by Tina Athaide
“What are you doing in here?”
“O-outside . . . it’s Leela and Neela’s dad,” stammered Asha. She pointed out the window.
Mama crossed the room and shut the window, whipping the curtains closed. “Nobody is outside.”
Asha shook her head. “I saw Papa—”
Mama turned. “He’s fast asleep in bed and that’s exactly where you should be.”
Asha took a step toward the window. “But Mr. Gupta’s car . . . it’s there in the driveway.”
Mama placed a hand on Asha’s shoulders and led her back to her room. She pulled the covers up to Asha’s chin, tucking the loose edges under the mattress, firm and tight. Her lips brushed Asha’s forehead. “Close your eyes and sleep.”
Asha waited for the door to shut before struggling to free her arms from the tight cocoon Mama had wrapped her inside.
What about our safety? Mama had said to Papa earlier that night. We’ll be fine staying as long as you don’t get too involved.
But Papa was involved, and it looked like it was more than just the passports. Asha wondered if Leela and Neela had known that Mr. Gupta wasn’t leaving with them. Was that why Neela hadn’t come to school? And why their uncle had picked Leela up instead of her dad?
Asha crawled out of bed and opened her wardrobe. She felt around for her leather carrom bag and pulled it out. The passports were still inside. When she’d taken them, she’d been sure that Prime Minister Heath in London would stop Idi Amin. And if he couldn’t do it alone, then the president from America, Nixon, or Prime Minister Trudeau in Canada would help. But so far, nobody had been able to stop President Amin. Asha emptied the bag onto her bed. She picked up Papa’s passport and looked at his photograph, remembering what he’d said to Mama.
Stop fooling yourself! We cannot hide the color of our skin, so we will not be safe.
7 Days
36
Yesofu
“THANKS, COACH.” YESOFU couldn’t believe that Coach had agreed to talk to the officers at Lake Victoria Primary School about him joining their cricket team midyear for the playoffs. He’d worried that Coach would say no. So, on his way over, Yesofu had come up with a bunch of reasons to convince him. But it turned out he didn’t need them.
“You’re a good all-rounder, but don’t forget your studies,” said Coach. “The primary exams will be coming up soon, and you have a real shot at a scholarship.”
“I won’t let you down,” Yesofu said before leaving.
Things were looking up.
Asha lived a couple of doors from Coach, and Yesofu had to pass her house on his way home. As he got closer, Yesofu heard the door slam and saw Asha burst outside. She started slapping the bougainvillea with a rolled-up newspaper, then deflated, sinking into a wooden chair.
“Asha!” Yesofu didn’t care what he’d promised Baba. He couldn’t just walk away.
Her head jerked up and she wiped away tears with the back of her hand. Yesofu walked over, stopping at the bottom step leading onto the verandah.
“Why are you here?” Asha gave him a hard stare and threw the paper on the table.
Yesofu shifted his feet back and forth, weighing whether to stay or go. He walked over and slipped into the chair opposite her. “I didn’t think Akello would hurt you. I would have stopped him before . . . well, everything.”
Asha didn’t say anything, but her fingers fiddled with the beads on the bracelet he’d given her. “Then how come it’s taken you so long to come see me?”
“Okay.” Yesofu stretched out his hand to grab the bracelet. “If we’re not friends anymore, I guess I’d better take that back.” He grinned, daring her to stop him. The sides of her mouth twitched, like she was trying hard not to smile.
“It’s not Akello,” said Asha.
“Then what?”
Asha smoothed out the newspaper. “It’s Teelu. She can’t come home.”
“Does that mean you’ll go to London?”
“I don’t know.” Asha slid the paper across the table. The headline read NO MORE ASIANS. The photograph showed people holding signs telling Asians to get out. “Papa said that London isn’t taking any more Indians.” Her voice cracked, but she continued. “Nobody wants us. The United Nations is begging other countries. It’s like we’re the plague, not people.”
“Your dad works for the ministry of tourism. Can’t he do something?”
“He’s doing something, just not to help us.”
“What do you mean?” Yesofu tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling creeping up his spine.
