by Nikki Lovell
6
A Kiss and a Kill
NAMWENDWA, UGANDA, April 2005
‘Your grandmother has passed away,’ Charles said bluntly.
He was staring at Jane. I stood helplessly as my friend erupted into tears beside me. I could not believe, nor comprehend what was happening. Things can change in just a blink. We climbed into the car and Charles drove us back to Kamuli so Jane could call her family.
That night we didn’t cook vegetable spaghetti. I didn’t know what to say or do because at that moment there wasn’t anything that could make Jane’s pain go away. Wemusa stayed hidden in his room, and Lillian was still missing. Our house was full of silence and sadness.
The next morning Jane and I again took a matatu to Kamuli. Our intention was no longer searching for fresh ingredients but simply that Jane could speak to her family again. I tried to give her space as she spoke on the phone. An elderly woman approached me and asked why my munzungu friend was so tearful. I didn’t have enough Lusoga to explain the situation, but emotions seem to transcend words and the friendly stranger nodded in understanding.
I glanced towards Jane and noticed that she seemed to be swaying. My heart skipped a beat as I saw the phone slip from her hand and fall to the ground. I raced over to her as she fainted, reaching her just in time to stop her head hitting the ground. Cradling Jane’s head in my arms, I felt completely overwhelmed. I had no idea what to do, but fortunately locals came and assisted me. I was so grateful as they helped me lie her down. She was just lying there . . . Not moving. Eyes closed. She looked dead and it terrified me. I knelt next to her, squeezing her hand and praying to a God I didn’t believe in. What felt like an eternity later, Jane opened her eyes and spoke. I cannot describe the relief.
Back at Namwendwa later that day, Jane told me that she was considering going back to England for the funeral. Her only hesitation was her fear that if she was reunited with her family and boyfriend, it would be too difficult to say goodbye yet again and return to Uganda.
Despite only having been in Uganda just over a month, I couldn’t imagine returning to Australia. My family would have moved to Ireland by now and strangers would be living in the house I grew up in. Most of my friends were also overseas, having their own adventures. Jack would be there, but I wouldn’t want to see him. Such thoughts had been lingering in my head since I arrived, but I now realised quite intensely not just that I felt disconnected to Australia but that there literally was nothing left for me to return to. It was almost unbelievable that the building blocks of my existence for the past 18 years seemed to have fallen apart so abruptly.
Jane and I were talking in our room when the missing Lillian reappeared. She looked completely fine but had a sly smile, as though she was hiding something. We were both relieved and surprised to see her, and asked where on earth she had been. She was hesitant in answering, shuffling about on her feet. Then she came and sat on Jane’s bed. The three of us were so close to each other in that tiny room. Lillian looked through the small space between Jane’s and my beds, her eyes fixed on the ground. She obviously didn’t want to tell us where she had been and maybe we didn’t need to know. She was back now and that was all that mattered. Instead Jane told Lillian her own news and Lillian comforted her.
With everything that was going on, my embarrassment about my flying-sheet bathing experience seemed insignificant so I braved up and decided to teach a lesson in the secondary school. It was strange teaching there because most of the students were physically larger than me. Many of them may have been older than me too, given that most people only went to school when they could afford it.
Uganda had a Universal Primary Education Program, so primary school was free for up to four children from each Ugandan family. It was still not compulsory, but the government’s goal was to provide every Ugandan child with the opportunity for a primary school education. Broadly, the program seemed to be achieving its goal. As always, though, there were a few exceptions. For instance, although the school fees were provided, wearing a school uniform was compulsory and it needed to be purchased by the child’s family. It was less than $20 for a uniform, but for some families even this was too much.
I was also not sure how the term ‘family’ was defined, since many children shared only the same mother or father. I was quite taken aback when I first met some of the kids and they were explaining their families. They would say, ‘This is Sara, same mother, different father. This is Nasa, same father, different mother.’ Polygamy was normal here. It was also legal, which surprised me given that Uganda was predominately a Christian nation.
Unlike primary school, secondary school was not government funded. School fees, uniform and all supplies only cost about $130 in total, but that was a large amount to pay if your only income was from selling a few tomatoes outside your home. Given this, it seemed that less than 25 per cent of students had the opportunity to go onto secondary school and I noticed immediately how most students were male. Females were often kept at home—to work on the land or help out around the house—or else they entered into an early marriage.
The classrooms were better equipped than at the primary school. They were still brick buildings with open spaces for the doors and windows, and dirt floors and tin roofs, but every classroom had a blackboard and sufficient wooden benches for the students to sit on. I discovered that writing on the blackboard was actually quite difficult and my handwriting looked somewhat like a five-year-old’s. I felt quite intimidated standing up at the front of the room; as an 18-year-old white girl with only three weeks’ training on health material and teaching techniques, who was I to now teach these kids anything of use? I also felt unsure because I had planned to speak about menstruation. But now, realising how many males were in the class, I wondered whether I should be teaching something else instead.
