Host: Sarah Austin Jenness

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Sarah: [00:00:12] From PRX, this is The Moth Radio Hour. I’m Sarah Austin Jenness. We’ve produced lots of women’s episodes over the years, but this hour is all about girlhood. In 2011, the United Nations created the International Day of the Girl Child to recognize girls’ rights and to focus the world’s attention on the unique challenges girls face. 

Today, we have stories from Nepal, Uganda, India, London and the US that dive into the hearts and minds of little girls, and some lessons and traditions that some little girls have grown up with. These stories are all told by women about events that happened when they were young, some joyous, some harrowing, all memorable and life changing. 

We begin this episode with a 10-year-old Londoner on her first ever trip to the US, perched on a ski slope in Colorado, just where I would not have wanted to be. But that’s just me. I liked to swim when I was little, and I’ll tell you a little bit more about that later. Briony Chappell told this story with us at a GrandSLAM in London. Here’s Briony.

[cheers and applause] 

Briony: [00:01:30] When I was growing up, I went skiing every year with my dad. When I was 10, we went to America, which is obviously very exciting for a 10-year-old. I’d seen it on TV. I knew they had great snacks. Extremely important when you’re that age. We were about four or five days into our ski holiday and we were on the final run of the day. And my dad had said, “Okay, I’m going to ski down to the bottom and I’ll see you there.” So, I was like, “Okay, that’s fine.” So, I was skiing and I fell over, which is obviously cripplingly embarrassing when you’re 10, because you think you’re really cool and great at everything. 

So, I fumbled to get up, trying to put my skis back on and I keep skiing down. And I get into a fork in the piste, and one way down is to one village and one way down is the other and I’m like, “I can’t remember.” [audience laughter] I can’t remember which way to go. My dad has definitely told me, and I have definitely forgotten or not been listening. And so, I just make a 50-50 decision. I ski down to one village. And it’s full of people, but none of them are my dad. So, I’m like, “Ah, I’ve made the wrong decision.” [audience laughter] 

And I'm okay, I'm going to get on the shuttle bus to the other village and he'll be there. And obviously, I'm there like, “I'm fine, I'm 10.” I'm trying to pick up my skis and I'm trying to carry them and that's something I've never done before, because my dad has always carried them and I've always carried the poles. I'm trying to get onto the bus and the guy is like, “Yes, okay, come on. Yes, you're alone, but fine.” [audience laughter] 

And I go to the other village and I get off, and obviously my dad is not there either. [audience laughter] So, I'm like, “Ah, yes, I'm definitely lost now.” [audience laughter] And I think I'm a very well-trained child and I think, what do I do in this situation? I go and find a responsible adult. So, I go into the village, and I see a supermarket and it covered in pictures of animals and it's called Noah's. And I'm like, “Yes, that seems legit. There's definitely a responsible adult in there.” [audience laughter]

So, I go in, like any typical British person in a crisis, I join the queue. [audience laughter] I wait. I wait until my turn, and I go to the lady on the checkout. And probably in poshest British accent, more posh than I've ever used in my life, I look at her and I go, “Excuse me, but I've lost my dad.” [audience laughter] Burst into tears. And she's like, “Oh, obviously.” While this is all happening, my dad has had the same experience. I'm not in the village that he's in. So, he thought, “She'll be in the other village, I'll get on the shuttle bus.” [audience laughter] And in an amazing comedy of errors, we've crossed like this. [audience laughter] And so, he's now in the other village that I was originally in, thinking, “Oh my God, I've lost her [audience laughter] and where is she?” 

So, however, for me, now my afternoon is really looking up. The lady is really taking pity on me. She's like, “My God, you're so small. You're lost and you're British.” [audience laughter] She's taken my skis. I'm like, “Thank you so much. I couldn't carry them. I'm on pole duty again.” [audience laughter] She's given me a Sprite again, the dream. I'm normally only allowed one fizzy drink per day and this is my second. [audience laughter] I remember that my chalet is called Geronimo, because it's a sign of a fancy name. And she's called the people at the chalet and said like, “Does this child belong to you?” Like, “Is she staying with you?” 