“Well, last night . . .”
“And?” Yesofu nudged, wanting her to keep going.
Asha rolled the bracelet around her wrist, faster and faster. She took a breath and looked like she was about to talk, and then stopped like she was weighing if she could trust him. They’d never had secrets from one another. Finally, she looked up and continued.
“I think Papa was in the garden with Leela and Neela’s dad—Mr. Gupta.”
“Didn’t he leave?”
Asha pressed her thumb against the faces in the newspaper, like she was trying to rub them out. “Papa’s got passports.” Asha poked a hole and then another, leaving behind faceless bodies holding signs. “Not one or two . . . like a whole bunch of blank ones.”
Yesofu’s jaw tightened. “What’s he doing with them?” His voice came out sharper than he’d meant.
Asha’s hand froze. She looked up, her eyes wide. “I d-d-don’t know.” She looked away quickly.
“You must know something.”
“I told you. I don’t.” Asha gave him a sideways look that told him she was worried. “It’s probably nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing. Blank passports. Hiding people.”
“Who said anything about hiding people?”
The air between them crackled. For several seconds neither of them spoke. Then Asha reached out and grabbed both his hands in hers.
“Forget what I said.”
Yesofu felt his stomach pitch.
“Promise you won’t say anything.” Asha rolled her friendship bracelet off her wrist and placed it in Yesofu’s hand. “Promise on this.”
Yesofu looked at the bracelet and dropped it. “I’ve got to go.”
Asha grabbed his hand. “You have to keep quiet . . . for Papa . . . for me.”
Yesofu didn’t want anything bad to happen to Mr. Gomez. But if Asha’s dad was doing something illegal, then he should be stopped. Taking passports from his job didn’t sound okay. Yesofu remembered Dada Amin’s speech at the cricket match about first the British taking what they wanted and then the Indians. That was exactly what Mr. Gomez was doing. Yesofu pulled his hand out of Asha’s grip and got up, clumsily stepping back.
“I’ll see you soon, and Asha . . .”
She looked at him, her eyes begging for a promise.
“I’m sorry about Teelu,” he said instead, and left.
5 Days
37
Asha
“WHAT IF YESOFU tells someone? What if he tells Akello?” With nobody to talk to since her friends had all left, Asha’d telephoned her sister.
“Well, he hasn’t told anyone yet. And Yesofu is your friend,” said Teelu. “He won’t break his promise.”
Asha sank to the floor, careful not to get her foot caught in the telephone cord. That was the problem. There was no promise. Yesofu had shot out of her garden like his feet were on fire. “I don’t know, Teelu,” she persisted. “That stuff about Papa and Mr. Gupta and—” Asha swallowed. “The passports.”
“Stop worrying,” said Teelu. “Even if Yesofu tells Akello . . . and I’m not saying he will . . . it’s not like Papa is doing anything really bad. You know they would have put Mr. Gupta in jail for the stuff he was writing. Papa had to help him get out of Entebbe.”
Asha heard a voice in the background. “One of the nurses is calling,” said Teelu. “I’ll try and ring you later.”
“Wa
it. What should I do . . . Teelu . . . Hello . . . Teelu?” Asha stood and hung up the phone.
It was late afternoon and the house was quiet. Papa and Mama were at work. Fara stood in the garden clipping wet sheets to the clothesline. Asha could see her through the kitchen window. A pot simmered on the cooker. The aroma of cloves, cinnamon, and cardamom wrapped around Asha, and she breathed in the smell of masala chai. Usually warm and comforting, today the smell did nothing for her.
Was Teelu right? Was she worrying for no reason? Papa had taken her into town when he met Mr. Kapoor. She wasn’t really supposed to know what he’d been doing that day, but Papa had trusted her to see the exchange. She couldn’t stand it if her slip with Yesofu ended up getting Papa arrested. Asha slumped into a chair. She thought about the two passports hidden in her room and wondered if she should put them back in Papa’s office. If they left like Papa wanted, then they’d all be safe and together, but that meant leaving her home and Yesofu. She didn’t know what to do.
