So Much for Democracy (4 page)

“I didn't mean for it to happen. I was trying to help Gordo,” I say in a tiny voice.

Mom doesn't say anything.

“Mom, that's so unfair.”

Mom sighs and says, “I'm sorry, Astrid. I shouldn't blame you.” Her voice sounds strained, like it's hard to get the words out of her throat, so when she stretches out her arm, I lean in to her.

Resting with her isn't comforting today.

SIX

On Monday at school, before Sister Mary comes in, Thema and Harpreet show me Harpreet's new camera. It's a Polaroid, and they've brought along pictures they took yesterday when I was at home, grounded. There's one of the two of them in Harpreet's bedroom, and one of Harpreet's dog.

“I wish I'd been there,” I say.

“Your mom's so mean, keeping you grounded,” says Harpreet.

“Yeah,” I say.

Sister Mary comes into the room, so Harpreet hides the camera in her desk, but not before she whispers, “Break.”

After we've risen to sing the school song and the national anthem, Sister Mary says, “Today we're going to talk about the elections.”

Bassam's hand shoots up.

“Yes, Bassam?” Sister Mary says.

“Why are we going to talk about the elections when we can't vote?”

It's a good question, but Sister Mary turns her evil eye on Bassam and says, “It's an historic moment, Bassam, and it will bring us back to being the Black Star of Africa.” She swivels around and picks up a piece of chalk, then writes the words
Black Star
on the board.

Bassam puts his hand up again.

“Yes, Bassam.”

Thema and I smirk at each other. Sister Mary sounds like she'd rather not hear from Bassam again.

“My dad says the system we have now works fine.”

Sister Mary's mouth turns down, and she looks a little startled.

“Does he?” she says. She turns back to the board. She underlines the words
Black Star,
then says, “Hmph.” Kids giggle. We're not used to seeing Sister Mary at a loss for words.

Bassam continues. “He says Ghanaians need the military or money's going to get into the wrong hands.”

Thema turns around in her chair and stares at Bassam. Her mouth hangs open like she's about to say something, but then she turns to me and raises her eyebrows. It's hard not to laugh.

Sister Mary calls us back to attention and goes on with her lesson, which is all about democracy and how it makes life better for people. I've heard it all before from Dad, but I still find Bassam's snickering annoying. He sort of gurgles every time Sister Mary talks about how the current system keeps people poor. Once, he whispers, “People get what they deserve.” I'm about to put my hand up and tell on him when the bell rings and it's time for break.

Thema, Harpreet and I run to the tamarind tree. Harpreet laughs so hard, she snorts.

“Thema, you should have seen the look on your face when Bassam talked back to Sister Mary.” Harpreet imitates Thema by raising her eyebrows and dropping her jaw. She looks dumbfounded.

Thema says, “His dad owns eleven cars.”

“Really?” I knew his family was rich, but eleven cars! “What do they do with them?”

Thema shrugs. “Who knows?”

Harpreet pulls the camera out of her pocket and says, “Let's take pictures of him. Maybe we can catch him when he's not looking.” Thema and I nod, and we head for the field where the boys play soccer.

“Maybe we'll catch him picking his nose,” says Harpreet, and Thema and I laugh.

When we get there, Bassam's showing off with the soccer ball. He bounces it on his feet, up to his chest and back to his feet again. He moves closer and closer to the wall with each bounce, until finally he bounces the ball right over the wall and into the group of soldiers at the roadblock. It's like he does it on purpose. Thema and I stop, and so do all the other boys, but Harpreet runs to the wall and snaps a picture as one of the soldiers waves his arms at us, shouting something in Ga or Twi.

“Harpreet!” I yell. I can't believe she's just done that. I bite the corner of my lip and stand back from the wall, next to Thema. She fumbles for my hand and holds it tight.

Bassam laughs. “It was an accident—honest,” he says, still laughing at what he's done.

The soldier walks right to the wall and points at Bassam, then shouts something again. Bassam backs away, not laughing anymore.

