There were seven sisters…

There were seven sisters. Zosa, Bumis, Pos, Sera, Pimnis, Pejil and Zicharo.

Zosa had the hustle. Her love for her effort got her foot out of bed in the morning. She hated that she was emotional, but sometimes, people did piss her off. That’s what happens when you have things to care about. She couldn’t do calm like Bumis. Even though she knew her sister’s calm was always a facade, Zosa wished she too had the talent to hide behind a smile. She wished she could quiet her mouth at times. It had proven futile.

Pos was dirt poor. Not that the choice wasn’t hers. She had lived the life of being catered to. She had the life with the government man to care for her every whim. He had even loved her child like his own. He had paid for ice creams she never enjoyed, internet connection she rarely used with her android phone and had earned her clerical diploma under his account. The government man had done everything her family considered needed for a happy marriage, but she had chosen the janitor. Her heart led and she followed into the shanties crowded together in a slum deep in the heart of Nairobi. 

The thing about Sera, was you could never put a finger to it. Just when you thought you were figuring out her ways, she morphed into a totally new entity. Sera, the last of the sisters, had the heart of Brutus and the exterior of Julius.

Zicharo was quiet. She basically whispered her words all around the house, if at all you could find her. She was in the nooks and crannies. Her hiding spot was changing by the day. Zicharo enjoyed the cat, Cat, who had fur so white, sometimes Pos compared her to rich people. Despite not being the youngest, Zicharo was the shortest and the subject of the most bullying from her siblings.

For Bumis, being an example to her siblings was never in the cards. Mother moaned almost weekly of how Bumis had taken longer than any of them at birth. Pimnis was always getting frustrated over Bumis being late, having her tunic unironed at breakfast, adding a teaspoon of sugar in her tea even though there was enough. Bumis liked having everyone not depend on her. She did not envy Pimnis. 

Pejil was just as middle children are. She was a mix of things you did not understand. She asked for cereal at dinner time and stayed out late “watching the moon”. The only person who knew Pejil a little more that the others was Bumis, and only because the latter was another mix of things. Pejil carried filthy novels to read at church. Her library was filled with obscene and banned literature, with room for several whodunnits. Said library was a sacred 4×6 ft box that was passed down from their grandfather. The box was filled with old scrolls, newspapers and texts from a time before any of them were born. Its blue chipped paint held on to dear life as the few books Pejil had rummaged from begging teachers and the occasional theft.

The world revolved around Pimnis, though not in the way you would expect. She kept the wheel rolling from when her foot touched the ground till she lifted it back into bed to sleep at night. With mother’s health failing, all the heavy duties had fallen to her. Delegating was never her strong suit, especially with a sister like Bumis who was no use. Pimnis liked doing things the right way, and the only way that would happen was if she did them herself. So she did.

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Kids, someone suggested a tangible plan for short stories and I thought to myself ‘How about we set a tangible plan for short stories for the kids’ This plan sounds ingenious. It might work. Or we may find exciting new ways to self-sabotage. Whatever it takes, I made up seven sisters. Hope you will like them