The telephone rang. Asha snatched up the phone. “Hello, Teelu?”
“Asha . . . is that you?”
“Hi, Coach.”
“Asha. Go get your father.”
“He’s at the office,” she mumbled, shocked by the sharpness in Coach’s voice.
“What about your mother?”
“Nobody’s home but me and Fara.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Had Coach hung up? Then she heard breathing, coming in short gasps, and finally Coach asked, “Did your father leave anything for me . . . um . . . a small package . . . an envelope?”
How did Coach know about the passports? She remembered that night when she saw Papa and Mr. Gupta in the garden. A third person had been standing by the car. Asha glanced at the hall table where the mail was kept. Two blue aerograms lay inside the silver tray. She lifted the tray up and looked underneath. “There’s nothing here.”
“Are you absolutely sure? It’s really important.” Coach sounded panicked. “Your father was supposed to meet me, but he didn’t show up, and now . . . now I don’t know what will happen . . .”
In the classroom, Coach never lost his cool, except for that one time with Akello. Asha had never heard him sound so desperate. “I can check Papa’s office,” she said. “It’s where he keeps his important papers.”
“Yes. Yes, good idea.”
“Where are you? I—”
“The green house at the corner of Suna Road. But, Asha, get your dad . . . don’t—”
Coach’s voice broke off and the phone buzzed.
“Coach? Coach?”
Asha hung up the phone and shot a quick glance toward the kitchen. Pots banged and the kettle hissed. Asha’s nerves tingled as she crept down the hall. She wasn’t allowed in Papa’s office when he wasn’t home, but he was always telling her to use her head when making choices, and that’s exactly what she was doing.
Thin slivers of light peeked through the heavy wooden shutters in Papa’s office. She searched the desk, lifting the stacks of files and papers, hoping to spot the brown bundle or envelope. Nothing. Asha pulled open the drawers. Nothing. She shut the drawer and yanked open the heavy double drawer with all the files. Still nothing. Then she got an idea. She slid her hands down the side and under the files, stopping as her fingers wrapped around a tiny bundle. She pulled it out and stuffed the bundle in the pocket of her pants, pulling her tunic down to hide the slight bulge. Then she slipped quietly out of the study.
“Fara! I need to run an errand. I’ll be right back!” Asha called out before running outside, past the white sheets flapping in the breeze toward Suna Road.
38
Yesofu
YESOFU WAS WAITING for Esi at Café Nile. He couldn’t believe his brother was at the bank getting papers for a loan. It was almost enough to make up for Baba’s trouble finding work since the Indians running the coffee and sugar fields had left.
“Chakula kiko tayari!”
Yesofu looked up.
“Your food is ready.” Mr. Bhatt waved to him from behind the counter.
Yesofu had been surprised to see the café owner still here and wondered if he would be leaving. The deadline was in five days. Yesofu walked over and picked up the plate of mhogo, careful not to burn his fingers on the deep-fried cassava root.
“Where’s your friend?” he asked.
Yesofu knew Mr. Bhatt was asking about Asha. Whenever Mamma sent Yesofu to buy supplies for Mrs. Gomez, Asha’d come with him and they’d stop at Café Nile.
“Has she left?” he asked.
Yesofu shook his head. “No.”
He walked back to his table, wondering about Asha. It had been two days since she’d told him about Mr. Gomez and he was still trying to make sense of everything. Esi had been no help when Yesofu talked to him. His only advice had been to stay out of it. With Teelu stuck in London, Yesofu figured that Mr. Gomez would probably leave and then none of this passport stuff would matter. It wasn’t like Asha’s dad was actually doing something to hurt Dada Amin. He was helping Indians leave and that’s what President Amin wanted. Yes. Keeping quiet was the right thing to do—especially for Asha. She’d never forgive him if something horrible happened to her dad. He could end up in Makindye—the headquarters of General Amin’s military force. The word was, if you went in, you never came out.
Yesofu picked up a mhogo chip. “Ow!” He dropped it and blew on his burning fingertips. The door burst open and a group of soldiers walked in with some African boys.
