by Kari Jones
I wish I knew what was going on with her. Before we got here, Mom said she was planning to buy tribal cloth at the local market and sew me and Piper new dresses. She talked about finding someone to teach her how to cook traditional Ghanaian food. She even said she would take Gordo to a professional soccer game. None of those things have happened. Now she seems scared of everything. That’s not the Mom I remember.
I miss the old Mom.
There’s a rustle outside the window. I can’t make out what it is, so I sit up and peer through the louvers. At first I don’t understand what I’m seeing, but then I do. Gordo’s climbing out his window and down the pawpaw tree that grows against the wall.
I slam my hands against the window slats. “Gordo,” I yell, but either he doesn’t hear me because of the air conditioners or he’s ignoring me.
I can’t believe it. Rule number one is, don’t leave the house unless you get permission from Mom or Dad or another adult. Also, there are bars across the windows. How on earth did he squeeze through the louvers and bars?
“Gordo,” I call again. He’s almost on the ground and he’ll be gone in a second, so I spring out of bed and rush down the stairs.
“Gordo’s escaping—I’m going after him. I’ll be right back,” I yell to Abena. There’s no answer, so I hurry into the kitchen, but she’s not there. The kitchen door slams behind me as I dash out to the laundry area, but she’s not there either. I can’t see Gordo anymore, so I sprint to the end of the driveway and look down the street. There he is, easy to spot. The only kid with white skin and yellow hair in the middle of a crowd of dark bodies. They leap across a ditch. I know what they’re doing: having a contest. Gordo loves contests.
“Gordo, stop,” I shout. When he hears me, he and the other kids run down the street away from me.
“Gordo,” I call again, but he doesn’t stop. He is going to be in trouble if Mom finds out. Big trouble. And since I’m supposed to be in charge, so will I. “Abena,” I shout, “I’m going down the street after Gordo.” Then I sprint after him.
The boys run to the end of the street and into a field. I almost turn around, but then the boys skip back onto the street on the other side of the field, and I plunge into the tall grasses to catch up with them.
“Gordo!” I scream in my harshest voice.
He doesn’t answer or even turn around.
“You are in so much trouble.”
He skips across a ditch.
“Dad’s going to string you up by the thumbs.”
Nothing.
“Gordo, get your butt back here or I’m telling!”
The boys laugh.
Where is Gordo going? And what if there are soldiers on the way? I haven’t seen any in our neighborhood, but if anyone knows where to find them, it’s Gordo. It would be just like him, always finding something dangerous and heading straight for it.
I push that thought out of my mind.
The boys keep going until the road peters out in scrub, and then they push right into the bushes. I’m scratched and sweaty and muddy, and I don’t like the look of the woody, thorny branches, but I’ve followed the boys this far. I can’t turn around now.
I push aside a branch with my arm and step into the scrub. Immediately I’m caught in a vine, and every time I try to pull away it hooks onto another part of me, until finally the sticky green leaves are wrapped around my chest and arms. My breath comes sharply.
I try to pull away again, but more of the vine twists itself around me. “Damn,” I say. I’m determined not to panic. It’s only a vine. I yank on it again, this time more sharply, and some of the leaves tear off me. I grab handfuls of it and pull.
By the time I’m free, I can’t hear Gordo or the other boys anymore, but I can hear a deep rumbling, like thunder. It grows louder by the second, and the air twists around and throws dust into my eyes.
A plane closes in on me.
It seems to take up the whole sky.
I run, but I’m disoriented and don’t know where to go, so I run away from the noise. I stumble through the scrub until the plane is so close, it’s almost on top of me. With a scream, I throw myself against a small rise in the ground.
The plane passes over me.
Above me, on the top of the rise, Gordo and the other boys stand with their arms akimbo. As the plane flies over their heads, the wind lifts the boys like leaves, and they tumble down the hill toward me, screaming and laughing. Gordo lands next to me.
“Astrid! What are you doing?” he shouts. I open my mouth, but no noise comes out.
“Don’t tell,” says Gordo. “Please don’t tell.” The other boys hang back, but Gordo stands in front of me and waits for me to speak.
My heart races, and my whole body shakes. “Are you stupid?” I shout at him. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”
“It’s not,” he says. “The planes are too high to hit us.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You’ve done this before?”
“Yeah, but it’s not dangerous.”
“Gordo…” I don’t know what to say.
“Don’t tell. Please don’t tell.”
I look at him standing there covered in dry grass and leaves. How could he be such an idiot?
“I won’t do it again, I promise.” Gordo’s good at pleading. He does it a lot.
I rub my hands up and down my legs to stop them from shaking. “Why shouldn’t I tell? What else have you been doing?”
“Nothing, I promise. Most of the time, we watch lizards or see who can spit farthest. Nothing dangerous—I promise.”
“That’s a lot of promising,” I say.
“Please,” he says.
What good would telling do? I suddenly have this image of Mom locking Gordo and me in a room and refusing to let us out again until we agree to wear space suits to protect us, like the astronauts.
“I won’t tell, but only if this is the last time you do it,” I say.
“Promise,” says Gordo.
