There is a swaying of hips, stomping of feet, swishing of lappas – blue, red, orange, yellow. A bright mid-day sun hangs overhead. The feet stomp, twist, shake against the jungle green grass of the Methodist Primary School field. A radio, balanced on a head, carries the music through the town and the women dance.
The daily dancing lasted for nearly a month in celebration of the young girls’ initiation to the Bondu society. I watched everything from a distance, knowing that I would never understand the secrets of the women’s society. I was glad that my neighbor Regina knew me well enough to recognize my confusion and advise me when needed. (Don’t sit on your veranda tonight. Give the dancing devil 1,000 leones.)
My only concern was that several of my female students were absent for several weeks. These girls, like everyone else, had joined the society long ago, but they still needed to be initiated. “Initiation” involves a lot of money, hence the delay. I was particularly concerned about the form three girls who should have been in school preparing for the quickly approaching public exams.
“Hey, Clasico!” one of the form III boys called out when he saw Mamie Sendeh approaching my house. It had been at least two weeks since I had seen her at the evening study sessions so I grinned, pleased to have her back. When we got to the primary school behind my house where the form three students study at night, Abdul Rahman asked me for chalk. I was pleased that the students were taking initiative to study for themselves instead of simply asking me questions, so I sat back to let them teach.
“Okay, who can show me the answer to this problem? What do we do first?” Abdul Rahman asked, mimicking my teaching style.
“Subtract first!” a boy shouted.
“No.”
“The answer’s four,” Mamie said.
“Yes, listen to the girl and maybe you’ll learn something,” Abdul Rahman informed the others. “Who can explain how she got four?”
I was glad that after her absence Mamie Sendeh had maintained her prowess in math. For the next hour and half, Abdul Rahman continued writing on the board, alternating between teaching Language Arts and Math. I wrote out some questions on a piece of paper, but I left the teaching to the students. It was encouraging to hear a student explain the things I have tried so hard to drill into their minds.
Outside, the women were passing through the town again with their radio. The music filtered in, lending a festive atmosphere to the study session. As he wrote, Abdul Rahman danced to the pounding of the speakers. The music and dancing contrasted with the attentiveness the students were currently showing to a grammar lesson, but in the juxtaposition, there was also balance. I smiled as the thought that these kids don’t need me to hold their hands anymore settled on my mind.
“I _____ the answer, if my pen hadn’t stopped.” Abdul Rahman was copying from the paper I had given him. “Okay, which is correct: would write, will write, was writing, would have written…” He read from the lengthy list of conjunctions I had provided.
“Will write,” someone suggested.
“Why? Can you explain your answer?” Abdul Rahman asked.
“Because ‘if’ is there and it has not yet happened – “
“Na lie!” Someone interjected. “Stopped is past tense, so you can’t say ‘will’. You get for say ‘would’.”
“Would write?” They asked.
“No, it should be ‘would have written’,” Abdul Rahman said. “Eh, Miss Kenley?”
I nodded, “But why?”
“Really, I’m not too sure…” he tilted his head to the side as he does when he is thinking. “It’s because of this ‘had’, right?” He said, pointing to where the sentence read “hadn’t stopped”.
I grinned, “Exactly. When you have the past perfect in a conditional sentence, the other part of the sentence uses ‘would have’ then the action.”
“Okay, is that clear?” Abdul Rahman asked, before he turned, still dancing, to erase the chalkboard. The tempo of the music picked up then, right on cue to celebrate a correct answer. Outside, I imagined swaying hips and pounding feet dancing, dancing, dancing.
