“Would you believe it, Kaka Joseph has invited me over to his hotel for soda?” Makicha came running excitedly. She paused to catch her breath then continued, “He said I can bring a friend. Go get ready!”
“Soda? Oh wow! Do you think they will allow us to sit by the pool?”
“Go ask you mother for permission,” Makicha instructed impatiently.
Thanks goodness, I was done with my chores. I got up from under the tree where was sitting knitting sweaters for my brother and sister and quickly I ran to the kitchen to seek permission from mama.
“Just don’t be late, you have to help me with the cooking this evening as I’ll be going for prayers later in the evening,” she said.
“Thank you mama,” I jumped up and down gleefully, “oh thank you so much!”
“Go wash your legs and change,” she then said eyeing my torn skirt, “you can’t go like that. They will throw you out! Put on your pink Sunday dress. Careful not to get it dirty as you will wear it again tomorrow to church.”
I had only three Sunday dresses, and all three were presents from my aunts. I thought I was so lucky to have so many Sunday dresses as most girls only had one. The pink dress was my Sunday best. It was polka dotted, with bell sleeves that had red binding and a small bow on each sleeve. It had a big white collar with another red bow; a white lacy lining that showed through it and a wide red belt that tied into a bigger bow graced the waist. I went to Mama’s room where she kept all our Sunday bests in her suitcase, and carefully took out the iron and starched dress.
Mama’s room was the most crammed in the house. It had a cupboard where she kept all her special crockery and cutlery. Important documents were also kept in that cupboard such as birth certificates and the bible. The cupboard was kept in her bedroom as it was always locked. The old locks had fallen off a few years back, so Baba had replaced them with two big cupboard bolts with padlocks. It had an old queen size bed and a desk. The bed and desk were given to her by the convent. The convent had given away a lot of their old furniture when they got new furniture. The furniture was older than me but the timber used was strong and sturdy. Baba used to say the furniture could easily withstand the test of time. Mama’s bed sheets were white with beautiful colourful embroidery. Though quite old, the embroidery still looked good. Mama was so good at embroidery that everybody envied her work. Everything was covered with her old knitted lace. Mama told me that she used to knit a lot before she had us.
“I hope you are not rummaging through my suitcase with dirty hands,” I heard Mama calling out; “I sure hope you have washed your hands. Because if I find the tiniest paw mark on those clothes, God knows what I will do to you.”
Quickly and carefully I laid the dress on Mama’s bed and examined my hands, wiped them on my torn dress, before answering, “they are clean, Mama.”
Mama’s ability to know what we did before we did it always left me bewildered and more scared of her. Not wanting to get into trouble I ran to the latrine. The latrine was a few metres away from the main house; it was roughly about one by one metre and made of aluminium sheets. Baba had gotten the aluminium sheets from a construction site, where they were used for hoarding the site. Baba had exchanged the sheets with the labourers for a week supply of milk.
There was enough water in the bucket to only wash my face, arms and legs. Swiftly I folded the long sleeves of my blouse, tucked in my skirt then using a bar of homemade lye soap I started vigorously scrubbing all traces of filth off my unclothed body parts. I then rushed to the clothing line, where I had hung my towel earlier in the morning to dry, grabbed it then hurried to Mama’s bedroom where I hastily dried my wet face, arms and legs.
“Where is the Vaseline when you look for it,” I asked myself searching around the room. I had already ripped everything off my body and had wrapped a khanga around my chest.
Realizing that there was nobody in the main house to reply me, I started pacing around and moving from one room to another.
“Salekio!” I called out to my brother angrily, then my sister, “Shindo! Where did you leave the Vaseline? Its just like you not to put anything back to its rightful place!”
I peeped outside hoping either Salekio or Shindo would be running around the yard. I looked harder biting my lower lip trying to control my rising temper.
“Where are you two?” I screamed angrily, “where is the bloody Vaseline?”
“Manka! Do you want me to come wash your mouth now? What kind of language is that?” Mama called out from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, Mama. It’s just that, I can’t find the Vaseline, Mama.”
“Your Bibi had it. She needed some to mix it with cloves. Her joints have started aching again.”
Bibi Faustina, our only remaining grandmother had moved in with us two years ago – a little after Baba’s passing on. With grandfather gone and Baba gone, mother and daughter felt they needed each. And Bibi was getting too old to take care of herself - Mama had once told me.
Taking another khanga I covered my naked shoulders and run outside to the front baraza, where Bibi was napping. Mama did not allow me to walk around naked. She said it was a sin as it might lead others into temptation. I found Bibi Faustina at the baraza fast asleep and snoring soundly. There were two containers of Vaseline next to her. I took the closest one, opened it and smelt it. The strong smell of cloves hit me and I quickly put it back, took the second one and tiptoed back to the house, not wanting to wake up Bibi Faustina.
“Manka, are you ready? Come on out! We are getting late!” I heard Makicha call out, just as I was finishing applying the Vaseline to my face, arms and legs.
“I’m almost done,” I replied, "sit at the baraza. I will be out shortly.”
