We played He-Man and Hopscotch

one tomboy

one ballerina

both grass knee stained

and Marmite mouthed

by the end of the day

at Christine’s house

always so well behaved!

exclaimed mothers of others

as their offspring screamed

and smacked each other

we stood soberly by

hand in hand

silent agreement

never to make mum

deserve the stares

as they looked at

her hair and our hair

her eyes and our eyes

the bold ones

with questions of adoption

the others whispering

black men

loose morals

and African goldmines

we walked home in the rain

sometimes

and never complained

that mum didn’t drive

because she was always

the last to leave

and first to arrive

Some said she was mad

when she sold all her records

and everything she had

everything

except her wedding ring

to go to Nigeria

and live with dad

we went of course

bright eyed

and bushy afroed

yanked tight

into cainrows

when we skipped

off the plane

by aunty that mum said

still uses bleaching cream

and screams at her children

for just being

children

At school

we learnt algebra

a new history

and not to cry at the cane

skipping rope games

with Femi, Hope and Blessing

that we were white

(Oyinbo)

which was strange

since we were

half-caste

in the past

not all that much changed

because

children are adaptable

as mum said

to grandma

when

she cried

on the phone

and sent us

toiletries and other things

she thought

we couldn’t buy in Africa

Mum bought batik table cloths

and ethnic bowls

for friends that had moved

when she came home

and when she came home

things weren’t the same

so she didn’t

contact them anyway

she never unpacked

and all of those things

are still in a suitcase

mouldy like memories

of strange disease

TB, leprosy and

children with pot bellies,

of corruption

armed robbers

and police brutality

of dad away

on business

forweeks

it all seems so long ago

because children tend

to forget these things

As you grew lanky

and I got acne

we grew apart

somehow

sibling rivalry

replaced childhood sweetness

cruel words stuck and stayed

arguments

not so easily forgotten

with a mud pie

to the face

or the distraction

of a dragonfly

now we were teenage

things started to change

back in England

you covered for me

as I discovered boys

and climbed out of windows

your boyfriend was sensible

mine always

a bit too old

mum didn’t know

divorced now

and drinking heavily

she blamed dad for everything

dragging her to Nigeria

she drank to forget

the things we had seen

When you moved

away to London

I realised how close

we had been

you became my hero

as you lived out

ballerina dreams

I came to visit often

with the money

that you sent

we went to shows

ate Thai food

and laughed the same

as siblings do

summer times were

picnics on Primrose Hill

we played

different games now

and walked home

hand in hand

as the sun went down

both grass knee stained

now red wine mouthed

by the end of the day

at your new house.

Katy Ideh is an entertainment critic.  She writes live music reviews for spoonfed.co.uk and putmeonit.com and has returned this year from a trip to South America where her work was published in Vos Magazine (Buenos Aires).  She lives in London and is currently working on her first novel which is set in London and Nigeria.

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