Unity Force — Unexpected Turn
A Bullied Girl, a Mysterious Medallion, a Quiet Reckoning
“Did you see that kid’s clothes?”
“Yeah, far out.”
“Freaky is more like it.”
“I got an idea.”
“Can’t you wait? Your ideas are always so naughty.”
“You know that hole by the playground?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we’ll push her in.”
“That’s extreme. I didn’t even think you’d be capable of anything that nasty.”
“Hold on,” laughing. “I’m just getting started.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, after we push her in, we’ll throw cans and plastic bottles at her.”
“Oh, my.”
“She won’t be able to get out.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m liking this plan. It is devious.”
“Then maybe she’ll stop wearing that ridiculous outfit.”
“OK, everyone in?”
“Yeah, yeah, let’s do it.”
Geeta walks around the playground.
“Hey, you want to play ball with us?”
“Me? Really?” replies the young girl in the sari.
“Uh, sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“I’m Geeta.”
“Gee, gee?”
“What is it? Gee, gee? What, do you have pebbles in your mouth?”
“Geeta.”
“OK, whatever, just come this way, this way. We can play with my buddies over here.”
“What is your name again?”
“Who, me? Why?” asks the boy.
“I told you mine,” she smiles.
“It is Dan,” he answers, looking confused.
“OK, boys, this is gee, gee. Sorry, I just can’t pronounce your name.”
“Don’t worry, because you’re going in the hole,” yells out another boy.
“Hey, stop! What are you doing?”
Timmy, another boy, pushes Geeta from behind.
She falls into the hole.
The boys stand by the ledge, pelting her with rusty cans and dirty plastic bottles.
“The next time, gee, gee, whatever your name is, you think of wearing that ridiculous outfit, think twice,” cries out Dan.
Geeta gets hit in the head by a muddy bottle.
“I thought you wanted to be my friend!” mutters Geeta.
“Take that,” hisses Timmy, “and that!”
An old can draws blood from Geeta’s cheek. Another from her hand.
“Why don’t you go back to where you came from?”
“Stop, it hurts. You are hurting me,” cries out Geeta.
Geeta braces herself on the ground, wincing in pain each time she gets hit.
Suddenly, she sees something sparkling.
It is a necklace.
Concentric circles are engraved upon its center.
“What is this?” she whispers to herself.
Geeta puts it on.
Immediately, she feels intense power pulsing through her veins.
A glint of sunlight catches her.
She sees a falcon above.
“Fly,” it seems to whisper.
Geeta stands, looking up as the bottles and cans cascade upon her, looking directly at the bullies above.
“What is she doing?” asks Dan.
“Oh my God!”
Geeta begins to levitate out of the hole.
“Dan,” she cries, “my name is Geeta. G-E-E-T-A. Do you hear?”
Dan is frozen in fear.
“Say it.”
“Ge…Gee…Geeta,” he says, stumbling over his words.
“Yes, Geeta. Yes, Geeta. Sorry, Geeta. Whatever you say.”
Timmy starts to run. All the boys follow him. He zigzags not knowing which way to go, then he runs directly into the lake. All the boys plunge in too.
“Look at you now, Dan and clan. Look at you now.”
“Somebody help us. There are snapping turtles in here.”
“Ouch, ouch.”
“No, not there.”
Geeta laughs as the boys struggle back to the shore in their soggy shoes.
Geeta notices their torn t-shirts and jeans.
She takes a deep breath, then another.
“Tomorrow, Dan, I will bring you and your friends kurtas from my culture. You will see that they are much more comfortable than the clothes you wear.”
The boys stare at her in awe.
Geeta levitates back to high ground.
She takes off the necklace, staring at it.
“What is this?” she whispers.
A Muslim man dressed in a flowing white jalabiya, wearing a similar medallion, appears from behind a bush.
“It is Unity Force, Geeta. We are Unity Force. We fight hate and build unity across our communities and the world. I am Mohammad.”
A beautiful woman in a kimono steps out from behind the bush.
“I am Miho.”
“I am Oudou,” says an African man as he steps out from behind the bush in traditional garb from Mali.
“I am Dilyari,” says a striking woman dressed as a Russian Tatar.
“Are you in, Geeta? Will you join us?”
“I am only in middle school.”
“Your age, your race, your religion, your wealth, your persuasion — none of this matters. We are all one,” says Mohammad.
Geeta looks down at her medallion, shining in her hand.
She puts it around her neck.
“Yes, we are all one. I will stand with you.”
A story by Pemba Umoja