by Tina Athaide
Yesofu crossed his arms and sat with his back tall and straight.
Asha couldn’t lose this chance to let him know that she did understand. “I know we are different, but it doesn’t matter.”
Yesofu kept his eyes down. “It does . . .”
“Only if you let it.”
Asha waited. Yesofu didn’t answer.
11
Yesofu
YESOFU COULDN’T WAIT to get to cricket practice. He needed to wind up his arms, feel the power in his legs, and run until Asha and everything that happened today faded into the background.
The first sound Yesofu heard as he came up on the field was a loud thwack—the cricket bat smacking the ball. Rajeev stood on the batting crease line near the wicket, then swung, sending another ball flying over the head of the bowler out into the field. Yesofu needed to get out there and show Coach his skills if he wanted to be named team captain instead of Rajeev.
“No need to suit up,” Coach called out to Yesofu. “I’ve got an announcement.”
“No Africans on the team,” someone called out.
“We’re kicking you out!” another player shouted.
Behind him, Yesofu heard snickering. His face got hot. With Akello gone, he was the only African player on the team. Cricket was the one place he thought things would stay the same. Teammates. Didn’t that count for something?
“Ignore them,” said Simon. He dropped next to Yesofu and pulled out his leg guards. “They’re jerks.” When Yesofu first joined the cricket team, the other players had purposely hit him with the ball until Simon stood up for him. Today it felt like those first days all over again. At least he still had Simon on his side.
“Are you sure you should be hanging out with me?” Yesofu asked.
Simon tightened the straps around his leg. “You’re not the one making us leave. Idi Amin is. And here—” He pointed to the cricket field. “We’re on the same team.”
Yesofu pulled Simon up and they joined the rest of the team. Coach Edwin blew his whistle and waited for everyone to quiet down.
“Our school was chosen to throw the ball in the Uganda-India cricket match this year.”
Everyone cheered.
“Isn’t it great?” Yesofu high-fived Simon. “Coach told me and Rajeev the other day and I’ve been waiting for you to find out.”
Coach continued. “And the person throwing to the bowler will be our team captain.”
This was what Yesofu had been waiting for. All the extra hours practicing were finally going to pay off. He was going to be on the field with real players from the Ugandan national team. Maybe he’d even get to meet his hero, Sam Walusimbi. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t playing in the official match. Just throwing the first ball to the bowler and being able to sit on the bench with the players from the national team would feel like he was a part of the team. Last night, for extra luck, Yesofu’d prayed to God and put a coffee bean in the basket as a small offering to his Ganda ancestors. By doing both, he figured he stood a better chance. Let it be me.
“It wasn’t an easy decision,” said Coach. “Only two players are skilled at both batting and bowling—Rajeev and Yesofu. Our two all-rounders.”
Simon elbowed Yesofu and he nudged him right back.
“And our new captain is—” Coach paused. “Rajeev.”
Every muscle in Yesofu’s body tensed. Coach had always treated him the same as any of the other guys on the team. But today, Yesofu wondered if picking Rajeev was a way to stick it to President Amin. Rajeev stood next to Coach, his shoulders slumped. If that was Yesofu, he’d have been whooping and hollering. Most of the other players rushed forward, crowding around Rajeev. Yesofu hung back. Rajeev leaned close to Coach and whispered to him.
Coach raised his hand to quiet everyone.
“Thanks, Coach,” said Rajeev. “But I can’t—”
Yesofu looked at Simon and mouthed, “What’s going on?”
Coach put his arm around Rajeev’s shoulders. “Rajeev’s family is leaving Entebbe.”
Everyone turned to look at Yesofu, like he was the one making Rajeev leave. He looked down, avoiding their glares.
“Quiet!” Coach shouted. “It’s only fair that Rajeev gets to pick his replacement.”
Yesofu gripped the cricket ball in his hand. “It’s over.”
“You don’t know that,” said Simon.