And they've been like, “Yes, she is staying with us. Why are you calling us? It's weird.” And they've said, “Well, she's come here and she's lost” and la, la. And so, I've got in the car with this lady from the supermarket who is loving life, because not only is she doing her good deed for the day, she's getting half an hour off work. [audience laughter] And so, I'm sitting in the front seat of this 4x4, I've got my skis in the back, I've got my Sprite, I've got my sunnies. It's sunny. I'm like, “This is America.” [audience laughter] 

I get to the chalet, and the chalet host, they welcome me in and they're like, “My God, you're so small, but you're so smart.” [audience laughter] And obviously, in this time, they've called my dad, who is out of his mind in panic. He's in the mountain ranger's office. The [unintelligible [00:05:39] closed for the day, they're like, “Sir, she is not on the mountain. We've sent the dogs up. They cannot find her.” My dad is in full panic mode, thinking, “I've lost my child. What am I going to do now?” Obviously gets a call from the chalet hose, being like, “Sir, we have your child.” 

So, he comes back to the chalet. He comes in and like, “You're so smart. You're so small. You're amazing.” And I'm like, “Yes, I am. Thank you so much.” [audience laughter] Obviously, staying in the chalet, I'm the talk of the dinner. My God, thank you. And my dad was obviously freaking out. He was like, “I'm going to have to go home, tell my wife that I've lost you. You're going to end up as one of those children on the side of a milk bottle. This is America.” 

In hindsight, this story really is only funny, because I'm okay. There's nothing quite like ruining a holiday, like losing the person that you're with. [audience laughter] And then the next day, we went to the local electronics store and we bought walkie-talkies. And I'm 10. I'm like, “This is sick.” Like, for the rest of the holiday, we communicate like spies. And I think, well, maybe I should just get lost more often. [audience laughter] 

[cheers and applause]

Sarah: [00:06:51] That was Briony Chappell. Briony is still living in London, where she works as the head of social and video at Kiss FM. Briony still skis and is grateful to have skied so much as a little girl. At this point, when she flies down the slopes, it's all muscle memory. To see photos of Briony and her dad on holiday from the time of the story, go to themoth.org. 

Our next storyteller is Dia. I can't give her last name for reasons of her safety. She tells us about her relationship with her Amma, her mother. We met Dia in a Moth Global Community Program that we taught in collaboration with UN Women Asia, with women who are living in Nepal and neighboring countries. The workshop was during the pandemic. So, heads up, this recording is from the virtual world and the audio has that lackluster Zoom quality. But I promise you, Dia is full of life. Live from Kathmandu, Nepal, here's Dia.

Dia: [00:07:55] I remember when I was around five years old, the sun was slowly waking up over the horizon, painting the horizon with bold strokes of orange, And my beautiful Amma in the fields of marigold, picking each bloom slowly and onto the doko, a bamboo basket. Then she plucked a little bright orange bloom, and tucked it beneath my ear and called me her “Ramri chori,” her beautiful daughter. And ever since I was a child, I knew that I was a girl.

So, when we moved from the village to the city and I started to go to school, I spent all my time with other girls from my class. I sat and ate lunch with other girls from my class. And I even went to the bathroom, the girls’ bathroom. Until one day, when I came out of the bathroom, my teacher was standing in front of the door. She slapped me across the face and yelled at me, “It is wrong for you as a boy to enter the girl's bathroom.” I was crying. When I unfolded the events to my Amma back at home and asked her, “Am I really a boy? Am I not a girl?” And I waited. But she didn't answer. Instead, in few days, we moved to a different part of the city, to a different school. And she told me I had to act like a boy. 

So, in the new school, I started spending all my time with other boys from my class. I sat down and ate lunch with other boys in my class. I even went to the boys’ bathroom. But even after doing all these things, I didn't feel like a boy. I felt like a girl pretending to be a boy. I felt like everyone could see right through the masquerade. 

