by Tina Athaide
Akello was thirteen—a year older than Yesofu—and also from the Ganda tribe. He and Yesofu had been the first two Africans to make the school team and dreamed of getting sports scholarships for secondary school. Or that had been their plan until a couple of months ago, when Akello’d just stopped showing up for practice. He’d told the guys that he’d been thrown off the team. But Yesofu knew that wasn’t true.
“You want to come back?” he asked.
“It wouldn’t matter.” Akello scratched the back of his neck. “Coach only plays Indians.”
Yesofu opened his mouth and shut it, as Mamma’s voice whispered in his head. Naye abasatu babisattula. It was a Luganda saying: A secret is better kept by two than three.
“Well, Yesofu’s practically Indian, but he almost never gets to pitch.” Salim snickered.
“Nyamaza!” Yesofu cut in.
“You shut up,” said Salim. “You may be a good bowler, but you hardly pitch. Coach always has Rajeev bowl.”
“Come on, Yesofu is important,” Yasid joined in. “He’s the team benchwarmer.”
“Leave him alone,” said Akello.
Salim and Yasid walked away laughing and punching one another.
Akello reached into his pocket and pulled out two chocolates wrapped in paper. He held one out to Yesofu. “Thanks for not saying anything.”
Yesofu leaned in. “I could talk to Coach about you joining us at practice—”
Akello shook his head. “I can’t. . . . Not yet.”
Yesofu unwrapped the chocolate. “Any word from your dad?”
“No. Guess he’s still looking for work. Still, it’s better than around here; the British only hire Mhindis.”
Akello sounded like he was trying to convince himself. Yesofu kept quiet. He understood—Akello didn’t want to let down or shame his family. It was the Ganda way. But Yesofu knew he’d be upset if he had to get a job instead of going to cricket practice.
“How’s work?” Yesofu asked.
“Sawa sawa.” Akello shrugged. “It’s okay, but it may be changing.”
“What do you mean?”
Akello put his elbows on the table and moved closer. “The guys in the sugar and coffee fields have been talking about President Amin.”
“What’d they say?”
“That he has big plans. Plans to help Africans get better lives.”
Yesofu had only been two when the British left Uganda, but he’d heard his brother, Esi, remembering the same sort of excitement. Baba had even tried to buy a small farm. Only the bank wouldn’t sell it to an African.
“What’s Idi Amin planning? How’s he gonna change things?”
“More jobs. Better ones,” said Akello. “Other stuff too.”
Yesofu popped a piece of chapati in his mouth, thinking about what other stuff President Amin could change. “You mean like helping us get land . . . or a farm?”
Akello nodded. “That’s not all . . . maybe even a shop, like the ones on India Street.”
Yesofu pictured Mamma selling traditional African gomesi or busuuti dresses in her own shop instead of cleaning and cooking for Asha’s family. She’d only finished up to primary class three, but she could measure, cut, and sew the most amazing busuuti dress. Mamma’s eyes shined whenever she finished a new dress for herself or one of the women in the neighborhood.
“I bet if Baba could get a good job in Entebbe . . .”
Yesofu left his dreams for Mamma and listened. “What?”
“If Baba got a job, then he’d probably stick around, and then I’d be back on the team.” Akello got up and pretended to hold a cricket bat in his hands.
“That’d be great!” Yesofu smiled. But in the back of his mind he wondered, what if Akello’s father didn’t come back? What if Akello couldn’t pay the school fees? Asha’s dad paid Yesofu’s fees. But that was changing for secondary school. It was why cricket was so important.
Akello’s hands dropped, and he stared past Yesofu’s shoulder. “Look who’s coming.”
Yesofu turned. Asha was on her way over with Simon.
“Habari,” Akello greeted them. “How was the big party?”
Yesofu elbowed Akello to make him shut up.
“Um . . . it was fun,” Asha replied. She shot a quick glance at Yesofu.
He waited to see if Asha’d say anything more. She didn’t. Instead, she tugged the edge of her sleeve, fidgeting with something on her wrist.
