Songbird by Ingrid Laguna

Author:Ingrid Laguna
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2019-03-24T16:00:00+00:00

When Maria, the school receptionist, appeared in the doorway in the middle of choir, Jamila tried to read her face. She was worried Mama had called again. When the song finished, Maria whispered something to Ms Carrington. No, thought Jamila. In shaa Allah, no.

Ms Carrington did not like anyone missing choir. She beckoned Jamila over. ‘It seems that you will not be participating in this session after all,’ she said.

Jamila had missed two whole sessions already. Damn it! Bloody. Bum. Swearing felt just as good in Jamila’s second language. Ms Carrington looked at her watch. ‘Your mother is coming to pick you up.’

A whispered word reached Jamila’s ears: ‘Again.’ It was a girl’s voice, but whose?

‘I’m sorry,’ offered Jamila meekly.

‘Off you go,’ said Ms Carrington, turning away.

Jamila’s classroom was empty when she went to get her bag, and the room felt very different without people in it. She stood behind Miss Dana’s desk. There was her cinnamon tea scent, and a late pass with her name on it. Jamila wondered what her teacher thought of her—that she couldn’t keep track of time in the mornings? That she was lazy?

Jamila imagined other kids’ parents waking their children up in the mornings with bright voices. She saw them bustling in the kitchen as they made breakfast and packed lunches, plaiting their daughters’ hair, checking their library bags, sports shoes, excursion forms. Fathers too. Jamila had watched Finn shrug off his dad’s parting hug the other day. She had seen Marco and his dad slapping palms together in the air before Marco sauntered away.

Jamila headed for the foyer. Maria looked at her with pity. Jamila felt annoyed, she did not need pity.

‘Your mother called,’ Maria said.

Jamila held up a hand. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’ She marched to the front entrance noisily, stomping past the doors labelled Assistant Principal and Principal. She thought of Mama and clenched her teeth. What was so hard about walking outside and getting on a stupid bus and going to the stupid shops anyway? What about Jamila’s life? What about making friends and what about choir?

This time, Mama had called Jamila home to go with her to a Family Support Office appointment. That was worse than shopping. They had already had appointments for health checks, travel cards and for finding a place to live. (They had each been handed a toothbrush, towel and blanket. Jamila could think of better things for starting a new life, like maybe a pet—a guinea pig or a rabbit. But Mama was full of thankyous: Shukraan. Shukraan. Shukraan.)

After a train, a tram and a long walk, they reached the Family Support Office—a big grey building. Mama was breathless as they joined the end of the queue. The line crept slowly forward. Jamila wondered if she was the only kid in her class whose family could not buy food or even live in their house without the Family Support Office.

A woman with wire-grey hair called them over. ‘Are you looking for work?’ she

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