As I grew older, my face became angular and sharp. I started growing beard. My shoulders broadened, my chest flat. But even after all this evolving, my heart, it was of a girl. And my mind was now in a tug of war. Do I go on pretending to be a feminine boy, because that's how the world sees me, or do I tell everyone that I meet, “Hey, stop. I'm not a boy. I'm a girl stuck in a boy's body.” But there came a point where this was not viable, and that is when I found myself at the doctor's table begging him to diagnose me of gender dysphoria, so I could start my hormone replacement therapy. 

After a few sessions, he told me to certify that I had gender dysphoria, he had to meet a family member. And that is the moment when I saw my hopes crumble to the floor. The floor is where I was looking when my Amma sat across the table from the doctor as he asked her questions after questions about my mannerism when I was growing up, about my moods when I was growing up, about my education. 

And then he asked her, “Do you know she identifies as a girl?” “You have to act like a boy. You have to act like a boy. You have to act like a boy.” Those were the words my mother told me when I was a child, playing in loop in the back of my mind. But then, I heard a different word. She said, “I always knew that, doctor. She's always been my daughter.” And in that moment in the small room, the claustrophobic walls began expanding into the beautiful field of orange where my Amma was plucking marigold and I, her daughter, was helping her. 

Back at our house, in our kitchen table, I asked her, what had changed from then to now. And she told me, “Nothing had changed.” She told me, “I asked you to act like a boy when I was not there, because I couldn't protect you from the world. But now, you don't need any protecting. Now, you can be you.” I couldn't help, but smile in euphoria as the aroma of the marigold flower filled the kitchen, the same kitchen which now housed a mother and her daughter. 

Sarah: [00:13:01] That was Dia. These days, Dia has been traveling for a research project, collecting biographies on queer youth migration for the UN's, Leave No One Behind strategy, which tries to reduce the inequalities undermining the potential of people all over the world. At the end of her story, Dia put a bright, beautiful marigold behind her ear. 

After our break, two women, one from Eastern Uganda and one from Mumbai, share indelible memories from when they were little girls, when The Moth Radio Hour continues. 

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Jay: [00:13:58] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX.

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Sarah: [00:15:06] This is The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin Jenness. This is an hour all about girlhood. If girls are supported when they're young, they have the potential to change the world. In many cases, girl children are treated differently than boys. But girls remember. And these next two stories are about stark moments that changed the storytellers’ lives and the lives of others. 

We first met Primah Kwagala in a Moth Global Workshop, when she was an Aspen New Voices fellow. This story was recorded at the very end of the short workshop and told in front of an audience of an enthusiastic eight people. Her story takes place in Eastern Uganda. Here's Primah Kwagala. 

[cheers and applause]

Primah: [00:15:54] Thank you. So, my name is Primah Kwagala. Primah means first in Latin and Kwagala is drawn from our traditions in Uganda. It means love. Directly translated, it's first love. I am the first child of my parents. I had a happy childhood. My parents loved me. Many times, I tell people that I must be my parents’ favorite. I used to walk out with my dad for outings. He visited me so many times even when I moved into boarding school. Even when I got to university, I walked arm in arm with my dad. It was weird, because everyone wanted to be independent at the university, but I came with my dad. 

Growing up, my dad was really nice to us. He would come back by 05:00 PM to tell us stories, riddles about our culture and traditions. Even when went to some of the best schools in Uganda, my dad insisted that we must speak our traditional language. We would not speak English back home. Well, some people look at it as a privilege. I remember particularly something I picked as a child, my dad told me that “When addressing men, you need to look at them straight in their eyes. If you're shaking their hands, make it a firm handshake.” So, I grew up strong, and firm and confident at quite an early age. 

However, my world changed when I was about 9 or 10. In the year 1997 on the 24th of December, as is tradition during Christmas season, we go back to the village in the countryside and we pack up all our Sunday best clothes, all of our food and just go out there to celebrate with our grandparents, aunties and uncles and everyone else. So, it's a really good time, because as a child, you're looking forward to playing and learning new games and sharing what you learned from the school year and your report cards. And you don’t get all of these applause from everyone. 