“Can we talk?” she asked Yesofu, her voice low.
“I need to go.”
“We’ve got a few minutes,” Akello said.
Yesofu scowled. He didn’t need Akello’s help. He shut his food tiffin and got up to leave. “You coming or what?”
“I guess we’ll see you later,” said Akello.
Yesofu held his lunch tiffin against his chest as he and Akello started back to class.
“Asha has a temper quick as a cobra bite,” said Akello. “But she doesn’t mean it.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people, are defending her.”
“What? She’s spoiled . . . used to getting her own way. You can’t stay mad at her forever.”
Yesofu glanced at Asha. She looked hurt. Her eyes were lowered, staring at her wrist. A part of him wanted to forgive her, but he couldn’t forget how she’d told him he should have come to her party. Not asked. Ordered. Demanded.
“How long do you plan on ignoring her?” Akello asked.
Yesofu shrugged. “One more day. Then I’ll talk to her.”
“Wait!” Asha called out.
Behind him, Yesofu heard her hurrying. He slowed but didn’t stop.
Asha caught up and held out her wrist. “Look.”
Yesofu stopped. Asha had on his bracelet.
Akello’s mouth dropped open. “Did you buy a new one?”
“Nope.” Asha’s eyes sparkled.
Yesofu stared at Asha’s wrist, counting the beads. They were all there. The exact same ones he’d picked out at the shop.
She thanked him. “Asante. It’s the best birthday present ever.”
Yesofu held back a smile, but his insides puffed like the whole-wheat puris that Mamma cooked.
4
Asha
“MATH QUIZ TOMORROW!” Coach shouted just as the school bell rang.
Asha hummed as she shoved her math book inside her backpack. Usually anything with numbers made her brain cringe, but nothing could ruin her good mood. She and Yesofu were talking again. She’d hoped he’d wait for her so they could walk home together, like they did every day after school, but he’d raced out when the bell rang. It didn’t matter. She’d seen his face when she showed him the bracelet.
“You? Happy about a math quiz?” Neela turned to face Asha. “Either you’ve gone nuts or something is up.”
Asha smiled and held up her arm.
“Oooh,” squealed Leela and grabbed Asha’s wrist. “The beads are amazing. Who’s it from?”
“I know who.” Neela gave her sister a knowing look.
“Oooh,” said Leela.
Asha pulled her arm out of Leela’s grasp. “It’s a friendship bracelet. You know Yesofu’s my best friend.”
“You sure about that?” Neela glanced at the window.
Outside, Yesofu stood with Akello under the banyan tree. His and Asha’s meeting spot after school. Asha looked at her bracelet and then at Yesofu. Akello knew she and Yesofu were best friends. He’d even tried to help today at lunch when Yesofu was being stubborn, refusing to talk to her.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Asha told Neela. “Yesofu and I have other friends.”
“Quit making matata,” Leela told her sister. “You love to make trouble.”
Neela sniffed and tossed her hair back. “You’ll see. I’m right.” She flung her backpack over her shoulder.
Asha zipped her bag closed, hurrying so she could meet up with Yesofu. She looked out the window. Salim and Yasid had joined Akello. She searched for Yesofu. He was gone. So mu
ch for walking home together. She followed Leela and Neela outside, hating that Neela might be right.
“Can you meet Friday after school?” Leela asked.
Asha nodded. “Mama said I could go.” A dance was coming up at the Entebbe Club and that meant new outfits. Teelu usually helped Asha pick out the perfect fabric for a new dress or tunic. But with her sister thousands of miles away at nursing college in London, Asha had to rely on the other fashion-obsessed person in her life—Neela. She waved bye to the twins and set off for home. Alone.
Asha usually loved the walk from school at the top of the hill to her house at the end of Lugado Street, but today it was so hot she could practically feel the heat burning through the soles of her shoes. When she turned the last corner, where she and Yesofu always started guessing what snack Fara would have waiting for them—samosas, sandwiches—Asha sighed. It wasn’t as fun playing alone.
“Jalebi! Mhogo!” Yesofu’s voice called out.