Grabbing the dress, I put it on slowly, careful not to crease it. Smoothened it with my hands then admired myself through the small cracked mirror that was always placed by Mama’s window. I then took the comb that was next to the mirror and quickly ran it through my short, kinky hair.
“Maybe I could wear that red ribbon Mangi had given me last year on my hair,” I thought to myself. Mangi had given Makicha and I several coloured ribbons that he had cut off fro the rolls he sold.
“Hey,” Makicha called out impatiently, “we are getting late!”
I walked into my room looking for the ribbon and the only paper of nice shoes I owned. “Where the heck were they? There, by the chair.” I quickly slipped them on and rummaged through the suitcase looking for the red ribbon.
“Ooh, you look nice,” Makicha giggled when she saw me. She had on colourful a kitenge skirt and blouse. “Come, we are late, let’s run!”
“How much soda do you think kaka Joseph will let us drink?’ I asked excitedly as we hopped rather than walked to the hotel.
“I don’t know,” answered Makicha merrily, “imagine soda, chips and chicken! I’ll take Fanta! What will you take?”
“I like Fanta too. Maybe Sprite too, if he lets us drink two each.”
“I’ll drink Fanta and Coke,” when it came to food despite her big frame and her no-it-all attitude, Makicha became as excited as all other village kids, “I had ice cream one day when we went to town with kaka Joseph. It’s so delicious. I hope they have it there.”
The thought of drinking as much soda as we could stuff in our stomachs made us half walk and half run to the hotel.
“What if we are offered lunch?” Makicha turned to me.
“So?” I asked, not understanding the point, “we eat.”
“Yes, we eat,” replied Makicha with that smart smirk on her face, “but can you use a knife and fork like city people?”
“Will we have to?”
“Of course silly! Otherwise we’ll get thrown out!”
Ikunda once attempted to teach me how to use a knife and fork. But when it came to learning how to properly use knives and forks, I became so frustrated a not being able to get any food in my mouth that I dropped them and resumed to eating with my fingers as I had done all my life.
“Hey kids,” a young man in a guard uniform stopped us at the gates, “are you looking for someone?”
“My brother is here,” Makicha announce proudly, “he has invited us over for Fanta, Coke, Sprite and ice cream. He has a yellow car and lives like a king in Arusha. He is very rich and has a beautiful fiancée. You must know him!”
The guard chuckled as he showed us the way, “they should be at the pool. Go down this road then go around the building, that way.”
Entering the strong grandiose wrought iron gates, I believed I had entered heaven. The landscaping reminded me of pictures I had seen in some magazines Ikunda brought with her when visiting after she got married. I lifted my head as high as I could and smelt the air. There was no heavy odour or muskiness, unpleasantly of damp and stale urine from animal. The air was delightfully cool yet crisp and as still as a veil of the softest silk. This was as close to the city as I could get – at least for now, I told myself.
The lodge was built around a lake and rockery. The green lawn sprawled across the acres and acres of land, rising and dipping like a gentle tide. We walked between rows and rows of ashok trees to get to the main building, which stood majestically in the midst of well-kept coffee and banana plantations. The building was two-storied and seemed to be spreading endlessly in either direction. It was accented with corner stones, windowed balconies and a roof composed of thatches.
My enthusiasm rose at the sight. A clear blue pool opened before me, water sparkled as the sun reflected off it. We had never gotten this close to the pool before. The closest we ever got was when admiring the lush gardens and glimmering swimming pool through the wrought iron fence. The pool had a bar at the end, which was made of stones and timber bar. It stood smugly just ahead of us. Around the bar were carved wooden chairs with animal prints patterned upholstery on the seats. I had never before seen furniture glimmer like that. The chairs shone, like they were wet.
“How do you think they do that?” I whispered to Makicha.
“Do what?” Her eyes were glued on two kids who were seated by the pool eating.
“Get the chairs to shine like that?”
“They oil them, silly!” Replied an irritated Makicha, “Don’t you know anything? Do I have to tell you everything?”
“You mean cooking oil does that?” I replied in awe. I made a mental note to tell Mama. I was sure she would be thrilled about my new knowledge.
Quietly I eased onto the far end of the pool, walking softly admiring the surrounding and careful not to make noise. I knew better than to walk right into the pool out in the open. I didn’t want the sharp questioning eyes of wazungu on me.
All the women were dressed in what kaka Joseph’s fiancée called summer dressing- halter necks, straps and mini dresses. A few wore pants and shorts like the men. I had never seen women in shorts or pants before – or such short dresses for that matter. If Mama had known the women here dressed like this, she would never have allowed me to come. ‘House of sins’ she would have said. I stood with my mouth wide opened in astonishment. I quickly noticed that nobody was wearing a khanga or a kitenge.
“Look at her skirt,” I whispered, nudging Makicha. I had just spotted kaka Joseph’s fiancée walking towards the bar. Her skirt was almost down to her ankles.
It was not the interesting patterns on the purple skirt that had gotten my attention, but the slit that rode up to her thigh. She had on top of the skirt a purple halter neck blouse and on her feet high-heeled sandals.
“I bet we’ll see her panties when she sits,” Makicha gaped, no more trying to play sophisticated.