So, when we got in the village, towards the evening, we’re supposed to go and join the rest of the extended family for dinner and also go through what would be happening on the 25th, if at what time we would take breakfast, go to church and all, and I heard from some of my cousins that my dad was going to introduce a new mother to us. Please understand that polygamy is legal in Uganda, and some of my relatives had several wives, but not my dad. You also need to understand that my dad was relatively wealthy, but my mom had five girls. He needed an heir, someone to take after him and inherit his property. In our culture, a girl cannot inherit property. 

So, I was confused. We have a new mother. My parents are an educated lot. What does that mean? I didn't know how my mom would take it. There's a bit of tension. So, when it got to dinner time, my mom asked us to get into her house, she closed the house and gave us strict instructions not to open the door. Well, we had not eaten. We had traveled a long way. I mean, we can't speak to our cousins. We won't see their dresses. What's this? 

Anyway, I was sleeping in my room. That night, she turned out all the lights. I could hear her pacing in the hallway to the front door. My room was just adjacent to the front door. And I was wondering, what's going on? But I know I could brush it off and be like, “Okay, my mom is born again. She is a very radical Christian. So, she was, in my opinion, I thought she was praying and casting out demons, making sure that the other lady does not make it to our doorstep.” Faith in action, strongly doing that. [audience laughter] 

So. I kept wondering, what's going on? But my baby sisters went to sleep, and I just kept hearing her moving in the hallway. Eventually, at about, I think, a little after 09:00 PM, my dad and his army of brothers, he had lots of them because my grandfather had about six wives as well, so there were very many brothers. They came towards our home with their new wife. I think they were escorting him to usher in his wife into the home. 

And when they approached the front door, my dad pounded the door, “Open the door.” He started screaming. My mom was quiet. Now in the dead of the night, everyone is quiet. I was wondering, what's going to happen? “Open the door,” he kept screaming. No sound. So, his brothers joined in, screaming, “Joy, open that door. Open that door.” She couldn't open. Then he moved to my window, my room, and tapped and called out, “Primah, Primah, can you open the door?” So, I got up and went to the door. 

And just as soon as I was about to clutch the doorknob, my mom shouted, “Primah, do not open that door.” I was mortified. I didn't know what was out there, for it was dark. My mom was tough and the bad cop in the home. If I did anything, I wasn't sure what was going to happen to me, and didn't know what was happening to my dad out there. So, I was just stuck and confused between the door and my parents exchanging [unintelligible 00:22:11]. 

Well, my dad had the shout at me from outside. And alongside his brothers, they burst into the door and broke it open and got in. They had a very bitter exchange. I was just looking. My dad had his brothers with him and they were, of course, cheering him. My mom was just crying. I remember clearly my dad telling my mom that, “This is my home. I can do what I want. If you do not want to stay, pack your bags and leave.” And my mom kept saying, “I contributed to this wealth. I contributed to the construction of this house. What becomes of me?” And he said, “You can take the roof and leave.” I was in shock. I had never seen my dad angry. I had never seen my dad express so much frustration and anger. 

And the next day, we packed our bags and left. He didn't come after us. Today, almost two decades later, I'm a human rights lawyer and I've specialized in strategic litigation, which involves providing free legal services and challenging systems. I looked at the system of patriarchy and how it has envisioned women in our community as less than the men, as having men being entitled and the men not so-- I have devoted my work and career towards supporting women to access justice in our community. Thank you.

[cheers and applause]

Sarah: [00:24:09] That was Primah Kwagala. Primah now lives in Kampala, Uganda, and she still works as a lawyer helping other women in her community. I recently gave her a call to talk more. 

Last year, your father died, and I'm sorry to hear that. But that he named heir, and that seems like a dramatic turnaround from the events in the first scene of your story. 

Primah: [00:24:32] I was shocked. My mother was shocked, because she believed he had abandoned us. My dad was such a patriarch. I didn't think he would do anything like that. I knew my dad loved me. But for someone who left us to go find a son, to come back and name his daughter as heir, it was almost impossible to believe, because we had never spoken about this. But through this very final act in life, at least was able to call us back into his family. I feel very proud of him, even in his passing, for being able to do that. 

