White Teeth

sive, that had begun to appear in Irie's dreams. Not the lamp-post exactly, but a

if ever there was one), she knew full well, as she trudged school wards mouth full of doughnut, hugging her spare tyres, that the advert was speaking to her. It was speaking to her. lose weight (it was saying) to earn money. You, you, you, Miss Jones, with your strategically placed arms and cardigan, tied around the arse (the endless mystery: how to diminish that swollenenormity, the Jamaican posterior?), with your belly-reducing knickers and

ght, trying to encourage old men to pinch-an-inch and pledge-a-pound. Worst times? Tearing off loose,white-flecked flesh and packing it into those old curvaceous Coke bottles; she is carrying them to the corner shop passing them over a counter; and Millat is the bindi-wearing, V-necked cornershopkeeper he is adding them up, grudgingly opening the till with blood-stained paws, handing over the cash. A little Caribbean flesh for a little English change.^Me Jones was

ing it out; unwilling to settle for genetic fate; waiting instead for her transformation from Jamaican hourglass heavy with the sands that gather round Dunn11The M

ore:

ds, reached over her desk to Irie's exercise book and tore out the piece of paper in question.

teresting than Sonnet 12.7.""Nothing. It's nothing.""Absolutely certain? You don't wish to delay the class any more? Because .. . some of t

ne said 'doodling

lack was not counted fair," continued Francis Stone in the catatonic drone with which students read Elizabethan verse. "Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name."Me put her rig

ad rather than loose. Flirtatious remnants of this morning's science lesson: Inherited char

re raven black, her brows so sui

n dealt the dodgy cards: mountainous curves, buck teeth and thick metal retainer, impossible Afro hair, and to top it off mole-ish eyesight which in turn required bottle-top spectacles in a light shade of pink. (Even those blue eyes the eyes Archie had been so excited about lasted two weeks only. She had been born with them, yes, but one day Clara looked a

moothly muscled; chocolate eyes with a reflective green sheen like moonlight bouncing off a dark sea; irresistible smile, big white teeth. In Glenard Oak

at. Good old Millat. Wicked Millat. Safe, sweet-as, Millat. They need me to be cool. It's practically a responsibility."And it practically was. Ringo Starr

qbal. He had to please all of the people all of the time. To the cockney wide-boys in the white jeans and the coloured shirts, he was the joker, the risk-taker, respected lady killer. To the black kids he was fellow weed-smoker and valued customer. To the Asian kids, hero and spokesman. Socialchameleon. And underneath it all, there remained an ever present anger and hurt, the feeli

ep overs, discussed his education hypothetically with their parents (Just say there was this Indian boy, yeah, who was always getting into .. .), even wrote poems on the subject. Girls either

. We go way back. We've got history. You're a real friend. They don't really mean anything t

d finger. "Now, what is he saying there? Annalese?"Annalese Hersh, who had spent the le

ow small. No matter how paltry."Annalese bit her lip. Loo

l, I suppose we can add that to last we

Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'dface. What might that mean I wonder?"

by means of make-up, artifice. The Elizabethans were very keen on a pale skin."They would've loved you, then," sneered Millat, for Joshua was pasty, practically anaemic, curl

id so expertly. The door slammed. The nice girls looked at each other in that way. (He's just so out of control, so crazy ... he really needs some help, some close one-to-

ro." Mrs. Roody, looking round the gormless faces of 5F, saw for the

sense. There weren't any .. . well, Afro-Carri-bee-yans in England at that time, dear. That's more a modern phenomenon, as I'm sure you know. But this was the i6oos. I mean I can't be sure, but it does seem terribly unlikely, unless she was a slave of some kind, and he's unlikely to have written a series of sonnets to a lord and then a slave, is he?"Irie red

about the debate between her natural colouring and the make-up that was the fashion of the time.""I just thought .

the face of gigg

merely one of many handlers. It said: "By WilliamShakespeare: ODE TO LETITIAAND ALL MY KINKY-HAIRED BIG-ASS BIT CHEZThe cryptically named P. K."s Afro Hair: Design and Management sat between FairweatherFuneral Parlour and Raakshan Dentists, the convenient proximity meaning it was not at alluncommon for a cadaver of African origin to pass through all three establishments on his or her final journ

t, intent upon transformation, intent upon fighting her genes, a headscarf disguis

aight long black sleek flick able toss able shakeable touch

Fairweather's, 'having fun with the dearly departed. You better come sit down and wait and don' bodder me. Don' know how long she'll be."Irie looked lost, standing in the middle

tiently. "Your mum white?""Dad."Jackie wrinkled her nose. "Usually de udder way roun'. Howcurly is it? Lemme se what's under dere -' She made a

pec us to do wid it if we ky ant see it?"

