The Bite of the Mango by Mariatu Kamara

Author:Mariatu Kamara [Kamara, Mariatu]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2013-09-27T16:00:00+00:00

When the skit was over, Mariatu and Victor approached me.

“So you finally came out,” Victor said with a smile, punching me gently on the shoulder.

“I just wanted to watch,” I said.

“But we’d love to have you in the troupe,” he said. Victor was a tall, handsome man with an oval face and very short hair. When he smiled, his eyes drooped downwards slightly, giving him an innocent look. Even though I had only met him once or twice before, I’d liked him right away.

“I’ve been through a few things recently,” I confessed. “I don’t know if I am up to acting, singing, and dancing yet.”

“I know about the baby and his death,” he said kindly. “I wanted you to join the troupe a long time ago, but I realized it was too soon. Having a baby at twelve years of age is very hard.”

I wanted to tell Victor that I had killed Abdul, that I was a mean person and he shouldn’t be talking to me. But instead I replied: “Yes, it was very hard. His death really hurt me.”

“Why don’t you join the troupe and express your pain through theater?” Victor said. “We’re all good people.” His hand swooped in a circle to encompass the actors, who sat on the ground talking to each other in hushed tones.

“I’ll try,” I said, not knowing where my answer came from. “I’ll try.”

Victor created a role for me in the HIV/AIDS play as a villager mourning the woman who had died. All I had to do was cry. It was a small part, but I found I liked it. We ran through the skit a couple more times before Victor called it quits.

I thanked Mariatu, waved goodbye to Victor, and went back to my tent. I didn’t feel happy, but some of the heaviness inside of me had started to lift. Victor was right: pretending to cry onstage did offer some relief from my pain.

The next Sunday, I returned to the theater troupe. I didn’t tell anyone in my family where I was going, just that I would be back later. “Don’t worry about me,” I yelled.

The following weekend, I went out to the theater troupe again. After we’d run through the skit a few times, we danced and sang. Some of the boys brought out drums. Even though they had no hands, they could still drum like nothing had happened to them. I found myself swaying to the music and singing the chorus of some popular Temne songs.

By the time we were done, it was dinnertime. Victor walked with me back through the camp. On the way, we passed by his tent. His wife had prepared a plate of rice and vegetables, and Victor invited me to eat with him.

“I was raped,” I whispered halfway through the meal.

“I know,” was his reply.

“Should I get tested for HIV/AIDS?”

“Yes, Mariatu,” he said. “Yes.”

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