Sarah: [00:25:14] Well, I know, Primah, that you are a role model for many little girls and that you already have shown many little girls how to grow up in a different way and be like you. Do you think about that? 

Primah: [00:25:28] Yes, I do. I do think about that. I know so many girls in my community that look up to me. They come to me and say that to me all the time. My life, my story, has been more like my superpower. Yes, so I do look at myself as a role model and hold myself to account each day to open space and support another woman walking the same journey as I am. 

Sarah: [00:25:58] To see photos of Primah Kwagala related to this story, visit themoth.org. 

Masooma Ranalvi tells our next story. She's also from a Moth Global Workshop. This one focused on women and girls. And a word of caution, this is about the cultural silence around the traditional practice of female genital cutting, also known as khatna in India. Here's Masooma Ranalvi, live at The Moth. 

Masooma: [00:26:27] Good morning, everybody. 

Unison: [00:26:28] Good morning. 

Masooma: [00:26:31] I was born in the city of Mumbai, which was earlier known as Bombay. It is one of the most populous, and one of the most vibrant and modern cities of India. I was part of a very, very loving, warm, affectionate family. 

My grandmother used to come from her village to Bombay during the summer vacations. One summer, she'd come home and she said, “Let's take you for an outing.” I was very excited, because going out with grandmother, who was an extrovert, was good fun. You know, it meant I'd get chocolates and candies. So, my mother dressed me in my best dress and out I went with grandmother bouncing along with her. 

We went into this area where a large part of my community stays. It's like area where we stay. And she took me into this dark, falling apart, decrepit building. We entered the building, we climbed up the first floor and she knocked at a door. I'm wondering where we are going. This is going to be a fun outing, but where are we? An old lady opens the door and gets into the room. And in our community, we sit down. So, we remove the shoes out and there are rugs and carpets on the floor. 

We go inside the inner room, a curtain is drawn, and we sit down on the floor. And then, grandmother asks me to lie down. I don't know what's happening at that point in time. I'm very, very scared. She gently nudges me, pushes me down on the carpet. I lie down, she's holding me, she's actually pinning me down, holding my shoulders and my hands and the other lady at the other end is holding my legs. She removes my panty. And it's all happened very quickly, I've started to cry, I'm sobbing. 

And this woman, she takes some instrument, whether it's a blade or a knife, and she cuts a part of me from down there. I don't know what it is, but it's a sharp, piercing pain. I even do not have it in me to shout or to scream, but I'm sobbing and I'm crying. Everything else is a blur. I only know from that point I somehow get home. And the first thing I do when I get home is just hug my mom and I cry, and I cry. I'm angry why did my mother send me out with my grandmother. I'm crying and my mother holds me tight and she says, “It's going to be okay.” I don't know anything about what has happened to me. 

The memory of that day has been locked in a box. All the trauma, all this, whatever I went through, and it's been kept away. I have never, ever revisited that. I have never told anybody about that. Till 40 years have passed. It's 2015 now. I have a 20-year-old daughter. I have not cut her. I have shielded her. 

She's studying design in Bangalore, which is another city in India. She has come for vacations. And there is a spate of articles in the newspaper about this practice in our community. She has read about it. She doesn't know much about it and she doesn't know that her cousins and her peers also have been subject to it, because she hasn't been, nor have I ever talked to her about it. I want to tell her about this. I have never spoken to anybody about it. I'm extremely awkward about it. 

One afternoon I sit her down and start the conversation. She senses where it's going and she also doesn't want to hear it, so she's also feeling very squeamish about it. And I start, “When I was seven,” and she says, “Mom, no, I don't want to hear it.” And it's her squeamishness in hearing my story and my awkwardness in telling her the story. It was like it came together. The moment passed, and then she asked me a question, “Why do we still do it?” It was a general question. It was a question directed to the community as such. But it pierced me like an arrow. 

At that moment, I felt ashamed. I felt inadequate and I felt complicit in my silence. I felt that I was perpetuating a dark, dirty secret by my silence. And it was at that moment, in my heart, I knew that I had to speak out and I had to break the silence. And that's what I wanted to do. But the biggest block or the biggest hurdle before me was my ignorance. I didn't know anything about this. I did not even know the word, clitoris. I really did not. Leave alone know what the clitoris does and anything about it. So, my journey into learning about this started. 

