- Previously on The Girl Child Has Seen Days , GC seems to be making friends in the home, but she is about to find that not everyone will fall for her charms. She has to meet Edith.
- Find all the previous episodes at the bottom.
The next morning Mabel and Papso were enjoying their breakfast. They were both in casual home-clothes, even Papso. He was not going to work today. They were smiling, sipping tea spiced with cinnamon and passing around a plate of fat, healthy, juicy kabalagala, those deep-fried discs of deliciousness born of Uganda bananas that some call pancakes, even though calling that Australian, Raygun, a breakdancer. Technically, perhaps, in a way they are in the same general category, but GC’s kabs were so much better than pancakes that the Americans should be calling their things America kabs.
Mabel and Papso each repeated the word “Nyummy” at each other.
Papso: I never dreamt I could be this happy. Oh, nyummy.
Mabel: My mouth feels the way the mouths of great singers must feel when they produce their songs. I feel like I'm eating a collabo of Sheeba and Ntale featuring HER and SZA. Oh nyummy.
Papso, with his mouth full: I don't want to swallow. Oh, so nyummy.
Mabel: I want this feeling to never end.
Papso gestured greedily at the cinnamon-spiced tea.
Papso: Pass me the African tea with mudalasiini.
Mabel: Mpozzi what is mudalasiin in English?
Papso: Muddle seen, oba?
Mable: Or is it More Dallas Sayin.
Both of them: LOLWMF or the emoji of Laughing Out Loud with Mouth Full.
Mabel: What about Kabalagala? What is it in English?
Papso: I know this one. It's pancake.
Mabel: No, pancakes are like eggshells compared to this. It has to have a different name.
Papso: Oba it's Cabllegs. Heh heh.
Mabel: Cable Agarrlay. Heh heh.
The couple were giggling like toddlers at a clown cartoon when Edwin entered.
Edwin: What are we laughing at? What is funny?
The sight of him broke Papso’s mirth. His father scowled.
Papso: What is this one doing here? Gwe, I kicked you out, didn't I?
Mabel: Nawe, it's your son. Be nice.
Papso: He is unemployed youth. They are a drain on national resources. Especially this one, because he is a drain on my resources. Get out.
Papso slapped Edwin's hand, which was reaching for a kab.
Papso: No. Buy your own food. You don't live here.
Edwin: Mummy, they are bullying me.
This was a whine Edwin had kept since he was six, a whine that his full beard did little to muffle. It still worked.
Mabel: Also you, Papso, stop being mean to the boy.
Papso, not moved: Breakfast is for residents. Not people who were kicked out.
Mabel: Okay, he's my visitor. He's a guest. Wamma, baby boy sit down and mummy gives you Cabble Agauleigh and tea with Meyudell Sein.
Edwin, beaming like a spoiled brat who has just been satisfactorily indulged, took the seat next to her, giving his dad a look like, "I win." as Mabel passed him the kabalagala.
After breakfast, Mabel was at work, typing away at her keyboard, slapping her spacebar, and tickling her trackpad, when Papso peeped in. Mabel saw his reflection in the laptop screen. She could see he had mischief on his mind.
Mabel: Aren’t you going to work?
Papso: I'm giving myself the day off. Because, for the first time in weeks, my bedroom is clean.
Mabel: Good for you.
Papso wasn't sure she had got the hint so he had to escalate his mating dance. He crept closer and snuggled her.
Papso: Whatchudooooin?
Mabel: Dude, I'm working!
Papso: Give yourself the day off. Your bedroom is so clean. For the first time in weeks.
He jiggled his cuddle more naughtily. She giggled. He tightened the cuddle, adding a bit of tickling. She giggled more. He gave the laptop a glance. She shut it.
“Okay. Let's go make a mess of my clean bedroom.”
Edith, their second twin, a stylish, kardashianesque young woman, towed a travelling bag into the living room.
Edith: Helloooo! Anybody hooome?
There was no answer. She walked through the house looking for people. Nobody. It looked like her parents were busy.
Edith entered what used to be her room until the great eviction. It was now a guest room, neat but no longer lived-in. She opened her bag and emptied its contents on the bed. It was a pile of laundry, crumpled, wrinkled and needing to be done. She looked around at what had happened to the room since she lost it and did not approve. There was a potted plant in a corner and a painting on the wall. One of those abstract artists who thought their job was to make faces look bad. She did not approve, but she had not come here for decor analysis. She decided to look for Edwin.
She met him in the corridor coming from the kitchen.
Edith: What's up, rabbit?
Edwin was holding a plate of kabs, munching on one, so his reply was impeded by the simultaneous chewing.
Edwin: Mwwfffff. Gwe first try some of this.
Edith: Eugh. Pancakes? Calories? No! My figgyurr! My complexion! You know I don't do fried food.
Edwin: Okay. Mmmffgg. Miss out.
Edith: Hey, where's the new maid you said we got?
Edwin, pointing with the plate: She's outsidmmmmmffff washhmmmmfff clothes.
He swallowed.
