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I looked at my nails and found that they were unevenly cut. I wished I could go to the parlor like my Kaka Nurkia and have them manicured. But Ambo2 said last, last week, “Let me clip them myself. You’re too young to go to a manicurist.” And so she clipped my nails last, last Friday. She said that it is sunnah to clip one’s nails during Fridays and one gets to receive a reward after death. I didn’t understand what clipping one’s nails had to do with Fridays. Why couldn’t it be done on Mondays? At least on Mondays, my nails were clean when Madame Ballera checked them in class.
Last Friday Ambo wasn’t home and there was no one to clip my nails. So I trimmed them myself last night. Now they looked uneven. My classmate said this morning that they looked like boys’ nails. I had to hide them before Madame Ballera started checking. I refused to show her my hands but she started tapping a long ruler on her palm.
“Who clipped your nails, Urduha?’ she asked.
“I did, Madame because my mother wasn’t home last Friday,” I said. I looked down because I didn’t want to see her angry face.
“Why didn’t you have them clipped last night?”
“Because my mother only clips them on Fridays. She said it is sunnah.” I thought my teacher was going to ask what sunnah meant but I thought maybe she knew.
“Next time let her trim your nails, all right?” she said. “You want them to look like most girls’ nails, don’t you? A girl’s nails must be clean and shapely. Always remember that.”
“Yes, Madame,” I said. I looked at her nails and saw them painted with pink just like the color of her uniform. Maybe that was how a girl’s nails should be – clean, shapely and painted.
I searched through Babo Kong’s drawer this afternoon. She was busy watching TV. I used to borrow her hairbrush and she said it was okay. Maybe it was also okay with her if I borrowed her nail polish, too. I found a red one and tried it. It was as red as the lipstick Babo Kong wore when she picked me up from school this afternoon.
I thought my red nails already looked beautiful except that they were not shapely. I waited for Ambo to come home so she could trim them. I would tell her that Madame Ballera wanted her to trim my nails tonight so tomorrow it wouldn’t look like boys’ nails again.
But Ambo was not happy to see my nails.
“Indah,3 what have you done?” she asked, holding my hands. “Who polished your nails?”
“I did, Ambo. Don’t you like them?”
“Oh, Indah. You must remember that your nails have to be clean so you could join me and your father and your Kaka Nurkia when praying.”
“But they are clean, Ambo,” I said. “They are only painted with red.”
“No,” she said, “When your nails are clean, it means that they are not polished. The nail polish will prevent the water from cleaning your nails when you wash before praying.”
And so Ambo took a piece of cotton, poured a small amount of acetone on it and rubbed my nails. The cotton felt cold as it touched my skin. After five minutes, my nails were back to their normal color. Then Ambo clipped my nails one by one.
Now my nails didn’t look like boys’ nails anymore. They now looked clean and shapely just like what Madame Ballera said. Ambo clipped them and it wasn’t even Friday.
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