“Rajeev is leaving because Idi Amin is kicking Indians out. There’s no way he’ll name me. Anyway, I don’t know if I want it anymore. Not like this . . . because Rajeev had to leave.” Yesofu kicked at the dirt.
“There’s only one person I can think of to replace me,” said Rajeev. “And Coach agrees.” He paused. “Yesofu!”
Blood rushed to Yesofu’s head and pounded in his ears. Rajeev had named him. But it didn’t feel like a win. Nobody said a word. No cheers or claps on the back like they’d done for Rajeev.
“Ignore them,” said Simon. “You deserve it. Rajeev picked you.”
Yesofu straightened his shoulders and looked at Coach. “I don’t want it.”
Rajeev walked over to Yesofu and faced the team. “Yesofu is the best player here . . . after me.” He handed Yesofu the ball.
Coach looked at Yesofu. “Well?”
Yesofu looked at the ball in his hands. Of all the times he’d dreamed of this moment, he never thought it would feel this messy, this strange. Yesofu thought about the makeshift cricket field he, Akello, and Yasid had made. They’d picked out the flattest area they could find—near the water well, away from where a stray ball could knock out a roof. It had no green grass, and two worn mats marked the crease and the pitcher’s mound. He looked around at his teammates. They had always practiced on a real cricket field.
Yesofu stood taller. “I’m in.”
“We have a new captain,” said Coach. “And remember, on the cricket field, we’re a team. Nothing else matters.”
Yesofu looked at Rajeev. He had imagined becoming team captain for so long. But now that he had it, the win felt less like a victory.
75 Days
12
Asha
ASHA THREW ON her dressing gown and snatched the carrom striker off her night table before heading downstairs to breakfast. She slipped her hand into her pocket, rolling the striker between her fingers, hoping there’d be time to play a game with Papa. For the past two weeks, he’d gone straight from work to the Entebbe Institute, staying late into the night to discuss President Amin’s announcement with friends, including the twins’ dad, Mr. Gupta, and Simon’s dad.
Yesterday, the president changed his mind and exempted a whole group of Indians from having to leave—civil servant employees and medical professionals—but the rest still had to go. Asha knew that Papa had been worried about Mama since she had British citizenship, but Mama was a midwife at the Grade A hospital. Now both her parents were exempt.
The Gomez family wasn’t going anywhere.
The family gathered for breakfast in the kitchen. Fara stood at the counter, kneading and rolling chapati dough into six-inch circles, while Mama fried the dough in the tava. The chapati sizzled in the flat pan. Papa was on the phone with Teelu, getting dates so he could book her ticket home. Asha pushed in her sister’s empty chair, wishing she was already here. Asha walked over to where Mama stood with Fara at the cooker. She wrapped her arms around Mama’s waist, squeezing a morning greeting while breathing the warm doughy smell of cooking chapatis. For the first time in the last couple of weeks, things felt normal. Like they used to before President Amin decided Indians should leave.
“Habari malaika.” Fara used Asha’s nickname—angel.
Asha smiled and rested her chin on Fara’s shoulder, reaching around her to poke the chapati dough. She jumped back when Fara playfully smacked her hand.
“Day fifteen,” the announcer boomed from Mama’s radio transistor.
Every day the radios and newspapers broadcasted the number counting up to the ninety-day deadline. Asha h
ated how the number stayed with her, popping up in the middle of a math lesson or when playing carrom at the club. As she set the plates on the table, she thought about President Amin and how he’d changed his mind by exempting some people. If only he’d changed it to get rid of the countdown for good.
Then things could really go back to the way they used to be.
“Seventy-five days remaining for Indians to get out,” the announcer declared.
“Shut that thing off.” Papa hung up the phone and picked up a chapati.
Mama stiffened, but didn’t turn around from the cooker. Fara dusted the floury chapati atta from her hands and switched off the radio. Mama slipped a chapati onto Asha’s plate and pressed the spatula against the puffed dome. A soft whistling escaped. Papa spread a thick layer of guava jam on his chapati with concentration. Asha knew that look—it was the one he got when he had something to say that he knew Mama wouldn’t like. He’d looked exactly the same the day the new British guy at the tourism office got a promotion, even though Papa had worked at the job longer and knew more.
