Girlhood

by Masuma Ahuja

  Tell us about Max.

  I don’t know if this is love or just coincidence, but thanks largely to him I am now writing this text here. For the most part, it was for his sake that I stayed in my hometown, forgoing my dream of studying in the capital. I wanted a family, although I had previously been disgusted by the thought that I would be sharing a bed and worldview with someone. He taught me a lot and still keeps pulling me up when I’m drowning. Now our relationship is more like friendship.

  What do you want to do when you grow up?

  Since the ninth grade, I knew that I wanted to connect my life with journalism. For 17 years, I worked hard and long to achieve all my goals, but I had overestimated my potential, my body could not stand it, and I fell down from a huge height of the self-made Olympus. Now I am studying philology in my native city. And I’m happy! The only thing that upsets me is that I have given up blogging on Instagram and I have generally stopped writing.

  Varvara is a college student studying philology, which is the study of the history of language, especially in written texts. She’s eloquent and thoughtful, and she writes lyrically about the pace of life in her town, about the books she reads, and about the ways she hopes her life will unfold.

  “I used to count the minutes when I leave this ad nauseam calm province, but now I understand that life is not only an eternal race for unattainable ideals and round-the-clock revelry, but also a time of contemplation and reflection,” she says. “That is why in old age I would not want to suffocate in the megalopolis, but I would like to live my life in the same quiet place where there are ducks in the tiny pond in the park.”

  Now, she has exchanged her dream of a life in Moscow for an apartment with twenty-three-year-old Max, a man she loves, in the city (she likes to call it her “village”) of Saransk.

  Varvara left home when she and her mother were fighting often, but now, she says, “I am grateful to fate for having found a best friend in my mom.”

  Varvara grew up with two strong women as role models, and writes with admiration about both her mother and sister, who are hardworking and tough.

  “My sister evokes admiration: she did not break, living in hell, went to Moscow, worked there, and sent money to us when she herself only had enough to either eat or to take the bus home,” she explains.

  Varvara’s mother also endured incredibly trying circumstances.

  “What my mom did was truly a feat. Taking care of my sister (11 years older than me) and me, when my father left her during pregnancy, she spared no effort, working at three places,” she says. ◊

  Varvara also writes about her experience with anorexia.

  “For five years now, I have been actively resisting with various manifestations of self-hatred: the terrible path of anorexia made me a heart disease sufferer for life. Then there was remission and then a relapse, and then the long path to recovery began, which took as much energy as the disease itself,” she says.

  Many girls around the world share experiences similar to Varvara’s. The teenage years are “a particularly risky time for eating disorder development in girls,” says Christine Peat, a professor of psychiatry and the director of the National Center of Excellence for Eating Disorders, an organization that provides education and awareness on eating disorders and their treatment. “Everything from hormonal changes to cultural and societal pressures converge around that period of time, which can increase eating disorder risk.”

  Varvara is on a path of recovery, bolstered by her family’s love and support. “Of course, the Snake periodically visits me, but we have built a solid defense, where everyone [in my family has] laid a brick,” she writes. “That is why, looking in the mirror now, I cannot say that I like everything (it never will be so, because this infection is for life), but I love myself, and you will never kill anyone you love.” ◊

  Translated from Russian

  April 11

  The alarm clock went off at 5:15 a.m., interrupting my already short sleep. I got up dissatisfied as much as possible: the head was splitting because I had been reading the works of Old Russian literature all night, the body was broken, and I felt bad because lately I haven’t had enough time to do everything. I went out to the balcony, smoked my first cigarette of the day, and cheered up. This morning everything went wrong: I almost broke a hair curler, there were traffic jams (as if in Moscow, I swear), and my stomach rumbled all day, since I did not have time to eat. I saw Chris’s depressed face (table partner in school, friend) and realized that I was not the only one in such a mood :) .

  Then there was a lecture on sociology, where V.V. again assured us that the world was mired in unbelief and vices, and the only salvation of mankind was in appeal to the Creator. And at the proseminar I didn’t nearly fall off my chair when I heard the phrase “the main goal of a woman is to sell herself more expensive . . .” And these are thoughts of a man respected not only in close scientific circles of Saransk, but also abroad! I wanted to argue, but I changed my mind: last time I tried desperately to convince him and failed. Chris and I didn’t go to the pool today which was my fault—the headache didn’t go away.

  When I came home, I simply fell on the bed, having slept for three hours, no less. I got up, hugged Max (damn, he came home from work, but I didn’t even notice: I was so deeply immersed in the kingdom of Morpheus), asked how he was doing, made a strong coffee and went again into battle. Closer to the night I became calmer, my thoughts a little ordered. Before going to bed, I went out on the balcony and I caught an incredible thrill from the smell of spring. I remembered that my sister was arriving soon; it warmed my soul. I lay down around two o’clock in the morning, and I finally fell asleep without even thinking about what a clumsy and lazy person I was.

