Orange For The Sunsets

Entebbe, Uganda 1972

DURING THE SUMMER of 1972, the president of Uganda-Idi Amin had a dream.

God spoke to him and told him to kick all foreign Indians out of Uganda. Word of his dream spread throughout the country. It reached the ears of best friends-Yesofu and Asha.

He was African.

She was Indian.

Asha had lived in Uganda her whole life. They weren’t worried.

YESOFU GLANCED AT his watch. Nine o’clock. He’d promised Mamma he’d be back no later than nine-thirty. “Yanguwa!” she’d called to him as he ran out the door. Of course. She wanted him to hurry up. It was mostly dark now except for the light spilling out the windows of the Entebbe Institute. From what Yesofu could tell, only a couple of people were still inside. He stepped back into the shadows of the banyan tree and waited. The band announced it was their last song for the night and started howling like McCartney and Lennon.

They say it’s your birthday.

We’re gonna have a good time.

They sounded almost as good as the Beatles. Yesofu tapped his foot and sang along. He stepped forward and peered through the thick branches. Inside he saw Asha jumping around, her arms in the air and a big smile on her face. Her twelfth birthday party was all she’d talked about for the past few months. Yesofu pulled out the crumpled card from his pocket. It was the first invitation he’d ever gotten from her. He’d thought about going… wanted to go, even up until last night, but then he remembered Mamma’s words.

You and Asha are from different worlds.

She’d said it in Luganda, their Ganda tribal language that she used when she meant business.

He got it. Asha, she was oblivious. Didn’t get how him being African and her Indian made them different. It was the whole reason he wasn’t at her party right now. The Indian club accepted African members, but the only Africans inside were the club boys serving the drinks and food. It would have felt weird, him being at the party. Problem was, he shouldn’t have told Asha he’d go.

The wind whispered through the tree branches and Yesofu shivered. Misambwa-the wood and stream spirit. Being Christian didn’t change his beliefs. Ganda people knew not to go to the water well or into the woods to collect twigs at certain times of the day. Only Yesofu was standing outside the Indian club. Surely Misambwa wouldn’t show up here. Yesofu glanced up into the thick canopy of leaves and branches. He’d wait a couple more minutes. Better not to chance things and anger the spirits. The doors opened and Asha stepped outside. Finally. Yesofu moved into the light and waved.

“Asha!”

She looked up and walked over. “What are you doing here?” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“Happy birthday!” He raised his hand for a high five, but she stood with her arms tightly knotted. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“I got you something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow, slightly crumpled sachet. Green string was wrapped around the edges and tied into a messy knot. Yesofu pressed it into Asha’s hand. “Furahia siku ya kuzaliwa,”he said. Birthday wishes sounded better in Swahili.

Excitement flickered in Asha’s brown eyes. Wait until she saw what was inside. No way could she stay mad. Her fingers tightened around the sachet. Had she guessed? Yesofu wished she would hurry.

Asha pressed her thumb against the wrapping. She pulled at the string and then stopped. “What’s wrong?” Yesofu asked.

She looked at him and shoved the gift back into his hand. “I don’t want it.”

“Come on… open it.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll do it.” Yesofu tugged open the knot, pulled apart the paper, and held up a string of round beads. The brown, orange, blue, and red colors shined in the moonlight. A friendship bracelet. Nearly all the girls in their class had one. A bracelet exchanged with your best friend.

There was no way he’d be caught wearing a beaded bracelet. What would the guys on the cricket team say? But Asha could.

Asha’s fingers fidgeted, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. She was pretending not to care, but he could tell she wanted to try it on. Yesofu jiggled the bracelet-try me on.

The beads softly clinked. She looked at the bracelet and rubbed her bare wrist, but still, she didn’t reach for it.

“Why didn’t you come to my party?” Asha asked. “Neela and everyone said you wouldn’t, but I didn’t listen. I said you would… and you made me look like a fool.”

“I wanted to. I did.” Yesofu dropped his arm, the bracelet dangling from his hand. “I even came tonight, but then… I couldn’t. You. Me. We’re different.”

“It’s never mattered before. Who cares?”

“Everyone!” said Yesofu. “Your friends. Our parents. And me. I care. I’m not like you. My family works for your family.”

“So what?” Asha stepped forward and poked Yesofu in the chest. “You’re my friend. You should have come.”

Yesofu looked at Asha and something inside him shifted.

He wasn’t her houseboy to order around. He grabbed her arm and tried to shove the bracelet onto her wrist. “Here, take it.” “Let go!” Asha snatched her hand out of Yesofu’s grasp.

SNAP!

The string broke. The beads dropped one by one-falling in the open space between him and Asha, disappearing into the dirt and grasses. The empty string dangled from his hand.

“I-I-I’m so sorry-” stammered Asha.

Yesofu chucked the string at her. His heart pounded as he scrambled onto his bike. He took off, pedaling faster and faster until everything around him was a blur.

“Wait!” he heard Asha call out. “Yesofu!”

He blocked her voice with images.

The times he’d had to come through the back door at Asha’s house.

The times he’d stayed in the kitchen when her parents had guests over.

The hours he’d spent in the sugarcane fields to pay for the beads.

It was like he was seeing his life for the first time, and he didn’t like it.