I was silent.

‘We’ll never behave as badly as she has, all right?’

Sitting next to her on the culvert, I rested my head against hers. I knew that the lice were transferring from my hair to hers, one at a time. One, two, three, four …

Indeed, her hair was soon infested. Her scalp began to itch. Lice eggs were visible all the way to the tips of her long hair. Her mother also had thick, long hair. I kept telling her, ‘Just put insecticide in your hair every night. It’ll be fine.’

After a while her mother chopped off her hair. Then she chopped off her own hair too. Hand in hand, she and I watched all that hair of theirs being burnt to ashes … Then they began to apply the insecticide to their scalps.

That was the last time I had lice. I never allowed it to happen again. I took meticulous care of my hair, never letting my guard down. But now, after all this time, my head was infested again, and I had no idea how.

It was horrible. Granted, my head had been itching for a few days, but I hadn’t paid it any attention. I couldn’t figure out where the lice could have come from. I hadn’t seen anyone since I came here. I had no friends or family to meet up with. No neighbours either. I didn’t pay anyone a visit. I rarely used public transport, preferring to walk if I needed to go somewhere. I couldn’t think of a woman whose head might have touched mine – lice are most often found in women’s hair.

Had an old lice egg survived in my hair for two decades only to hatch now?

Not that there was such a need to fret. Anti-lice shampoo is readily available these days. That plus a hairdryer would kill all the lice, including the larvae.

I’d been thinking of going shopping in the evening. But I showed no sign of going. I managed five days of procrastination. The itching intensified.

Eventually I made it to the shop. The anti-lice shampoo glowed amidst all the other haircare brands. But, after taking a pensive look at it, I turned on my heels and walked out of the shop. On my way back to the flat, I came across a man squatting on the pavement, hawking all kinds of household goods. Nylon clotheslines, strainers, small baskets, hangers … among his wares, I spotted a small, thin comb for removing lice. I bought it.

I waited until around midnight, maybe even later, before I sat on the bed in my white skirt, positioning myself directly beneath the light, and ran the thin comb through my hair. The lice began to stream onto the skirt, showing up against the white fabric. And what fun – they scurried off this way and that. But none of them escaped – I killed them in droves. Sometimes I simply pinched them between my fingers and held them up instead of finishing them off.