  April 12

  A-A-A-A! Again this stupid alarm clock woke me up at 4 a.m. Surprisingly, I stood up cheerful and loving the whole world.

  Today promises to be good: there will be classes with my favorite teachers (I am going to spend almost the whole day studying literature), the sun shines bright, and my beloved sister will arrive in the evening. I had a class in Old Russian literature, and incidentally, as always, it went perfectly well! The teacher is an amazing woman who will charge even the last whiner with a positive outlook, and will also enrich us with knowledge, sing, and dance right during the class! Incidentally, I promised to write an article for her before the end of the semester . . . Hmm, apparently, the writing of the work is postponed for the summer months. I feel terribly bad! I will go to her, talk on this subject, but first I will turn in the texts. Then there was a sweetheart teacher, she teaches us ancient literature. I loved to look for allusions to myths in works. And finally, my beloved S.P., who teaches, perhaps, my favorite subject—literary criticism. I, enchanted, sit at her lectures, listening to her singing voice telling us about the literary process and what great people were writers!

  We didn’t get to the pool again . . . This time, Kristina’s head ached so much that even she, having not skipped a single time (!!!) for a whole year, asked to go home. Max took me from the university and we went home. On the way home we jumped into the store to buy groceries for a week. How I love to wander through the grocery department of the supermarket! I need everything: cinnamon in coffee, and some kind of seaweed, and some kind of green-yellow-red fruit, and pasta of all varieties (I have some kind of mania, which is expressed in the fact that I need pasta of all forms and sizes; I especially love “bows” and “cars”). Thank God, there is Max, who every time saves our budget from the next “bows” and seaweed :) . Then I had to go to the airport.

  My mood abruptly changed from excellent to terrible. I felt some kind of weakness. I went to the balcony and just burst into tears. Hateful thoughts “woke up” again. Again I could not get past the mirror without seeing a fat cow. The anxiety began to grow and I, knowing that things would only get worse, went to bed. I did not meet my sister, saying that we wi
ll see each other tomorrow. I did not want to spoil either her or Mother’s mood.

  I do not know exactly, but, in my opinion, it was 8 p.m., no later. Even without wishing Max a good sleep, I simply fell down on the sofa, covered myself with the blanket, and fell asleep.

  Viona

  15 years old

  Kieni, Kenya

  What are your favorite subjects?

  English, chemistry, and history

  What do you like to do outside of school?

  When I am not at school I really like spending time reading novels.

  Tell us about your friends.

  I have many friends; my friends are endless. [Some of] my friends’ names are Everchristine, Dorecen, Mercy, and Lindah. I really like spending time with them in school and outside school. I have known my friends since I was young.

  Viona has big dreams.

  “When I grow up I would like to be a news anchor and also a fashion designer,” she says. She’s a girl scout and a voracious reader, and she spends a lot of her time outside school reading novels.

  Viona lives with her mother, her sister, and her grandmother. Her mother is single parent who works long days as a tailor to support her small family. Her mother also, like many other people in their village, does a little farming. She has a small piece of land that she plants with beans and maize (corn).

  “She is a hardworking woman. She was hustling each and every day, and sometimes I could not even see her in the morning,” says Viona.

  During primary school, Viona lived at home in her village of Kieni, but now, she goes to high school in a nearby town and lives in a dormitory when school is in session.

  Viona shared diary entries from when she was back home during a break and writes about spending time with friends, going to church, and reading books. ◊

  In a few of her diary entries, safety concerns loom in the background—Viona writes about being thankful to reach home before dark and about walking a friend home. When I asked her about this, she listed all the dangers she encounters on the road after dark: people who might attack girls, thieves and robbers, and also hyenas that might target humans. All of this means she tries to get home quickly, and before dark, whenever possible.

  There is a universality to this type of fear: on country roads and city streets across the world, women and girls fear the walk home, and the possibility of danger they could encounter in the dark. In 2011, a study conducted across 143 countries found that only 62 percent of women said they felt safe walking in their communities at night. This number dropped to 54 percent in sub-Saharan Africa.113 This fear is only heightened by how widespread gender-based violence is in Kenya. Gender-based violence includes violence or abuse based on someone’s gender identity, existing gender norms, or gender-based unequal power relationships. It can include physical violence, sexual abuse, or emotional or psychological violence or abuse. In Kenya, 47 percent of women have reported experiencing physical or sexual violence, according to the 2014 Kenya Demographic and Household Survey.114

  This is why girls like Viona run home before darkness falls. ◊

  April 19, 2019

  Today is Friday, I spent my day cleaning the house and the compound. My day was quite good and enjoyable. I liked everything I did.

  Today I met one of my friends by the name Everchristine who studies at Kiene high school. I had really missed her; that’s why I tried my best to meet her. I was looking forward to finishing reading my novel today which [I have] been reading for the last two weeks titled The Pearl. I was most worried today that my mother would come from job late at night because it is a market day so I peeled some bananas for supper in case my mum would come late. I had woke up at 4:00 a.m. for my personal studies and I will go to bed at 10:00 p.m. I spent my day with my friends; I could not manage to spend my day with my family because they were all busy. I really loved my day.

