Glares!

I hit a girl with my bike coming home from school one day. I’d pressed on my brakes, so it was more like tapping the back of her leg instead of running her over, but still, it probably hurt. I felt bad, but not too bad because instead of bursting into tears or even sniffling, she turned around and glared at me.

That same afternoon, Fama’s Alieu, maybe aged four, also glared at me. I’d pointed to a picture of a warthog and announced, “It is Alieu’s wife.” The other kids laughed hysterically, especially Rugi, who ran to show her mom. Fatou Bobo replied, with real concern, “But Binta, this is not a person.”