Page 132 of The Sun Sister

‘Your cheekbones are identical,’ Mariam commented. ‘Mine are somewhere near my jaw!’

‘Nonsense! You’re a very attractive young lady, if I may say so, both inside and out,’ said Stella. Mariam glowed at the compliment.

‘By the way, I want an opinion,’ I said, once I’d cleaned my bowl and we were on to the fresh fruit salad that Mariam had doused in some heavenly coulis. ‘I’ve been thinking of a change of hairstyle.’

‘Okay...’ said Mariam. ‘Have you spoken to Susie about this?’

‘No, it’s my hair, isn’t it? I can do what I want with it.’

‘Well said, Electra. Your body is your own property and you should make the decisions about it,’ said Stella. ‘Personally, I think you could do with a decent trim. It looks far too long to me. And the upkeep must be a nightmare. How you young black girls manage to keep it under control, I just don’t know.’

‘See these bits?’ I grabbed a piece from my ponytail. ‘They’re not my real hair, they’re extensions.’

My grandmother took the strand and shrugged. ‘It feels real to me.’

‘It is, except it’s not mine. I was thinking how tasteless that is, especially because the girl whose hair I’m now wearing might have had to sell it just to feed her family. So, I’ve decided that I’m going to get my extensions taken out and then I’m going to shave it off so it’s short, like yours.’ I indicated Stella’s trimmed afro, which was about a centimetre long.

‘Wow!’ said Mariam, and I wanted to laugh, because she’d obviously picked the word up from me, but it sounded so wrong coming out of her mouth.

‘Well, I wear mine like this just because it’s sensible, but would the clothes designers and the photographers want you to look like that?’

‘I don’t know. And you know what? I don’t give a damn either.’ I then saw Stella’s expression at my use of an expletive. ‘Sorry,’ I apologised, ‘but as you just said, itismy hair and maybe I literally want to go back to my roots! They can jam wigs on my head for a shoot if that’s what they want to do. And...’

‘Yes?’ Stella prompted during my long pause.

‘Well, it’s also about being who I am, even though I’m not sure yet. I mean, Mariam’s family are all Muslim and know their history from hundreds of years back. I grew up in a mixed household, as a black child with a white dad and sisters in between.’

‘And you’re perhaps feeling confused about your identity,’ said Stella. ‘Trust me, I too grew up between worlds, Electra, just like you have. Some would say we were privileged, and in many ways we have been, but...you end up feeling you don’t belong in one camp or another.’

‘Yup,’ I nodded, and suddenly felt all emotional again, as if I’d finally found a real-life person that maybe understood my confusion. ‘Stella, you remember you began telling me the story about that girl going to Africa before I went to rehab?’

‘Sure I do. The question is, do you?’

I saw her eyes twinkle and knew she was teasing me. Partly at least.

‘Some of it, yes, but I think...I think I need to hear more.’

‘Well then, we’ll take a day when you’ve got some time, and I’ll continue the story.Yourstory.’

‘I’ve got time now, really. Miles and Vanessa’s plane doesn’t land until ten p.m. tonight, right, Mariam?’

‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘Stella, if you’re staying on for a while, I might head out and run some errands. Shall I bring you both coffee in the living room?’

‘That would be just fine,’ Stella said as she rose. ‘Can we help you with the clearing-up?’

‘No, but thank you for asking. You two go through.’

Chastened by the fact it had never even crossed my mind to ask Mariam if she wanted help in the kitchen, I followed my grandmother into the living room and watched as she sat down.

‘I realised when I was away that I still don’t know about my mom or the rest of my family. Or maybe you did tell me and I was just so out of it, I don’t remember. Who was she?’ I asked as I curled up on the couch.

‘No, I haven’t told you about her yet. All in good time, Electra, all in good time; there is a lot to explain. Do you remember I told you how Cecily, the American lady, had been jilted by her fiancé, so decided to go to Africa to mend her broken heart?’

‘Yeah, I do, and how she’d fallen in love with a complete bas...love rat,’ I said quickly.

‘Exactly. Now, I think I’d reached the point in the story where Cecily was staying at Wanjohi Farm with Katherine...’

February 1939