I washed my face and went to wait with Ahmad, while Jamal and Soraia took a bath.
“Jamal fixed that Cardew guy’s old potter’s wheel. Did he tell you?”
“Michael Cardew?”
“Yeah, he worked here in this town. His wheel requires an assistant, someone to be cranking a handle to spin the wheel, but it was so old that once, when Jamal was working and I was turning it, it just broke. He hasn’t been able to fix it again. I guess it’s too old. He was experimenting with glazes. That vase I broke was one of his.”
“The guy I bought it from said the clay was from far away.”
“That’s the line Abdul uses. No one in town knows they’re Jamal’s work. If they knew, those pots wouldn’t get sold. I mean after everything that happened with Lebene, people just . . ., you know. . .”
I nodded. I did know.
“He said glazed pots needed high temperatures, where did he fire them?”
Ahmad looked at me for a moment. “Promise you won’t tell?”
I nodded.
“In your school. He used to sneak there on weekends to use the kiln. One day this student from KNUST found him in the studio. She said she was going to teach in your school for a year. She didn’t report him though; he would have got into a lot of trouble. She took five of his pieces and sold them for him at an art exhibition in Kumasi. The prices she sold them at were unbelievable!”
“Miss Naa?”
“You know her? It was she who convinced him to switch courses. He wasn’t really into science. She wants him to apply to KNUST when he graduates. She says he has lots of potential.”
“Wow,” I said.
“I’m glad you’re his friend. I know he pretends he doesn’t care what people think about him but he does. He made one mistake and people judge him like they don’t do worse things themselves. It’s not easy for him. My grandmother works but she’s old, and these pots don’t sell as fast as the sprayed type. He’s putting us through school, taking care of Soraia, the bills, what we eat . . . He doesn’t say it, but I know it’s not easy for him. We do all the odd jobs we can get during vacation so we can pay our fees and stuff. You know we’re not even real brothers?‖
“Huh?”
“I mean we’re step-brothers. Different mothers, same father. My dad had three wives. My mom was the most senior; she died when I was small, and Jamal’s mother took me in. Then my dad divorced her, and she brought me with her when she was coming here. She taught him to make pots.”
Ahmad stopped talking when Jamal and Soraia came out on a motorcycle. Jamal was dressed for work. Soraia looked extra pretty in a blue and yellow flowery dress. This time she went straight to Ahmad without complaining.
“I have the afternoon shift at work. Climb on; I’ll drop you off at your home.”
“I’m not riding that thing,” I said.
“I won’t go fast.”
“No.”
He parked the motorcycle, went back into the house and returned with two helmets.
“I’ll take a trotro.”
“It’s a market day; most of them will be full. Come on.”
Despite my better judgement, I did climb onto the motorbike. Jamal put a helmet onto my head and secured it. He wore one too. After waving to Soraia and Ahmad, we set off with me holding on to him for dear life. He pointed out the Cardew kiln to me. He kept his word and rode really slowly. Once we got across the Sogakofe Bridge he increased his speed until I thought we were flying in the wind. I screamed at him to slow down, but he just laughed and ignored me. I kept expecting us to crash into something and scenes from the accident with Daddy kept flashing before my eyes. Most of it was still a blur but I distinctly remembered the fear—my fear of dying, the fear I felt when I saw Daddy bleeding and my fear as he died before my eyes. When Jamal parked in front of our bungalow I got down, removed the helmet and hit him with it. Hard.
“What’s wrong with you?! Are you insane?!” I asked. There were tears in my eyes and though I kept blinking, I couldn’t stop them from running down my face.
“Do you think it’s funny? Do you think being in an accident is funny? I lost my father! He died because some idiot like you was doing 90kph on a 50kph road. My Dad swerved to avoid hitting him and we ended up somersaulting and hitting a cement wall. The car engine landed right in our laps. They had to cut us out of the car with machines. I watched my Dad die, and there was nothing I could do. Nothing anyone could do. I watched him die. He bled to death. There was blood everywhere, and I couldn’t even touch him. He was calling my name, and I couldn’t even hold him!”
Jamal got off his bike and tried to hold me.
“Don’t touch me!” I yelled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .”
“I kept asking you to stop, to slow down, but you didn’t mind me!”
“Yayra, I really am sorry. I didn’t . . .”
I walked past him to the front door, unlocked it and entered leaving him standing out there in the yard. He rang the doorbell five times. I ignored him. He gave up and rode away.
*****
Mama came home at about five. I pretended to be asleep when she came in to check on me. At about six I heard a motorbike in our yard. Minutes later the doorbell rang. I heard Jamal greet Mama and ask if he could see me. I heard Mama tell him I was asleep.
I stayed in bed the whole of Sunday. I told Mama I had cramps. She went to church alone. Jamal came by in the morning. I heard the bike, I heard the doorbell ring. I let it ring. He came by again in the evening. Mama told him I was still not well.
*****
Monday at break Jamal came to the plot. I ignored him. He kept apologizing, and I knew he was sorry, but that ride had almost been like reliving the accident. I poured out all my anger on the grass and weeded a sizable portion.
When I got home from school that day Mama was waiting for me.
“Are you okay?” What did she care whether I was okay or not? She still hadn’t asked me what had led to the fight with Sefakor.
“That young man who keeps coming here did he . . . did he do anything to you?”
I stared at her.
“Did he try to force you to do anything you didn’t want to do?”
“Did he rape me you mean?”
“Yes, did he?”
“No.”
“The security men said he brought you home on Saturday. They said he has something of a reputation, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Did my mother not have any idea how her own behavior was hurting me? Did she not know what I was going through in school? How could she be completely clueless?
“I don’t want you seeing him anymore. From now onwards, the driver will take you right up to the school gate. When you close, he’ll pick you up from the school and bring you straight home.”
“Mama . . .”
“This isn’t up for discussion. Is that clear? Boys like that are trouble. They don’t know what they want.”
I knew then that this was my real punishment for getting into a fight in school.
*****
Jamal marched straight up to me before assembly the next day. He was seething.
“What did you tell your mother about me? The security men wouldn’t let me enter the hospital.”
“I didn’t tell her anything.”
“They said I hurt you.”
“I didn’t tell her anything.”
“Don’t you think I’m suffering enough with what happened to Lebene? And now I have to deal with this too!”
“I didn’t . . .”
He walked away from me. I finished weeding my plot that day and called the assistant headmaster to inspect it. The internal suspension was lifted. I went to class the next day, but nothing changed. No one spoke to me or looked in my direction. Not even Allison.