A Girl is a Body of Water by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi

Author:Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tin House Books
Published: 2020-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

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Giibwa’s aunt’s friend directed them to Kyadondo Road in Nakasero, and they walked back through the Lugogo swamp. The rugby pitch had flooded. Their route took them past the rows of huge, ancient mango trees, across the Lugogo bypass, and over to Lugogo Indoor Arena. Soon they were in Lower Kololo. Once they crossed the golf course and Kitante Road, Kyadondo Road was just above the Fairway Hotel. Giibwa’s home was easy to find; there were plot numbers on the gates. A tarmacked driveway, then a paved walkway led to a side door. Kirabo knocked on the door, wondering how Giibwa had adjusted to the incredible wealth around her.

The door opened. Giibwa stood there. A Giibwa with a posture like she had grown up in that house and the demeanour of someone newly arrived from Switzerland. This Giibwa knew she was beautiful, Kirabo realised. It was there in her eyes. That entitlement that light-skinned girls had to beauty, to being the centre of attention. Kirabo reached for Sio’s hand. How had Giibwa got even more light-skinned? Her hair was enormous and dark. She had lost weight and stretched at the waist. This was no longer the innocent beauty of childhood; this was sharp and malignant. You saw it for the first time, you looked away. Then you stole small, secret glances until you got used to it. It was the kind of beauty that made you hate a girl who had done nothing to you.

“Giibwa, happy to see you.”

Giibwa should have been the first to greet them, open her arms and hug Kirabo, but she had not. She did not respond to Kirabo’s greeting, so Kirabo said the next thing that came to mind.

“You have lost weight but you are looking so well. Being small suits you.”

Giibwa’s eyes were a cave.

Kirabo feared that Giibwa had seen her envy. But whatever she had felt was gone. She was glad to see her again. It was almost three years since she had last seen her. Kirabo was sixteen and a half now and Giibwa was already seventeen, but she was still Kirabo’s first best friend.

“Can you imagine, we walked first from Shimon to Nakawa, and then your aunt’s friend directed us here and we plodded all the way from Nakawa to here.” In that inventory lay Kirabo’s appeal to Giibwa: Measure how long we have walked and gauge how much I love you. Then she walked up the steps and went to hug Giibwa. Giibwa was a tree. In the past, no matter how viciously they fought, Giibwa never tied anger around her heart. Kirabo would come back or Giibwa would come to Kirabo’s home and they would carry on as though they had not fought. This unsmiling Giibwa, the one looking at her with disdain, was new.

Kirabo pulled away and Giibwa smiled a bit. “Hello, Kirabo.” She spoke English. “Nice to see you.” But there was no sparkle in her eyes, just irritation, as if Kirabo was a smitten puppy.

Kirabo had

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