Edwin: I'm going back to my crib to get my clothes and I bring. Even you go and get yours.
Edith: Way ahead of you, dude. The moment you whatsapped me, I packed, like, everything that needed laundry. You said backyard?
And she retreated down the corridor to find the maid.
In the backyard GC was sitting on a coil stool surrounded by basins, piles of clothes and jerry cans. She was rubadubbing away in a pile of lather. She had a pair of white earbuds in. The music was really hitting. When she first arrived in Kampala, she was thrilled to see how much music there was, and how easy it was to get. And she didn’t have to wait for DJ Balaimos to bring cassettes and Bamboorat to find batteries before she could enjoy it. She was particularly enthused to see, or rather hear, the strides in modern Ugandan pop. She had a lot of catching up to do and now, as she washed the clothes, she had got up to Peter Miles and was playing his songs in her bluetooth earbuds and, of course, singing along.
GC: Ruckus, ruckus! That’s what dema callin! Ruckus Ruckus, till six in da maanin!
When she saw Edith approach, GC plucked one earbud out.
Edith began to speak after taking a moment to gather a breath, as if she was changing gears.
Edith: Hello, um, gyebale cow?
GC blinked.
Edith: Umm… Nindeesay some of my clothes, njagalarr o'cola laundry, okay? Oku yosurr, right. Yeah. Zili mu my bedroom.
You may have some trouble reading that. Perhaps try saying it out loud. Ah. Now you get it. It is a combination of “Ndeese engoye zange. Ngaja ozooze” and “I’ve brought my clothes for laundry”, in a misbegotten mongrel of language that is somehow both broken English and broken Luganda and is how Edith believes one should speak to the workers.
GC, from the edge of Lyantonde, was used to mixed languages. She had no trouble getting all that.
GC: Kawa. You bring and put there.
She tilted her head to point at a pile of clothes.
Edith was one of those people who believed that sometimes a conversation was about saying things, not hearing them, so without listening, which wasn't part of the plan, she continued.
Edith: Zili mu my bedroom ku the end of the corridor. Ku the right. Injagalar owashingay, and I nzi-collecting-ay tomorrow.”
This one was easier to decode for GC. This time Edith wasn’t speaking Luganda in English, she was speaking English in Luganda. She sought to inform GC that her clothes were in her bedroom up the corridor, and to instruct GC to fetch them and wash them, and have them ready for collection the next day.
GC stopped rubbing, sighed a little sigh, and slipped into the cadence she had learned from American missionaries and aid workers back in the village. Slow, deliberate, emphasised enunciation. It is how you speak to people who don’t seem to understand English.
GC: Bring … to pile. Pile. The Piiiile.
Now Edith had not expected this. She thought she was here to deliver instructions and leave. She had not expected the maid to reply. And certainly had not expected this reply. She was to irritated to be relieved that she didn’t have to try and fail to speak Luganda and could now bring her international school accent back and speak in TV American.
Edith: Like, what are you even, like talkin-about? You go fetch them. You're the maid, right?
GC: It's househelp, don't be racist, and you can see, I've got my hands full. So you will have to run along up to the corridor and fetch your own clothes.
Edith: I'm your boss, remember? Hello?
GC: Actually, no, you're not. Your parents are.
Edith wasn't going to have this discussion.
Edith: Listen. Go to my room, get my clothes, wash them, period. I'm not going to argue with the maid.
She turned heel and stomped out of the yard.
GC plugged her earbud back in. She resumed the work in the basins. The next song had started.
GC: One time. Two time… … and Menshan.
After the laundry was scrubbed, rinsed and strung up to dry, GC turned her attention to the house. Next on the schedule was mopping and sweeping. She swept through room after room, sweeping literally as well as elegantly, rapidly and effectively, skipping only the master bedroom, because well, it was being used at the time.
She dusted, swept, mopped, and left only gleaming spotlessness behind her.
When she got to the guest room, formerly Edith’s room, there was not much to do. The room had not been used in weeks. It was as neat and tidy as it had been the last time it was cleaned, since no one had had any reason to come in here and disturb the scene. But there was one thing: There was a pile on the bed. An unruly, messy, tangle of wrinkled fabric.
GC: Okay.
She picked up the pile of clothes, shoved them into a rubbish bag and then she gave the rest of the room a cursory sweep, just for the sake. And then she left.
The next day, Edith’s car rolled into the compound of Eastwood and out she stepped, with her sunglasses glinting in the late morning sun, her sneakers blazing white, and a stern look on her face.
She found GC in the kitchen. Having completed Miles the previous day, she was now on early Chamelone.
GC aloud/Kamili in earbuds: Jamila woooooi…
Edith: Okay, where are my clothes?
GC tapped her earbud to pause the song.
GC: That what?
Edith: I’ve come to get my clothes, Maidy. And I hope you have ironed them.
GC looked her over and a wicked thought struck her. Since Edith had set the tone in their last conversation, assuming that the help couldn’t speak English…
GC: Dat wat? Closes? You want I tell you where is your closes?
Edith: This is not the Olympics, Maidy, I am not here to play games. Where are my clothes?
