Today makes ten swimming lessons. Both Alice and Muna are able to tread water and do a basic dog paddle. They’ve stopped being afraid of getting their faces wet, or their noses full of water. Muna goes deep enough now that she can float, a look of sleepy bliss on her face. She says it’s the only time she’s really comfortable, when the weight of her baby doesn’t make her back ache and her feet sore. Her time is near, I think. Or at least, it seems impossible that her stomach could grow any bigger.
I had sort of expected that Muna wouldn’t want to go swimming after the attack on the bar. “We don’t have to do lessons today if you’re not up for it,” I’d said.
She hadn’t come back to class after I found her behind the gardener’s shed, but she was there the next day, quiet, with circles under her eyes.
“Why would I not be up for it?” she’d asked as we filed out of class.
“Well, because, I mean, the attack . . .”
Her chin had lifted, eyes flashing. “What about it? Just because some ciyaalsuuq fools want to cause chaos doesn’t mean I have to stop living my life. They don’t own me. If I want to go swimming, I’m going swimming.”
As she strode away, I hid a smile. For a second she had sounded just like my mother.
Looking around the shallows today, I can’t help but feel proud. Three other girls have joined the lessons by now, and they’ve all become pretty fair swimmers. Honestly, they’re way better than most of the Boys I tried to teach at the Fort. They actually listen to me, and don’t spend most of their time jumping around and trying to drown one another.
“Time to go!” Mama Lisa calls from the shore.
I follow the girls, watching Muna holding her skirt out at her sides so it doesn’t tangle around her ankles in the water. Everyone is in a good mood, excited by their progress. Even Adut, the South Sudanese girl who barely spoke a word the first time she came to lessons, is now animatedly discussing with a Congolese girl whether they should do the Twist-and-Shout Slide first or the Wild Wave Pool at Splash Land this weekend. They’re all excited about the field trip, if still a little nervous about passing the swim test.
“Bravo, ladies!” Mama Lisa says as we towel off. She beams, even at me.
“Ask her now,” Muna says under her breath.
“Okay, okay,” I say. I stall, fiddling with my shoes while the girls all go ahead. When Mama Lisa and I are the last ones left, I clear my throat.
She turns around. “Abdi! Well done. You are an excellent teacher. Where did you learn to swim?”
“My father taught me when I was little. He was a fisherman. Mama Lisa?”
“Yes?”
“The, um, the field trip to Splash Land— Um . . . I mean, is it possible . . .”
She slows her pace so the girls ahead can’t hear us. “You would like to go.”
“Yes, madam.” I sneak a glance at her.
“I’ve been thinking about that.” She stops and turns to give me the full measure of her stern gaze. “I have been watching you, making sure you keep your promise to be a gentleman.” She looks at Muna.
I see the look and feel my face burn. I’m still not sure what to say or even what to think about all that. What is it Mama Lisa sees to make her worry that I’ll make a move on Muna? I’ve been careful not to do anything I thought would be considered flirting.
Mama Lisa interrupts my confused thoughts. “You care for her.”
“Just as a friend, madam,” I say quickly.
She doesn’t say anything for a little while, and my hopes start to sink.
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,” she says softly, almost as if she’s talking to herself.
I cut my glance sideways, and she catches my eye. “You can come with us, Abdi.”
“I can?” A grin splits my face. “Thank you, Mama Lisa!”
“I’ll even talk to Sam about it. Maybe she’ll come too, as a chaperone.”
I feel like I could bounce off the sandy path and touch the treetops stretching above. Something about Sam tickles the back of my brain, but before I can figure out what it is, Mama Lisa is saying, “I really am proud of you for taking the initiative to help these girls learn how to swim. It’s not just a skill they’re learning. I see their confidence improving. Many of them were afraid of the water, and now they look forward to these lessons. It is a rare thing to be able to turn a fear into a source of strength. You’ve done well.”
Heat creeps up around my ears again, but this time it’s a pleasant feeling. Mama Lisa doesn’t dish out compliments lightly. “Thank you, madam.”
All at once the sun sparkling through the leaves and dancing across the dirt road seems extraordinarily beautiful. Birdsong fills the early evening air.
“We will be sad to see you go.”
My happiness pops like a balloon. “Go?”
“Abdi,” Mama Lisa says gently. “Soon you’ll have to go to a public school. You know that.”
“Yes, I guess so.” Of course I do. It’s just that after more than a month here I’d sort of put leaving Maisha out of my head.
“This is a center for girls. For a particular kind of girl.”
“Yes, madam.”
“You’ll like public school. You’ll meet boys your own age and make friends.” She smiles, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “But we will miss you just the same.”