Dress Up [A T'Challa Udaku Story]

Chapter 1

"Eh, you've got another letter to mail?" The post office clerk smiled as the young woman made her way through the front door. "Actually I've got three for you today Mrs. Zula." Sirobie grinned, her hand buried in her art bag. She emerged a second later with three sealed envelopes. "I would just like to let you know, that you, are single handedly keeping this post office open." the clerk teased, a gentle beep emerging from her tablet as she scanned each of the envelope postmarks. "You do know you are in Wakanda right? Most technologically advanced country in the world ring a bell?" Oni Zula teased, jumping out of her chair to sort the letters into the appropriate bins.

"Yes, I just prefer to write my parents the old fashioned way," Sirobie shrugged. "So you aren't in here mailing letters to your secret lover every week?" the older woman teased, climbing back into her seat. "Ha ha ha, very funny,"Sirobie frowned. "Well are they gonna write you back? It's been two months and I haven't gotten any letter back for you."

"It's complicated." Sirobie frowned. "Well, you know my offer still stands. My and Ebram's front door are always open," Mrs. Zula smiled. 'I'll keep that in mind." Sirobie waved goodbye, her bag flapping against her as she began her trek to the park.

The city was alive around. Children's laughter floated through the air. Mixing with the throng of voices floating towards her from the market. Gossip, bartering, and lover's sweet nothings glided through the air. Sirobie sighed deeply as she came upon the large expanse of green space in the city center. The midday sun reflected off of the glass of the palace before her. She shaded her eyes, and choose to settle under a large tree in the corner of the park. She quickly set up her easel and unpacked her supplies. A cardboard sign advertising watercolor portraits for $10 dollars attested to her existence. She pulled a tiny clipboard from her bag and canvases the area around her. A mother and daughter dancing a short distance from her draws her attention. She begins to sketch the two dancing.

"Excuse me," a voice broke through the sound of her pencils on the parchment paper. "I'd like a portrait," Sirobie pulled her braids out of her face. She squinted up into the sunlight, unable to make out the face of her customer. "Umm sure, she gestured at the stool in front of her easel. It'll take about 20 minutes," she began to explain. She observed her subject before pulling the appropriate watercolor pencils and beginning to outline her portrait. "You're not from around here are you," the lady asks.

"Is it that obvious?" Sirobie quickly glances at the woman once more. "Many of our artists don't do this kind of work." the stranger replies, " I saw it once in an American movie. You are from America, yes?"

"Uh yeah," Sirobie stutters, her mouth falling slightly open as she actually looks at her subject for the first time. Her large brown eyes sat nestled in her face the same way Sirboie's did. Her round face accentuated the cupid's bow of her lips and her box braids were parted in the same manner as Sirobie's. "Um, yeah. I am an exchange student from Howard University in DC."

"That is the place where your president lives correct? That's a state but not really a state?" The woman smiled. Sirobie froze, the woman's smile was eerily reminiscent of her own. "Yeah, I guess," she finally answered, finishing off a basic sketch of the woman's face. "What is your classification?"

"My what?" Sirobie, shook her head out of the daze. "Your classification. Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior? I was under the impression that American universities and colleges did not refer to students by year," the woman explained. "Oh yeah, I am a senior. I graduate in about two months."

That must be exciting," the woman smiled. Sirobie nodded, grabbing her pencils and beginning to fill in the woman's face. "It is."

"How long are you in Wakanda?"