Asha bit off a piece of chapati and waited.
“We may need to look at getting out now, before things become worse,” said Papa.
Asha’s head snapped up. “Why should we leave? Entebbe is our home.”
Mama turned from the cooker. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving whitish-brown floury streaks of chapati atta. “Things will settle down.”
Papa pushed his plate away, leaving his chapati half eaten. “And what if they don’t? Look how many people have left already.”
“It’s only because they have to,” said Mama. “We’re exempted.”
Asha sat up straight, nodding in agreement with Mama. “Why go if we don’t have to?”
“You can’t pretend that President Amin doesn’t want us out.”
“He’s not making us leave.” Mama paused. “You are.”
“And don’t forget,” Asha added, feeling more certain, “Mama delivered one of President Amin’s babies when he was a general in the army. That has to count for something. Right?”
Papa ignored Asha and continued. “So it’s okay for Amin to kick certain Indians out, while you stay?”
“Ashok!” Mama’s face flushed and her hand trembled as she shook the tava at Papa. Fara came over and removed the hot pan from Mama’s hands.
“What Amin’s doing isn’t right,” said Papa, his voice steady and strong. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “England is taking in Indians with British passports. How long do you think that is going to last? I’m telling you it won’t be long before they say no, and then what will we do?”
“Nothing,” said Asha. “We’ll be in Entebbe. Who cares what England does?”
“We are fine here,” Mama said, fiddling with the gold bangles on her wrist. The set of twelve thin bangles had been a present from Papa on their wedding day. She looked Papa right in the eyes. “I’m not leaving.”
Asha looked back and forth between her parents. Entebbe was as much their home as it was the home of the Africans Idi Amin wanted to help. Mama understood that. Why didn’t Papa? Mama’s bangles clinked softly as she slid them down her arm.
“I’m not leaving, Ashok,” Mama said again, quieter, but still firm.
Papa got up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Okay,” he sighed. “I’ll take my papers to the immigration office in Kampala today.”
All the ugliness between them melted away like the ghee in the hot tava as Mama rested her head on Papa’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
Mama had won . . . this time. But Asha had a feeling Papa wasn’t done. He had that look on his face—determined and unwavering. Asha took a bite of her chapati, chewing with the same determination.
Uganda was her home . . . their home.
Asha glanced at Papa. He’d agreed with Mama too quickly. Somehow she had to make sure he didn’t change his mind.
13
Yesofu
“SO HOW MUCH have you got?” Akello asked Yesofu on their way to work in the fields.
“Twenty shillings. A couple more Saturdays and I should have enough.” Baba had made it clear that if Yesofu wanted a new cricket uniform for the Uganda-India match, he’d have to buy it himself. The truck driving Yesofu, Baba, Akello, and the other workers to the plantations slowed and turned, its engine clanking.
“Why do you need a new one?” Baba asked. “There’s a perfectly good one at home.”
By perfectly good, Baba meant the secondhand uniform with threadbare knees and patches of grass stains. “I can’t wear that.”
Good thing the bigger plantations were hiring extra workers to help cut and gather the sugarcanes. The upcoming match was a big deal, and Yesofu wanted a new uniform so he fit in with the players from the national team.
“This cricket is a waste,” said Baba. “Working in the fields is fair, honest work.”
Yesofu stared at the fields—a mishmash of green, gold, and brown. “I want more. I don’t want to be stuck, trapped inside a jail of canes.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could have sucked them back in. The slap on the back of his head came swift and quick.
“That coach is putting crazy ideas into your head,” said Baba.
Yesofu knew his father used to be just as good at cricket as he was. Probably even better. But there was no Ugandan team back then. The only way the British let an African on the cricket field was if they were carrying a tray of food or drinks. There was no changing Baba’s mind. The truck stopped and everyone jumped off. The sun was hot against the back of Yesofu’s neck and he pulled up the collar of his shirt, ready to get to work. He and Akello followed a few feet behind Baba.