I took a deep breath and stopped that train of negative thoughts. I am a female, I told myself, and I thought how grateful I was that I’d learnt at school all about having my period. I turned to look at the girls in the room; there were probably about 15 of them out of the class of 50 or more students. I imagined their fear when they had first bled. The SPW staff had told us at our training that the girls would do all sorts of things in an effort to stop the bleeding, including trying to stuff a small eggplant up themselves. An eggplant!
Suddenly I felt confidence flowing through me and I began. After the explanatory part of the class, I taught the students practical things to help the girls cope with their period. I addressed three main issues. The first was coping with period pain, and I showed them some simple stretches that may help. I then talked about making a calendar to track their periods so it was easier for them to be prepared. Finally I spoke about what to use and not to use during their period. It was not possible to buy pads in Namwendwa, and it was not possible to buy tampons anywhere in the country. However, we had been shown at our training how to make a pad out of a square piece of cotton fabric and a slip of cellophane or plastic bag. I demonstrated making a pad like this, and all the students watched inquisitively.
After forty minutes, I left the class feeling that my time with those girls may actually have been extremely useful for them and would make their lives slightly more comfortable. I can be of use, I smiled to myself as I walked back home.
Jane decided to stay in Uganda—she planned to say goodbye to her grandma in her own way. Selfishly, I was happy and relieved that she would not be leaving; she was the glue that held our household together. I wasn’t particularly good about being empathetic toward Wemusa’s behaviour but, with Jane there too, I felt calm enough to limit my number of arguments with him.
Jane was staying but Lillian was gone . . . again. This time we were not worried or concerned but annoyed. If she was going to make a habit of disappearing it would be nice at least to have a little warning about when she was going and when she would be back. But I didn’t have time to be too annoyed for I too had places to be. I was to meet Luke in Kamuli and that aft
ernoon he was going to come back to Namwendwa with me for a little visit. When Luke and I had said goodbye, I hadn’t anticipated seeing him again so soon. We had left things in an unusual way—we had been very close to transcending the barrier between friendship and something more. But we hadn’t quite crossed it, and neither of us had said anything about the change in our relationship. The way we had been together had just felt natural and the need to define it would have spoiled the moment. But of course now I had no clarity as to what was what.
I stopped pacing outside the petrol station and sat down. Stop thinking about how you are supposed to be and just be, I told myself. I took a deep breath and, when I looked up, there was Luke. He had a large grin on his face and a small block of chocolate in his hand.
We caught a matatu back to Namwendwa and chatted on the walk to my house. We both had a lot of stories to swap, despite having been apart for just a short time. When we reached my place, we went to Jane’s and my room. Jane was sitting on her bed reading, but she put her book down when we entered. Luke and I sat on my bed, and we talked about the week that had been. While we were chatting, I lay down and rested my head on his lap. He played with my hair and stroked my arm. Jane was struggling to control her grin.
There was an obvious change in the air. Jane must have felt it too because she made an excuse to leave the room. Then Luke lay down and took my hands in his own. We didn’t say anything—we just lay there, looking at each other with big goofy smiles.
The mood was slightly put on hold by dinner. For dessert, we bought some chapattis and then melted Luke’s chocolate onto them. Having chocolate was an absolute treat and melting it was Jane’s ingenious idea. It was amazing! After such indulgence, I felt more than a little bloated and went to lie down. Luke followed me back into the bedroom while Jane stayed in the main room. Things took off exactly where they had left off. I was happy but my curiosity was starting to get the better of me, and so I couldn’t help asking Luke how he felt about me. He responded sarcastically, telling me he thought I was fat and ugly. I punched him flirtatiously and asked for a serious answer. He told me that he didn’t act like this with his other female friends, and so that sort of showed how he felt about me.
I replied that I was confused because of Sarah, his girlfriend. He told me that he was equally confused because of Jack. I didn’t want Luke to feel any pressure to do or say anything but I told him that being in Uganda had made me realise that my feelings for Jack weren’t as I had thought and that I had decided to end the relationship. Luke said he felt the same about Sarah.
I was unsure what should happen next. After all, we had both just admitted to having feelings for each other, but then pointed out that we were both still in other relationships. Where did that leave us? In a literal sense, it left us exactly where we were—two young people, lying on a bed together, enclosed by a mozzie net, so close that our faces were touching. Shit.
Luke kissed me lightly on my nose. And then my forehead. And then my cheek . . .
Suddenly a loud thumping at the door interrupted the moment. It was Jane. She popped her head around the doorway, wary of intruding, and said that she was going to sleep in Lillian’s bed in the main room. Then she quickly grabbed a few of her things and left, shutting the bedroom door behind her. Jane was a good friend and I felt guilty for making her feel uncomfortable in her own home. But then I was drawn back into the moment with Luke, and I forgot about Jane now sleeping on the other side of the door.
Luke kissed me again on the cheek, and I gave him a light kiss on the tip of his nose. Our lips soon found each other. But after about a minute, I pulled away. This is wrong, I thought. And then I said it out loud. I wanted to do the morally right thing, but I also really wanted to kiss Luke again. He was right there, damn it! And his lips were soft and luscious, and so very tempting.