“What did he say?” I ask Thema, but before she can answer, the headmistress storms past us, rushes up to the wall and speaks to the soldier. I can't understand what she's saying, but I can tell from the tone of her voice that she's trying to calm him. The soldier says something back and points at Bassam and then at Harpreet. Thema and I both move closer to Harpreet as the headmistress glances at her, frowning. She turns back to the soldier and says something else. The soldier nods at her and walks away. The headmistress spins around, grabs Bassam by his collar and marches him toward the school building. As she passes Harpreet, she says, “You're next.”

Harpreet curtseys. “Yes, ma'am,” she says. She holds the photo and the camera behind her back and puts a smile on her face.

No one says anything as the headmistress and Bassam disappear into the office.

As soon as the headmistress closes the door, Harpreet laughs and waves the Polaroid picture in the air. “Look at this,” she calls. “That soldier looks retarded, the way his face is all crooked.” She speaks loudly, like she's daring the rest of us to look at the photo with her. The boys mill around, scuffing their feet. Thema twists her hair in her fingers and stands closer to me than ever. I glance over the wall to see if the soldier has heard.

“Shut up, Harpreet,” one of the boys says, but she laughs at him.

“Are you scared?”

Before he can answer, we hear Sister Mary's voice. “What have you got there, Harpreet?” She's come up behind us, and no one noticed her arrive.

“It's nothing,” says Harpreet. She's put the camera and the photo behind her back again. She tries to shove the photo into my hand, but I keep my fist tight.

Sister Mary holds out her hand and says, “I believe it is something. Let me see.”

“It's really nothing,” says Harpreet.

Thema and I both hold our breath as Harpreet and Sister Mary stare at each other. Then Thema says, “We were trying out Harpreet's new Polaroid camera, Sister Mary.”

“Thank you, Thema,” says Sister Mary. She holds her hand out again, and Harpreet brings her arm around and gives the picture to Sister Mary, who takes a deep breath.

“What on earth were you thinking, girls? You need to be very careful flashing that camera around. Don't make the soldiers more nervous than they already are with the elections this close.” Her voice isn't angry. Worse, it's scared.

“We're sorry, Sister Mary. We got carried away,” says Harpreet. “We didn't mean anything by it.”

Sister Mary stares at the picture until I think it's going to melt in her hand. Finally, she holds out her hand for Harpreet's camera.

“You can have this back at the end of the day,” she says, “but I don't want to see you girls near this wall again.” She starts to turn away, then stops and says, “Go back to the tree and stay there until break is over. Harpreet, you're in for detention. Understood?”

Harpreet sticks her tongue out as Sister Mary walks back to the school. “She's so mean. I can't believe she took my camera away. She's such a cow, an elephant. Sister Mary Elephant.” Harpreet flips her long hair over her shoulder and saunters over to the tamarind tree. Thema and I follow her more slowly.

Heat pricks at my fingers and up my arms as I remember the look on the soldier's face when he leaned over the wall and pointed at Bassam.

SEVEN

I'm tired out when I get home from school in the afternoon, but when Mom says, “What's up, honey?” I find I can't tell her what happened with the soldiers. I used to tell her everything, but I don't know how she'd react now. No, I do know how she'd react, and that's what stops me from telling her. I wish she was like she used to be—relaxed and fun.

I play with my food until I notice her staring at me, then eat a big mouthful of egg salad and try to smile.

“You look like you need cheering up, Astrid,” she says, and I look up. She's going to say I'm not grounded anymore! But then she says, “Let's go to the market. I haven't been for ages.”

I look back down and fidget with my food.

“Oh, it'll be fun,” says Mom. Her voice is bright. She reaches across the table and lifts my chin.

“We both need a little cheering up, eh?” she says.

I swallow my food. Mom seems happy today. It's been awhile.

“We'll give Piper a treat. It's been boring for her these days at home with me,” Mom says.

“I'm still grounded,” I say.

“We won't tell Dad.” She gets up and pulls Piper out of her chair, and the two of them dance around the room. Piper laughs and reaches out to me, so I get up and join them.

