Bang. Bang. Bang. The door to the cubicle I was changing in shook. “I want to use the stall, come out now!” Sefakor was like a recurring nightmare. I didn’t know what to do with her anymore. I changed out of my uniform. I always chose the last cubicle to change in because people hardly ever used it.

Bang. Bang. Bang. “Why can’t you change out here in the aisle like the rest of us? Why do you always lock yourself in that stall? Is your bra stuffed with tissue paper or what?”

When I first arrived in Sogakofe, I had thought my cross was my scarred face. Now I realized it wasn’t. People hardly ever stared at me anymore; not even in the main town. My cross was a living breathing talking human being. My cross was Sefakor Deku. The door continued rattling. I ignored it and finished changing and then I swung the door open. Sefakor had been about to knock on the door. Her hand landed in the empty air, she lost her balance and went sprawling onto the floor.

“Why don’t you get a life and leave other people alone?” I asked as she lay down on the washroom floor. She just opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water. Allison and I gathered our things and went for P.E.

Maybe things would have ended there and Sefakor wouldn’t have got even if Allison hadn’t written about it in her blog the next day. The next morning by break time, Allison’s article ‘Rumble in the Girls’ Washroom’ had had over 900 hits and over 700 Facebook likes. In the comment section people dissed Sefakor and called her names and praised me for standing up to her. By the end of the day the hits were almost 1000. By lunchtime the next day, the hits were 1,300 and the likes had climbed to a 1,000. People started smiling and waving at me. I heard someone say, “That’s the ‘Get a life girl’.” Sefakor and her friends stopped teasing me and Allison. They went their way and we went ours.

Allison could hardly keep still in class. She never went for break anymore which was fine by me since I didn’t go either. I was always in the ceramics studio and it wasn’t just to see Jamal work on the wheel. Miss Naa had taught us how to use ropes of clay to make pots and I was busy practising that. I had decided what I was going to make for Miss Naa’s class. A perfect pot. My essay would be about crosses and crowns and how practising something continuously would eventually produce the result you desire. In my case, my continuous practise sessions were sure to make me end up with the perfect pot.

By break time on Friday, Allison had over 1,800 hits and 1,500 Facebook likes. For a school population of 2,000, that was really something. People had begun waiting for her after class to suggest topics for her to write on. She had become something of a celebrity. Just before extracurricular class, I received a note from Mr Budu-Smith, our maths teacher, asking me to meet him in the staff common room. As I made my way there I wondered if he had read Allison’s blog. I wondered if I was in trouble. “Hi, Yayra, have a seat.”

I sat down on the edge of the seat, all my defences were up. When teachers who have previously not noticed you suddenly take an interest in you, you have to tread cautiously.

“I’ve been going through your school work and I must say your grades are remarkable. At least they are in maths. I don’t know about the other subjects.” I relaxed. Maths was a safe topic. I remembered the school rules so I smiled.

“You are the Yayra Amenyo, aren’t you?” I had a blank look on my face. What did he want?

“You are the one who took part in the National Maths and Science Quiz two years ago, aren’t you?” I nodded.

“I knew it! Your team beat Sogasco in the quarter finals stage, don’t you remember?”

I shook my head. “Well you did.” With that proclamation he folded his hands across his chest and looked at me. I didn’t know if he expected me to apologise or not. I stiffened. “Would you like to join this year‘s team?”

I shook my head again.

“That year’s team was our best team. I’ve been teaching here for fifteen years and that team was the best. This year’s is good. They are strong in physics, chemistry and biology but their maths is not as good.”

I sat there and watched him, the fake smile fixed on my face.

“We’ve never even qualified for the semi-final stage. The most we’ve done is the quarter final where you knocked us out. I’m not trying to pressure you or anything but you would be a wonderful addition to the team. You are exactly what we need.”

The blank look was back on my face. I forgot to smile.

“Please think about it carefully and let me have your answer by the end of the month.”

I thought I had already given him my answer.

“That will be all now. You may go.”

I left the staff common room and ran all the way to the girls’ washroom. Mr Budu-Smith had taken twenty minutes out of my ceramics time. I hoped Miss Naa hadn’t taught the class any new techniques. The girls’ washroom was empty. I ran to the last stall and took off my clothes. I was in so much of a hurry that I didn’t notice the latch on the door had not shut properly. Someone had stuck a wad of chewing gum into the hole for the latch.

I had just taken off my shirt when the cubicle door was flung open. Sefakor Deku stood there with Maureen Owusu and Nadya Frimpong. Sefakor grabbed my uniform, which I had hung over the door and Nadya grabbed my bag which had my games outfit in it. I turned away from them. My cheeks were burning and my heart started to pound really hard. I was only in my bra and underwear. Mama was always bugging me about throwing away underwear that was old or that had holes in them. I was glad I’d listened to her. It would have been more humiliating to stand before Sefakor and her friends in torn underwear.

“Turn and look at me,” Sefakor ordered.

I ignored her.

“Faakor, we’ve got what we came for. Let’s go, someone will come,” Maureen whined.

“You can leave if you want to,” Sefakor said to Maureen.

“I said turn and look at me when I’m talking to you,” Sefakor said to me. Her voice had a nasty edge to it.

“Do you have leprosy or what? Why all those scars on your arms and back?” Nadya asked.

Sefakor stepped closer to look and noticed my chain. I still had my back to them.

“Oh, my God you’re wearing a chain, is that it? You’re so going to get into trouble when I report you.”

