Free The Bite of the Mango by Mariatu Kamara Page A

posted on a billboard in the center of Freetown. When he learned his nephew was in the hospital, he dropped what he was doing and hurried right over.
    Abdul reminded me a lot of Mohamed. He told similar jokes, and he was always in a good mood. He started to do for the boys what Fatmata and Abibatu did for me, including preparing their food. He also took them for long walks when Mohamed and Ibrahim weren’t out begging.
    Abdul was a proud, happy man. He held his head high, with his chest out, and he walked and talked with confidence. When Fatmata was present, though, his eyes stayed downcast, his body slumped, and his speech was sometimes slurred; he always seemed nervous, too, rocking slightly from side to side. Yet when he did manage to look Fatmata’s way, the loveliest smile came across his face. Fatmata’s personality also changed around Abdul. She was no longer calm and collected. Instead, she became super chatty, talking about everything from the rain to the horrible conditions at the hospital, where many children slept in the hallways because there weren’t enough beds. Abdul and Fatmata were falling in love, I realized with a start, and I began to take great interest in this spectacle unfolding in front of me.
    One night, after Fatmata had helped me into bed, I snuck out and followed her through the halls. It wasn’t difficult to stay hidden, since the hospital was crowded at all hours of the day and night. Abdul was waiting for her near the main entrance. Shyly, they took each other’s hands and went out into the Freetown twilight.
    Love has a way of being infectious. Watching them, I forgot about my problems for a minute. But as I turned to go, I sawsome girls sitting on the floor, their backs up against the wall, their hands amputated like mine. I thought of my own hands, of Salieu, and of the baby growing inside me.
    Our impending move to the amputee camp was in the air. Abibatu collected our begging money to buy supplies, including pots, pans, bedding, pepper, and rice. She also used some of the money as bus fare for Abdul. He’d agreed to travel to Manarma and Magborou in search of Marie and Alie. It was a dangerous mission, and Fatmata pleaded with him not to go. None of us had heard anything about my aunt and uncle since the night of the attack. Their names never came up when people in the hospital who’d been caught in the rebel raids on the villages compared stories.
    “What happened to Ya Marie and Pa Alie?” I would ask. But no one had an answer. I feared they were dead.
    I was overjoyed when my fears proved unfounded. Within a week Abdul returned, bringing Marie and Alie with him. They were dusty and dirty, and much thinner than they had been, but their bodies were intact. We crowded around Mohamed’s bed after dinner one night as Marie and Alie explained that they’d hidden in the bush during the attack at Manarma. Afterwards, Alie had gone from village to village, risking his own safety, trying to find out where we were. When we didn’t appear, they were scared we’d either been killed or taken into the bush to be soldiers along with the rebels.
    At one point during the evening, Adamsay whispered to Marie that I was pregnant. Marie began to wail, her cries echoing through the boys’ ward. She cried and cried. Later, I helpedher walk back to my ward to spend the night in my bed.
    “If I’d only believed you when you told me about Salieu the first time,” she sobbed, after I told her about the rape. “If only I had paid more attention. Mariatu, will you ever forgive me?”
    I wiped away Marie’s tears with my bulky bandages. “Abibatu says we’re moving to a nice new home,” I consoled her. “Just wait and see: our luck will change.”
    Just short of two months after I’d arrived at the hospital, we moved to the Aberdeen Amputee Camp. It wasn’t what I’d expected. The camp was filthy with litter and with laundry that had fallen from the clotheslines hanging everywhere. There