Fifteen Lanes Read Free Page A

Ashmita-Auntie,” argued Deepa-Auntie.
    Deepa-Auntie always called Ma “auntie” rather than “sister,” so Ma knew she respected her greater age and wisdom. Ma called Deepa-Auntie “foolish hen” when she wasn’t angry with her and much worse things when she was.
    When Deepa-Auntie corrected Ma about the lice, Ma’s face turned purple. I worried she might shave off my hair again just to teach Deepa-Auntie a lesson. Instead she told Deepa-Auntie to mind her own business. I went to school, braids and all.
    Ma walked with me but stopped when we were still half a block away.
    “You can go on from here,” she said.
    I looked down the road. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I stared straight ahead and made my eyes wide so the air dried my tears before they could jump out. I knew I should be grateful that Ma was sending me to a fee-paying school and not a government school like all the other children in my neighborhood. “Why would I send her to a school where the teachers never show up and there aren’t even any toilets?” Ma responded to the many who questioned why she was wasting money on a girl-child.
    Ma wanted the best for me, even if it meant I was going to a school where I wouldn’t know anyone. Maybe if I thanked her she would walk with me the whole way and not make me go alone.
    I started to speak but Ma had already turned away. I didn’t even have time to ask her if she would fetch me at the end of the day. I wasn’t sure I knew the way home. Ma walked quickly. In seconds she’d created a distance between us that seemed too wide to carry my small voice, though perhaps it was the set of her shoulders that silenced me.
    I trudged the final few steps. When I reached the schoolyard, it was already crowded with children and their parents. Some children had not just one parent with them but two.Papas and mamas held their children’s hands and talked to them in soft voices. They didn’t shout, even when it was time to go into the classroom and some children cried. I looked at my shiny shoes. They didn’t make me feel like laughing anymore. I knew if Ma had been there she would have told me to stand up straight and pay attention, so that’s what I did.
    Teacher told the parents they needed to leave, so the children could “get settled.” This made the crying children cry louder, and some who hadn’t been crying joined in. Things got very noisy, and I thought Teacher had made a bad decision sending the parents away because there was no one to hit the children to quiet them. Still, I was relieved to see the parents go. I was the only child without a parent, and several of them had been eyeing me strangely.
    Teacher stood at the front of the classroom and held up her hand, just like a traffic cop, so I understood this meant stop what you’re doing. It took a bit of time for the crybabies to control themselves. Finally, they took notice as well. Teacher said we’d made a good start to the year. I wondered what a bad start looked like.
    Then she said we were going to take our seats according to
the alphabet
. I was frightened because I didn’t know what
alphabet
was, so how could I know where to sit? There were so many desks, in perfect straight rows, side by side, from one end of the classroom to the other. Their shiny wood surfaces beckoned, and I imagined if I sat at one I would already be smarter. I was certain the children who came from mama-papa homes would know
alphabet
, and my ignorance would be discovered. Teacher would send me home and tell me not to return.
    All the children clustered at the back and I hid behind them.Teacher called out the name of the first child and pointed to a seat at the front, right next to the window. I was glad I didn’t get that seat because the window was very large and looked out on a cement playground with three leafy mango trees on one side. If I sat there I would be tempted to look out the window all day long. We had only two small windows at Binti-Ma’am’s