I prayed she would leave. I prayed they would all just leave. Even having them see my scarred body was better than having her see me with my colostomy bag. She walked into the stall and yanked me out of it. She was stronger than she looked. I stumbled out of the stall and fell against one of the sinks. The colostomy bag ripped open. Poop poured out. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me. I felt like the time I had been first diagnosed with inflammatory bowel disease in JHS Two. I had been placed on medication which had seemed to be working until a particular day in school. We had been studying pre-technical skills. I had asked for permission to use the washroom four times in twenty minutes. The fifth time, the teacher thought I was up to something and refused. I didn’t make it back to my seat before my bowels spilled open. I had thought the humiliation I felt that day was bad. But this was worse. This was a hundred times worse. No scrap that, this was a million times worse.

Nadya was the first to see my stoma. She screamed, dropped my bag and ran out of the washroom. Sefakor and Maureen turned to look. I saw the look of horror that passed over their faces. Maureen took a step backwards. A cunning smile passed over Sefakor’s face. “So that‘s what you’ve been hiding, eh? What type of disease do you have? You’ve been walking among us like you’re normal yet you have a disease.” I stood up and picked my bag from the floor.

“I said look at me when I’m talking to you,” she yelled. I dropped the bag, turned, balled my fist and hit her across her face. Sefakor was stunned. I took advantage of that and hit her again. She recovered fast and gave me a slap of her own. In no time at all both of us were on the floor, hitting and punching and smeared in my poop. Maureen ran to get a teacher. The long and short of it was I didn’t make it to extracurricular class that day. After the senior housemistress separated us and we cleaned ourselves up, we got sent straight to the headmistresses’ office. We had broken one of the cardinal rules in the rulebook— the no fighting rule.

In addition to that I had worn un-prescribed jewellery to school and Sefakor had painted her nails with clear nail polish. Our punishment was a two week internal suspension with manual work. The headmistress called both our parents. Mama arrived first. She had a closed door meeting with the headmistress. Afterwards she took me to the hospital emergency room. I had a split lip. She sutured it for me herself. The lidocaine made my lip feel like it was three times its size, but the pain disappeared immediately. I didn’t feel a thing as she sutured. She didn’t say a word as she worked. When something happens and Mama is quiet it’s very unsettling. I prefer it when she rants and raves. I knew a storm was brewing. Her quietness was the calm before the storm. It might take a week, maybe two before she exploded but when she did it would be nasty.

At home, she asked me to hand over my laptop, my phone and my iPod. I gave them to her without a word. I wished she would ask me what had happened; why I had been in a fight. She didn’t. There was no point in trying to explain what had happened. She wouldn’t have listened anyway.

*****

The next Monday, I knew things had changed. Not only did people know I had fought with Sefakor, people also knew I had a bag on my abdomen which collected my faeces. I was no more the girl who had told off the bully. I was the girl with the disease. People didn’t know why I was wearing a bag. No one asked. Not even Allison nor DJ. Gbabladza looked relieved that I hadn’t agreed to be his girlfriend. I sat at the back at morning assembly. I was the only one on my bench. People avoided me like the colostomy was catching. After assembly I reported at Mr Amedoda’s office. He took Sefakor and me to the school field.

“Weed from here up to that neem tree,” he said to me. That neem tree might as well have been on another planet. The area he had allocated each of us must have been about a third of a football field. The grass came almost up to my waist. I was scared there might be snakes in it. Sefakor began to protest, “Can’t you make me pay a fine or something? I‘ve never weeded before.”

“Obey before complain,” Mr Amedoda said and left us.

The grass was proper stubborn grass. When you whacked it with the cutlass it just sprang right back up. Big black ants emerged from the ground each time I struck the ground and I spent most of the time stomping my feet so they would not enter my shoes. By the end of the first day, I hadn’t done much but my hands were covered in welts. Muscles I didn’t know existed in my back and thighs all hurt. I had to stand up in slow motion to not make the pain worse. Mama was still not talking to me when I got home. I stayed out of her way and she stayed out of mine. I missed my father more than ever. I cried myself to sleep each night. I woke up each morning to Mama doing her aerobics on TV. Whatever closeness had developed between us during my birthday had disappeared.

*****

By my third day on the field, I knew that even if I was given two months, I wouldn’t finish weeding the plot. I had even brought a pair of scissors from home, but the grass just wouldn’t cut. I didn’t know how Sefakor was faring since she was on the opposite side of the field. We had steadily avoided each other. At break time on my third day, I was sitting under the neem tree taking a break when Jamal appeared. I hadn’t seen him since the news broke about my stoma. He had a polythene bag in his hand. He came to where I sat and offered me a small Voltic bottle of cold water. I drank it thirstily. My throat was parched. I finished the entire bottle before I took the bottle from my lips.

“Thanks.”

He nodded and opened the bag. “Cutlasses don’t work on this grass. This will cut it faster.” He brought out a langa-langa. I had seen one before but hadn’t thought it was any good. He bent down and demonstrated. The langa-langa went through the grass like a hot knife through margarine. Cut blades of grass went flying through the air and fell at our feet.

“Thanks,” I said again.

He shrugged and walked away. Well-equipped with my new cutting tool, I began working. It wasn’t as easy as Jamal made it look, but I could see I was making progress. Jamal took to passing by each day during break time. He didn’t come too close to me though; he just stood by the edge of the field. Sometimes he waved and watched me work; sometimes he just stood there and ignored me. Maureen and Nadya passed by each day to see Sefakor but they never stopped to talk to me. Neither Allison, DJ or Gbabladza ever passed by.