And then one day I sat, I opened my laptop, I opened a page and I started writing. I wrote about all those suppressed, repressed emotions, trauma feelings, all that anger, pent up frustrations, put it down in a blog. I eventually got that blog published. And that was the beginning of my journey into activism. And today, I'm here to say that I am very happy that I spoke out. Thank you.

[audience applause]

Sarah: [00:32:33] Masooma Ranalvi lives in Mumbai, India. She's now an instructor with The Moth's Global Workshops and the founder of We Speak Out, the organization which is committed to ending female genital mutilation in India. I recently spoke with Masooma all about this. 

What happened after you told your story? What kind of changes did you make in your life? 

Masooma: [00:32:56] After I got back to India, I was on a high. I had created this beautiful story and I had the courage to say it out loud. After that moment, I did not hesitate in telling my story to people. I started telling my story very proudly, very strongly, and as a result of which, it helped me reach out to so many others, because I started a movement-- In a sense, my story started a movement, it was called We Speak Out. 

There are a lot of women who connected with me at a deeply emotional and a deeply personal level, because this was survivors of FGM who themselves had gone through what I had gone through, who were themselves locked up in this whole conspiracy of silence. And my voice gave them the strength to speak. I did not have the courage to speak for 40 years, but now that I am awake, my eyes are open and I have the power, I have to do something to stop this from happening to other young girls. 

Sarah: [00:34:10] To see photos of Masooma Ranalvi, her sisters and her daughter, and Masooma at the UN engaging in her advocacy work, visit themoth.org. 

Next up, one girl lives through her first kiss, another lives through a moment in US history, when The Moth Radio Hour continues. 

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Jay: [00:34:47] The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by the Public Radio Exchange, prx.org. 

[whimsical music] 

Sarah: [00:35:59] You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin Jenness. In this show, we've been hearing women's stories and the things they learn as little girls. 

The top of the hour, I mentioned that I like to swim. My mother used to tell this one particular story about me over and over. When I was five, she walked me into the YMCA for me to start swimming lessons. And by the time she was back at the car, there I was next to her wanting to go home. I said, “I'm quitting. Someone splashed me.” And my mother said, “You are walking right back in there and you are learning to swim. You're going to get splashed, but you will come out a swimmer.” And I did. 

And a year later, mom and I were walking on the beach in Huntington, Long Island, and we saw a bunch of older girls about to start a swim race to a dock far out in the bay. I walked right up to the organizer, a total stranger, and I asked if I could swim with the big girls in the race. She said, “Sure, but these girls are much older than you.” And I said, “All right.” 

And my mother watched as I got right in and swam to the far dock and back. I placed last, but I did it. And I remember feeling so bold and proud of myself. They gave me a little swimmer's trophy, a trophy I still have on my desk 30 years later. My mom is not here to tell her point of view, but I can hear her spirit laughing. And yes, you can see pictures of little me and the swimming trophy at themoth.org. 

Eve Engel tells our next story. She's a graduate of The Moth's Education Program. Here's Eve Engel, live at The Moth in Beacon High School. 

[cheers and applause]

Eve: [00:37:50] So here I was, like any good young Jew on my first teen trip to Israel. I was so excited, because every second of this trip was planned. The itinerary was beautiful. I love that because I'm this compulsive daydreamer, this neurotic over planner. I think and think about things in my head a lot and how I want them to be. So, this really excited me. But the one thing I didn't plan on was meeting a guy on this trip. It was hilarious, because what happened was I met this guy, Danny. We would sit next to each other on bus rides and entertain each other with really bad, “That's What She Said Jokes”, really mature. We did that and we bonded. 

