“Judy, what are you dreaming about?” The threatening voice of the teacher woke me up. I was indeed awake. But it was true that I was dreaming – daydreaming. What was I dreaming about? About the baobab tree that stood on our school campus? Yes and no.
There stood a baobab at our school campus. It stood right on the path between our classrooms and our dormitories. No one knew how old it was. But for sure, it looked quite old, as most baobabs are. Its trunk was decorated or, one could say, dirtied by a myriad of graffiti that ranged from names of girls who were once students in our school to names of boys who perhaps were once friends of our girls.
This morning the baobab had warned me as I walked to class.
I was actually thinking about Flora. As I sat in the class that day I watched Flora. She had her head down. Perhaps she didn’t take the porridge that morning. Most of my fellow boarders didn’t like that porridge. Maybe her ulcers were disturbing her. Many of my friends had stomach ulcers too, especially the ones who were not taking the porridge. Was Flora having some sort of back pain? You know, we growing up girls have such things.
“What is wrong with Flora, anyway”, I wondered.
I tried to pay attention to the boring chemistry teacher. Chemistry is something I hated most. I admired my teacher as he solved the equations so easily without the use of any book. But I never understood the logic of those equations.
I preferred to solve more important equations of life. That morning as I walked to the class, after eating that disgusting porridge, the baobab warned me of something – something bad that was going to happen. To me, the baobab had some magical powers. I watched it every day and knew the events of the day. This baobab wasn’t as powerful though as the one by the riverside back in our village. That one talks at 12 noon every day. That is what people say, anyway. They say voices are heard from that tree. Supposedly voices of some spirits. I have never heard them, because we are too afraid to go near it at noon. Maybe even the baobab on our school campus speaks at noon! But it is better to be far away from it at noon.
My thoughts went back to the warning of my baobab, as I sat in the class that morning. The last time I saw Flora this way in class there was a drama in our boarding house that evening. I hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
Flora was never my friend. But she always drew my attention. There was something weird about her. When it came to exams, she was top of the class. She had a prodigious memory. But she had no practical intelligence. She didn’t know how to take care of herself. Her face was always oily, often dotted with pimples. I wonder if she did brush her teeth. Her lips were dry; hair smelly; hands sweaty; and her white blouse seemed dirty yellow.
I had a certain feeling of pity for her. From time to time I spared some shillings for her. When my pocket allowed it, I would buy a few maandazi or a soda for her. She was an orphan, we were told. So I was trying to be charitable to her.
But I also disliked her. For one thing, she had dirty teeth. I simply hate people with dirty teeth. But it was more than that. She was just the opposite of what I was. Including in studies! Then there was something odd about her attitude towards religion. She had to come up with some long prayers whenever she had the opportunity. In the dorm even after we all lay in bed, she could be sitting up, supposedly saying some prayers! Was she a saint or was she hiding something? I hate people who look like saints; and I hate people who hide personal secrets.
My chemistry teacher was shouting at the top of his voice. He was talking about the properties of oxygen: when combined with hydrogen, oxygen produces water. I studied that in class three. But the teacher worked some equation on the blackboard. Equations again! I reminded myself that we are in secondary school. Flora was good at remembering equations though; she might have been just memorizing them. That was her strong point.
To tell the truth, I was afraid of Flora. That dirty orphan girl was either possessed or she possessed some extraordinary powers.
One day, the day she had looked sick in class, there was a drama in the dorm. As we were all getting into bed that night Flora fell flat. Luckily on her own bed. And her bed was on the lower berth. That saved us some trouble. The Sister-in-Charge had assigned her to that bed at the beginning of the year.
But then Flora started yelling. Some of our girls rushed to hold her. Those were courageous ones. I am a type that gets frozen when there is an emergency. I wish I could help. But I just remain there, as if to say, “Leave me alone.”
Flora was writhing in fury, yelling a senseless cacophony. Wriggling like a worm on her bed. Was she in pain? The more she was held the more she wanted to get away. Four strong girls could not hold her. Was she having cerebral malaria? Or was it hysteria?
I don’t know what hysteria is. I have only heard the women mention it once when they were visiting my mother at home. These friends of my mum were talking about another woman in our village, who, they said, suffered from hysteria. When my mum’s women friends come I always like listening to them, for I learn a lot from them. In fact it is from their conversation that I learnt all those things about being a woman. Perhaps they are the ones who told me also about the talking baobab that stands on the stony hill just outside our village.
Flora was now shouting. “Is she possessed?” whispered Stella in an undertone. She slept on the lower berth below me. From the vantage point of the upper berth I could have a clear view of all the drama that went on. I sat up on the bed, and started telling Stella what I saw.