“Pinky swear?”
“Pinky swear.” We wrap our pinkies together and shake.
“We’d better get home before Mom and Dad do,” I say.
Before we leave, I brush off my shorts and peer over the top of the hill. Ahead of me is the airport runway, and at the far end, the plane, with people walking past soldiers and into the airport.
We jog home. Gordo lags behind a few times, but I yank his arm and hurry him up. We’re just through the gates when we hear Dad’s voice call out, “Joanne, they’re here.” He stands at the front door, holding Piper tightly, and the look on his face tells us we’re in big trouble. Mom runs out of the house. She’s crying.
“Where were you? What if something had happened?” she says.
Gordo opens his mouth, but I glare at him and he shuts up.
“We were out walking, Mom. It’s so hot in the rooms.” I hate lying, but I hope my red face will make Mom think I’m telling the truth about it being too hot. “I need a glass of water to cool down,” I say.
“Not so fast, young lady,” says Dad. He can tell I’m lying. He always knows. “The air-conditioning’s on in your room.”
My red face burns even brighter, until it’s so hot I think I might faint. Now I really do need to lie down or drink some water.
“You’re grounded until further notice. You know how much your mother worries. All you had to do was tell Abena that you were hot and you wanted to go outside,” Dad says.
“I did tell her,” I say, but even that’s not quite true. I shouted at her, but I didn’t wait to see if she had heard.
“Think of the position you put Abena in. Your mother was upset with her when we came home and you two were gone.”
Gordo hangs his head.
Dad and I stare at each other.
“It’s not fair. I was running after Gordo,” I say, but Dad’s face doesn’t change.
Mostly what I want to do right now is turn around and walk right back down the driveway and
up the street to the airport and onto a plane out of here. I want to go back home, and I want life to be the way it used to be.
“Grounded,” I say in a small voice.
“Until I say otherwise,” says Dad.
“What about Gordo?” I ask.
“Gordo too,” he says. “But you’re the one who was supposed to be in charge. Astrid, you’re old enough to understand that things are tense right now. You know the soldiers are on edge, what with the elections coming.”
Soldiers, soldiers, soldiers. They’re becoming Dad’s excuse for everything. He thinks he knows all about them.
“But…” I want to tell him that it’s Gordo’s fault. I promised Gordo I wouldn’t tell about the planes, so I don’t, but the unfairness tears at me. As we walk into the house, I try to catch Gordo’s eye, but he refuses to look at me.
This is his fault, and he knows it.
FOUR
On Monday, Mom picks us up right after school and drives us home. She doesn’t even come a little late like she usually does so that I can hang out with Thema. I slide into the back seat, behind her, where I don’t have to look at her face.
“Good afternoon, Astrid,” she says, but I scowl and stare out the window for the whole drive home.
As we walk in the door, Mom says, “Anyone for an egg-salad sandwich?” but I storm up the stairs, pulling my uniform off as I go. We have some kind of eggs for lunch every day. Mom says eggs are the only things that are reliably available, but I’m sick of them. I never want to eat another egg-salad sandwich again. Plus the last thing I want is to sit at the table listening to Gordo and Mom chew.
I throw my uniform against the wall and count all the things I hate about being here. Number one is being grounded. That never happened at home, because at home, Mom wasn’t watching our every move. We had freedom at home.
Number two is getting blamed for everything. Gordo’s the one being stupid. All I’m doing is trying to watch out for him. It’s his fault we got grounded.
Three, having to hide things from Mom. I hate doing that, but if she’s going to be so paranoid, I’m going to have to.
Four is being stared at every time I leave the house.
Five, soldiers.
Six, when the power goes out—like now—and my room feels like a sauna.
Seven, Sister Mary’s evil eye.
Eight, Bassam pulling my hair.
Nine, spiders, snakes and mosquitoes.
Ten, nasty-tasting malaria pills.
Eleven, having to boil water before we drink it.
I keep going until there are thirty-five things on my list. When I finally run out of things I hate about Ghana, I lie down and fall asleep.
Later in the afternoon, I take my book outside and pull a chair under a tree. I’m reading The Dark is Rising, one of my favorites—at least it was the first three times I read it. I’ve finished up to The Grey King in the series, and I can’t wait to read Silver on the Tree, but we don’t have it with us, and it’s not like we can walk down to the store and buy a copy. We’ll have to wait until Aunt Alice sends it in a care package. If she sends it. That’s another thing for my list. Not being able to buy new books.
At least there’s shade under the tree, and at least it’s away from Mom, but it doesn’t take me long to realize I can’t read this book for a fourth time, so I put it down on the chair and walk around to the other side of the house to see what Gordo’s up to. That’s how bored I am.
The boys Gordo was playing with yesterday mill about under the laundry hanging on the line. There are five of them, all about Gordo’s age, and they stand around barefoot with snotty noses and play stupid games like who can shoot a rock farthest with his slingshot and who can make the biggest splat on the pavement with his spit. It’s gross, and if I had anything else to do, I would do it. Even seeing them makes me all mad again, because it’s so unfair that Gordo has kids to boss around and I’m stuck on my own. I know these are just boys who live in huts along the street—they’re not real friends from school—but still.
