Chapter 8

January arrived with its rains and its new school term. I was now in Class Eight.

The excitement of being one class higher seemed to have infected almost everyone. And my spirits were feeling especially light thanks to the slight improvement in Baba. Just maybe Baba was going to get well.

To prepare for the upcoming national exams, those in Class Eight were expected to be at school no later than six in the morning, two hours before school started. I didn’t mind at all. Most of us couldn’t do much deep studying at home. Many of our homes had poor lighting, and it was hard to stay focused when we were surrounded by family members and chores. During morning study time at school, we had a bright lantern and plenty of quiet space. I loved being able to concentrate on learning—loved being one step closer to high school.

One day, nearly all the Class Seven boys were late getting back to class after recess. They’d been lost in their game of soccer and hadn’t heard the bell. After school, the boys were ordered to sweep the school compound yard—a girl’s chore—as punishment.

While the boys worked, Magi placed her hands on her curvy hips and called the other girls over to plot something. I didn’t feel like joining them, and Abeth and I hung back, resting for a moment before heading home. Suddenly the huddle broke as Magi swooshed around and yelled, “Hey, we would like to see which boy is brave enough to talk to the tough Auma Onyango!”

All the other girls joined in with a loud “Yes, yes!”

“Why would they choose me?” I whispered to Abeth.

“Because you’re always so sharp and serious whenever boys are around,” she murmured back. “They want the boys to have a challenge.”

“Magi,” I shot back, “tell me if you know any boy who will climb trees and go to the stream and collect firewood with me. Let me know if there’s a boy who would do my chores for me if I was sick, without complaining. I will have that boy as my boyfriend.”

I couldn’t even believe I’d said the word boyfriend. My neighbor Sussie had always said that once you had a boyfriend, you had to sleep with him to confirm your commitment to him. I wasn’t sure why it had to happen. But I knew Mama would kill me if she even suspected me of fooling around with any boy.

“Let’s wait and see,” Magi answered. “One will try to talk to you soon, and I want to be there to see it.”

“Look!” said Teresa, jumping up and down with delight. “Abuya is coming for you, Auma!”

I looked up and my heart began to race. If it were anyone but Abuya, deciding what to do would have been easier. Abuya was the only boy who asked me how Abeth was doing when she wasn’t at school, and asked if I was doing all right. In a way, he wasn’t as boyish as the others. He was more thoughtful, more considerate. Like Baba.

I realized in that moment that I’d left my composition book inside the classroom and darted back inside to get it, pretending I hadn’t seen him heading my way. When I returned to the door, Abuya blocked my path.

“You can’t leave,” he said, his eyes looking right into mine. I made the terrible, terrible mistake of looking right back into his eyes. I thought my chest would burst open. He looked so nervous and so determined at the same time, and underneath all that I still saw a hint of his usual gentleness.

“I need to go home, Abuya. Let me pass,” I managed to say.

He stood before me with his chest thrust out and his feet planted squarely in the doorway. What did he think he was proving? Didn’t he know I had liked him precisely because he didn’t act tough and manly? “Auma, I’ve tried to make friends with you for a long time, and you don’t even want to talk to me. Today, will you please talk to me, Auma?”

Abeth called out, “Abuya, that’s enough! Stop bothering Auma!”

She had no idea how I felt about Abuya.

By now a group of other Class Eight students were huddled outside, watching and listening. “Auma, just be his girlfriend. We know you want to!” Magi shouted.

“Say you’ll be my girlfriend and I’ll move out of the way,” Abuya said, moving toward me while the other kids laughed. He moved close enough that I could smell his sweat.

My resolve returned. With all the force I could muster, I pushed him out of my way.

And then I took off running.

Abuya came after me. I realized that if I didn’t drop my heavy book bag, he was going to catch me. I flung it down as I dashed toward the gate. I could hear Abuya panting at my heels, so I turned and ran straight into the crowd of students. I zigzagged between them, hoping Abuya would give up, but he kept up with my speed. With track season not yet started and with the busy life at home, I was out of practice.

Part of me was screaming that I should stop and just let him catch up to me. But I didn’t. I kept on winding back and forth as students from other classes stopped to watch. Some thought we were just playing a game, so they began to cheer.

“Auma, Auma!” they chanted.

Most of the boys were taunting Abuya, rather than cheering him on.

“Man, if you don’t catch that girl you’re chicken. Catch her!” they yelled.

I knew that to save my reputation, and maybe even my dignity, I had to outrun him. I left the crowd and made for the gate that led to the shopping center. I realized that if I kept going straight, I would end up in the middle of the shopping center parking lot, and I could easily get hit by a speeding car.

Abruptly, I circled a massive tree that was growing out of a rise in the road and dashed back toward the school gate. I flew down the steep slope as fast as lightning, distancing myself nicely from Abuya. I checked over my shoulder and it seemed he was slowing down. I was smiling at my luck when wham!

The ground rushed up to my face, and I found myself spitting out a mouthful of dirt. I heard a group of girls rushing toward me, calling out, but my vision was blurred.

“Auma, are you okay? Let us help you get up.”

I shook my head to clear my vision, only to see a huge cloud of dust settling, as if there had been an explosion. I nodded and extended my arms to let them lift me up. As I winced, crystals of dirt gritted between my teeth. My dress and skin were caked in dirt, like a traditional dancer painted for a funeral ceremony.