  April 21, 2019

  Today is a Sunday. I spent my day in church. I woke very early in the morning and washed the utensils that we had used for supper and went in the bathroom and took a warm shower. I dressed for church and left.

  I left the church at one o’clock. I wanted to go to town but when I reached home, my mother told me to wash for her clothes before I leave. I did it quickly and left; on my way I met my friend and walked with her.

  I did not spend my time a lot in town because I wanted to go home early to prepare supper.

  On my way back home, I saw an accident and assisted the victims and because of this I was late but from there I went running and managed to be at home before darkness fell. I prepared supper and ate with my family happily. I really loved the day.

  April 22, 2019

  Today is a Monday. I spent my day cleaning the house and our compound.

  Today I visited my friend who is admitted in the hospital by the name Limiar. She is Nigerian. We met each other in my former school. I took her soup and a meal for which she was very happy.

  Then I went back home; on my way I met my friends whom I had not seen for long and I spent my time to talk to them. One of my friends decided to come to our home with me; when we reached home my mother asked me to prepare lunch. My friend assisted and I was very happy for that.

  In the evening, my neighbour’s girl came at our home asking me to plait her hair but I told her that it is very late. We escorted my friend with her, we went talking stories, cracking jokes and laughing heartily. I really loved the day.

  Thank you to WAAW Foundation and their fellows for connecting me with Viona.

  Afterword

  As I put together this book, I thought often about how rarely we get to see the world through girls’ eyes. And of how familiar it all looked, even when featuring places I had never visited, cultures that were foreign to me, or circumstances I had never lived through.

  There were a few different themes that kept coming up, that perhaps many of our teenage years are defined by: the tug of curiosity and adventure and the big bad world out there, just waiting to be explored; the excitement and loneliness of moving to new places; the dread of endless days that all look the same; the struggle to feel like you fit in and are seen; the world telling you that you aren’t enough or right or good, that you should take up less space; that feeling of being at the cusp of something big as you plot dreams late into the night.

  And at twenty-nine, far from my own teenage girlhood, I found myself turning to these diary entries for comfort and reassurance.

  These are the things that I wish I had read about when I was growing up and that I wish we talked about more in our cultures. About what life looks like for us and for everyone else.

  So wherever you are, whatever your life looks like: I hope you have enjoyed seeing the world through girls’ eyes and that you recognized pieces of yourself in this book, too. ◊

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the girls who so generously shared their stories with me.

  Thank you to Elise Howard, who saw a book in my series, and was the best advocate and editor for this book I could have asked for.

  To my agents, Sonali Chanchani and Claudia Cross, for always championing me and my ideas, and for making sure I never felt alone in this process.

  To Amy King and Neema Roshania Patel, my editors at The Lily, for believing in this series and giving it a platform.

  Thank you to Krestyna Lypen and the entire team at Algonquin for making this book what it is.

  There are so many more people than I can list who helped me along the way and helped make this book real. But here are a few:

  So many people—near strangers and old friends—connected me with friends and organizations and girls they knew around the world. This book couldn’t have happened without you. Thank you to Karin Joseph, Meghana Nallajerla, Helen Liu, Esha Chatterjee, Jacarand Joshi, Renu Brij, Rachel Schallom, Shanika Perera, Sabina Carlson, Edoardo B
orgomeo, Josie Messa, Julia Carpenter, Cristina Osorio, Sharonya Vadakattu, Amruta Byatnal, Kari Cobham, and Kristina Budelis.

  To the friends who have been sounding boards, cheerleaders, and endless sources of support—the people I text from the other side of the world and whose couches I know I can always crash on: Sally Dickinson, Emily Chow, Elite Truong, Dhiya Kuriakose-Gerber, Katie Park, Lucy Arora, Vindhya Buthpitiya, Kassy Cho, Aditi Bhandari, Denise Lu, Kate Parkinson-Morgan, Sam Schlinkert, Ruwangi Amarasinghe, Sanora Rodrigo, Ram Joshi, and Matt Rattley.

  The friends who are creative accountability partners and trusted sounding boards: Kat Chow, Alex Laughlin, John Sutter, Phoebe Connelly, Katie Hawkins-Gaar, and Jen Mizgata.

  Thank you to the editors who believed in me before I did, who taught me how to be a journalist and have always rooted for me: Mary Jordan, Steven Ginsberg, and Cory Haik.

  To the editors who said yes to my weird ideas and gave me space to find my voice: Sam Barry, Ashley Codianni, and Caroline Paterson.

  This book was written in motion, across countries and continents, on friends’ couches and in spare rooms. Thank you to everyone who opened their doors to me, particularly Purvi and Gaurang and Venkatesh Uncle, Saras Aunty, Nalini, and Saumya.