Uchay Writes

I was never good at tying my wrapper. Mama’s hands seemed to be imbued with glue. She’d wrap it around my waist, with one hand twisting one side of the light cloth in one swift motion and holding firmly the wounded side on my stomach with the other. Then she’d tuck the twisted bunch of cloth in my right side.

Sweeping the compound, hanging the clothes, trudging to the market, the cloth stayed stuck. It had fused with my skin. But now, as I walked back from fetching water from the stream, the faded red jerry can was hoisted and held fast on my left shoulder, my right hand keeping it in place, I felt the wrapper loosening.

This morning, Mama refused to tie my wrapper and said I must learn. I was already on the last stretch home. The sweat on my brow had already begun to trickle, the wind did not do any favours, its hot breath pressed against my back. Each blow would lift the hem of my wrapper, teasing it to fall. Each step I took seemed to unravel the royal blue fabric even more. I trudged along in what was once black but now ashy grey sandals down the sandy grass-strewn path. I didn’t want to stop and retie it until I had entered the compound. But what if it were to suddenly fall and someone appears? Mama would surely hear of it and curse me.

Well…I could retie it.

But I didn’t want to put down the jerry can. If I put the jerry can down, the bottom will get sandy, and if it gets sandy, and I hoist it back on my shoulder, the sand will fall on my top and make me sneeze, which will make my eyes water and may need to blow my nose but I have no tissues. If I use my hand to wipe the bottom, then I have nothing to wipe my hand with and I cannot possibly soil my wrapper with ground that the multitudes have trodden! If I tap the edge of jerry can on the ground, even ever so lightly to get rid of the excess, I might dent it or crack it, and all the water would escape. Mama would curse me tenfold.

I had arrived at the uneven path. Jagged mounds of sand and concrete, potholes filled with food wrappers, discarded rubber and plastic. I carefully tread round the edges of the mounds and holes, not wanting to stretch my legs over too far in fear I would become bare. The geckos on the beige bricks bobbed their heads as I tiptoed past, noting my every move, wondering if I’ll make it without shaming myself. I turned the corner, the geckos also scuttled round the brick and continued to bob their heads, not wanting to miss the possible tainting of my name.

But now the ground had levelled and just a few feet away I could see the haven of my pride. I was going to make it. I took bigger strides, the side of the wrapper which was tucked was peaking at the top, the trapped moisture in the hem had been released and dripped down my leg. My strides developed into a half-speed walk and hop as I charged towards my compound, I felt my stomach protruding and fabric unravelling. I was almost there, just a few more steps.

As I passed the threshold, my dreaded right sandal caught in a groove in the ground, and I tipped forward. I stomped the ground with my left to regain balance. Such force had completely disturbed the threatening balance of my loosening wrapper, and I looked down as it exposed my front, my faded black knickers on display. I bent forward so that my back stayed covered and the sides of the wrapper hung loosely as I scuttled to the patio.

I slowly lowered the jerry can on the step trying to keep the fabric balanced on my waist, sweeping the ground. But as the jerry can touched the ground, the fabric took that as its cue to also drop, completely slipping off my waist onto the ground. I cried in shock as I felt the warm breeze brush my bareness and in one swift move, I grabbed the left side of the cloth and wrapped it round and then grabbed the right and forcefully tucked it in the waistband. I straightened up and sighed at the sight of dust patches which had muted the royal blue. I patted them vigorously, trying to regain the bright tones.

Then I heard a laugh.

I swivelled round, hastily patting off dust. A small boy, who was standing at the threshold with missing teeth and a chicken tucked under his left arm, was pointing his short stubby right finger at me. “I saw your bum bum!” He squealed, and doubled over, not being able to control the laughter which continued to pour out of his being.

I felt my already warm cheeks burn more with embarrassment and anger. “You didn’t see anything, get away from here!” I retorted, waving my arm at him. My response only seemed to make him laugh more. His mouth stretched wide, flashing his gappy teeth, the chicken also shook and clucked under his arm, it was laughing at me.

“My daughter! Are you back?” I heard Mama call from inside. I heard her slippers shuffling across the floor, my eyes widened in fear. If this boy says anything, Mama will deal with me. I rushed to the threshold, one hand holding the fabric on my waist securely, not wanting to risk anymore shame. As I got closer, I could see the tears running down his cheeks, the spirit of laughter had carried him away, so he didn’t see me when I tightened my fist, lifted it up and came down on his low shaven head with my knuckles, creating a hard high pitch knock.

The laughing ceased immediately. The tears of laughter transformed into pain, and he looked at me with fearful eyes. His hands shot to his head. The chicken, who had also ceased its clucking, dropped with a thump and looked up at him. I knew the pain was settling as his face crumpled. Before he could wail, the chicken, who had recovered from its shock, let out a resounding squawk and sprinted down the path. The boy shouted and chased after it.

I turned as the front door opened and Mama stepped onto the patio. “Ada, what is all that noise?”  she asked.

“A small boy is chasing his chicken,” I responded, a humoured smile plastered on my face.

“Such foolishness’, sighed Mama, ‘come here let me look at you,” she beaconed.  

I sauntered over to the patio and Mama looked at my face. Her brown skin, the shade of kola nut, was shiny with coconut oil, her eyes glossy and bright searched my face and scanned down, eventually resting on my wrapper.

She huffed, then made a sound of indignation. “So, this is how you went to fetch water? Look at your wrapper, chai!” She exclaimed, shaking her head in disappointment.

“Come inside, osiiso!” Mama grabbed the jerry can before rushing me into the passageway and closed the door. Before the door even clicked, she placed the jerry can down before she pulled my wrapper and whipped it in the air. Dust clouded the air and she shook her head again.

“Look how easily I removed it, one movement and you’ll be naked.” I cleared my throat and watched as she smoothed out the fabric. She brought it around my waist, the left side longer than the right. I almost fell forward as she brought the right side and covered my stomach, tugging it in place whilst holding fast to the left. She then wound the left side over. I tried to crane my neck as far as possible to watch how her hands moved as she twisted her hand in the blue fabric, her free hand fingering the hem of my waistband before swiftly tucking in the twisted fabric. She patted my side, breathed out and nodded in satisfaction.

“Don’t worry, I will teach you before you marry,” Mama crooned.

“I’ll learn well well” I replied nodding smilingly, feeling content and secure in my freshly bound wrapper.

“Good. Now Ada, I’m going to start cooking soup, but there’s not enough ukazi leaves, I’m sorry you just got back but please, biko, quickly buy some from the market.” Mama pleaded.

Feeling a new sense of security, I shook my head. “Don’t worry, I’ll go and come!”

Before Mama could answer, I quickly opened the small pot on the shelf by the door and grabbed a few notes, folded them and tucked them under my bra strap, not wanting to undo the magically glued wrapper by stuffing it in the waistband. I swung the door open and bounded down the road.