They’re competing now to see who can jump farthest off the wall of the laundry area attached to the side of the house. Two of them already stand in place, one slightly farther out than the other, and they watch Gordo as he swings his arms back and forth before he leaps.
“Astrid, watch,” he says, and he pumps his arms way back and jumps.
“Aww,” he says when he doesn’t go as far as either of the other boys, but he stands his ground. I half expect him to try and slide an inch or two past them, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says something I don’t understand.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“It’s Kwame’s turn.” He points to a boy climbing up onto the wall.
“Were you speaking Twi?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says.
I’m amazed. I’ve learned a few phrases in Twi, but only things like “hello” and “how are you.” Nothing like what Gordo said.
Kwame jumps and lands even closer to the house than Gordo. He crosses his arms and pouts. Then the next two boys take their turns. They’re about to declare a winner when I say, “Wait—my turn” and clamber up onto the wall.
When I stand up on the wall, the boys stare at me like they’ve never seen a girl jump off a wall before. One of them is actually gaping at me. Well, they probably never have seen a girl jump off a wall before. Certainly not a white girl with a blond ponytail. I pump my arms back and forth, then leap as far as I can.
“Ha,” I say when I land a good foot farther than the boys.
“Oh, go away,” says Gordo, and he grabs the arm of the boy next to him and tugs. The boy glares at me, and I give him my ice-queen look until Gordo tugs at him again and all six of them run away.
Good riddance. Jumping off walls is kid stuff.
When the boys are gone, there’s nothing to do but go back to my book under the tree. Thomas reaches the tree at the same time as I do. He slides down the trunk into a squat, picks up his whittling knife and turns on his shortwave radio. Thomas carves animals out of wood. Whenever he takes a break from gardening, I find him here with a knife in his hand.
“What are you making?” I ask.
He shaves away a tiny piece of wood from his carving, then hands the animal to me. It’s a tiny giraffe. Its long neck curves with the bend of the wood, and its legs are as spindly and awkward as a newborn foal’s.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“It needs to be polished,” he says, taking it back from me. He runs his hand over the wood as if he can smooth its roughness that way.
“No. It’s perfect how it is.”
He smiles when I say that but keeps rubbing at the wood.
“Will you make one for Piper?” I pick up another piece of wood lying next to the tree. This one is lighter and wider. He hasn’t started carving it yet.
“A hippopotamus,” he says. “You can’t break a hippo.”
I laugh. “Perfect,” I say. “What do you do with them all?”
“My wife Esi sells them at Makola market.”
I almost drop the piece of wood. Thomas has a wife?
“Really?” I ask, then blush. I shouldn’t be surprised. Thomas is handsome and nice, and he’s pretty old. Twenty-five at least. It makes sense that he’s married. It’s just that he spends all his time at our house. I’ve never thought about whether he has a family of his own.
“Really what?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
Abena bangs out the kitchen door with two mugs of tea in her hand. She offers one to Thomas. “Are you still grounded?” she asks, even though it’s only been two days. Obviously, she doesn’t know Mom. Being grounded could last forever.
“Yes,” I say.
“I bet your mom won’t mind if you go shopping with Abena,” Thomas says.
“Where are you going?” I ask Abena.
“I have coupons for soap, so we’ll go and get some later today,” she says. She takes a sip of her tea, then adds,
“You can come if you want.”
Even though I want to go and do something, standing in line to buy soap sounds even more boring that staying here, so I say, “No, thank you” as politely as I can.
Abena and Thomas both laugh. Thomas gulps down his tea, hands Abena his mug and stretches. “Back to work,” he says, and both of them go off, leaving me sitting under the tree alone.
FIVE
Being grounded is driving us all crazy. Even Mom. I think she thought it would be good to have me and Gordo around all the time, but one night I overhear her and Dad talking and she uses words like underfoot and moping. What did you expect, Mom? It’s been two weeks so far. When will this end?
It’s not so bad for Gordo, because he goes outside and plays with his slingshot and watches spiders spin webs, and most days the kids from the street creep up the driveway into the yard without Mom noticing. But my friends live farther away, so I’d have to arrange for them to be driven over, and Mom always says no, not while I’m grounded.
Most of the time I sit outside under the tree and watch the clouds. I’m bored, bored, bored. Sometimes Thomas comes and sits with me when he takes his breaks. Right now he’s whittling an elephant. Piper’s hippo lies at his side. So far it has a head with a big mouth and tiny ears, and front shoulders and legs. The back hasn’t been carved yet.
“I like Piper’s hippo best,” I say, picking it up. The wood is still rough. “I like how fat it is.”
“Me too,” says Thomas. He chooses a scrap of sandpaper from a pile and rubs it up and down the elephant’s back.
“Who’s that for?” I ask.
“An American lady,” he says.
“What American lady? How does she know you make animals?”
“Just an American lady. She saw some of my animals at Esi’s market stall and ordered this and a kingfisher.” He bends closer to his work as he rubs the sandpaper around the eyes until they become smooth and round.
