Yefon: The Red Necklace by Sahndra Dufe Read Free Book Online

them was Ma who stared at me until I felt like my head was going to burst from her glass coal stare.
    She was not an affectionate woman at all when we were children. Left to her, none of us would be allowed to talk to Pa when he was eating, let alone sit on his lap, even though, it was a great spot to be since he would give you his leftover meat. She forced me to do everything that I hated, and if I seemed to be enjoying something too much, she would ask me to stop.
    I used to wish I could have Kadoh’s mother, Ya Sero, but the gods were not so kind as to let that happen for me. Ya Sero was very warm, and friendly. She always kissed Kadoh on the cheek with her full round lips, and told her how much she loved her. The day my mother would say such to me, the world would end.

    In 1947, I was a scrawny seven-year-old rabble-rouser with ten taut
motobo *
braids on my head. This ball like hairdo was very common among little children in my day. Pa was away on one ofhis business trips and I was behind Ma’s mud hut, playing house, or play-play as we called it, with my pet
bvey
, Dini.
    I was trying without success to ride around the meadow on Dini when Ma sent Yenla, the sour pup, to fetch me. I straddled Dini by the horns urging her on repeatedly, but she wouldn’t budge.
    “Dini, come on. Just one ride, please na.”
    Chewing idly, Dini looked like she had just smoked one of those bad cigarettes that Ma was warning my brothers about.
Bveys
have the most idiosyncratic way of chewing. Their teeth smash the food on the right side of their mouths with a long boring nonchalance until the grass is gone.
    “Go and call me that truant,” Ma shouted from the front door.
    Yenla began screaming my name in the long drawn out almost singsong way that village children speak when they are shouting. “Y..Yef…Yefon! Yefon! Ma..Ma..Ma is calling you!”
    “I am coming!” I replied lazily, angry that my play-play had been cut short and I had to go face the worst thing in this world—Ma fixing my hair. She braided it so tight, and if I tried to react, she would give me a harsh knock on my already tensed head. It was better to just hold your peace.
    Holding Dini’s back for support, I rose from the ground where I was kneeling and dusted off my calico skirt, which was brownish at the knee area.
    As I idled around Dini for a few extra minutes, Ma’s impatient sharp voice snapped out, “Yefon, if I come behind there, I will beat you, eh.”
    Say no more! I summoned myself to her antagonizing presence. She was eating boiled cassava, which we called
ngashingha *
.
    “Sit down there,” she pointed with the knife she was using to peel the
ngashinga’
, and I hoped this was not the Abraham story where a child sacrifice was needed. I was ready to run away if she tried anything.
    Thankfully, she only parted my thick fro into ten equal bundles and plaited it with shiny black thread, until the entireblack mass was pulled into puff-puff looking woolen balls. It hurt like three pineapples in your anus, but I dared not flinch.
    “Ma, can I go and pee?” I asked, as an excuse to free myself, hoping I could steal a short break. Ma was silent for a whole minute. She plaited one full
motobo
before answering
    “No.
Nyanga * no di hot
,” Ma said. That slang was commonly said when you were braiding your hair. It meant that any woman could endure any beautifying process. I wasn’t Sola, and I’d rather be with my
bvey
. Ah! This woman of color!
    I wish my Pa were home. He would have said, “Mami wan, let the child go and pee. Do you want her to pee on herself?” But I didn’t really have to pee, and Ma, like the mama of all bullies that she was, knew when I was lying and when I was serious. I missed Pa terribly, and I couldn’t wait for him to return home from his habitual business trips that he had thankfully reduced from three to five moons to one moon.
    A group of schoolboys passed in front of our compound talking cheerfully about their plans