laughing and waving a piece of grass at me. The little shit. The snake is still there so I grab my now empty bowl and march over the road to Aunty Marie Evelynâs place. I march into her kitchen, fill my bowl and then march out again past where she is sitting with Uncle Stanley Bushman having some tea. They look at me in surprise. I give them a nod and head back home to do my washing-up. The clean plate and knife and fork and frying pan are dried up straight away and placed on the shelf in the corner where they sit with other useful things like a digital clock, some books, insect repellent, a compass, a torch and a pair of scissors. My clothes are neatly stashed away in my suitcase so I can close the zips and be assured there are no unwanted spiders or other insects lying in wait inside them to scare the crap out of me when I put them on.
Glad that the day is over I lie on my blow-up camping mattress in my underwear and listen to the drunks fighting a few doors down. There is a dogfight out theback, probably instigated by Panacua who seems to like fighting more than he likes chasing the girl dogs, and some god-awful country and western music bleating over the road. But Iâm determined to be positive and I tell myself itâs my first day back, Iâll get used to it and besides it could be worse. I could live in a country where bullets whistle overhead while you walk to school, I could live in a country where women are treated like slaves, I could have been born a bloke, and a white one as well â nothing could be worse than that. I have everything I need here, my family around me, food to eat, water to drink and a nice bed to sleep in with purple sheets and pillowcases and colour-coordinated curtains and towels.
In the street light coming through a chink in the curtain I notice my little gecko friend Russell on the ceiling. He has been hanging around my room all day and Iâve called him Russell because he makes a rustly, clicky noise when he sings, like the clock on that TV show Sixty Minutes . I donât know why geckos sing but Iâve noticed that Russell is quite vocal and that no other gecko messes with him. I try to make clicking noises at him but he ignores me. He darts around after insects that have landed on the ceiling nearby or stalks them until he is close enough to pounce. He is a good hunter and doesnât usually miss. I never tire of watching him and the escapades of the other geckoes now that I donât have a TV to watch. My thoughts turn to his feet and how he must stick to the ceiling. Maybethere are little suction pads on his toes that hold him in place and when he walks they might sound like a microscopic version of the suction pads on a rubber bath mat when itâs being pulled up. But suddenly Russellâs suction pads fail him and Russell, who was directly overhead, lands with a fleshy plop onto my exposed stomach. For a second I feel his skin against my skin. His translucent skin through which you can see dark-coloured patches of his internal organs and his little heart beating. Then his legs scurry across my belly while some amazing force propels me from my lying-down position to a standing-up position in two seconds flat. Shrieking and slapping at my body in case heâs still there somewhere, I race into the lounge room where mummy, JJ and Lorraine raise their tousled heads from sleep. They are instantly awake when they see that Iâm only dressed in my bra and underpants. Thankfully my underwear is matching. Realising that Russell is not on me I stop slapping and gabbling and point at my door. Lorraine gets up to see what the fuss is about but she canât see Russell anywhere and tells me heâs gone and to go back to sleep. Go back to sleep, I wasnât asleep in the first place. It still evades me as I anxiously scan the ceiling and walls for Russell in case he tries that stunt again. But Russell must be curled up in some nice hidey-hole sleeping
Glad that the day is over I lie on my blow-up camping mattress in my underwear and listen to the drunks fighting a few doors down. There is a dogfight out theback, probably instigated by Panacua who seems to like fighting more than he likes chasing the girl dogs, and some god-awful country and western music bleating over the road. But Iâm determined to be positive and I tell myself itâs my first day back, Iâll get used to it and besides it could be worse. I could live in a country where bullets whistle overhead while you walk to school, I could live in a country where women are treated like slaves, I could have been born a bloke, and a white one as well â nothing could be worse than that. I have everything I need here, my family around me, food to eat, water to drink and a nice bed to sleep in with purple sheets and pillowcases and colour-coordinated curtains and towels.
In the street light coming through a chink in the curtain I notice my little gecko friend Russell on the ceiling. He has been hanging around my room all day and Iâve called him Russell because he makes a rustly, clicky noise when he sings, like the clock on that TV show Sixty Minutes . I donât know why geckos sing but Iâve noticed that Russell is quite vocal and that no other gecko messes with him. I try to make clicking noises at him but he ignores me. He darts around after insects that have landed on the ceiling nearby or stalks them until he is close enough to pounce. He is a good hunter and doesnât usually miss. I never tire of watching him and the escapades of the other geckoes now that I donât have a TV to watch. My thoughts turn to his feet and how he must stick to the ceiling. Maybethere are little suction pads on his toes that hold him in place and when he walks they might sound like a microscopic version of the suction pads on a rubber bath mat when itâs being pulled up. But suddenly Russellâs suction pads fail him and Russell, who was directly overhead, lands with a fleshy plop onto my exposed stomach. For a second I feel his skin against my skin. His translucent skin through which you can see dark-coloured patches of his internal organs and his little heart beating. Then his legs scurry across my belly while some amazing force propels me from my lying-down position to a standing-up position in two seconds flat. Shrieking and slapping at my body in case heâs still there somewhere, I race into the lounge room where mummy, JJ and Lorraine raise their tousled heads from sleep. They are instantly awake when they see that Iâm only dressed in my bra and underpants. Thankfully my underwear is matching. Realising that Russell is not on me I stop slapping and gabbling and point at my door. Lorraine gets up to see what the fuss is about but she canât see Russell anywhere and tells me heâs gone and to go back to sleep. Go back to sleep, I wasnât asleep in the first place. It still evades me as I anxiously scan the ceiling and walls for Russell in case he tries that stunt again. But Russell must be curled up in some nice hidey-hole sleeping
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