But the one thing we didn't do was kiss, because the thing was, is that it was going to be my first kiss and I wanted it to be perfect. I didn't know how it was going to be perfect, but I knew it had to be and I knew the one way it wasn't going to be was if I kissed him first. He had to be the one to do it. So, this brings us to the end of the trip. The trip started in Israel and then it ended in this Christian retreat center in New Jersey, of all places. [audience laughter] And it was my birthday. It was my birthday and it was the best day. They threw me a surprise party and it was just so amazing. I kept thinking to myself, the only thing that could make this day better is if I had my perfect first kiss. So, I keep waiting to see if he'll do it. 

And then we get to after this bonfire at night and he says, “Hey, you want to go for a walk?” And I'm like, “Okay.” [audience laughter] And so, then, he brings us to this gazebo. I see this gazebo and I know what happens in gazebos. [audience laughter] Romantic first kisses happen in gazebos. [audience laughter] So, I was so excited. So, I sat down. I keep, like, we have this awkward silence and I keep waiting for him to just kiss me. But he keeps looking at his watch and I'm like, “Okay, we're not on the same page maybe.” 

But I couldn't even be bothered, because I was having such a good day. I was wearing this white dress that made me feel really pretty, and the gazebo had twinkly lights over it, which was really romantic. It was that kind of cool summer night where you could just smell it. I was so happy. And then, finally, he looks up from his watch, he kisses me, he pulls back, shows me his watch and it reads 11:59 and 59 seconds, and he says, “Happy birthday.” 

And I was like, “Oh.” Because I was like, “I see your romantic gesture.” [audience laughter] Like, “I see what you did there.” [audience laughter] But the thing was, is that this kiss was so underwhelming, [audience laughter] I didn't know what to do about it. I didn't know what I did wrong. I was freaking out. I was having this out of body experience. And it was midnight, so we had to go back to our cabin. So, he dropped me off at my cabin and he kisses me good night and I just walk up the stairs and I'm crying, because it was my first kiss. 

And something didn't go right. It didn't feel perfect. And so, I go to my counselor's room, and I'm crying and I just tell her everything. I say how it was my first kiss and something was wrong and I don't know what I did wrong. And she goes, “Honey, first kisses are supposed to be awkward. First everythings are supposed to be awkward.” Well, that just blew my mind [audience laughter] that I could think and think and plan. And things weren't going to come out the way they were in my head. And that was such a liberating feeling. 

And the great thing was that the next time that I kissed someone, it was so unplanned. It was on a Monday night, and I had to rush home to do a math project, and I was on a subway platform and I kissed him first. And I swear it lasted like this long, but it was perfect. Thank you. 

[cheers and applause]

Sarah: [00:42:59] Eve Engel is a preschool teacher living in Brooklyn, and the very counselor who gave her the advice in her story is now a colleague of Eve's. 

Juliette Holmes tells our final story in this hour about a memorable lesson she learned when she was six growing up in Savannah. She told this at a GrandSLAM in New York City, where WNYC is a media partner of The Moth. Here's Juliette Holmes. 

Juliette: [00:43:37] I grew up in Savannah, Georgia, in the deep, deep South. Savannah was like all segregated apartheid cities with the doors to restaurants, movie theaters, bathrooms, water fountains, had Jim Crow signs, barring colored people. In Savannah, this particular year, it was a very, very hot spring. And my mama told us on a Saturday morning that we were going to go shopping at Sears Roebuck. [gasps] We were so excited, my sister and me. 

We got dressed. And my mother would always say to us, “Girls, you know how to act.” She never used the word, behave. “Yes, Mama, we know how to act. Yes, Mama, we know how to act.” “And the next thing I want you to do is to drink a glass of water, go to the bathroom, flush the toilet and wash your hands.” My sister, who was older, [gasps] she was so annoyed, but of course, she didn't let my mama hear it. “Why is it that we always have to drink a glass of water, go to the bathroom, flush the toilet and wash our hands?” 

By me being younger and wanted to be like my sister, I would say, “mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.” [audience laughter] But we didn't let mama hear us, okay? So, mama got her pocketbook. We were all dressed. She locked the door, put that pocketbook under her arm and off we went to get on the bus. We walked to the bus stop. My mama paid the fare, we got on and we went straight to the back of the bus, the assigned seats. My sister sat with my mama. I wanted to sit by myself, so I could look out the window. 

