Chanda's Wars Read Online Free

that I know what my nightmare is, it doesn’t seem as scary anymore. In fact, I’m so happy to name it, I almost don’t notice Mrs. Mpho standing at the side of the road. She waves me over with a dish rag, mad as a hornet: “I’ll have you know my family’s underpants are clean as the priest’s!”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    Her mouth drops open like she’s out to catch flies. “Don’t play the innocent. This very morning I was hanging my laundry, when Rose Tafa waltzed by. ‘Why, Chanda,’ she said into that phone of hers, ‘Mrs. Mpho’s forgot to scrub her undies again.’”
    â€œWhoever Mrs. Tafa was talking to, it wasn’t me,” I say. “I was at school. Only the principal has a phone. If you want to complain, complain to Mrs. Tafa. I dare you.”
    I leave Mrs. Mpho cursing in my direction, and speed to Mrs. Tafa’s, too upset to think. Mrs. Tafa is squeezed into her lawn chair, fanning herself with a fly swatter. Soly and Iris are at her feet, drinking her famous lemonade.
    Iris points smugly at her hair. It’s in tight, shiny cornrows, beads woven throughout. “Look what Auntie Rose did. She knows how to do it right. And I didn’t have to say ouch once, did I, Auntie?”
    â€œNo, you were an angel,” Mrs. Tafa beams. She peers up her nose at me. “If you don’t mind my saying so, that girl’s hair looked like a weaver’s nest.”
    I try not to scream. “Auntie Rose.” I clip each word. “How dare you pretend that I gossip with you on your cell phone!”
    â€œWho says I do?”
    â€œMrs. Mpho.”
    Mrs. Tafa sniffs. “That woman’s got coconuts in her head.” She rearranges her rear end on her chair’s vinyl seat straps. The aluminum legs wobble. I pray they’ll buckle and send the old goat onto her backside with her dress over her head.
    I turn to the kids. “Soly, Iris. Come with me. It’s time for supper.”
    â€œAuntie’s already fed us,” Soly says.
    My eyes bulge. “What?”
    â€œYou were late,” Mrs. Tafa chides. “The poor things were starving.”
    â€œBut Esther was making supper,” I say.
    â€œEsther. Cooking.” Mrs. Tafa shudders. “Who knows where those hands have been? Besides, the children get far better food here.”
    Iris nods vigorously. “Auntie Rose gave us chicken and figs and sweet potatoes and things that came out of a can.”
    I grab my bike and storm to our yard, leaving the kids behind with Mrs. Tafa. Esther’s chasing Sammy and Magda around the outhouse. She stops when she sees me. “Don’t blame me,” she says, before I can get out a word. “I went over to Mrs. Tafa’s and called them to eat: eggs and maize bread. Mrs. Tafa told me that she was looking after things and for me to mind my own business.”
    â€œEsther,” I say fiercely, “we’re going for a walk.”
    We get Sammy and Magda to promise they’ll stay in the yard till we’re back. Then we march past Mrs. Tafa’s, Esther struggling to keep up.
    â€œWhere are you going?” Soly calls out to me.
    â€œNowhere,” I yell. “Eat some more figs, why don’t you?”
    â€œAre you mad?”
    I stare straight ahead and keep stomping. We end up at the empty sandlot a few blocks away, sitting on the rusty swing set that the city put up, back when the place was supposed to be a park. I grab my side chains, push off the ground, and swing up hard with all my might.
    â€œIt’s not fair,” I say bitterly. “I’m losing the kids. Mrs. Tafa’s got time and money. She can do things for them that I can’t. Mr. Selalame says my nightmare’s because of stress. Well maybe she’s the stress. Maybe she’s what I’m afraid is out to get them. I hate her. I hate her I hate her I hate