Rehana is Cousin L. husband niece, theven yearth old.
She eyes big and dark, peeping out from straight, heavy black bangs, and glistening with mischief. This chile can imitate any goat, baa for baa, for as long as the goat out on the road straying, even if is for a whole hour. And the parrots overhead too, she can kaggwww kaggwww like them and she swear they does answer she back.
Every day is a different tragedy this chile does come up with.
This morning she sitting at cousin L. table, drinking tea, chomping chocolate cake. When she make sure that she mouth chack up full with cake ‘til it can’t take in one crumb more, she announce, in a voice choking with cake and outrage:
“Auntie L, I ain’t talking to Marissa, y’know.”
[Marissa is Rehana cousin, theven yearth old too.]
“Oh? Why not?” Cousin L. say.
“She thay the ‘f’ word. And I tell she how I gon tell she mother. But she tell she mother ith not she who thay that word, and she tell me mother how ith me who thay the ‘f’ word. And mummy thpank me. And I ain’t thay it, y’know Auntie L., I ain’t thay it. That'th why I ain’t talking to she. She make me get thpanking for nothing.”
Pa, me mother father, used to sing a song 'bout two little tots with bonny bowknots, tying their curly hair. Then they had a fight and one tell the other to take she old doll and go away.
The next day they playing as good as ever.
I always wonder why big people can't do the same.