Remember that time when we were young, in Primary school when you went to aftercare with most of the white kids and I stayed outside on the school fields waiting for my dad to fetch me until they locked the school gates and I had to wait outside?
My father was a school teacher but he was also a part-time student at the local university so I had to wait for him while he attended lectures until late and sometimes he would fetch me very very late after school and I would be tired and hungry. But most of the time I didn'tmind watching because I could play with a whole lot of other school kids meanwhile. Except when it came time for cartoon network on TV and all the after-care kids would go inside and watch and we would go sit at the banks behind aftercare trying to peek through the windows so that we could get a glimpse, and then fight over the best spot.
But you were my friend. You came out of aftercare to play with me. Until it was time for juice and biscuits. I remember that very well.
4'o clock. The dreaded time, 2 whole hours after school ended. ( that was 4 hours until I was in Senior pimary, grades 4-7) Everyone would be hungry by then since lunch would've been at 12pm.
Ｔｈｅ ｎａｎｎｙ ａｔ ｔｈｅ ａｆｔｅｒ－ｃａｒｅ ｃｅｎｔｒｅ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｒｉｎｇ ｔｈａｔ ｇｌｏｒｉｏｕｓ ｂｅｌｌ ｔｈａｔ ｓｅｎｔ ｋｉｄｓ ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ ｔｏｗａｒｄｓ ｈｅｒ ｔｏ ｍａｋｅ ｏｎｅ ｌｏｎｇ ｓｏｎｇｏｌｏｌｏ ｌｉｎｅ ｗｈｅｒｅ ｓｈｅ ｗｏｕｌｄ ｈａｎｄ ｏｕｔ ｆｏｕｒ Ｍａｒｉｅ ｂｉｓｃｕｉｔｓ ａｎｄ ａ ｇｌａｓｓ ｏｆ ｊｕｉｃｅ ｔｏ ｅａｃｈ ａｆｔｅｒ－ｃａｒｅ ｋｉｄ ｗｈｉｌｅ ｔｈｅ ｒｅｓｔ ｏｆ ｕｓ ｗａｔｃｈｅｄ．
I remember how those biscuits became currency. Asha, you and I were friends until those biscuits came and then you would be queen of the playground and get some of the girls to do things for you in order to get those biscuits. I remember how after a while I didn't care about the biscuits anymore and I secretly hated you for trying to manipulate me with them. For dominating the playground simply because you had the currency to. It wasn't enough that you were already faster and more athletic, that you beat us at games and your parents could afford to send you to aftercare. That your parents were richer than ours and soon bought a house near the school, you simply had to take away our dignity by bullying us hungry kids with biscuits.
I started carrying extra sandwiches to school to avoid the biscuit craze. I remember how beautiful a miracle it would be when a random kid would arrive at the playground after school and pop out their school lunch unfinished or even more wonderfully, untouched, and wither give away, break bread between the crowds or just use it to bribe everyone. More turns at a game. A sandwich for two after-care biscuits, sitting at the front of the line during line-up-time.
Or that angel kid that just gave her lunch away because she didn't like polony. First come first serve. The spoilt kid who never ate her lunch becuase the maid put to much butter in her sandwiches so she would only eat, juice-and-biscuits.
Asha do you remember you gave me my very first phonecall? I could never tell where I stood with you. First I liked you because you were funny. Then I distrusted you because I felt like you were making fun of me. Then you got a new best friend who shared a name with you and I was left with the other kids pining for your attention until your bestie suddenly left and then she turned into your enemy and we wouldnt stop hearing all her dirty laundry through you since she had been living with your family for a short while.
Then you gave me my first phonecall and that was sweet but I was nervous and I didnt know what to say to you. You asked me what I had had for dinner and I told you. I wanted to make it sound more special but I couldn't because I'm bad with lies. You giggled and I got even more nervous, wondering why you had bothered with all that effort to go get permission from your parents to use the phone to call me just to make fun of me. I asked you back and I let it rest until the next day at school you brought it up and laughed and laughed and laughed and I just sheepishly smiled and shrugged and left.
Why did you do that? Why did you enjoy making me feel like an idiot?