Oh, I was just so happy looking out of the window at all of the sights. The bus stopped later, and one of my classmates got on and she sat right next to me. “What she wants to sit next to me for?” [audience laughter] I want to look out the window. I don't want to talk to her. [audience laughter] So, she was talking and I was looking, mm-hmm, mm-hmm. [audience laughter] “Well, Juliette, I'll see you in school Monday”. “Okay. Bye.” Good girl.” [audience laughter] I was like that when I was a little girl. Yeah, right. Okay. 

So, the bus went on. My mother rang the bell. We got off the bus and walked across the street to Sears Roebuck. Sears was a big store block long with three stories. Big store. Everybody was excited about Sears Roebuck. My mama went in. We went into the store, we walked straight to the back of the store, got on the elevator. Now, mind you, the elevators weren't segregated. First come, first serve. My mama mashed the button, got off in the women's apartment and she started to shop. 

Looking, pushing, looking, looking. And my sister, the drama queen, “[gasps] What's the matter?” “I am so thirsty.” “I am too. I'm thirsty too.” [audience laughter] “Mama. Mama.” “Yes,” “I'm thirsty.” [audience laughter] And my mama gave her a look that we know the look, mm-hmm. [audience laughter] And she kept right on looking-looking. So, I said, “[gasps] Mama, there's the sign says colored water. Colored water. Oh, Mama, I want some of that colored water, because I know must be rainbows. Red and blue and green. Oh, Mama.” 

And my mama looked at us and she said-- She didn't say anything. She walked over to the fountains, one was white water, colored water and she stood and she said, “Betty Ann, drink from the white fountain.” “Oh, Mama's nice and cool. Tastes good.” “Now, drink from the colored fountain.” “Oh, Mama, it's nice and cool.” Now, I'm looking for all these colors to come out, but no colors. “Juliette, you drink from the white fountain.” “Oh, Mama, it's nice and cool.” “Now, drink from the colored fountain.” “Mama, but it tastes the same.” She said, “Yes, it tastes the same, because it comes out the same pipes.” “Well, Mama, why do they have those signs?” “That's the law.” “Well, who made the law?” She said, “That is how it is.” 

Now, I don't think my mama bought anything. We walked across the street, got on the bus, and she paid the fare and we sat on the very last seat on the bus. She sat and she hugged both of her two little colored girls. And as I look back on that day in Sears Roebuck, I wonder my mama put her life on the line for her two little colored girls, because she could have been arrested, put in jail, beaten. But that is how it was in Savannah, Georgia in 1947. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. 

[cheers and applause] 

Sarah: [00:50:41] That was Juliette Holmes. Juliette is in her 80s now, and she's lived in New York for many years. But she says her heart will never leave the low country of Savannah, where she was born and raised. When I called to tell her this story was going to air, she cried. She said, “My mother took her life into her hands to teach us the truth. She was ahead of her time. I didn't realize we lived in the segregated world, because my mom always told me I could be anything I wanted.” 

Juliette has two granddaughters, one named Savannah. And she says, “I teach them lessons just like my mother taught me.” To see a photo of Juliette, her sister Betty Ann and their mother all shopping in Savannah in the 1940s, go to themoth.org. 

That's it for this episode of The Moth Radio Hour. We hope you'll join us next time. 

[overture music]

Jay: [00:51:46] This episode of The Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, Catherine Burns and Sarah Austin Jenness, who also hosted and directed the stories in the show along with Meg Bowles and Jenifer Hixson. Coproducer is Viki Merrick. Associate producer, Emily Couch. Additional Moth Global Community Program coaching by Kendi Ntwiga and Larry Rosen.

The rest of The Moth leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Kate Tellers, Jennifer Birmingham, Marina Klutse, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Inga Glodowski, Sarah Jane Johnson and Aldi Kaza. The Moth would like to thank the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and UN Women for their support of The Moth Global Community Program.

Moth Stories are true, as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers. Our theme music is by the Drift. Other music in this hour from Blue Dot Sessions, Regina Carter and Strawberry Girls. We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. 

The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. And presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.