Black Sheep (30 page)

‘She’s afraid you’re going to become like them, Dee. That you already are like them...’

I took a deep breath. I had to get it over with before I bottled it completely. “Listen, Misha, I need to tell you something.”

She looked up at me then, as if to say, ‘Tell me something good, Dee, anything to make all this go away.’

“Misha, the first thing I want to say is that I love you, girl. I know I ain’t said it before, not properly, but I have loved you since that first day in Battersea Park. You are the
most amazing girl I have ever met in my life, Misha, I swear down. I don’t even know how I ever got lucky enough to be with you....” Tears welled up in my eyes then. I couldn’t
even stop them. I swallowed hard. “I know I hurt you, Misha. I know I let you down. And I know I betrayed your trust. And I’m sorry. It breaks my heart to see you in this place. You
shouldn’t be here – you deserve better than this. Better than me...”

Tears were falling down her cheeks as I reached out to hold her hand. At that stage, I didn’t even care what the officer said or did. I squeezed her hand, blinking back tears, trying to
keep my voice from shaking.

“I’ve thought about this every day since I came here. I’ve prayed on it, five times a day, and in the middle of the night. So I know this is the right thing to do. Misha, baby,
I want you to leave this place and forget all about me. ”

For a moment, she just stared at me, totally speechless.

“That’s right, girl,” I whispered. “Just turn around and walk away.”

Then she found her voice. “What are you saying, Dwayne?”

“You deserve the future you’ve always wanted for yourself, Misha. You don’t need a loser like me holdin’ you back. So, even though it’s tearin’ me up inside,
I know I have to let you go. I can’t keep goin’ on selfish, y’get me. I have to think about what’s best for you, innit.”

I wiped my eyes and smiled. “Just know that, wherever you go in life, there’s a badman who loves you more than you’ll ever know.” And I busted a few of the lines I had
made up, just for her, a lifetime ago in Battersea Park: the lines about the chocolate-fudge-coloured sweetness and the mean left hook.

Then she really started crying, burying her face in her hands. I knew what she was feeling, coz I was feeling it myself.

MISHA

I hid my face in my hands and sobbed. How could a heart break so many times? Why did it feel like the whole world was pressing down on me, squeezing the life out of me? Would I
keep quiet and accept the open door, the way out he had offered me? Or would I stay and fight it out, against all the odds? Who did I love more: him or me? And what did that love mean? I had always
heard that love hurt, that true love requires sacrifice – but did that mean sacrificing myself, my family, my future, too?

I thought of everything that had happened since the first day I met Dwayne Kingston: the incredible highs, the awful lows, the tears, the laughter. What did it all mean? What was the purpose of
it all?

And then, as if he had been reading my mind, Dwayne answered my question. “It was all written, Misha: meant to be. Without you, I wouldn’t have found this path I’m on now. I
would never have seen what I was capable of. You believed in me from the start, even when you had no reason to. Now I believe in me too. And I believe in you. So I want you to fly, Misha-girl, fly
like a butterfly away from anythin’ that could hold you back. Some bredder – I bet you know his name – once said, ‘If you love someone, set them free. If they return, they
were always yours. If they don’t they were never yours to begin with.’ I feel that. I do.”

I didn’t try to hide the tears.

And then he stood up, a soft, soft look on his face. And I knew then that he really did love me, possibly more than he had ever loved anyone in his life. And he was letting me go.

He touched his fingers to his lips and whispered, “A Muslim man will only ever kiss the woman he’s married to. So this will have to do for now, y’get me.” And he blew
that kiss towards me, blinking to hold back the tears that had welled up in his eyes.

And then he walked away.

DWAYNE

How can I explain how I felt, walking away from Misha on that cloudy day in Feltham? I felt like the world’s biggest loser – and the biggest winner at the same time.
I felt empty but full, so full that I wanted to put my head to the ground, right there. Finally, man had come correct. I had done the right thing. And even though it burned me up inside, I knew
that the verse was true: ‘With hardship comes ease, with every hardship comes ease.’

I thought of that verse again, weeks later, after the court hearings, the detention, the warnings, when I went with Ms Walker to the small patch of green near Angell Town
estate. The railings that surrounded it were rusty. Mash-up bunches of flowers were tied to the bars. We had bought fresh flowers from the Tesco Express down the road.

“This is where he was killed,” whispered Ms Walker, pointing to the spot where the flowers and cards clung to the iron bars. “Right here.”