GC smiled sweetly as if she was about to deliver the best news.
GC: Your closes is where? Is there.
Edith: Where?
GC: You are wearing them.
And then, because when it came to GC, there was no shortage of audacity, she got up and walked right out of the kitchen, tapping her earbud to unpause Chameleone as she left. Edith was sputtering.
After lunch that day, the family was so full, they had nothing to do but lumber drunkenly to the sofas in digestive bliss.
Mabel: But that chicken, it has finished me the way I finished it.
Papso: When I go to heaven, I will look for the spirit of that chicken and just hug it. Looove ya man! One love!
Mabel: I’ve booked the leather sofa.
Papso: Not if I get there first.
But neither one of them was in any state to race for the sofa, so they both ended up staggering to it, onto it and then, began one of their laziest fights.
Papso: It’s my turn to put my legs on you.
Mabel: Your legs are heavy, also you.
Papso: Nawe, love me and allow.
Mabel: If you promise to wait for me to black out before you start snoring.
But just before they could slip into the nap, they were interrupted by the sound of sneakers stomping up the hall. Yes, sneakers have rubber soles, so you can tell how angry a person has to be to make them stomp loudly.
Edith: I want her gone! I want her fired!
Papso’s plan was to let Mabel slip into her nap then put his feet on her lap, but just before she fell asleep, they were both shaken awake.
Papso: Who fired?
Mabel: I think the new maid has pissed your daughter off.
Edith stormed into the living room.
Edith: I want her gone!
Papso: But bujju, if we fire her where will we get good chicken?
Edith: I don't care. I just want her gone! Gone! Gnnnrrrr!!
Edith’s stomping was so angry it couldn’t stop. There was still momentum to expend so she stomped on out of the living room, still growling.
Edith: Grrrrrrrrrr!!
Mabel stirred.
Mabel: What did she do?
Papso: I have no idea, but I am sure whatever the problem is, it will still be there after this nap we are going to have, so back to the matter at hand.
Mabel: Don’t put your legs on me when I fall asleep.
Papso: I won’t. Trust me.
Mabel: Snooooooorrreee.
And Papso popped his big legs on top of her, smiled, grunted, and…
Papso: Snoooooooorrreee.
You can also take a break now. We’ll be right back. Click on one of the banner ads while we wait to see what happens when the couple wakes up.
An hour and a half later, Mabel woke up, stretched, sneered at her husband, pushed his legs off her, sneered again, and then remembered that she had to check on something.
She walked through the house, looking for either Edith or GC to ask what had been done, but before she could find either of them, she wandered into the guest room that was formerly Edith’s bedroom. In she walked. She stopped to smile at the abstract art piece on the wall. She hated that painting but Papso had paid a lot of money for it, so they had to hang it up somewhere. It was her idea to put it in the one room they were not using. Something on the bed caught her eye. It was a ream of papers folded open. GC’s contract. Part of it had been circled in red and highlighted in neon green.
Contract page:
**Section 54: Disposal of Garbage**
**54.1 Scope of Duties**
The employee shall be responsible for maintaining the cleanliness and order of the premises, including the disposal of garbage.
**54.2 Definition of Garbage**
For the purposes of this contract, "garbage" is defined as any and all materials, substances, or items that lack an officially designated place within the premises. This includes, but is not limited to, personal belongings, discarded items, refuse, and any objects deemed unnecessary or misplaced.
**54.3 Procedure for Disposal**
The employee shall dispose of garbage in a manner consistent with the property's waste management guidelines.
Mabel: Oh no.
She didn’t have to go to the garbage collection area to know what had happened. She returned instead to the living room and shook Papso awake.
Papso: No, I don’t want. I’m still enjoying.
Mabel: We have to fire her.
Papso: What did she do?
Mabel showed him the contract.
Papso: She threw Edith’s clothes in the garbage?
Papso was awake now.
Papso: But what is wrong with your friend? How do you come to work in somebody’s house and throw their daughter's clothes in the rubbish? Where did you find such a person?
Mabel: Am I the one who found her? You are the one who found her.
Papso: Me?
Mabel: Isn’t it you who placed the job advert that brought her here?
Papso: It was you who wrote the advert!
Mabel: Whoever’s fault it was, and it was yours, we have to fire her.
They were both angry, yes, but then they still had vestiges of the memory of the lunch and breakfast they had enjoyed so much.
Papso: Kale the chicken and the cablegs. I’m going to miss them.
Mabel: It was good while it lasted.
Meanwhile in GC’s quarter, once known as the servant’s quarter before GC decided that name was racist and decided it was henceforth staff quarters, she was putting on lipstick and picking out the right colour Converse to go with her outfit. She had been careful to ensure that Lawyer Oloya, who drew up her contract, had included clear working hours and she was off the clock.
She was on her phone.
GC: I am on the way. Tell the uber to pass Bweyos and you will find me and we go. Yeah. Pregame in the kafunda then we attack the night! whoooo!
By the time Mabel knocked on her door, GC was gone. She had no idea what awaited her on her return.
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