We were in the middle of our biology lesson when the school bell rang at 10.20 a.m., a few minutes before our usual tea break. When the first few bell peals echoed through the class corridors, we laughed thinking that the bell ringer had gotten her time mixed up.

But, as the bell continued to roll on, anxiety rose in our chests. The ringing was chaotic rather than melodic. There could only be one reason, and that Monday, we feared that an emergency assembly had befallen us. 

Madam Akumu stared blankly at the doorway. Her face was awash with confusion, like ours. “Are we in trouble Madam?” A feeble voice came from the back of the class, causing Madam Akumu’s gaze to break. 

“Close your books and head to the assembly ground. I guess we will all find out once we get there,” she said as she hurriedly walked out. 

The assembly ground was an earth symphony of rich and sweet browns, expanding a few meters from the staffroom doorway. As we gathered, we talked, and in the vibrations of our voices were hushed tones woven together trying to figure out what was going on. 

Suddenly, a silence fell when the headmistress appeared from around the corner of the staffroom. She was followed closely behind by the head girl who carried a small bundle of cypress canes in her small arms.

We saw as soon as she appeared, that she was boiling in anger. There was a tension in her manner, a tightness in her face and every step she made was as if she got some clock ticking in her head, perhaps the countdown to her next explosion.

“Good morning headmist…” we began to greet her, in barely audible voices, just as we had been taught during our school orientation. 

She raised her hand and cut us short. “Tut-tut-tut!” she hissed. “There’s nothing good about this morning, nothing!” Her large marble-shaped eyes held an icy hostile stare that had the same affect on us as it did on teachers, constricted and shallow breathing.  

“Two nights ago, the teacher on duty saw two students kissing behind the library,” she continued as saliva frothed at the corners of her mouth.

“I couldn’t believe my ears when he reported to me this morning. Lesbianism in Ugenya Girls Boarding School, God forbid! Some of you want to turn this godly school into Sodom and Gomorrah. Lesbianism is a sin, a grave sin punishable by death! The Bible in Leviticus Chapter…”

I did not hear the rest of the sermon as a silence fell on my soul. I felt the chill in my blood, the coldness bringing my brain to a stand still. This was it, I had been caught. 

I lost my balance and stumbled on a huge rock behind me. I turned back and looked at it. If only the rock behind me could hide me. “Please hide me rock,” I silently whispered in my heart. But the rock sat there still and seemed to tell me like it told the sinnerman in the Bible, “I can’t hide you, I ain’t gonna hide you here.”

I held my hand to my burning forehead. Then like a slow falling hammer a new thought came. “My parents! What would they do if they found out I had kissed a girl?” There were so many ways my life would go awry. 

When the images of my parents flooded my mind, I swallowed hard, trying to get my forehead to remain dry and my mind focused. I did not want anyone to see how shook I was and it was for me to keep my own thoughts and fears away from their prying eyes. Still I stood frozen. 

“Beryl Adhiambo, come to the front immediately!” The headmistress’ voice snapped me back. Beryl stepped out of the small crowd and slowly walked close to where the headmistress stood.

“Kneel down!” The headmistress shouted angrily. She knelt upon the ground facing in our direction, with her head bowed. “Who is the other girl you were frolicking with?”

When she wouldn’t answer, the headmistress seethed, took a cane from the bundle and flogged Beryl across her back. When the fifth stick tore her blouse and cut into her skin, Beryl’s scream rented the air. The scream told of pain, an agony that seeped into my skin. I took it in, and when my face almost fell barely able to hold the tears threatening to burst forth, I held my head up and stayed right there to be with her.

Beryl’s chin rose and she looked directly at me. I thought it would be a matter of seconds before she was forced to confess my name. I took a step forward, but she shook her head signaling me to stop. Then she murmured something.

“Two nights ago, the teacher on duty saw two students kissing behind the library,”

“Speak up!” the headmistress roared. 

“You cannot own what you cannot touch or see, and none can see the soul. Whilst you can break this skin, cut until blood runs thick, I am not yours. Do you think the wind only blows for you? That the sun shines only for you? All you are is a bigot, a tyrant under the eyes of God and I’d rather be me than you – a human snake with narrowed eyes and forked tongue. The bitter irony is that you will have to make amends and your sins are many. So, do your worst. I will not tell you her name.”

“Sasa,” Beryl greeted me when we first met in the dining hall, three months ago. It’s the first word I remember about her, and I can still hear it today. Sasa

As Beryl continued to cry from the beating, I shut my eyes, said the word and I was back to that sunny Tuesday afternoon when she walked up to me. 

That afternoon, I was trying to balance a tray filled with nyoyo, a pile of plates, a serving spoon and a jug of water in my arms. Beryl came out of the kitchen laughing loudly with one of the cooks and almost bumped into me. “Sorry,” she said and walked hurriedly past me as if she had somewhere urgent to be. 

I watched as she strutted across the tables headed towards the door. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her skirt, and then shortly after, stopped. She seemed to have misplaced something important from the way she frantically searched all the pockets in her skirt and the one on her blouse.

She turned, walked a few steps back and picked a five hundred shilling note from the ground, a stone throw distance from where I stood. She looked up and saw me staring at her, and it was at that moment that she walked up to me.

“Sasa” she said, stretched out her hands and took the tray of food from my hands. “My name is Beryl…Beryl Adhiambo. I am the dining hall prefect. You?”

“Sasa“. The word, the voice, the smile.

Such a common word, but I’d never heard anyone say it the way she did. The spark may have lit right there and then. It felt as if space and time became the finest point imaginable, as if time collapsed into one tiny speck and exploded at light speed. 

“Cynthia,” I softly stammered. 

A soft giggle escaped her lips. It was more delicate than a wind-chime but just as chaotic and melodic. “Nice to meet you Cynthia with one name,” she teased. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to help you. Where’s your table?”

Maybe the spark lit over the next few days when she’d pass by my table during lunch time and ask how I was doing.