The Sister-in-Charge of our boarding house came in with the cross in one hand and holy water in the other. She forcefully splashed some water on Flora’s face. Flora shouted even more loudly.
We could now decipher that she was saying, “Oh, you poor child, they are ill-treating you! Oh, poor child!” It was loud enough for everyone to hear, though she spoke in a staccato tone.
“Who is ill-treating her?” asked Stella from the lower berth.
As I watched the Sister-in-Charge shove the cross into Flora’s hands I replied, “I wonder!” But I remembered Flora one day mentioning to me how she was being ill-treated by her aunt. I felt relieved to realise that I was not part of the group that was ill-treating this poor soul.
“We are now leaving you, oh poor child! We are leaving! Poor child…” Flora’s voice was now becoming less aggressive. Perhaps she was tired. Or had she said what she wanted to say?
Stella, my neighbour, wanted to offer her interpretation, “You see, she was possessed by her dead parents! Now they are leaving.”
Flora’s voice became weaker and weaker as she kept repeating, “Goodbye, oh, poor child! Goodbye, goodbye….” Suddenly a dead silence fell on our dorm. A deep calm. A sense of relief. But there was also a sudden sense of unknown fear! It took a long time for me to fall asleep. Next morning I learnt that even others in the dorm were in the same boat! It was the talk of the boarders for a few days. Then we eventually forgot about it. But from that day Flora was a loner, due probably to embarrassment on her part and fear on the part of others.
These were my daydreams. As the Chemistry teacher stared at me, the school bell rang. It was lunch break. I wanted to meet Stella, my dormitory companion, to tell her of my fears about that girl with the oily face.
Sure enough that evening there was another drama. This time it was as we walked from our study hall to the dorm, not far from where the Baobab stood. The path was dark and there was a lot of screaming and panicking from the other girls. I held on to Stella, who was more frightened than me. Flora ran all over the place and some stronger girls running after her. Eventually, I think, they did take control of her. Flora was not brought to the dorm. Perhaps she was taken to the dispensary or to the convent.
In the dorm we were all frightened. I and Stella decided to sleep in the same bed that night. I knew the Sister-in-Charge would not approve of it. But several of the girls did the same – they slept in pairs. I felt comfortable in the company of Stella.
In the days that followed some girls even changed school due to the commotion of the possession-saga. If not for my friend – and often my bed companion – Stella, I would have left the school too. I often watched Flora keenly. She was not just normal. I tried my best though to be kind to her.
* * * * *
It was a Saturday. As we took breakfast that day there was extra noise in the dining hall. There was more than one reason for this. It was the weekend. Then on Saturdays we had no disgusting porridge; they gave us a piece of bread instead with a cup of tea -with milk. And then it was visitors’ day. Obviously everyone was excited.
But the baobab looked calm.
Maybe my dad will come to see me too. I had many things to do that day – wash my clothes, plait my hair, and write a letter to my little sister.
Later that morning I was coming out of our dorm to go to the study area. My clothes had been washed. I wanted to get the letter written before my dad would come. I could get my hair plaited in the evening.
I saw Stella come running towards me. It was hot, and she ran like someone who had a story to tell. I walked fast too towards her. We met under the baobab.
“Judy, you know what…” Stella was panting for breath. “You know what, Flora has a visitor today.”
I knew Flora had never received any visitor in the two years we had been together. After all, she was an orphan. And her aunt was too busy to care. The only visitors that Flora had from time to time were the spirits of her dead parents that disturbed our dorm. The poor little child!
“Do you know who Flora’s visitor is?” I was too eager to know. Even though I had decided several times not to worry about that girl with the dirty teeth, I could not bring myself to simply not bother.
Stella continued, “It seems the visitor is her mother. She looks very young. Flora’s mum could pass for her elder sister.”
“After all, her parents are alive then. At least her mum is alive, for sure?” I wanted to know more.
“Yes, her mum has told the whole story to our Sister-in-Charge! Perhaps her father is alive too. Apparently her mum had given birth to Flora while still in primary school. No wonder then that she could not take care of her. Maybe Flora‘s mum left her with her aunt so that she could complete her studies or perhaps she could not face her parents with that child.”
I could not believe my ears, “It seems logical enough. But – but then what about the possession saga? It doesn’t seem logical?”
Suddenly the church bell struck. It was 12 noon.
I looked at the baobab. There was nothing strange about it.
(Note: Like the other entries in the website, this story is a original writing of Sahaya G. Selvam).