Olawu did not understand why her umama wished for a boy. She and her sister, Ugami, did as their umama asked. They cleaned and cooked as she desired. They planted seeds in the garden. They sewed and mended their clothes, gathered water from the river, and buried their waste in the sand. All at their umama’s word. Not once did Olawu waver. Not once did it seem to matter. Every night her umama prayed the same prayer. For God to bless her with a son.
God did bless her with another child. Kimani was a beautiful baby with shiny curls and fat fingers, silky black skin and light brown eyes with flecks of gold. Olawu adored her. She loved kissing her sweet cheeks and wrapping her tightly in kitenge cloth to hold her close. She sang lullabies to Kimani and told her stories of wise monkeys and greedy lions.
Umama cried many nights after Kimani’s birth, but when Ubaba came home, he would always comfort her. Olawu loved her ubaba. He was tall and strong and smart. When he picked her up and lifted her high over his head, she felt like a princess.
She loved the way he smelled. Like sweat and medicine with a hint of copper. He always wore a white kaftan and cream-colored tunic when he worked. He was an udokotela, and his skills outmatched any healer. When Olawu grew big enough, he would let her tag along with him to the healing hut. She’d organize his herbs and medicines and lay out his instruments before surgery. She could not stay when patients were around, though she wanted to.
There were many rules in the village of Kanakam. Girls were not allowed to study the ways of healing, so Ubaba made her wait outside when someone entered the hut. Olawu did not like this rule, but she followed it.
Ubaba promised to teach her in secret so long as she obeyed. He taught her and her sisters to read and write, another thing girls were not allowed to do. Girls were not allowed to learn a trade or be an apprentice, or buy and sell at the market, or travel outside of their village without a male companion.
In Kanakam, there were three groups of people. The merchants owned cows and land and controlled the buying and selling in the market. Craftsmen were the second and included builders, potters, carpenters, and those with special skills.
The third group were the poorest in Kanakam. They were families with no resources, or more often, no men. They were not treated much better than the slaves captured by rival tribes in other places. These were called Pootagi in her village. And though women were not allowed to work for wages, Pootagi women would often do hard labor, working the crops for the merchants, herding cows, or performing other undesirable tasks in exchange for food.
Olawu did not give much thought to these things. She had Ubaba. He took care of her, Umama, and her sisters with so much love and kindness that the outside world did not matter. He sang songs to them so silly they drew laughs even from Umama. He was Olawu’s sun and moon and stars; her hero. He never turned anyone away. Umama would chastise him when he would work for free, especially when he helped a Pootagi. Olawu had heard Umama scold him on many occasions.
“You know they cannot pay, Mbako,” her umama would say.
“God would not allow me to sleep if I refused to help one of His children, Fadhila.”
Umama would cluck at Ubaba’s reply, but say no more, and Olawu would smile to herself, knowing that Ubaba had done the right thing. He always did the right thing. She vowed, one day, she would be just like him.
***
“Olawu!”
Olawu pretended not to notice Batiko, looking handsome in a blue and gold kitenge with slacks, the uniform all boys wore as apprentices. He ran across the marketplace to greet her, but she turned her face from him, trying to hide her smile.
“Olawu? Wait!” He stepped in front of her, blocking her path on the dusty road.
“Ach! What is it, Tiko? I have laundry to take to the river.” She flicked her eyes towards the basket she carried on her head.
“Let me take that for you.”
He reached for the basket, but Olawu moved it out of his grasp. “Why? So you can tell all your friends that you carried Olawu’s basket for her? Tch! I won’t allow it.”
Batiko laughed. “Come now, Olawu. Don’t think so little of me. I just saw that you were carrying a heavy load and wanted to help you.”
A young umama passed with her baby strapped to her back. She looked first at Batiko, then at Olawu before giggling and walking away. Batiko noticed her expression and grinned.
“I’m onto you, Tiko.” Olawu huffed with narrowed eyes. “I can handle my own responsibility, so go away.”
“Olawu, you’re so stubborn. You should learn to be more like Ugami. She would never speak so crossly. Don’t you know men do not like to marry such women?”
“And so what? What do I need to be married for?”
“So you will be taken care of, of course! Even though you have a sharp tongue, I still like you. I promise to take very good care of you when we’re married.”
Olawu snorted. “You seem so sure.”
“No one else would marry such an ugly girl.” He tipped the basket on her head and ran away, laughing.