Yesofu shifted in his chair, keeping his back toward the soldiers. He didn’t trust them. Not anymore. Not after what he’d seen happen to that Indian man when he was last in town. And especially not after that soldier pulled out his gun at Asha’s house. He’d heard the stories of people being arrested and shot, their bodies being dumped in Lake Victoria. He didn’t want that happening to Mr. Gomez.
Keeping his head down, Yesofu touched another mhogo chip. Now it was cooler. He picked it up and popped it into his mouth. A shadow fell over the table.
“You’re making me hungry!” Yesofu swallowed the piece of mhogo and then coughed as it went down the wrong way. He looked up, bracing himself to come face-to-face with one of the soldiers, and was surprised to see Akello.
Akello thumped him on the back and plopped down in the seat, laughing. “Habari.”
Yesofu took a sip of fizzy lemonade.
“Utapenda kunywa nini?” a server called out.
“Coca-Cola, tafadhali,” Akello answered. “You want anything?”
Yesofu shook his head.
“I saw you in Kampala this morning,” Akello said.
“We’d gone to service.” Yesofu popped a chip into his mouth. The family had taken the bus to Mengo Hill this morning to attend church at Namirembe Cathedral. Usually they attended service at a small hall in Entebbe, but today Baba wanted them to pray to God and thank him for the good things coming their way. Yesofu liked the big red tiled cathedral. The pastor didn’t put him to sleep with a boring sermon like the one in Entebbe. He also felt closer to his ancestors. The Kabaka—the royal Buganda king—had given the land for the cathedral to be built.
“What were you doing there?” Yesofu asked.
Akello pulled a paper out of his pocket and spread it out on the table.
Yesofu leaned closer. “What’s that?”
“Land for sale.” Akello sat up straighter. “I’ve been saving from my jobs.”
“Don’t you want to use that money for secondary school and—”
“Look, we both know we’re not going to school again. I can’t and I’m pretty sure Norman Godinho will be closing soon.”
“I’m joining Lake Victoria Primary. I’m gonna play on their cricket team and try for a scholarship.”
“You’re still gonna need money for fees, uniforms, and notebooks.”
“Okay. So my plan’s not perfect. I’m working on it.”
The server walked over. “Chakula kiko tayari!” He
set a plate of hot fried mhogo chips on the table. “I gave you extra to celebrate, but don’t tell Mr. Bhatt.”
“What’s he talking about?” Yesofu asked when the server left. “What are you celebrating?”
Akello pointed to a grainy photo of a small house. “I found a place. But I need more money for the loan and if I don’t come up with the rest quickly, someone else will buy it. It’s perfect for us.” He talked fast with excitement, the words spilling from his mouth. Yesofu hadn’t seen him this happy in a while. He realized that it wasn’t fair constantly going on at Akello about school.
“And . . . guess what?” Akello continued.
“What?”
“It has an acre of land and a real house, not like our place now. It’ll have cement walls and rooms—one for Mamma, me, and another for my sisters. Maybe even . . .” Akello paused. “Are you ready?”
Yesofu nodded.
“Running water!”
Yesofu couldn’t count the number of times he and Akello had wished for running water so they didn’t have to make the trip to the well over and over again. “I’ve got news too,” said Yesofu. “Baba wants to buy a shop. Esi went to get the loan papers.”
“I told you the Indians leaving was a good thing. You get a shop. We get a farm. Go Dada Amin!” Akello popped a mhogo chip in his mouth. The soldiers at the counter turned and cheered with him. Akello waved.
Yesofu took a long sip of lemonade. It wasn’t that he disagreed with Akello. President Amin was helping them. But was it fair that Simon, Leela, Neela, and Rajeev all had to leave?
“I heard that Britain doesn’t want the Indians either.” Akello laughed.
Yesofu remembered the article Asha had shown him. The angry white faces holding their signs of hate. Were Africans any different? They didn’t want the Indians any more than the British did.
“Hey!” Akello tossed a chip at Yesofu. “Where’d you disappear to . . . dreaming of your shop?” He slurped the last of his Coca-Cola. “Five days. That’s all the time left for Indians to get their visas and passports.”