irmly, thinking of Nikki Tyler. "Straight and dark red.""Is dat a fact! You wash you

o Millat's this very evening with her new mane, all tied up in a bun, and she was going to take off her glasses and shake down her hair and he was going to say why Miss Jones, I never would have supposed .. . why Miss Jones, you're "I have to do it today. My sister's getting marrie

came unevenly over a battered stereo, young boys had logos cut into the back of their heads a

mple enough exchange and there was joy in it: the buzz of the revolving blade by your ear, a rough brush-down with a warm hand, mirrors front and back to admire the transformation. You came in wit

vement' fought daily with the stubborn determination of the curved African follicle; here ammonia, hot combs, clips, pin

omers they were dealing with but desperate wretched patients), would give a sceptical snort and whip off the puke-green gown. "It as straight as it ever going to be!"Four women sat in front of Irie now, biting their lips, staring intently into a long, dirty mirror, waiting for their straighter selves to materialize. While Irie flicked nervously through Ame

g began. It was at this point that animosity arose; some people's hair was 'kinkier' than others', some Afros fought harder, some survived. And the animosity spread from fellow customer to hairdresser, to inflicter of this pain, for it was natura

he partition wall, Me looked up from her magazine. There was little to say. Th

ing gone. Like the hair of a cad

straight as it ever going to be. Tree weeks if you lucky."Despite the obvious failure of the project, each woman along the line felt that it would be different for her

loose and flowing look: "I hot wrap it each evening, ensuring that the ends are lightly waxed in

headscarfunceremoniously removed before she could stop it, and five lo

" murmure

h occurrence for the rest of the shop to

Andrea's. "So loose."An older lady, wincing w

kie, ignoring her own scalded pa

e. "You gonna relax it, darling'?""Yes. Straight. Straight and red."Andrea tied a green gown round Irie's neck and lowered her into a swivelling chair. "Don't know about red, baby. Can't dye and relax on the same day. Kill the hair dead. But I can do the relax for you, no problem. Should come out beautiful, darling'."The

rts!""Life hurts said Andrea scornfully, 'beauty hurts."Me bit her tongue for another t

hole"You should have told me," Andrea was grumbling. "You should have told me that you washed it. It's got to be di

Looking for a new idea, he read in the lifestyle section of his breakfast paper that black women spend five times as much as white women on beauty products and nine times as much on their hair. Taking his wife Sheila as an archetypal white woman, Paul King began to salivate. A little more research in his local library uncovered a multi-million pound industry. Paul King then bought a disused butcher's on Willesden High Road, head hunted Andrea from

n noise of his new salon, opening in Wembley. "But don't make a habit of it."Andrea returned to Irie with the good

d glow and come back here quick style.""Hair?" repeated Irie through snot and tears. "Fake hair?""Stupid girl. It's not fake. It's real. And when it's on your head it'll be your real hair. Go!"Blubbing like a baby, Irie shu

re were no shelves to speak of but instead hair products piled like mountains from the floor up, while accessories (combs, bands, nail varnish) were stapled to the walls with the price written in felt

ches apart. Underneath each a large c

ural Thai. Stra

ight with a wave. Black. 5 Metres.

hetic hair. Cork

g to the cash till and back again to hand over twenty-five pounds to

can't do any more with all these split ends."The girl objected in another language, picked up the bag of

ow," she said, looking over the girl's shoulder to Me, 'other customers I have."Me saw hot tears, not unlike her own, spring to the girl's eyes. She seemed to f

ng girl. "Ungrateful, she is."Then she unpeeled a sticky label

ed.""Yes, dear. What is it I can do?"Me repeate

You want it straight or with a wave?""Straight. Dead straight."The fat lady did a

een able to package it, you understand. But it

No split ends. Just silly girl try

she expects or something crazy. Beautiful hair, she has. When I was young, oh, mine was beautiful too, eh?" The

rty-seven fifty. We Indian wome

th children in a twin buggy was waitin

ple think you're all Mr. Bigstuf

h. I don't want to buy some poor Indian girl's hair. And I wish t

ce, a service. I don't need abuse, just leave your money on the counter, if I am getting abuse, I'm not serving.""No one's givin' you abuse. Jesus Christ!""Is it my fault if they want the hair that is straight and paler skin sometimes, like Michael Jackson, my fault he is too? They tell me not to sell the Dr. Peacock Whitener local paper, my God, what a fuss! and then they buy it take that receipt to Andrea, will you, my dear, please? I'm just trying to make a livingin this country like the rest of everybody. There you are, dear, there's your hair."The wo

said. "But I need hairpin

her head. "You've

ting somebody else's hair in small sections to Irie's own two inches and sealing

asked, disbelieving the

t it? It won't stay in if it's loose like that.""It will," said Irie, bewitched by her own reflection. "It's got to." He Millat need only see it once, after all, jus

door. "Oh, hello. No

s more of the time."Irie walked into the hallway and caught a sneaky g

Lost weight?"Irie glowed. "New haircut.""Oh yes .. . you look

into the lounge. "Bloody hell!" screeched Neena at the approaching vision. "What the fuck do you look like!"She looked beautiful. She looked straight, un-kinky. Beautiful.

