Nimisha Ladva

My name is Nimisha.

Then she says to Deborah, well, dear, you really should have known better.

Why don't you tell her that she can't come inside and that she's not welcome?

Each word is poison, and I am stung.

I am stung with shame and fear and the brand new knowledge that the touch of my hand is something that has to be washed away.

I wish and wish and wish that my father was here, that he would come and do something about Deborah's mother for me because I am not ready.

I am not ready to do anything about Deborah's mother myself.

Deborah doesn't say anything to me and I don't say anything to her.

And at school, we pretend nothing happened.

A few weeks later, my family and I are on the bus.

We're coming home like we always do.

We get to our bus stop, we get off, and the only thing we have to do to get home is cross the street and walk about 10 houses down.

The problem is on this day, we get off the bus and right across the street, right where we have to walk, there is a group of 15, maybe 15 young men with very closely shaved heads.

Skinheads.

Some of them have armbands with swastikas on them.

They are like the men I've seen on TV.

As soon as they see us, they start to shout at us.

We hate you.

Go back to where you came from.

Go back to the jungle.