“Do you think Sam Walusimbi’s gonna be there?” Akello rolled down the sleeves of his shirt to protect his arms from getting scratched by the dried canes.
“You bet he will.” Yesofu had been going over what he’d say to his hero. He didn’t want to sound cheesy. It had to be something cool.
“You’re so lucky.”
“I know,” Yesofu said to Akello, joking. “Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you.”
“What if President Amin shows up?” Akello handed Yesofu rolls of twine.
“You think he would?”
Akello shrugged. “You never know. He’s been staying at the State House more.”
Baba picked up a machete and called to them. Yesofu and Akello hurried to catch up. In the fields, men stood in cutting lines, swinging at the stalks. Baba joined them. For the next four hours, Yesofu worked alongside Akello. They followed behind Baba, gathering the chopped stalks into piles, tying them with twine, and hauling them onto carts. The tall canes cut off any breeze, making it blistering hot. Yesofu couldn’t imagine Rajeev or Simon having to work this hard for a new cricket uniform. When the break whistle finally blew, Yesofu’s mouth was as dry as sawdust.
Out in the open, he could finally breathe. Yesofu whipped off his long-sleeved shirt and lifted his arms up. The breeze felt good.
“Hey,” said Akello. “You’re killing me with your stink.”
Yesofu grabbed Akello’s head and shoved it into his armpit. He pushed him away and they raced to where the men stood by the water well. “Do you really think that all Indians have to go for us to get what we deserve?” Yesofu asked after gulping down an entire cup of water.
“It’s what Dada Amin believes, and so do I. An Africa for Africans.”
Yesofu wanted to believe that President Amin could give him the life he deserved, but he couldn’t forget his friends. “What about Asha and Simon?”
“What about them?” Akello faced Yesofu.
“They’ve lived here just as long as we have—”
“In their big houses with fancy cars.” Akello cut him off. “It’s not like they hang out with us, except at school. They can still have the good life, but go do it somewhere else. India. London.” He looked at Yesofu with a steady seriousness in his eyes. “
You should know that.”
“Why me?”
“You’re team captain.” Akello’s eyes narrowed. “Because Rajeev left?”
Yesofu bit down hard on a piece of sugarcane, his anger simmering. He didn’t need Akello rubbing it in about him only getting captain because of Rajeev leaving. Yesofu had been feeling sick about it, but it wasn’t like he could bring Rajeev back. He was team captain now. The break whistle blew.
“You coming?” Akello asked.
Yesofu got up. The heat felt suffocating. Or maybe it was that deep down he knew Akello was right.
14
Asha
ASHA CLUTCHED THE bag tightly as she ran to meet Simon at the Botanical Gardens. She saw him talking with his cousins under a eucalyptus tree and waved, hurrying over.
“Do you have it?” Simon asked.
Asha handed him the bag. When Simon told her that Yesofu’d been named team captain, she knew he’d want something special to wear. “Yesofu is going to freak out when he sees what we got him.” Rajeev’s uniform was the perfect surprise. She only hoped that he wouldn’t also freak out when he saw her. The last time they’d talked was at school the day after President Amin’s announcement.
Simon glanced at his watch. “Come on, we better go.”
Situated on the northern shores of Lake Victoria, the gardens were one of Asha’s favorite places. She always imagined it was a magical forest as she walked past the exotic trees, thick flowering branches, and monkeys hiding in the dense foliage. Asha looked for Yesofu under the ancient banyan tree with its circle of hanging roots. “I don’t see him.”
“Wait here.” Simon pointed to a patch of grass. “I’ll look on the other side.”
Asha had hardly stretched out her legs when she saw Yesofu. But when she sat up to wave, her mouth went dry. Akello! She didn’t get why Yesofu was still hanging out with him. Remember why you’re here, Asha said to herself. She waved and called out. “Habari!”