finally, she sticks it under Suubi’s arm. A man comes in. He takes a needle out of a wrap and says, “I am going to take a drop of blood; just a prick.”

But there is no time to negotiate with him, for he grabs Suubi’s middle finger on the right hand. He presses the ball so hard that it has gone red and then he pricks, the monster! He has picked up a glass slide and is rubbing drops of blood on it. When he is done he presses a cotton swab on the finger and takes the slide to another room.

“You can lie back on the bed now.” It is the nurse’s turn to do things.

Suubi’s eyes are closed tight as the nurse pulls up her dress. The cold metal of the stethoscope darts then stops and she listens. Then it moves lower, listening and searching the chest and the stomach. Then the nurse taps her belly and listens as if searching for ripening jackfruit. Afterwards, she pulls the thermometer out from her underarm.

“Forty degrees!” she says to Mrs. Kiyaga and walks out.

Suubi falls asleep. Mrs. Kiyaga watches her.

“It is the falciparum strain, Mrs. Kiyaga.” The nurse is back. “That is why it went to her head. Other than that there is nothing wrong with her. Of course we can do more tests if you want.”

Suubi does not open her eyes, but she can hear the punishment for being 40-degrees hot and having the falciparum strain of malaria prepared. First, there is the crinkling of polythene paper and then tearing. She is getting the needle. More tearing. She is getting the syringe. Something thin, metallic touches a metal bowl. Then the sucking sound: The needle is sucking medicine from the little bottle, then tapping on the syringe, to get rid of the bubbles. Suubi cannot bear the silent torture any longer and she opens her eyes. A long, thick needle, pointed in the air. The nurse pushes the medicine up the syringe to get rid of the bubbles; she squirts the excess in the air.

“Can’t I have tablets instead?”

“No, I am afraid not.”

“Don’t get me wrong; it’s not that I fear injections. I hate them.” Tears are coming again.

“I am glad to hear that because I am going to give you two.”

“Oh, why?” Mrs. Kiyaga asks.

“Her temperature is too high to leave it to tablets to bring it down in the case of cerebral malaria. The first injection will bring the temperature down and when it is low I will give her quinine. Chloroquine won’t work on this strain and it causes terrible itching.”

The injection lies in a bean-shaped metallic bowl like a giant engorged mosquito. Suubi rolls over. She is weeping shamelessly. Mrs. Kiyaga holds her hand.

“I’m allergic to quinine.” Suubi tries one last attempt. She had heard people say that at the Palace.

“Everyone is allergic to quinine, child. Now, if you’ll turn around; we don’t have all day.”

Suubi swears not to embarrass herself any further. But as the cold swab cleans that part of her buttock, she clenches the muscle. The nurse stops.

“Relax the muscle. If you clench it will take longer and it will make it more painful.”

A short, piercing pain is followed by an intense burning. Suubi squirms. The needle is out. The nurse massages the spot. She gives her two Panadols as well to swallow.

Suubi was not sure what was worse: quinine or malaria. The shivers had ceased, so had the retching, but her head was spinning. Her tongue felt swollen and numb. She did not taste the juice she drank. Food was still out of the question. In any case, the fever had burned her lips so badly that they had burst into sores like blisters. The ringing in her ears was incessant and she was partially deaf in her right ear. Her stomach was an empty room and wind whirled from one end to another. She was still weak and stayed in bed for most of the time. In the evening, the children came in and said hallo and stared and smiled. And Mr. Kiyaga, in his gruff way, said she had to eat because she did not have any weight to lose. And put that cream on those lips! He put it on the table. And Kula gave her a lot of her clothes she did not wear anymore and Naiti helped her to the bathroom.

When Suubi recovered and went back to eating at the table with the family, and everyone made sure she ate properly, and she was not sent back to the annex with the servants and she wore what used to be Kula’s dresses, she decided that her parents had returned from London. One morning, she woke up early and walked back to Old Kampala Primary. She told the headmistress that she had been unwell and joined the primary seven class. At the end of the term when she brought home a fantastic school report, her parents could not believe that a child could walk so many miles to school and still manage to study so well. “Katama, Kula, Katiiti, look at this report!” Mummy said to Suubi’s spoiled siblings.

There is nothing that parents love more than a child who brings home a fantastic school report.