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Image: Google

 

At Six

Young

Full of energy

Your feet wander

Especially when your ma is out

So today like every other day

Your feet take you

To your neighbour’s house

She’s not in but

You see her son

The one you call uncle

Stretched on the sofa

With a plastered smile

on his round face

 

You sit and wait for nothing in particular

Sweets

Maybe sweets

Every time you find yourself there

You get treats

From uncle’s mother

Treats your mother knows nothing about

Things your mother wouldn’t give

Things she calls you a glutton for

Things she slaps your hand away from

 

Then your eyes wander

to an empty can of

Fanta

on the center table

Uncle I want Fanta

Your little mouth says

 

He looks at you

Stands up

Then holds out his hand

Which you willingly rest yours in

Come with me

He says

Will you give me Fanta?

Your little mouth asks

Yes. It’s in my room. Let’s go.

For Fanta

You obliged

For Fanta

You smiled

 

In his room

Quick hands

Lifts your skirt

Pulls down your pant

Don’t tell anyone

He says

For Fanta

You nod

 

For that can of

Orange,

Gas,

And

Sugar

He lifts you and your smiling face

Atop his stiff rod

He tries shifting

And adjusting

This way and that

As if to get a certain position right

A wince

Escapes your lips

Shhh! Don’t you want Fanta?

He blurts

 

You give a blank stare

Smile erased

Confused

You want Fanta

This isn’t Fanta

 

He doesn’t hear the silent steps

Of your aunt

She peeps through the door

And sees what’s happening

She knocks

He stops

Puts you down quickly

Shouting hold on

As he straightens you out

 

He didn’t know she saw

You would later know

Because

In between slaps, pinches and sobs

she threatened to tell your ma

About the bad thing you did

If you don’t give her your piece of meat anytime she asks

 

Fear swallowed you

And you agreed to everything

She accused you of

Going to your neighbour’s house

Number one

Begging for treats

Number two

Following uncle to his room

Number 3

 

But how were you to know that what

He was doing was bad

All he said was to follow him

To take Fanta

Instead you left

With no Fanta

Tears to fill a bucket

Constant fear that your mother

Would have your head

If she hears about the ‘bad thing’

You did

For Fanta.

 

 

 

Muhsinat Kamardeen

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