“You’re bleeding!” somebody exclaimed.

It was Abeth. She arrived as the other girls were helping me to my feet. My book bag was slung over her shoulder. She must’ve stopped to pick it up after I dropped it.

I was out of breath but tried my best to sound normal. My heart was pounding in my throat like the sound of the funeral drums, steadily beating every time another death was announced in Koromo.

“Blood on your knee, your elbow . . . and here on your shoulder,” Abeth said as she checked me all over. That’s when she saw a spot of blood on my dress and gasped. I figured I had been cut down there, too, although I couldn’t feel any specific pain. My entire body ached.

I held onto Abeth to support my trembling body. I was hurting so badly that I thought I was going to collapse.

“I will be fine,” I lied.

“Let’s get you home,” said Abeth.

“Where’s Abuya?” I asked, holding onto Abeth’s shoulder as I limped. Anger welled up in my chest. This was all his fault.

“He walked that way,” she said, pointing toward a small path near the side of the school compound. “Don’t even worry about him.” Abeth glanced at my dress again, with a worried look. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

Most of the students had seen the race, and they’d also seen me fall. They gave way as I limped past them. Some were asking exactly what happened. Others expressed their sympathy: “Mos, mos.”

I whispered, so no one could hear, “I don’t know how I’ll make it home, Abeth!” Holding onto Abeth’s shoulder, I began to cry. My body ached. But more than that: I had made a fool of myself in front of the whole school, and my embarrassment was worse than the wounds on my knees.

Eventually we stopped at a small pond that had formed after the rains. Abeth sat me down on a huge rock that stuck up out of the edge of the pond. She reached for a soft hairy leaf and used it to wipe my wounds. “This will soothe the pain and slow the bleeding.”

She squeezed the leaf until it was bruised. She dipped it in the water and wiped my knee and elbow as I continued to cry.

“Thanks,” I said, wiping away my tears. “It feels better.”

“There, get up, let’s go home.” As she helped me hobble along, she asked, “Why did you run?”

More tears welled up in my eyes. “Abeth, I will not be anyone’s girlfriend. Don’t you see he was forcing me?”

“You know Auma, if I were you, I would’ve faced him and told him to stop harassing me. I would’ve warned him that I was going to tell my parents if he ever talked to me again.”

I didn’t know how to explain the mixed-up feelings that had made me run. As much as I’d hated the situation Abuya put me in, I also couldn’t forget the way Abuya made me feel when he showed me kindness.

Instead I said, “But I couldn’t have actually told my parents. Mama would whip me if she knew how close Abuya got. She might even think I did something to encourage his behavior.”

Maybe I had.

I clenched my fists at the thought. Even if he had reason to suspect I really did like him, he still should’ve seen how upset I was and left me alone when I asked him to.

To my relief, when we reached home, I didn’t have to explain my fall to my mother. She and Baba weren’t back from the hospital yet. Abeth made sure Musa and Juma headed to the kitchen to start the fire. Then she quickly ushered me into the house.

“Auma, did you know that you’re bleeding?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” I snapped. “I fell flat on my face, Abeth.”

“No. I mean you’re bleeding,” Abeth whispered, so that the boys out back couldn’t hear. She pointed to the front of my dress.

“Oh my!” I panicked. My womanhood was here.

“Well, it’s about time you started going to the moon. You’re way past the usual starting age.”

I hadn’t even realized that Abeth was already “going to the moon,” as we called it. Periods were private business. If the boys found out that a girl was on her period, they’d tease her mercilessly.

Abeth found a piece of an old pillowcase for me to wrap around my waist. Then she sent me to the choo with the little bit of water that was left from Baba’s morning bath. Abeth made sure Juma, Musa, and Baby stayed away while I washed, changed my clothes, and stuffed the cloth in my underwear. I’d learned about menstruation in school, but still had so many questions. As soon as Mama got home, I would ask her . . .

Then I stiffened. If I told Mama, then she’d tell Dani. My grandmother was already irritating me with her comments on how I was growing to be a hardworking woman. If she knew this had happened, she’d burden me with even more talk of marriage.

No, I wouldn’t tell. I’d hide it. And I wouldn’t miss school like the other girls did when they were having their periods. I’d steal one of Baby’s old thick blankets and cut it into strips that would absorb the blood. At lunchtime, I could use the school choos to change it. No one would know.

The pain in my elbow shot up, and I bit my lip. Don’t cry, I thought. You’re a woman now.

Which made me want to cry even more.

It seemed as if adulthood had always been lurking around the corner, and today it had caught up with me. One minute it’s my normal responsibilities, the next it’s womanhood.

If Dani had her way, I’d quit school now and leave home to get married. Leave my parents and siblings behind. Leave Abeth and all our friends . . .

Then I thought of Abuya again. Thought of how school, my safe haven, had suddenly turned into a threatening place where I was cornered—where I didn’t know whom to trust.

Did I really want to spend my life in Koromo?

I gritted my teeth. Only if I can become a doctor. Then I can return and treat the sick. I can change people’s lives for the better.

But I wouldn’t become just another woman, to be chased around and married off. I would be Auma, the child born facedown, who refused to give up and confounded everyone’s expectations.

I limped back into the house, feeling the cloth in my underwear slide back and forth. Great. I had a lifetime of pillowcases and blanket strips to look forward to.

And I had no idea what I would say to Abuya the next time I saw him.