MARIAM THE GOOD GIRL.

EPISODE 3

I was confused and cried a lot. I remembered Mama Joan’s words and thought what to do—leave or stay? Where do I start? No help, no relatives. I cried with no one to tell. After thinking a lot, I decided to go to grandmother’s grave, cried there, then bid her goodbye—I’m leaving for Dar.

I went straight to Mama Joan’s shop. When she saw me: “Hey Mai, why are your eyes swollen and red—what happened?” I said: “I’ve decided to accept going with sister Asma.” Mama Joan said: “Hey, but Asma already got someone?” My heart hurt. I asked: “Really? She can’t take me anymore?” Mama Joan said: “Yes—you brought a pose to a rich person? That’s how it is.” I felt no strength in my legs—sat down: “What curse is this on me? Why is my life like this? God, why don’t you see me? Are you there??” I spoke loudly.

Mama Joan came out of the shop: “What happened to you?” I looked at her, tears flowing—I couldn’t answer. She said: “I’m joking—she hasn’t got anyone, and she didn’t want anyone. She liked you only. So prepare—come sleep at my place tonight. Tomorrow journey.” I couldn’t believe: “Thank you so much, Mama Joan.” She said: “Don’t worry—I love you. You have respect and good behavior, hardworking—not like other girls your age who are loose and rude. When you go to town, know Asma is your sister—respect her, help her, listen to her—you’ll enjoy, okay?” I said thanks, I’ll do that. I greeted her, went to the woman I respect and asked her to take care of the hut—if someone wants it, she can put them there, and the farms. She said no problem.

I returned home, packed my clothes. Went to Mama Joan. Sister Asma saw me and was very happy: “My young sister, welcome—I’m happy you agreed to leave with me.” I said: “Don’t worry, I’m grateful.” She said: “Don’t worry. When we reach town, I want you to introduce yourself as my young sister, nothing else—though you’ll help with work, and every month I’ll give you 50,000 for your expenses, okay?” My eyes teared—50,000, I never dreamed of holding that much. I said thanks so much. She asked about me, I explained. She said she’s married, so we’ll live with her, the children, and her husband—he’s calm, no problem. I said okay.

Evening came, we ate. Time to sleep—she gave me a gown: “Wear this tomorrow when we leave. Leave your clothes here—when we arrive, I’ll buy you new ones. You’re my young sister—leave those second-hand ones.” I said thanks, sister. I slept. Morning, I woke early, helped with work at Mama Joan’s, then prepared for the journey to Dar. I wore the gown—it was loose because I’m slim and Asma is big. We boarded her car, said goodbye to Mama Joan. The journey started. I sat in front with Asma, children behind. Asma told stories and showed me towns along the way. I was amazed—I had never left the village. I wondered where my sister was.

I was still village-like—when another car passed, I panicked and moved closer to Asma, saying: “God, God—we’ll crash!” She laughed and told me not to fear.

We reached Dar in the evening, still light. I was shocked by the city’s size—wide roads, many cars, traffic jams, big buildings, crowds of people. Asma never tired—she introduced every place until we reached her home. She had a limousine, honked—the gate opened, she drove in. She said: “Welcome, my young sister—this is home.” I said thanks, shocked by the big multi-story house, garden, three other cars parked under shades. She said: “Even better—my husband is here.” She parked nicely next to the others, then we started unloading luggage—including maize, beans, and other things she brought from the village.

We carried inside—she led. Opened the door, entered the living room—found a man sitting on a nice sofa. Asma put down luggage: “There he is—my husband.” She went to hug and kiss him, but the man just sat like he didn’t like it—the kiss wasn’t returned. I knew this was brother-in-law. Then children entered calling “Daddy, Daddy,” climbed on him—but he showed no cooperation—like he didn’t love the children.

Hmm, I was surprised. Asma looked at me: “Dear, this is my husband—greet him.” I approached, knelt, greeted “Shikamoo.” He said: “Marahaba, how are you?” I said: “Fine.” Asma said: “Husband, this is my young sister I told you about—coming with her. Her name is Maimuna.” He said: “Welcome.” I said thanks. Then he stood and went upstairs. Asma said: “Mai, don’t fear—my husband is very calm and shy. You’ll get used to him. Let’s put the luggage and finish.” I said okay.

We took to the kitchen, returned for more until done. Children played in the beautiful living room. When finished, she said: “Today we don’t cook—my sister, I’m tired, and you too. I’ll order food outside. Let’s bathe. You’ll help bathe the children.” I said okay. One child was 5, the other about 2. She said: “Follow me.” I followed upstairs—she showed me a room. I was shocked—I couldn’t believe I’d sleep there. Big bed, wardrobe, dressing table, mirror, en-suite bathroom with bathtub (you fill with water and bubbles like whites, plus shower). Toilet was sit-down. Everything was strange to me. She explained everything carefully, emphasizing cleanliness. She showed the children’s room. I bathed them, dressed them, then I bathed. That day she ordered food, but husband didn’t come out to eat—I don’t know, maybe taken to his room.

