She wasn't like the other girls in Mtendere. The "other girls" used to be her friends, but that was before she lost her father to the disease - the same disease that also robbed her of a mother, chance to finish school, and childhood. It was then that she decided she wasn't like "the other girls" she grew up with. Or maybe they decided that for her. Didn't matter; it wasn't worth her time and energy to wonder about that. She had responsibilities and hungry siblings that required her attention now.
Sure, it stung when the "other girls" laughed at her for being dark. But she had neither the money nor care to buy makeup that was three shades too pale to pile on her face in unsuccessful attempts to lighten her appearance. Or when they teased her because she preferred head wraps over hair extensions. Because her arms and hands were stronger then most mens. Because she struggled to make a living doing piece work instead of making easier money with her... womanhood. The same womanhood they teased she kept hidden under the old chitenge she wore around the village everyday. But that, too, was okay; it was her mother's chitenge. Someday it would be her daughter's and she, too, wouldn't be like the "other girls".
She finally got home and placed the basket of flowers, unsold leftovers from the market, on the dusty floor next to her younger, and only, sister. She couldn't help but smile as she watched her sister, still wearing her hand-me-down school uniform, do her homework. She, too, would be different than the "other girls".