Minutes later, Luke and I kissed again. It was so right and so wrong—both, and at the same time. Things had gone a step further than they had on our final night of the training, but the same internal argument was still going on inside of me. Once again, reason finally won out and I pulled away from Luke with an apologetic expression. Luke seemed to understand and appeared content just lying beside me. Ultimately, he fell asleep, but I didn’t. My mind was on overdrive—thinking about what I had done, what I had wanted to do, and wondering what to do next.
When the sun began to rise, I was dreading the thought of having to teach. Jane, the absolute legend, said that she would cover my classes. Presumably she was going to cover Lillian’s and Wemusa’s too as their whereabouts were unknown. It felt like déjà vu when it came time for Luke and me to say goodbye. He needed to start the journey back to his own placement. He gave me a quick peck on the lips, and then he was gone.
I had never thought I would be the type of person who would cheat. Far out. It had been enough of a surprise to have a boyfriend in the first instance, and Jack had always treated me like a princess. Now this was how I was repaying him. I am a bad person, I thought. I told myself that Jack needed to know the truth, but perhaps the reality was that I needed Jack to know the truth. Even when I thought I was about to do the supposedly right thing, if I’m honest, it was more about me than Jack.
I was crying and shaking when I dialled Jack’s number. It didn’t feel real when I heard his voice. His excitement soon turned to concern for me as my sobbing became increasingly loud. I got straight to the point, telling him that Luke and I had kissed. The line went quiet. I was expecting Jack to shout or cry or something, but instead he was completely calm. He told me that he understood and that he still loved me. What?! I hadn’t anticipated this. I didn’t want this. I had assumed that Jack would break up with me when I told him of my betrayal, but now I was going to have to end it.
In that moment I realised that telling someone you don’t love them is significantly more difficult than saying you kissed someone else. I might not have loved Jack, but I did still care for him. He had been more than my lover for the last year—he had been my best friend. But now I was going to break his heart.
I told him that I could only be his friend, but he refused to believe it was over. He tried to convince me that it could work, but all I could say was ‘no’. I didn’t really want to elaborate on my feelings. I just wanted the conversation to be over. I wanted the relationship to be over. I pretended the reception was cutting out, apologised, and hung up.
I spent that night clutching at my stomach as sharp, consistent pain stabbed at me. At about 3 a.m., I quickly pulled my mozzie net off and made a race for a bucket. I sat on the ground in the main room, my legs sprawled on the cold cement floor, my arms wrapped around the bucket and my head hung over it. I remained in this position until light, emptying the contents of my stomach.
I was too tired and sick to teach, so again I stayed home when Jane and Wemusa left to go to the schools. Later I tried to eat some lunch, but I threw that up as well. I wondered whether my body was punishing me for being a bad person. Everyone at the primary school thought that I must be really sick, given that I had missed teaching the other day as well. I felt ashamed that I had just been flirting with a boy. Now everyone was praying for me and hoping that I would have a speedy recovery. Why was everyone being so nice to me? I didn’t deserve this.
That evening I started to feel a bit better. Jane, Wemusa and I were sitting on wooden chairs in the main room when in walked the mysterious Lillian. This time we were more persistent in trying to find out what was going on. Lillian sat down on her bed, which was pushed against the back of the main room, and told us that she had a part-time job as a teacher. She had only applied to volunteer with SPW so she would receive the living allowance, which she could then save up. It was shocking to hear that Lillian didn’t intend to be on placement very often and that her disappearing acts were going to continue. But what was more distressing was that she had gone to the extreme of being accepted as a volunteer with SPW, just for a few extra dollars a week.
Lillian told us
that her mother had passed away, and that she was now trying to look after her younger siblings and save enough money to send them to school. After sharing her story, she looked at us questioningly, wondering whether we were going to tell the SPW staff her secret. Neither Jane nor I would tell them anything, but it was disappointing that Lillian wouldn’t be around. We enjoyed her company and she was such a good teacher. But these things paled into insignificance compared to her efforts to send her siblings to school. Wemusa didn’t say much, but I doubted he would tell the staff—he liked Lillian too.
That night, it was comforting to know that Lillian, Wemusa and Jane were all there. Although, as it turned out, there weren’t just the four of us in the house.
At about 10.15 p.m. all of us were in bed. Wemusa was obviously in a deep sleep as he was making heavy breathing sounds and snoring. Lillian was also presumably asleep. Jane was sitting up in bed, hidden under her mozzie net and writing letters by torchlight. I was in bed wondering why I was not asleep, wishing that I would fall asleep, and worrying that I may not fall asleep at all.
A few moments later a loud crashing sound came from the main room, as though someone was trying to break in. This was followed by a wailing cry. Lillian. She sounded like she had toppled over. As Jane called out to Lillian to see if she was okay, I sat up. When Jane got no response, she jumped out of bed and crept into the main room. She too squealed when she spotted the intruder—a big fat rat.
Mr Ratty was chewing on Lillian’s shoe. As Jane started to become a little frantic, I realised I was definitely not going to fall asleep, so I joined the other two girls in the main room. Lillian sat on her bed, while Jane and I both stood a safe distance away from the intruder. The three of us looked at each other. We were all thinking the same thing—Someone has to kill that rat. Then, almost in unison, we each said, ‘I’m not going to do it!’