by Tina Athaide
“Harakisha! Hurry up!” Esi repeated, as if the command in Luganda, Swahili, and then in English would make them move faster. “Today’s a great day for Ugandans! President Amin just made a big announcement.”
“What’d he say?” Yesofu asked.
“Not now.” Esi patted the back of the scooter. “Get on so we can go!”
Yesofu didn’t argue. He swung his leg over the seat and scooted forward to make room for Akello.
“Where to?” Akello asked. He climbed on behind Yesofu.
“India Street . . .” Esi’s voice disappeared, swallowed by the grinding motorbike engine.
Yesofu held on tightly as his brother maneuvered up and down the small hills leading into the main part of Entebbe . . . away from the rural area where they lived. Yesofu flung his arm around his brother’s waist as the bike hit another rut and bounded into the air. He felt Akello grab him from behind. Whatever was happening must be really good for Esi to be driving this fast. As they neared India Street, Esi slowed. People, boda-boda taxis, cars, and cyclists spilled onto the street.
“Hold on.” Esi swerved into a narrow alleyway leading to the center of India Street and parked the bike behind two empty oil drums. They climbed off and continued by foot.
Yesofu grabbed Akello’s arm and pointed. Up ahead, a wall of people stretched from one end of India Street to the other. Some marched down the middle of the street. Others stood on crates and tables. Groups peered down from rooftops. Yesofu felt dizzy staring down at the crowds. Independence Day parades had tons of people, but not this much excitement. Whatever it was that President Amin had announced had to be something really big.
“Esi, up here!” someone called out.
Yesofu looked up. It was one of his brother’s friends.
Esi turned over an empty oil barrel and used it to climb onto the roof of the Sari House. “Give me your hands,” he said, and pulled Yesofu and Akello up.
They made their way to the edge of the building, pushing past the group that had gathered. Looking out from the rooftop, Yesofu had a clear view of India Street. There were people everywhere, waving the Ugandan flag, cheering and chanting. It was the biggest crowd he’d ever seen. An African man jumped over from the next-door building.
“Good day for Africans.” The man handed Yesofu and Akello Ugandan flags. “President Amin ordered Indians to go home—to leave Uganda.” The man clapped his hand against his chest. “Finally, Africans will get what they deserve. Opportunities are there for us.” The man hollered and walked away.
Akello hopped back and forth, waving his flag. “Go Dada Amin.”
The man’s words turned inside Yesofu. It wasn’t just the opportunities opening up for Africans but also the bit about Indians being kicked out. Did that mean all Indians—Asha too?
“It’s happening.” Akello nudged Yesofu. “Our lives are gonna change.”
Yesofu looked at the flag in his hand. The Ugandan flag—six bands of black, yellow, and red repeated twice with a grey crowned crane perched in the center inside a white circle. The red band was for the blood of the African people. It connected them. Africans will finally get what they deserve. Yesofu looked out at the growing excitement.
“Did you hear me?” Akello shouted over the cheers. “We’re gonna live in real houses with walls and running water.”
“No more carrying water from the well,” Yesofu added.
Akello grabbed Yesofu’s shoulders. “No more working the sugar and coffee fields.” They jumped in circles, and Yesofu’s worries about Asha faded.
For as long as he could remember, Yesofu’d wanted more than to go out into the fields every day like Baba. Or to cook and clean for mzungu or Indians like Mamma. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, but compared to finishing college or playing professional cricket? It wasn’t even a contest. He wanted to be able to buy Baba a real house, maybe even get Mamma her own housegirl.
What had that man said?
Africans will finally get what they deserve.
Yesofu repeated the words, breathing life into them, fighting to ignore every what-if. What if he didn’t get a cricket scholarship? What if they couldn’t afford the fees at Entebbe Secondary School?
Africans will finally get what they deserve.
Now Yesofu cheered and waved his Ugandan flag. President Amin was going to help. A change was coming.