The next day I woke late— not used to sleeping on a soft mattress. I slept like in paradise. She woke me. I jumped, scared. She said: “Sorry for the tiredness.” I said thanks. She said: “Now come, I’ll show you the whole house.” I said okay. She said: “Brush teeth first and bathe properly—toothbrush and paste in bathroom. Clothes to wear here.” She gave me a tracksuit and jacket. I thanked her, bathed, dressed—the tracksuit was big, but I tightened the string—it fit.

I went down, found her in the living room. She showed me the whole house including outside, explaining. When done, we cleaned together, then went to kitchen. She said: “Naiman, you know how to cook, Mai.” I said yes, but village-style food. She said: “Exactly—husband likes natural foods a lot. Now he eats out—I want you to cook inside because I was born in town, I can’t.” I said don’t worry about that, sister. She asked: “You know natural foods that give strength to a man, Mai?” Hmm, I was surprised why she asked about foods for man’s strength. I knew because grandmother taught girls preparing for marriage—I heard her giving tips and examples. She said: “Give an example.” I said: cassava, peanuts, mlenda, ugali from unpolished maize and cassava, steamed fish—I named many, and fresh coconut. She said: “You know how to cook all that?” I said yes.

She said: “Write them all—I’ll buy.” I said okay. She gave paper and pen, I wrote. She said: “Tomorrow morning do cassava—we brought some. I’ll go buy others.” I said okay. She showed how to use the stove, then left. I peeled cassava, boiled with salt, made ginger-cinnamon tea (no lemongrass bush here like village—I used the bottle she showed), prepared table. For children: fried eggs and porridge. Husband didn’t come down until Asma returned with luggage—then he was called. He came down, Asma called me too to the table.

I went and sat. She said: “Mai, don’t sit—serve your husband food.” Heeee, I was surprised—what does she mean “your husband”? I was stunned. She laughed: “Why like that? Aren’t you my young sister? This is our husband—know that. You should call him husband, and he calls you wife because you are the junior wife.” I said okay, but I think better to call him brother-in-law. She said no—I said call him husband. She held her husband’s chin: “Baby, I brought you my young sister—she knows a lot about cooking natural foods you like and those that build the body. So surely all services will be available at home—it’s just saying what you want.” He looked at her, then at me. He said: “Okay.” Asma said: “Come, serve our husband. And tell him what you’ll cook for lunch today—Saturday, let him enjoy.” I served cassava, then said: “I’ll cook ugali and mlenda for him.” He looked at me: “Good.” I served him cassava and ginger water—he added sugar and drank. Husband didn’t ask about children—even when they came, he had no time for them. It surprised me a lot.

Asma went to grind dona flour, brought it—I cooked for husband. He ate happily.

The next day Asma went out, returned with a big bag. Found me preparing lunch—cooking dona, fried fish, peanut pumpkin vegetables. She said: “Mai, come to your room.” I went. She said: “I bought you these modern clothes—not second-hand. Arrange in the wardrobe.” I said thanks so much, sister. She said: “After cooking and setting table before calling us, bathe and wear new clothes.” I said okay and thanked her a lot. She started leaving, then stopped, turned: “Mai, how old are you?” I said 17. She said: “You’ve grown—have you ever had a boyfriend?” I was surprised: “No, sister.” She laughed: “Have you ever had s*x?” I said: “Sister, no—I’ve never, sister khaaa.” I was shocked—the questions were strange. She said: “So you’re a virgin? You don’t know men?” I said yes, I’m a virgin. She said: “Very good—take care of yourself.” I said okay, sister. She left.

I went to cook happily. Finished, set table, bathed, wore new clothes—then got tired. The clothes were all too short and tight, some very revealing. Hmm, I got tired. I wore one with kitenge on top, went down, sent Prince (their firstborn) to call them. Asma and husband came down. Asma came to kitchen, saw me: “Hey, why the kitenge now?” I said: “I just wore it, sister—the clothes are too short.” She said: “Stop the village thing, Mai—you came to town. Don’t you see how I dress? You’re my young sister—you should look like me. Remove that kitenge—I don’t want to see you with kitenge, I’ll burn it.” I said okay. I removed it but didn’t feel comfortable.

Asma went to table, I served husband as usual. Asma said: “Husband, did you see how beautiful your junior wife is today?” Husband looked at me. Asma said: “This child knows a lot—life just beat her in the village, but today she dressed and looks good. And believe it—she’s a virgin, the child has never known a man. Imagine—husband, your local chicken has never been mounted—imagine its taste...”