Asha looked around, but couldn’t see him.
“Chapatis,” he said, jumping out from the tree he’d been hiding behind.
Asha wished Neela was here right now so she could look her in the face and say I told you so!
5
Yesofu
“WHAT TOOK YOU so long?” Yesofu said. “You’re so slow.”
The sides of Asha’s mouth twitched like she was trying hard not to smile. “Race you?” She took off before Yesofu had a chance to answer, her feet slapping as she weaved through the trees.
Yesofu raced after her. It didn’t take long to catch up, and he grinned over his shoulder as he flew past. At the bottom of the hill, he leaned against a eucalyptus tree. When she’d showed him the bracelet, he’d been surprised. Shocked. He couldn’t stay mad after that. Asha ran up and collapsed against him, huffing and puffing.
“When did you get so fast?” Asha said between gasps.
“I’ve always been fast. I just let you win sometimes.”
Asha slugged him hard.
Yesofu picked up her backpack and swung it over his shoulder. “Come on.”
As they continued past the houses, stacked in neat rows, Yesofu noticed how different Asha’s neighborhood was from his. It wasn’t like it had suddenly changed. It was more like he’d changed, noticing more and more just how different his life was compared with Asha’s. Her family lived in a pale yellow two-story house. Twice . . . no, triple or quadruple the size of his place. What would Asha think of his family’s tiny two-room shack if she ever came by? It definitely didn’t have a huge wraparound verandah like this one.
Yesofu followed Asha up the stairs to the front door. The wooden shutters were folded open, and Yesofu could hear Mamma humming. He looked over the bougainvillea hedge into the next house. “It’s so cool the twins’ uncle is playing for the Ugandan field hockey team in the Olympics,” he said, unable to hide the hint of envy in his voice.
“You could play in the Olympics one day,” said Asha.
“They don’t have cricket.”
“But if you make team captain, then you could get a scholarship to secondary school and then to university and then . . .” Asha paused. “The national cricket team!”
“Maybe.” Yesofu’s eyes brightened and his mouth slowly spread into a toothy grin. “I’ll know this week.” Yesofu had a real shot at being named captain—it was between him and Rajeev. But that wasn’t even the best part . . . the part he hadn’t told anyone—well, except for Akello. The school team captain got to throw the first ball out at the upcoming Uganda-India cricket match. Yesofu couldn’t believe it when Coach had told him. “Let’s go inside.”
“Not so fast.” Asha grabbed his arm. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing.” Yesofu looked away, but Asha wasn’t letting him go. “I can’t. I promised Coach I wouldn’t say anything.”
“I knew it!” Asha danced around the verandah, hopping and waving her arms. “You’ve been named captain!”
“What? No.”
“Then tell me,” she pleaded.
“Okay.” Yesofu put his hands on her shoulders to stop her bouncing. “You know the India-Uganda match?”
“Yes!” Asha rolled her eyes. “Only the biggest match of the year.”
“Well, our team captain gets to pitch the first ball.” Yesofu ran to the opposite side of the verandah and pitched an invisible ball to Asha.
“No way!” She jumped up and pretended to catch it. “That will so be you.”
“I hope so.” Yesofu ran in a circle around her. “Akello thought it was awesome too.”
Asha stopped and her face clouded over.
“What’s wrong?” Yesofu asked.
“You told Akello?”
“Now you both know. It’s not a big deal.” Yesofu pretended to throw another ball, but Asha stood with her arms still against her sides. Yesofu felt bad it bothered her that he’d told Akello first. But he did tell her. And with Akello, he really got how big a deal this could be for him.
Asha touched her bracelet. “We’ll always be best friends,” she said as she picked up her backpack and walked inside.
Yesofu followed, trying to figure out if she was asking him or telling.
6
Asha
THAT YESOFU HAD told Akello before her had niggled at Asha all week. But she’d done her best to ignore it. It didn’t mean anything, she kept telling herself whenever she saw Yesofu and Akello together. It didn’t mean anything.