8
Asha
ASHA TIGHTENED HER grip on Leela’s hand. The crowds spread across India Street, making it almost impossible to cross. People huddled together in groups, waving the Ugandan flag, or danced with their arms linked together. The three of them had hardly moved at all, being pushed and pulled back and forth. The heat of the sun and the people made it hard to breathe, or maybe it was the fear of being trapped and unable to get out. Why hadn’t she listened to Mr. Bhatt and stayed inside Café Nile? It was too late now.
“Mhindi . . .”
Indian. The word thundered all around. Asha’s chest tightened as she looked for spaces to push through, past the jutting elbows and dancing bodies. She looked up at the dark faces shining with excitement and felt none of their joy.
“Dada Amin!”
The crowd cheered for the president, their chanting growing louder and louder. A thick mass of bodies moved in. Asha squeezed Leela’s hand and she squeezed back.
“Wahindi waende nyumbani!”
Indians go home. That’s what she was trying to do. Suddenly, a wave of people pitched forward, tugging, to pull them apart. Asha felt Leela’s fingers tighten. A heavy mass slammed against Asha. She hit the ground. Leela’s hand was gone.
Asha had to get up before she got trampled. She rolled onto her knees and stood. Where were Leela and Neela? She spun around, searching through the unfamiliar faces coming upon her. She felt a hand wrap around her wrist. Dark fingers. Not Leela or Neela. Asha yanked to get free, but the fingers tightened. She felt herself being pulled with a grip that was almost painful. Her heart hammered against her chest and her breath came out in gasps. The person holding on to her moved quickly until finally they escaped the crowds and stopped.
Asha looked up. Esi! He’d found her like that time she got separated from him and Yesofu after seeing Independence Day fireworks at Lake Victoria. She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
“What are you doing here?”
Asha jumped back, shocked by the anger in his voice. Esi had that same look on his face as Mr. Bhatt—a crisscross of worry.
“Wahindi waende nyumbani!” The shouts thundered around them.
“Why are they shouting ‘Indians go home’?”
“I’m getting you out of here,” said Esi.
Asha stepped back as Esi reached for her. She wasn’t going anywhere. “Not until you tell me what’s going on!”
“Later. We just have to go. Right now.”
A police car appeared, its siren blaring. A flash of fear swept across Esi’s face. He lunged toward her, but Asha stepped out of his reach.
“You almost got trampled,” snapped Esi. He pointed up. “What would have happened if Yesofu hadn’t seen you?”
Yesofu was here? Asha looked to where Esi pointed. Yesofu and Akello stood on top of Sari House, bouncing from foot to foot, cheering, waving, and hollering. A different kind of fear gripped Asha. The kind that left her wondering what her best friend was doing on top of the Sari House with a huge smile on his face while everyone around him shouted for Indians to leave. She looked down at the friendship bracelet on her wrist. There had to be a good reason Yesofu was here. She made a move toward him when Esi grabbed her hand, pulling her in the opposite direction.
“Wahindi waende nyumbani!”
Esi kept a quick, steady pace. He dragged her away from India Street into an alley, finally letting go when he reached his scooter. “Get on.”
Asha climbed up, settling behind Esi. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly as he started weaving through the crowds. When they
got closer to Asha’s house, Esi slowed, finally coming to a stop at the top of her street.
“You can get home from here,” Esi told her.
Asha climbed off. Esi was the older brother she and Teelu never had. But something felt different today. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Esi rubbed the back of his neck. Finally he looked at her. “Asha, things are going to be changing . . .” He paused like he wasn’t sure if he should continue. “The president made an announcement.”
“What?”
“He wants Indians to leave. He wants them out of Uganda.”
“You’re lying.”
Esi shook his head.
“You need to go home, Asha. Talk to your parents.”
Asha didn’t wait. She took off running, willing her legs to move faster. Uganda was home. The president couldn’t make her leave. Her heart thumped in step with her feet. As she skidded through the open gate, she saw Papa’s car. Asha leapt up the verandah and ran inside the house.
“Papa!” Asha cried out.