And then there was the day it was just you and me, at the field after school. We were sitting on the grass, bored. We played a few games, found things to do and then ended up sitting again, bored. Then we started talking, about everything. Almost like we had been best buddies. And you said, can I tell you a secret? And I said yeah sure, you can tell me. And you told me you had started puberty, and I told you me too. And we talked about it extensively until you asked me if I wanted to see it. And I, a little surprised but even more curious, said sure, if you wanted to show me. And you did. You lifted up your uniform dress and pulled down your panties and there it all was. I saw it and I was amazed. All that fur. Black and long and silky. And I was just weirded out that it didn't look like mine but we were both black. Yours was longer, darker, fuller, straighter. You giggled and put it away. I was embarrassed and giggled too. Then you said I have to show you mine because you had showed me yours. That had not been part of the deal. I said no. I told you I am shy. Then your face hardened and you said I had to because you had shown me yours. I thought that perhaps I was being unfair and I told you mine was different before I showed it to you. We both giggled. You then told me you hadn't seen it properly and wanted to see again. I protested and then eventually after your nagging showed you and felt embarrassed. I didn't have as much hair as you. I felt more naked. And when I covered up quickly, you just as quickly stood up and changed the subject. It was as if it never happened.
I don't even know why all of that happened. But I had thought that we had gotten closer by sharing such intimate secrets with each other. Only to find out that nothing had changed really The next day you were to announce at the playground to a group of kids that I had shown you my private parts. And I announced that you too had shown me yours, although I'm not sure who between us they believed. It was just strange for me. Why would anyone do that? I didn't feel hurt I felt embarrassed. But that was most of my primary school life. I didn't hold it against you.
And then came the day I slapped your little sister. I call that day blind fury.
It was a sunny day at the playground and I was sitting alone cross-legged on the grass minding my business as usual. I was reading a book . All I remember is that I was alone and all the other children hadn't made it down to the field yet so I was waiting. I was 12. Your sister was about 9. I liked your sister. I think I liked her more than you, She was a gentle kid, always laughing. She approached me as I was sitting and we exchanged greetings and decided to wait for more kids to come before we could play and I went back to reading my book. Then she started annoying me. Looking back, she probably just wanted attention but started poking at me and getting in my space and I got annoyed. I told her several times to stop but she was enjoying herself too much, giggling and playing the fool. I told her to stop, and she didn't, and so I got tired and kept quiet. And she kept going and going and going and and I had stopped giggling too when out of nowhere my arm swung forward and my hand released a hard forceful slap across her face. Startled, I pulled my head back a little and watched her face turn red, light skinned child she was, and my fingerprints had left darkred marks on her face. She was just as startled. Me, the girl who wouldn't hurt a flea, had struck her. I'm not sure who was more startled between us. I apologized profusely. I didn't know where that hand came from, or the blind fury that drove its force. I pleaded for her forgiveness and asked her not to tell you. I wanted to cry too, she looked in so much pain. I asked her to hit me back as hard as she could. She didn't. She went running, crying and disappeared behind the classrooms and I didn't see her again that day. Or for a while at the playground
When she appeared again a couple of days later she calmly told me that she would tell you and that I would pay what I owe. I had seen you, and you hadn't said anything so I had figured she must've not told you yet or you were plotting to get me back by surprise. All the time I felt guilty for hitting a child smaller than me, one that couldn't fight back for being smaller in size.
Needless to say that playground activities continued as usual and after a while I had thought we had all forgotten or even forgiven but I couldn't have been more wrong.
One Friday, lord knows I no longer remember what triggered it, but you Asha told me that it was time to pay for what I had done to your sister. You and your friend called me and your sister to the girls toilets and you told her to slap me. She did. Right across the face as hard as she could and I didn't cry. I was ready for it. I was willing. I would serve the price for hurting a little girl. I didn't cry. and that made you mad.
Debating between the two of you your friend and you decided that she hadn't hit me hard enough and that you would have to hit me instead, to make it even, because you wanted to see me cry. And you did. You were taller, stronger, bigger than me and you hit me so hard across the face that it stung, that itchy sting, and I felt the tears welling up at my eyelids. I didn't yell to your pleasure. I shut my eyes and walked away. I didn't even sigh. I left you debating again with your friend whether or not I was crying now. I breathed. I was furious. I couldn't cry. And that is when I knew, that we weren't friends.
*name has been changed
