his head during

morning prayer,

is booted as well.

Ebo and I quickly swallow

the last of our hidden red berries,

before we too are caught

breaking a rule.

We all greet

our teacher

in unison:

Good morning, Mr. Goodluck Phillip. How are you?

then sing a morning song,

which is never the one

we can dance to,

the one our maames taught us

to love:

chay chay koo-lay

chay chay koo-lay

but is always the boring one

about a fair lady,

a man who smokes a pipe,

a bridge called London

that keeps falling down,

or

the one

about the little star

that twinkles

yet no one seems to know

what it is,

which is baffling to me

because the song tells you

what it is:

IT. IS. A. STAR!

AFTER MORNING ASSEMBLY

we march inside

to begin another foreign history lesson

on the Queen’s coronation

in 1838

at some place

called Westminster Abbey

and all I can wonder is

why we do not spend

as much time

learning the history

of our own kingdom.

CHITCHAT

Mr. Phillip

is called outside

by an elder,

granting us

a moment

of freedom,

leaving us to talk

quietly

among ourselves.

LITTLE KOFI

has challenged me

to a swimming contest,

my cousin announces

to the whole class.

Kofi Offin is fast. He is like a fish in the water, one boy says.

Ei! If he is a fish, I am the whale, my cousin answers, laughing.

You better watch out. The last boy who challenged a Mensah boy did not fare well, says one of his chums.

If only Little Kofi were as strong and bold as his big brother, but you are not, right? my cousin scoffs, wagging that finger at me again.

When will this race be? another student asks, joining the eyes all staring at me.

In five days’ time. Come one, come all to witness my mate destroy and crush Kofi Katari, Ebo blurts out.

I am beginning

to question

my judgment

in friendships.

AFTER LESSONS

Ebo and I trail

Ama and her mates

to the river

to fetch water.

Do not worry about the race. I have seen your cousin swim, and he just kind of rolls around in the water.

It is easy to judge standing on the shore, Ebo.

And he kicks like a frog.

I hope you are right.

Do not hope, chale. Know. Believe!

…

A taami tree, look, Kofi, he says excitedly.

More red berries… great.

You will not sneer when I shoot up like a cypress.

I do not believe that a berry will help us grow taller.

It is a magic berry.

Yes, but—

No buts, chale. Believe, and see it happen.

…

We are far enough behind

so that the girls

do not know

of our presence,

but near enough

to hear their giggles

and watch the rhythm

in Ama’s cheerful stride.

Her bounce bewitches me.

Bewitch? What are you saying, chale?

I was speaking to myself.