Both Mama and Papa came running out of the sitting room. Papa opened his arms and Asha ran into them. He pulled her close, holding her like he used to when she’d fall and scrape her knee.
“Is it true?” Asha asked, stopping to catch her breath. “Is the president kicking us out?”
“Yes.”
Papa’s words were barely a whisper, but they felt like a burst of thunder crashing on top of her head.
90 Days
9
Yesofu
THE EXCITEMENT OF yesterday was still with Yesofu as he finished his morning chores. He snapped the longer branches and added them to the pile of firewood by his home made of wattle and daub—woven rods and twigs plastered with clay and mud. Inside, the hut was quiet under the grass roof. Mamma and Baba woke with the early sun. Mamma caught the bus to Asha’s house and Baba joined other men from the village to work in the fields. Yesofu glanced at the mat across from him. It was empty. Esi had left to drive Asha’s father to work. Would that change soon?
The president was returning Uganda to Africans.
Wahindi waende nyumbani. That’s what everyone had been chanting yesterday. What he had been chanting. Yesofu hadn’t been able to get Asha out of his head after he and Akello had seen her yesterday. She’d looked like a trapped animal in the crowd of Africans. Esi had assured him she was fine, but Yesofu’d been wondering what the expulsion meant for Asha. Baba had said that Mr. Gomez had Ugandan citizenship, which meant Asha didn’t have to go.
Yesofu finished the last bite of his porridge and set the bowl inside the bucket of water. His thoughts kept spinning back to Asha. She was Indian. So were his friends on the cricket team—Simon and Rajeev. What would happen to the cricket team if their parents didn’t have Ugandan citizenship?
Yesofu pulled on his uniform—tan shorts and a buttoned white, short-sleeved shirt. His white socks were a reddish tan from the dust, so he turned them inside out and found his shoes. He grabbed his backpack and set off for school.
Walking the narrow, unpaved road leading into town, Yesofu passed women balancing baskets of fruit and vegetables on their heads. He waved at Akello’s mamma and sisters. Men in groups waited for the bus. Conversation fluttered around Yesofu like the yellow weavers darting in and out of the elephant grass.
“No more cleaning and cooking for those Indians.”
“My children will see a new Uganda . . . Amin will make sure of that.”
“A Uganda for Africans . . . not Wahindi or mzungu.”
Yesofu noticed the person spat out the words for Indians and whites like they were poison on his tongue. A slight shiver ran up his spine.
Salim and Yasid ran up, appearing on either side of Yesofu.
“Hujambo,” said Yesofu.
“Day one,” said Yasid. “Start packing, Indians.”
Salim looked at Yesofu. “You too.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh, right,” said Salim. “You’re African. I keep forgetting.” He and Yasid snickered. “What about your girlfriend?”
Running feet approached from behind, and Akello joined them. “What’s up?”
“We were asking about Asha.”
Yesofu faced Salim. “What about her?”
“What does she think of Dada Amin’s plan?” Yasid asked.
Akello shot them a look that said Back off! But neither seemed to notice.
“You always say she’s different from other Indians—” Salim put on a smile, so big and fake that Yesofu wanted to smack it off his face.
“Asha will get what this means to me . . . to us.”
“You’re crazy,” said Salim, laughing as he and Yasid ran ahead.
Yesofu stood up straight. They didn’t know Asha like he did. She’d know how the president’s plan could help him and other Africans. He turned to Akello.
“Asha will understand.” He meant to sound sure, but it came out more like a question.
Akello looked at him and shrugged. “I like Asha . . . she’s okay, but I’m not sure she’ll understand.”
10
Asha
WALKING INTO COACH’S class, Asha couldn’t get the memory of Yesofu cheering out of her head. She clasped her friendship bracelet, pressing the beads into her wrist. Yesofu had Indian friends other than her. Did he really want them kicked out? Did Indians have to leave so Africans could have a better life?
