Reading the Ceiling Read Online Free PDF Page B

Julbrew beer – our teachers have acknowledged that we are, after all, now officially Grown Up. We have cane mats and +malans  to spread out on the ground. There are vats of seasoned chicken, and half a sheep, potatoes, plantains, baskets of mangoes, and drifts of lettuce leaves.
    Moira, Remi and Yuan got into the bus early, and picked the best spot – the row of five seats in the back.
    I sit next to Amina, who declares, ‘Could not find anyone young enough to invite who wasn’t coming already, so I came on my own.’
    Remi says, ‘Why am I not surprised?’
    â€˜Yeah,’ Yuan says, ‘you mix in different circles, Amina.’
    â€˜And those friends won’t want to come to a boring sixth-form party,’ Moira adds.
    I know Yuan senses something is different about me. He leaves his eyes on my mouth when he looks at me. I find I cannot keep my eyes on his whenever they meet.
    We drive past groyned beaches and sleepy casuarinas, past huddles of stalls by the roadside at Serrekunda, and newly built Amadiya mosques. The road is fine until we get past Brikama, when it becomes dusty tarmac with many generous potholes, accompanied by two parallel lanes of laterite carved out on either side by weary drivers. Rain-worked ravines hurry across the road. The bus tilts over each bump.
    There’s talk of university, some drifting towards us at the back before being snatched away by wind through the open windows.
    â€˜I’ve had enough of studying,’ says Remi. ‘Kojo will have to earn all the money.’
    â€˜So he becomes a doctor and you become a wife?’ asks Amina.
    â€˜Any problem with that?’ Remi asks, her voice sharp.
    Moira sighs and asks, ‘And you, Yuan, what will you do?’
    â€˜I’ve applied to a couple of universities in America to please my parents, but as I keep telling them, Europe will be a lot closer. I’d rather go to England.’
    â€˜I know I won’t be able to go to England without a scholarship, even if I get the university place,’ I say.
    â€˜All this England, England. Why not try further afield? I want to go somewhere where no one else is going, like Italy or Singapore,’ says Amina.
    â€˜I want to work, start earning some real money,’ says Moira.
    â€˜I wonder where we’ll all end up,’ I say.
    Elsewhere on the bus, there are occasional bouts of laughter, raucous shouts across the aisle. ‘Pipe down,’ says Mrs Foon, ‘you’re almost grownups.’
    We turn to stare out of the back windscreen. An outrider in a blue security service uniform speeds towards us flashing blue. His motorbike steadily gains on us, stirring up a blanket of red dust. It appears he wants us to get off the makeshift laterite road, and stop on the potholed tarmac. The driver turns the engine off in protest.
    The outrider pulls up next to the driver. ‘Get off the road, the president’s coming.’
    â€˜I’m already off it, so he can stay in the middle.’
    â€˜Don’t be cheeky. The president needs a smooth ride. Get back on the tarmac.’
    â€˜That’s not so easy here – look at that huge hump at the side.’
    â€˜Get off soon, and show proper respect. Or the next outrider will make sure you’re sorry.’
    We crowd on the driver’s side of the bus, gawping at the leather-booted man in a moonscape helmet.
    Amina stands up on her seat, her tight-packed rounded bum hovering north of Yuan’s spiky head. She yells out of the window, ‘Is Mr Bojang in the car with the president?’
    The outrider turns to her and replies, ‘What’s it to you?’ before gunning his engine and giving us a blast of processed petrol.
    â€˜How do you know a Mr Bojang, in with the president?’ Yuan asks.
    â€˜I get around.’
    It doesn’t take long to get the story out of her.
    â€˜I met him at Landing’s a couple of months ago. He