Free Midnight by Sister Souljah

and thieves and pimps and shootouts, but nothing was scarier than this woman’s hatred and disregard for human life. Why couldn’t she understand what Umma was going through? She was a woman too. Then I decided that she was really nothing but an empty shell with a booming voice and hole where the heart is supposed to be. I couldnot imagine that she had ever been anybody’s mother or friend.
    “So she has to wait, then! The doctor will see the most important cases first.”
    My sister didn’t wait. Umma was drenched in sweat when she burst out. Umma jumped off the table and caught her before her eight-pound body could hit the floor.
    Later I found out that the monster lady was not even a nurse. Somehow someone in America had given out colorful medical jackets to the most uneducated, untrained people in the world and left them there to care for the sick and newborn.
    A real nurse showed up eventually and said that Umma should have been under a doctor’s care throughout her entire pregnancy. She blamed Umma and covered for the crazy lady who yelled at us, explaining that we showed up at the wrong door of the hospital.
    Umma said we would have to take good care of ourselves and my newly born sister Naja, to make sure that we all remained healthy. Otherwise, Umma explained, we would fall victim to “the American hospital, which should be called ‘the American morgue.’ ”
    The first day we carried Naja to the apartment was the first day we received a real visit from a neighbor. She was named Ms. Marcy. We already knew her because she was an elderly lady who I once helped to carry her groceries inside the building.
    Umma said that old people are always attracted to babies. Through me, Ms. Marcy asked about Naja often. Sometimes she invited Umma over for small talks and hot drinks. Since Umma could not really communicate with Ms. Marcy, we knew she really wanted to spend time with the baby. Umma accepted Ms. Marcy as her only neighborhood acquaintance. She said she missed the wisdom, warmth, and love of theelders that she once had back home. Eventually, Ms. Marcy became the only person in our hood allowed to see, touch, and care for my infant sister Naja.
    At home I assisted in every way possible. I thought it was amazing, this newborn life. Since all we had was each other, I learned more about infants than I ever would have back home. In the Sudan, our newborns are surrounded by aunties and a host of women of every age who handle everything. Where I am from, a male would usually never interfere in the areas that the women control and are better suited for.
    When Umma was breast-feeding Naja once, I asked her what was she thinking when she was in the hospital lying on her back and felt Naja come flying out?
    She said “I didn’t think at all. It was a mother’s instinct and catching Naja was the same as catching myself.”
    Umma and I grew closer every day and depended on each other and no one else. We made up certain rules between us and even had an emergency plan if anything seemed to have happened to one of us. In our rooms, both of us always kept one piece of packed luggage in case we suddenly had to make a move. We weren’t expecting anything bad to happen, but we both learned that things do happen even when you don’t expect it.
    When Umma, Naja, and I were inside our Brooklyn apartment, we were inside our own little Sudanese world. We adjusted and trusted and believed only in us three. There was only love in there. What went on outside our door we tolerated, dealt with, and handled. I kept my fury for the streets. Inside we were determined to maintain our traditions, ways of being and doing. And we were steadfast in our Islam.

7
QUIET MONEY
    Getting money and getting killed seemed like one and the same around my way. Every male I saw getting money ran the risk of losing his life and freedom, and many of them did.
    The way I saw it, if you lost your freedom, you lost your life anyhow,
’cause then you really