Asha crinkled her nose against the early morning blast of lemon disinfectant and looked around the classroom. Like oil and water, Indians and Africans shared the space without mixing. It wasn’t any different than usual, but somehow President Amin’s announcement made it feel entirely different.
“Over here,” Leela called.
Asha squeezed past a group, including Salim and Yasid. Usually Yesofu and Akello hung out with them, but she didn’t see either of them.
“Doing okay after yesterday?” Leela asked.
Before Asha could answer, Neela jumped in. “It’s so awful.” She threw her head down on her desk. Usually Neela was over the top about everything, but today was the first time that Asha felt like doing the same thing.
“Your dad writes for the Uganda Argus,” said Asha. “You’ll be fine.”
“We have British passports,” said Leela. “If the president gets his way, he’ll kick us out.”
Asha didn’t want to think about the twins leaving. She shook her head. “That won’t happen. President Amin is crazy.”
Salim appeared at Asha’s side. “Who are you calling crazy?” He grabbed her backpack.
Asha glared at him and he glared back. She lunged for her bag.
“I asked you a question.”
“So what?” Asha shot back. “I don’t have to answer.”
“If you want this . . .” Salim shook her bag in the air. “You do.”
Other kids started crowding in. Leela and Neela stood on either side of Asha.
“She called President Amin crazy . . . because he is.” Neela stood with her hands on her hips and her chin jutting out.
Shouts erupted from the African kids. Asha elbowed Neela and shot her a look that told her to keep her big mouth shut.
“Come on . . . what President Amin is doing is wrong,” Asha said.
“For whom?” Akello walked up to her. Right behind, Yesofu followed. He snatched the backpack out of Salim’s hand and returned it to Asha.
“Asante,” she thanked him. They’d always talked in this mix of Swahili and English. He’d tried to teach her his tribal language, Luganda, but she still only knew a couple of words.
“Who’s it wrong for?” Yesofu asked.
“Us . . . it’s wrong for us.” Asha searched his face for a sign that he understood how awful it was for President Amin to make Indians leave their home . . . their country.
“You mean it’s wrong for Indians,” Yesofu shot back. “Because from where I’m standing, everything he’s doing is right.”
&n
bsp; Asha couldn’t believe it. Yesofu was supposed to be her best friend. How could he think what the president was doing was okay?
Akello stepped forward. “President Amin is helping Africans get what they deserve. This is our country. The mzungu—whites—got rich off us, and when the British left, the Indians stepped right in taking . . . taking. Now it’s our turn!”
Asha stared at Yesofu, waiting for him to disagree with Akello, but he just stood there nodding. “You believe that?” Asha twisted her bracelet around her wrist, anger rising in her. “Indians make less money doing exactly the same jobs as the British.”
“But we make even less than Indians,” Yesofu shot back, faster than Asha expected. “Don’t Esi and Mamma deserve more than being your slaves—don’t I?”
The class grew quiet. The fire in Yesofu’s eyes had disappeared, replaced with something else—disappointment.
“I told you,” said Akello. He threw his arm around Yesofu’s shoulder, and Yesofu didn’t make any move to get away. “It’s okay, though, you have us.”
Why was Akello making things harder? They weren’t friends like her and Yesofu. But they still got along. Or used to. Every muscle in Asha’s body tensed. She waited for Yesofu to say something, counting the seconds, which were starting to feel like minutes. Finally, he shrugged like he was done talking and went off with Akello.
“Don’t worry about him,” Leela whispered. “He’ll come around.”
Asha swallowed the lump in her throat. On the night of her birthday, Yesofu’d told her they were different, making it a big deal, like she didn’t know she was Indian and he was African. She knew they weren’t the same. They lived in different parts of town. Fara and Esi worked for Mama and Papa. It had been like this ever since she could remember. The door opened and Coach Edwin walked in. His eyes moved across the room, taking in the chaos. “Everyone, back to your regular seats. Now!”
Asha held her breath, knowing any second Yesofu would show up in his usual seat next to her. Finally, he came over and sat down. She leaned closer. “Yesofu—” Suddenly her throat went dry.