“Ach! Batiko!” Olawu scowled as the basket fell to the ground. She raised her fist and chased after him, leaving her basket of laundry behind. “Come back here!”
“Try to catch me, first.” Batiko grinned as he ran off, stomping through a half dozen rugs laid out with goods. He dodged two merchants repairing the gate for their sheep pen before skittering down the space between two huts. Olawu followed his trail of destruction, shouting a few brief apologies before taking off in earnest.
Batiko dodged a wall of bamboo and traveled its length before turning again. Olawu smirked and continued straight. She knew the market as well as any place. And she knew Batiko. He would try to lose her, then double back and head towards the potter’s hut where he apprenticed. She’d cut him off near the jewel maker’s cart.
Olawu ran past a row of men shouting as they haggled and bartered bags of millet for eggs and meat. She spotted Batiko as she crossed in front of the jewel maker, but his eyes were elsewhere and they were moving too fast. The two collided and tumbled before upsetting a small pen of guinea fowl. Feathers flew and hens scattered, hopping and squawking in every direction.
Batiko laughed and helped her up as the owner of the fowl came running towards them from down the road. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He yanked her arm, but Olawu hesitated, looking instead at the broken pen.
“Ach! Tiko, why must you leave such a mess wherever you go? Help me gather the birds back together.” Olawu began shooing them back into the pen. Her efforts were in vain, as the fowl easily escaped through the broken wood.
“Olawu, who cares about those stupid birds? Just run!”
She shook her head in dismay. “Ach, they make so much noise.”
“Olawu, watch out!”
Batiko’s warning came too late. The merchant grabbed Olawu by the arm and swung her around. “What do you think you are doing, eh? You think you can cause trouble like this, inja?”
Olawu’s temper flared at the insult. How dare he call her a dog? She pulled her arm from his grip and shoved him back. “Ay! What gives you the right? Because I am a child you call me a dog?”
“Because you are a woman.” The merchant snorted, then spat in her face. “You get out of here before I lose my temper.”
Olawu stood speechless. Batiko looked from Olawu to the merchant and stepped forward. “Hayi! It was my fault. Please, do not act this way.”
Spittle dripped down Olawu’s nose and onto her chin. Her shock gave way to rage, and she glared at the merchant. “How dare you?” she shouted. “You spit in my face? I spit in yours!”
“Olawu, no!” Batiko reached for her, but she was too quick. She spat at the merchant.
Seconds later, she was on the ground, ears ringing. Batiko stood above her, silently shaking his head. Blood dripped from her nose. Fire engulfed the left side of her face. Dirt covered the right. The merchant smirked as he wiped his cheek with his sleeve. She had not even seen his fist.
Drums vibrated in the distance as a group of children danced in the dusty road. Olawu’s heart pumped to the rhythm, building to a raging tempo. She pushed herself off the ground and wiped the blood from her nose.
“Is that the best you can do?”
Batiko’s eyes grew wide. “Olawu.”
She ignored him and took a step towards the merchant. “Do you think you are strong, hitting a girl? Eh?”
She hit the ground a second time. Her teeth chattered with this blow, and she tasted the blood from where she’d bitten her tongue. But she wasn’t done yet.
Heart pulsing in her ears, she stood again. The merchant’s eyes held a glint of pure hatred, but the third strike never came.
Ubaba held the merchant’s fist. “Strike her again, and you will strike no more.”
The merchant turned in surprise. “Mbako? Where did you . . .” He lowered his eyes. “Forgive me, Udokotela.”
There were not three, but four groups of people in Kanakam. The Pootagi, the craftsmen, the merchants, and her Ubaba. His hands had healed many in Kanakam. From the lowliest Pootagi to the most powerful merchant. Even the pale foreigners from the eastern seas respected him.
Olawu grinned with bloody teeth. Her eyes danced over the merchant and landed on Ubaba, but his eyes held a hardness she found unfamiliar.
“Olawu, go home. Batiko, go to your work.” Tiko did not need further prompting, but Olawu hesitated, confused by the anger in Ubaba’s voice. “Olawu!” He barked a second time. She jumped at the sound and ran home. Past the jewel maker’s cart, the merchant’s rugs, and the laundry still sitting in the road.
She scraped her shoulders on the maze of bamboo surrounding their hut, but barely noticed. Ubaba was not one to speak harshly to her. His anger worried her more than the bruises forming on her face.
