Teacher brought me to the Cooper’s house one week after he had visited us in  Worteken; that was about three months ago. I was thirteen and got into the seventh grade at Cape Palmas High  School. Each class had its own classroom.

Mr. and Mrs. Cooper had moved to Harper from Monrovia about six months ago. Pa Edward came to run WVST. Ma Linda, a slim woman whose skin reminded me of condensed milk, was tall pass her husband. Her hands were soft as though she had not carried one bucket of water in her life. People used to gossip that she liked bluffing  because her hair—never in a head tie—was always pressed and she never, ever left the house without makeup and fine American clothes. When she wasn’t going to the tailor to sew new clothes or going to do her hair or nails, she sold all kinds of yama-yama to the women in Harper: rings, earrings, chains, bangles, lockets, makeup, shades… Ma Linda told her customers she got her things “straight from America, from the cold.”

Ma Linda told me she really didn’t want to come here but said, “Though I’m a fine light-skinned woman, I’m not stupid to leave my husband with all these frisky upcountry girls running around.” Sometimes I wondered why Ma Linda agreed to marry Pa Edward because she used to talk as if being light-skinned was better, but Pa Edward was as dark as me. I’m also not sure how they stayed together: he’s quiet, nothing really moved him, and she’s always fussing about small, small things. At first I used to catch a hard time trying to keep Ma happy. She always wanted something done somewhere.  I learned from her three children, who were all young pass me, that the key was to jump up and say “yes Ma” as soon as she asked for anything.

I don’t want you to think Ma Linda was fussy all the time though. Every now and then, when a good mood hit her, she would buy ice cream, sweets or give gifts to everyone in the house. Aye yah, that’s how I got the few new clothes I have now.

When I was in Worteken, I used to think Harper was a big city but Ma Linda told me that Monrovia was where the action was: tall buildings, flashing lights, fine, fine cars and big shots with money. She swore that some of the big shots’ houses had three levels just like the dorms in WVST’s yard. If you heard her talking about Monrovia, you would want to move there quick, quick.