“Hurry up!” shouted Mr. Bhatt, the owner of Café Nile, holding the door open. “Jaldee! Jaldee!” As if repeating his words in Hindi made them doubly urgent. Asha, Leela, and Neela scurried in.
It was Friday and Asha had met the Gupta twins in town to shop for the upcoming dance at the Entebbe Club. Asha was on her way to the Sari House with Leela and Neela when Mr. Bhatt called them over.
“What’s wrong?” Asha asked.
Mr. Bhatt shut the door, almost catching the end of Neela’s scarf. He spun around, shaking his finger at them. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping,” said Neela. “I need a new—”
“The shops are shut.” Mr. Bhatt moved them away from the door. “You shouldn’t be in town. Not now. Not with all the trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Asha and Leela asked at the same time.
Mr. Bhatt didn’t answer. He waved his hand at the tables. “Go sit and don’t leave!”
“Is it just me or is he acting really weird?” said Asha. Over at the counter, Mr. Bhatt kept looking in their direction as he whispered into the telephone.
“Maybe it has something to do with that.”
Asha looked outside. Crowds of people poured onto India Street, in front of the long row of shops. They shouted and cheered, waving the Ugandan flag. Earlier this year, Coach Edwin had taught the class the history behind the flag—each of the three colored stripes represented a part of Africa: black for the African people, yellow for Africa’s sunshine, and red for the color of blood connecting all the African people. Asha didn’t have African blood, but Uganda was her home.
“It looks like some kind of parade,” Neela said.
Leela squeezed between them. “Is it Independence Day?”
“That’s in October,” Asha replied. She craned her neck to see farther down the street. The shops and their owners were as familiar as her neighborhood, but today she felt a strange tightness in her chest she couldn’t explain. Horns beeped and men punched their fists in the air. Everybody looked happy. Jubilant. Asha glanced at Mr. Bhatt. He slammed down the phone and disappeared into the back room. Asha couldn’t tell if it was the parade that had Mr. Bhatt all jumpy or if it was something else.
“Look!” Leela cried.
Outside, a group of African women in traditional gomesi danced past the café in a rainbow of colors. Asha loved the floor-length dresses with short, puffed sleeves and wide sash. “I should wear a gomesi to the club function.”
“You can’t,” said Leela.
“You’d look ridiculous,” sniffed Neela.
“Don’t forget, you’re Indian,” added Leela. “Not African.”
“Indian. African. We’re different, so what? If people stopped making such a big deal of it, then it wouldn’t matter so much.” The women had slowed down, shouting and pointing at the three of them as they passed. Asha couldn’t hear what they said, but the way they were waving their arms in the air and glaring made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Whatever was going on in town today felt different than the usual parades and celebrations. A sudden feeling of wanting to be home overtook Asha. “I’m leaving,” she announced.
Leela grabbed her arm. “But Mr. Bhatt said to—”
“I don’t care,” said Asha. “I’m tired of waiting.”
“Me too!” Neela jumped up.
Leela glanced outside. “What about all that craziness?”
“What about it?” Asha asked. “Things will be fine once we’re off India Street.” She and Neela started for the door.
“Wait for me!” Leela cried. She scrambled out of her seat and squeezed between Asha and Neela, clasping their hands tightly. “Don’t let go.”
Asha pushed open the door and together they stepped outside. The sun beat down as Asha led the way, pushing into the crowds. The noise engulfed her like the waves of the Indian Ocean, threatening to pull her under.
“Come on.” Asha tightened her grip on Leela’s hand, pulling her and Neela deeper into the crowds.
7
Yesofu
“YANGUWA!” ESI SHOUTED.
Yesofu heard his brother’s shouts as he and Akello came down from the well. They hurried as fast as they could, careful not to spill water from the metal pails they carried.
“Let’s go,” said Esi. He motioned for Yesofu and Akello to climb onto the motorbike.
Yesofu set down the water pails. He’d never seen his brother looking so frenzied. Esi was the calm one. “Always cool, that boy,” Baba would say.
Today, Yesofu’s brother bounced on his motorbike, waving his arms, like he was doing a Buganda tribal nankasa dance.