I knelt down with Ms Walker as she tied our flowers to the railings, carefully taking down some of the older, more raggedy ones. There were so many of these shrines, dotted all around South
London and anywhere else where there were angry mans with chips on their shoulders and knives and guns in their back pockets. I looked up at the yellow brick of the Angell Town estate where the
Peel Dem Crew had run tings for as long as I could remember.

They had changed their name now. They weren’t the Peel Dem Crew anymore – now the PDC stood for Pray Days Change. They were trying to straighten up: some of them had become Muslim,
others were trying to make money from music instead of drugs.

“Pray days change, Miss,” I said, looking over at the legendary estate. “Pray days change.”

The wind blew some rain towards us. Ms Walker opened her umbrella. Some leaves were blown against the railings and stuck there for a few moments.

Then another gust of wind blew and the leaves escaped the railings and were flying free, swirling further and further away from the iron bars, from the estate, from the shrines to dead boys and
girls killed for no good reason.

Free at last, y’get me.

Just like Misha.

And just like me.

My sincere thanks to all who helped shape this book: my husband, the ex-badman; Aaminah, Rahma, Humayrah, Jannah and Yaseen of Deeper Readers; Eesa Walker, Ismael Lea South, Abu
Bakr of Roadside2Islam, Rachel Lewis, Ngozi Fulani and Indigo Williams. And Harry Hasek and Gail Lynch.

Na’ima B. Robert
was born in Leeds, grew up in Zimbabwe and attended Queen Mary & Westfield College in London, where she was introduced to Black British
culture and served as African Caribbean Society president. She began writing children’s books when her first child was a toddler.

Black Sheep
was inspired by her experiences of living in Brixton as a new Muslim in the early 2000s.

Her other novels for teenagers include
From Somalia, with love
,
Boy vs. Girl
and
Far from Home
.

Naima was a finalist for Published Writer of the Year at the Brit Writers Awards 2012

My name is Safia Dirie. My family has always been my mum, Hoyo, and my two older brothers, Ahmed and Abdullahi. I don’t really remember Somalia – I’m an East
London girl. But now Abo, my father, is coming to live with us, after twelve long years. How am I going to cope?

Safia knows that there will be changes ahead but nothing has prepared her for the reality of dealing with Abo’s cultural expectations, her favourite brother Ahmed’s
wild ways, and the temptation of her cousin Firdous’ party-girl lifestyle. Safia must come to terms with who she is – as a Muslim, as a teenager, as a poet, as a friend, but most of
all, as a daughter to a father she has never known. Safia must find her own place in the world, so both father and daughter can start to build the relationship they long for.

From Somalia, with Love
is one girl’s quest to discover who she is – a story rooted in Somali and Muslim life that will strike a chord with young people
everywhere.

“Warm, engaging and intensely thought-provoking”

Carousel

Farhana swallowed and reached for the hijab. But then she saw with absolute clarity the weird looks from the other girls at school, and the smirks from the guys. Did she dare?
And then there was Malik... What should she do about him?

Faraz was thinking about Skrooz and the lads. Soon, he would finally have the respect of the other kids at school. But at what price? He heard Skrooz’s voice, as sharp
as a switchblade: “This thing is powerful, blud. But y’know, you have to earn it, see? Just a few more little errands for me...”

They’re twins, born 6 minutes apart Both are in turmoil and both have life-changing choices to make, against the peaceful backdrop of Ramadan.

Do Farhana and Faraz have enough courage to do the right thing? And can they help each other – or will one of them draw the other towards catastrophe?

“A fantastic read”
– MsLexia

Katie and Tariro are worlds apart but their lives are linked by a terrible secret, gradually revealed in this compelling story of two girls grappling with the complexities of
adolescence, family and a painful colonial legacy.

14-year-old Tariro loves her ancestral home, the baobab tree she was born beneath, her loving family – and brave, handsome Nhamo. She couldn’t be happier. But then the
white settlers arrive and everything changes – suddenly, violently and tragically.

Forty years later, 14-year-old Katie loves her doting father, her exclusive boarding school and her farm with its baobab tree in rural Zimbabwe. Life is great. Until the family
are forced to leave everything and escape to cold, rainy London

Atmospheric, gripping and epic in scope,
Far From Home
brings the turbulent history of Zimbabwe to vivid, tangible life.