Negro Meryl Streep?" Neena folded over

iend, a sexy and slender girl called Maxine with a beautiful porcelain face, dark eyes and a lot of curly brown hair, gave a pull to Irie'speculiar bangs. "What have you done? You had

uck's sake, that's some poor oppressed Pakistani woman who needs the cash for

and Maxine had a

etreated to an armchair and tuc

Fuck off"Well, he's not here. He's got some new bird. Eastern-bloc gymnast with a stomach like a washboard. Not unattractive, spectacular tits, but tight-assed as hell. N

for fuck's sake.""And me," said Maxine, 'and I'm not that way inclined.""Haven't you ever wondered why he hasn't snogged you?""Because I'm ugly. And fat. With an Afro.""No, fuck face because you're all he's got. He needs you. Y

who he is. But you know him, at least a

. Sometimes you want to be different. And sometimes you'd g

to re-educate yourself. Realize yourvalue, stop the slavish devotion, and get a life, Me.

truth is the Barbra Streisand cut you've got there ain't doing shit for you. The Afro was cool, man. It was wicked. It was yours."

sting her into the cult of Sappho.""I don't care what you're doing. I don't know what you're doing. I don't want to know suc

axine. "Biscuits, Me?""I'd like some biscuits murmur

ly, translating code, "I don't have the kind you

ting the kitchen with a gri

a song-and-dance about everything? I cannot believe homosexuality is that much fun. Heterosexuality certainly is not.""I don't think I

s. And how is your father?"Me shrugged on cue. "You see him more than we do. How's God?""Perfectly fine, thank you. Have you seen my good-for-nothing son recently?""Not recently.""What about my good son?""Not for years.""Will you te

p. Of course, he has screwed everything up, but then again, who will cast the first stone, et cetera. He prays and prays. But he will not look straight at the facts: Millat hanging around with God knows what kin

e top kitchen shelf, where she collected a thin airmail envelope and

dn't be sure, the photo was not good like a cravat. He held a large sun hat in one hand. In the other he clasped the hand of the eminent Indian writer Sir R. V. Saraswati. Saraswati was dressed all in white, with his broad-rimmed hat on his head and an ostentatious cane in his free hand. The two o

now Saraswati?"Irie nodded. Compulsory GCSE text: A Stitch in Time

lonial throwback, Englishlicker-of-behinds."Irie picke

ations Sir Saraswati commended my mind, and even went so far as to say (and I quote) that I was 'a first-rate young man' - a comment I shall treasure! He suggested my future might lie in the law, the university, or even his own profession of the creative pen! I told him the first-mentioned vocation was closest to my heart and that it had long been my intention to make the Asian countries sensible places, where order prevailed." disaster-was prepared for, and a young boy was in no danger from a falling vase (I) New law

ke, it will be earthquake. Of course it has to be! That is the very reason I sent the child there to understand that essentially we are weak, that we are not in control. What does Islam mean? What does the word, the very word, mean? I surrender. I surrender to God. I surrender to him. This is not my life, this is his life. This life I call mine is his to do wit

lly obey. We are tricky, we are

id Mahfooz Murshed Mubtasim Iqbal to discover. Tell me, did I send him to have his mind poisoned by a

" Alsana gathered her spare tyres

he was born here naturally he will do things differently. You can't plan everything. After all, what is so awful so he's not traini

argument, Me slipped out of the kitchen and headed for the front door. She caught an unfortunate glimpse of herself

attle, travelling through the cheap wood of the kitchen door and into the hallway, where Me

ettos, enclaves, islands. There were no maps, but common sense told you, for example, not to fuck with the area between the refuse bins and the craft department. There had been casualties there (notably some poor sod called Keith who had his head placed in a vice), and the scrawny, sinewy kids who patrolled this area were not to be messed with they were the thin sons of the fat men with vicious tabloids primed in their back pockets like handguns, the fat men who believe in rough justice a life for a life, hanging's too good for them. Across from there: the Benches, three of them in a line. These were for the surreptitious dealing of tiny tiny amounts of drugs. Things like 2 pounds 50 pence of marijuana resin, so small it was likely to be lost in your pencil case and confused with a shredded piece of eraser. Or a quarter of an E, the greatest use of which was soothing particularly persistent period pains. The gullible could also purchase a variety of household goods -jasmine tea, garden

