I am acutelyaware that I am the only one in the whole of Standard Two West who has ahand-made sweater. I have other things on my body that are hand-made too, butyou cannot easily notice. You see, mother is a clever knitter. But it is hardnot to notice a hand-made sweater-the seams are not as neat as themachine sweater, and the collar sticks so close to your neck the first fewdays, that you would think its sole intent was to choke you for daring tosuggest it was not attractive enough. And when you wash it, it automaticallygoes out of shape, so that the corners of the sweater hang limply in protest atyour sides as you walk.
It isbreak-time, and I wait for everyone else to leave before I can get up. Myhand-made panties pinch my bottom as I walk; the elastic is too tight againstmy thighs. When I reach home, I will remove them. There is agirl who is staring at me. Her name is Phelgona. Has she noticed my hand-madesweater? "Whatis your name?" she asks me in Dholuo. She has awhite ribbon her hair and her skin smells of Vaseline petroleum jelly.She is very popular and brown. I am very lucky that she is talking to me. Maybeit is because I got the highest score in mathematics? "Adhiambo," "Adhiambowho?" "Omollo" "Butwhat is your other name?" "Adhis" "But itcan't be!" "Whynot?" "Youhave to have an English name." I stop tothink a little, because maybe this is a school rule, punishable if un-followed.But it cannot be. If it was, then mother would have made me get one. Or wouldshe? Later, I askmother why I don't have an English name. "Well,do you want one?" I do notlike it when she uses questions to answer me. If it is a question that is notsupposed to have an answer, and I dare answer, she will surely give me awhipping for "Talking back at your elders". And if I don't have ananswer, she will say; "well, there goes your answer," and I will feelstupid for asking in the first place. My backsideis still biting from last week when I answered the question; "do you thinkyou are cleverer than your mother?" So I hang my head in shame. "Youshould be ashamed," she says. Phelgonatells me I can start using the name "Violet" so that no one willlaugh at me and think I am backward. If my mother finds out I am now going by astrange name, eeeh... Everyone inclass now calls me Violet. If they call me Adhiambo, I do not even look atthem. Teacher saysI am clever, that I must take after my mother. When I tell mother what teacherhas said, she says, "She is laughing at me because I did not go far inschool." Father looksat her strangely, and then clears his throat, "I do not see what the bigfuss is about. Girls your age are helping their parents at home as they waitfor marriage. It is not good for a girl to be clever, or else she will feellike she is equal to the man she marries, or refuse to marry. Or do you thinkthose papers of yours will marry you?" I look atmother. Her gaze is firmly fixed at the pot she is stirring. She never speakswhen father has spoken.
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