We take Thomas with us, since Mom is scared to drive in the maze of downtown streets. “We'll be about half an hour,” says Mom to Thomas when we get to the market and she's gathering her bags.

Thomas waves goodbye and pulls out a newspaper. He looks so relaxed leaning against the car, I wish I could stay there with him instead of jostling my way through the stalls.

As always, the noise of people bargaining and the smells of fresh spices and rotting fish hit us first. It's dark in the aisles between stalls, but not cool, and the spicyfishy air makes it hard to breathe. To me the market is like a beehive—so full of motion.

“If we get separated, come back to the car,” says Mom.

“I know, Mom.” That's what she always says. It's one of the rules. I hike Piper up higher on my hip and trail behind Mom.

Piper's interested in everything and squirms from side to side trying to see. We weave through the stalls, and Mom spends the whole time complaining about how there's so little for sale even though this is a country of farmers. My face burns with embarrassment. Why did she come here if she's going to be like that?

“Mom, a lot of these people can understand English, you know,” I say.

She shakes her head and keeps talking to herself.

I hold Piper tight to keep her from jumping down and darting away. There are so many people here, it would be easy to lose her.

A boy comes by with a softly-softly in his arms. We've seen him here before. The softly-softly is so cute, like a cross between a monkey and a sloth, with huge eyes so that it can see at night. Dad says it's a kind of potto, which is like a lemur, and Gordo keeps begging for one. Thomas warned us that they can be vicious, so of course Mom always says no.

I ignore the boy, but he speaks to Piper.

“Baby, you want to pet the softly-softly? So cute, like you.” He draws close, and Piper puts out her hand to pet the little animal.

“Don't touch, Piper,” I say, but the boy comes closer. He pats the softly-softly on the head and it closes its eyes and licks its lips with its tiny tongue. Piper reaches out again, and I twist away so she can't reach. “It might bite your finger,” I say.

“It won't bite—it's almost asleep,” says the boy. He holds the animal up so Piper can reach it more easily.

“We don't want it,” I say, but he ignores me and holds the softly-softly so that it's almost in Piper's arms.

“Go away,” I say. With a scowl at me and a wink at Piper, he finally walks away. Piper whimpers as the softly-softly disappears.

“Mom, I'm taking Piper to get a cold drink,” I say.

“Give me a minute,” Mom says.

“Please, Mom?”

“Wait.” She pays for a handful of tomatoes and puts them in one of her bags.

“We'll be fine, Mom,” I say.

“Thank you,” she says to the woman, and then she turns to me and says, “Let's go.”

Before we can buy a soda, we have to go back to the car to get empty soda bottles to exchange for the full soda bottles at the stall. At first this seemed like a crazy system, but now we're used to it.

People call out to us as they always do when I'm with Piper. I try to ignore them, but they reach out to touch her, and she smiles and giggles at them, which makes them crowd even closer. It's hot as an oven in here, there's no fresh air, and there are people everywhere.

My breath is ragged, and my face feels flushed.

There's something going on at the end of the path we usually take, and there are so many people, we can't get through. Mom leads us down a new path, but there are too many people there too, and in a flash she's gone. I grip Piper tightly, and she cries in my ear. She's so sweaty she's about to slip from my arms, and I'm having a hard time catching my breath. It's all I can do to hold on to her.

It's going to take forever to get to the car!

But then Thomas's voice says, “Astrid, over here,” and we follow his voice through the crowd to a stall.

A woman sits next to him on a crate. The cloth of her dress is traditional, but the style is modern, and she has her hair done in a cornrow pattern I've never seen before. She fiddles with the dial on a ghetto blaster. When she hears Blondie, she turns up the volume.

“
One way or another
,” she sings along with Blondie. Thomas grins and reaches out to take Piper from me. I sag in relief.

“Astrid, this is my wife, Esi,” he says.

I use my T-shirt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes. Esi waves at me and keeps singing. I smile back.

“Where's your mom?” asks Thomas.

“We lost her. She'll go to the car. We should go too. That's where we said we'd meet,” I say.

Thomas sits Piper on his stool and says, “You stay here and have a drink. I'll go get your mom.”