le face, better to be able to cadge a fag and come back five minutes after for another without being remembered. Better to cultivate a cipher-like persona, be a little featureless squib called Mart, Jules, Ian. Otherwise you had to rely on charity and fag sharing. One fag could be split in a myriad of ways. It worked like this: someone (whoever had actually bought a pack of fags) lights up. Someone shouts 'halves'. At the halfway point the fag is passed over. As soon as it reaches the second person we hear 'thirds', then 'saves' (

our speaking in tongues, each in their own industrious corner, their busy censer mouths sendi

ths, 123 differ

are est

, Irie Jones looking for Millat Iqbal,Scott Breeze and Lisa Rainbow in the toilets, fucking,Joshua Chalfen, a goblin, an elder and a dwarf, behind the science block playing Goblins and Gorgons,And everybody, everybody smoking fags, fags, fags, working hard at the begging of them, the lighting of them and the inhaling of them, the collecting of butts

logist, landed, rather, with the burden of the prophet, for she knew the day and time of the quake (today, two thirty), she knew its power (possible expulsion), and she knew who was likely to fall victim to its fault line. She had to save him. Clutching her vibrating chub and sweating through three inches of Afro hair, she dashed through the grounds, calling his name, inquiring of others, looking in all the usual places, but he was not with the cockney barrow-boys, the posh girls, the Indian posse or the black kids. She trudged finally to the science block, part of the old workhouse and a much loved

vitable and constant, requiring a force stronger than the sudden appearance of Me, stronger maybe, than gravity, to stop it. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, a white shirt and a green bow-tie. His breast pocket

hand and lift them up. There is an hadith from the Bukhari, part five, page two: The best people of my community are my contemporaries and supporters. You are my contemporary, Millat, I pray you will also become my supporter; there is

h or Hifan wasn't clear. Shaking Me off his sleeve, he attempted an in

Could you just chill for one minute?" He passed' her the smoke. "I'm trying to listen to the guy, yeah? Hifan is the don. Look at t

an that stuff you used to go around in back when we used to hang, e

Kilburn days, brother. I did things in ignorance then. That was a different person.""Yeah," said Millat sheepishly

ake our mark in this bloody country. What was the name, again, of your lot?""I am from the Ki

inh

EVIN?""We are aware," said Hifan solemnly, pointing to the spot underneath the cupped flame where the initials were minutely embroidered, 'that we have an acronym problem.""J

fucking debate. Hifan, what school you at now, mate?"Hifan shook his head with a smile. "I left the English education system some time ago. But my education is far from over. If I can quote to you from the TabrizI, hadith number 220: The person who goes in search of knowledge is on active service for God until he returns and the ' "Mill," whispered trie, beneath Hifan's flow of mellifluous so

t feel the need to pander to the erotic fantasies of Westernsexuality.""Er, ye-ah. Thanks."Feeling sorry for herself and more than a

jt;:^strange hair and broad shoulders and thought he might have half a chance there. She was clever and not entirely un-pretty, and there was something in her that had a strongly nerdy flavour about it, despite that boy she spent her time with. The Indian one. She hung around him, but she wasn't like him. Joshua Chalfen strongly suspected her of

re in orchestra. In no sense are we there together."The goblin, the elder and the dwarf, who appreciated a good play on words, had a snivelly giggle at that one. But insults meant nothing to Joshua. Joshua was the Cyrano de Bergerac of taking insults. He'd taken insults (from the affectionate end, Chalfen the Chubster, Posh

Nothing. The vaguest acquaintance with basic Freudian theory wouldsuggest you are the one with the problem. Where does all that aggression come from? I thoughtsmoking was meant to chill you o

reaching down to pass it

to take his joint off Irie and w

e time spotted Millat coming towards her and felt a rumble in the ground, a tremor that s

the' sai

both sides (never before tested), their hundred-strong party utilizing the element of surprise, giving no pre-warning bar the sound of their approaching feet; simply boxing the

ir of crossed arms and crossed legs. As if to counter this personal, internal collapse, the headmaster had the seating arranged in a large circle, an expansive gesture he hoped would help everybody speak to and see each other, allowing everybody to express their point and make themselves heard so together they could work to

wags up for, then?"Wearily, Tina read out the three counts of mari jew-ana' possession

his," said the headmaster laying his hands palm up and flat on his knees to demonstrate he was packing no weapons, 'so we don't have everybody talking over each other, is if I say my bit, you each then say your bit, s

his skinny left leg over instead, he brought his two forefingers up to his

ousand kids lining the Crickle wood streets, smoking fags, bringing down the tone of the school. This was the age of the league table. Of picky parents nosing their way through The Times EducationalSupplem

That's it. All right?"A Lambert & Butler hung from Millat's lips. "Light?"The headmaster rifled about in his own shi

u, at least. Spill the legumes."Millat said, "I was round there, the back of the science block, on a matter of spiritual growth."The headmaster leant forward and tapped th