Free Radiance of Tomorrow by Ishmael Beah Page B

gone to the river to wash some clothes and saw a woman she hadn’t laid eyes on in town. She was humming a tune while rinsing her laundry away from the other women. She was very tall and thin, with big brown eyes that brightened her narrow face.
    “You must be the wife of the new teacher in town. What is his name, by the way?” Kula placed her hand on her forehead as she often did to remember something.
    She stopped humming and responded with a smile. “Benjamin. That is his name and yes I am. My name is Fatu.”
    “I am Kula. Please come by my home anytime if you need any help knowing the area. You have two young ones?” She washed her bucket.
    “Thank you. I will, and yes, we have a girl and a boy, Rugiatu and Bundu. We just got here and don’t really know anyone, so it will be good for them to have friends and me, too. My husband was looking for something different and wanted to leave his hometown, Koidu, you know, in Kono, the diamond area. You must be the wife of Bockarie. My husband spoke of him.” She held the cloth between her knees so that the river wouldn’t take it away and extended her hand to Kula. They, too, just as their husbands, went on to become friends.
    *   *   *
    It had been many months since Mr. Fofanah came to Bockarie’s house and hired him and on that same day he had met Benjamin. Their teaching jobs and lives hadn’t unfolded as they had hoped. They continued walking to school every morning, now along with Bockarie’s three older children, Manawah, Miata, and Abu, and most of their students and colleagues. The three miles of dusty road with patches of tar here and there had become unbearable for them. To start with, though there were few vehicles on the road, when one was heard in the distance, teachers and students ran into the bushes, holding their noses. They hid themselves from the dust that looked for clean bodies, clothes, and hair to settle on. The leaves were already cloaked with enough dust that their colors couldn’t be seen. So running into the bushes was only to lessen the amount of dust that could find them. During the rainy season, they still ran, though not into the bushes but away from the many puddles to avoid being splashed on. There were too many puddles, so one had to zigzag strategically to this and that side of the vehicle or find a spot near the deeper holes where it almost came to a halt, the driver worried about getting stuck. If you had an umbrella, you could hold it against your side. But not many could afford umbrellas.
    During the year of teaching, the materials that the principal had promised on the first day of school still did not arrive. Therefore, with barely any materials, the teachers continued preparing lessons from memory, from their own school days, and tried to write on the blackboard as much as possible whenever there was chalk. Otherwise, they dictated lessons and students wrote in their books, interrupting with a raised hand to ask for the spellings of certain words. For eleven months now, the department of education in Lion Mountain had sent only lengthy letters that the principal would read out loud to his teachers, his facial expression showing his disbelief in the message. “We have engaged on a remarkable revamping of our educational system,” the letters would start, and they’d end the following way: “Educational Ministry of Lion Mountain, working for the people, always.” One day while the principal was reading the letter, he couldn’t contain himself. “They manage to send me these useless letters every week but not school materials, not even a box of chalk,” he said and stopped before more words slipped out. It was clear that things were worse now than in the past. The neglect of this part of the country had increased. Before the war, they at least sent some school materials even if a month or sometimes a semester late. Salaries, too, unprecedentedly lagged behind. In nine months of teaching, the teachers had received