Mama says I shouldn’t sit with my legs open, she says it is what boys do. I am a girl so I should know better. Do better.
I want to tell her that I don’t mind sitting that way, that air gets between my legs better that way but I don’t. Instead I nod in agreement, bend my head in shame as my brothers snicker at me, then I rearrange my legs on the chair.
Yesterday when Ifeanyi and Muna were out playing ball, I wanted to play with them. Muna agreed, he would agree. He is my favorite brother and he would do anything for me but Ifeanyi was a different case, he sent me away like Mama usually did saying in his parrot voice;
You are a girl. Girls don’t play football or do you want to have yam leg?
I don’t care if I have yam leg or eba leg! I shouted back, frustrated. It is just football!
Muna petted me and then he whispered something in Ifeanyi’s ears. Ifeanyi told me to change my skirt to shorts.
But you know I don’t have knickers. Mama refused to buy for me. I pouted.
But if you kick the ball, your skirt will fly. He said.
I will hold it.
Coconut head. He snapped at me but I didn’t care, at least I can play football even if I am a girl.
Is you that has coconut head. I laughed and my right leg flew back and connected with the ball.
When Mama got back home that evening she slapped me when Ifeanyi told her that I had played ball.
Are you mad? Don’t you know you’re a girl?
My cheek was wet with tears and flaming from the fire in Mama’s slap. Mama is an expert slapper, even Ifeanyi is afraid of her slaps.
Do you want to have yam legs? Or wait, don’t you know that the thing-that-makes-you-a-woman is in danger if you keep on playing ball?
What is that Mama? Even though I was crying, my thirteen year old brain wanted to know that thing in danger if I continued playing ball.
When you get older you will know. For now, let me not hear you played ball with your brothers again, nnugo?
I am thinking how terrible it is to be a girl, first you cannot sit how you want, then you cannot play the games you want.
That is how the other day me and Muna were playing a game with the mango tree; we wanted to see who would get more mangoes, so we climbed the tree together, when Mama saw us she shouted. She talked about how I was putting that-thing-that-makes-me-a-woman in danger.
Yet she didn’t tell me what that thing was that had become an enemy of mine.
One day, I told Mama I didn’t want her to buy those pink gowns with flowers for me anymore, I wanted trousers; the baggy type that would allow me sit well without bothering about whether my legs were open or not.
Mama laughed.
You want to be a tomboy abi, Mma? You think I have not noticed how you follow Muna up and down, bouncing like a boy. See, you are a girl whether you like it or not and you must behave like a girl.
But Mama…
Mechi onu! Don’t but mama me anything…Rub powder, mba! Cream eh eh! Your body will be white and you will be walking about like a boy. You are thirteen years old my daughter! Some of your mates are married in the North o! You now want me to buy you ba gini? Bag-gy trousers abi? So that when people see you and your brothers with that your lowcut, they will not know the difference! Mba! No!
If Papa was alive, he would have understood, he would have given me money to buy the trousers for myself but Papa was gone, dead from a sickness that took him while he slept.
Mama is right, I don’t care much for powder or cream, I don’t even like having any hair disturbing me. But is that bad? Yes; I don’t catwalk, I prefer to bounce like Muna does, but so what?
I think in my next life, I would rather be a boy. Then, I would have no fear when I climb trees or play ball. I would have no fear that one day I will mysteriously lose that thing that makes me a woman.
END.
Mimi. A ©2014
The Hourglass 