Shangazi Lulu had visited that evening from town. She had just heard that I had become a woman from Makicha’s mother who had been in town shopping. Shangazi Lulu then got together three of her mashoga and then immediately took the first bus. Seeing Shangazi and her three friends, I cursed under my breath, as I knew I would have to sleep in the kitchen, since Shangazi would take our bedroom and her friends would take the lounge.
Word did travel fast. I was still confused about what it meant to ‘finally become a woman’. Apart from the bleeding that wouldn’t stop and the rags that Mama gave me that were so uncomfortable and alien, I really could not grasp what was so joyful about it.
Facts of life were never explained to us. Such was a taboo topic. A few things were taught when one got married, otherwise everything else we learnt as we grew. When Mama was expecting Salekio, the neighbours started talking and some of the comments fell in my ears. I was so excited to learn that I would have a baby sister or brother that I asked Mama about it, but instead of the answer I was looking forward to, she had threatened to wash my mouth with soap. She then told me that she had been eating quite a lot of late and whoever had told me that there was a baby in her stomach was a liar and should go to church to repent. When Salekio was born, with a glare she simply told me that she found him at the hospital. I never asked another question again after that.
With a sigh, I then told myself that the bleeding had something to do with ‘becoming a woman’ but I dared not ask Mama. I then made a mental note or ask Shangazi Lulu later after she had had some mbege. Shangazi Lulu was an enterprising woman in her late thirties. She had moved to town with her ex-husband years back, when I was still a toddler, she always said. She had initiated the move, arguing that she would not want to die poor in the village. The husband left her two years after moving to town. Mama always said that he could not keep up with her expensive and never ending demands. Shangazi Lulu then took up making tie and dye and batik business. Every now and then she would bring some fabrics to the village to sell. When money was good she would travel by train or bus to Zambia to purchase vitenge to sell.
“Thank goodness, they never had any kids,” Mama would say about Shangazi Lulu and her ex-husband, “she is just too busy, she wouldn’t have time to look after them.”
“This is a special day!” Shangazi Lulu walked in accompanied by the beating of drums and vigelegele and her mashoga waving vitenge joyful in the air as they danced to the beats of the drums.
“Our baby has grown into a woman,” she went on in a sing-a-song voice, “we are going to celebrate and have a msondo!”
Shangazi Lulu was known for always making big dramatic entrances. Every opportunity for her was an excuse to make a big dramatic entrance. Even when mama’s cow bore two healthy calves, Shangazi Lulu came down with her usual gang of mashoga. As confused as I was I knew this was just another one of her excuses to party. She often said this was how it was in the city. “You work hard and party just as hard. You have to enjoy the fruits of your labour,” she would say.
Everything about her was big – big bosom, big behind, big arms, big voice, big smile and big hair. She was just a big woman. Her attires were always vitenge and batiks. She had the softest skin. She once told me it was from using riwa na manjano.
“Ah shoga, your skin feels like an elephant’s and you are still so ripe,” she would comment in her big nasal voice after feeling my face, “come let me teach you. Mix riwa na manjano, apply the mixture on your face and it will be as soft as a baby’s bum. Look at your Shangazi, that’s what I use. Soft huh?”
I reached over and felt her face. It was indeed soft and flawless – as a ripe mango.
“And your hair, shoga!” she shrieked, “Uwiii!!! We are going to have to perm it, and then put henna! You are slowly becoming a woman, you can’t simply be seen like that!”
“Wifi,” my mom would interrupt gently, “she is a baby for Christ sake, don’t feed her head with that. Let her play with wanasesere for now. When she’s a woman and feel like using whatever she is.”
The sounds of drums and vigelegele had drawn a number of neighbours, who were now milling in the compound in packs. Not knowing what the celebration was, the children started dancing to the beat of the drums.
“Where is wifi? Shangazi Lulu called out to nobody in particular, “wifi, we are going to drink, eat and dance until dawn!”
“We are going to show our new woman how to dance,” one of the shoga added.
Quickly Shangazi Lulu reached for her bag that was at the baraza and got a kitenge dress out. “Here I made you this,” she was admiring her dress, “isn’t it pretty? No more baby dresses for you as of now. Go put it on so that you look like the proper African young woman that you are.”
“Oh Shangazi, thank you so much!” I cried out, my voice swallowed by the beating of the drums, Shangazi Lulu’s singing and the children’s cheers.
I then ran inside the house with the kitenge tightly clutched to my chest. I closed Mama’s bedroom door and hastily changed. The dress had fitted perfectly. Not knowing how to wrap the headgear the way Shangazi Lulu did, I casually tied it on my short, kinky hair.
I then ran my hands on the fabric feeling its richness. Instinctively I then stood before the small cracked mirror that was always placed by Mama’s window and admired myself. I couldn’t help but compare this African dress with kaka Joseph’s modern attires. Suddenly I started wondering how I would have looked like if it were a red floral dress, red high heels, a red hat instead and bright red lipstick on.
