Description

It was a completely normal Saturday afternoon when Jo pulled up outside Müge’s house. The windows were down. The bass was up. WAY up. Jo was sitting approximately three centimetres from the steering wheel, wearing sunglasses, nodding aggressively to 90s hip-hop. Müge opened the passenger door. “Why are you sitting like that?” Jo slowly lowered her sunglasses. “Müge. Get in.” “Where are we going?” “Doesn't matter.” “Jo, I have children.” “So did Tupac's mother.” Müge paused. Fair point. She got in. Within four minutes, the two women had completely forgotten they were middle-aged mothers living in Perth. In their minds, they were now cruising through Compton. In reality, they were approaching a roundabout in Joondalup. Jo turned the music up. Müge started rapping along confidently. Neither of them knew all the lyrics. This did not stop them. They simply replaced the missing words with: “YEAH.” “UH.” “COME ON.” “WEST SIIIIDE.” At the traffic lights, a 19-year-old pulled up beside them. He looked over. Jo looked back. Müge looked back. Nobody moved. Finally Müge whispered, “Jo… stop staring at him.” “I’m not staring.” “You absolutely are.” “He challenged us.” “He's delivering Uber Eats.” The light turned green. Jo accelerated. At a perfectly legal speed. “WE GOT HIM!” she screamed. “We absolutely did NOT get him. He turned left.” Twenty minutes later they arrived at the shops. Jo walked through the car park with a slight swagger. Müge noticed. “Why are you walking like that?” “Like what?” “Like Snoop Dogg.” “This is how I always walk.” “No it isn't. I've known you for years. You normally walk like you're late for an appointment.” Jo stopped. “Müge.” “What?” “You've changed.” “WHAT?!” “Success has changed you.” “What success?!” “I don't know yet.” They entered the shopping centre. A hip-hop song started playing quietly through the speakers. Both women froze. They looked at each other. Jo raised one eyebrow. Müge whispered, “Don't.” Jo's shoulder moved. “Jo.” The other shoulder moved. “JO.” Too late. Jo was dancing. Müge lasted approximately four seconds before joining her. Two teenagers walked past. One whispered, “What are those ladies doing?” Jo heard him. She stopped dancing. “Ladies?” Müge grabbed her arm. “Keep walking.” “LADIES?!” “JO. WE ARE LITERALLY LADIES.” “I was prepared for aunties. But ladies was disrespectful.” They eventually sat down for coffee. Jo took a sip. She looked thoughtful. “Müge?” “Yeah?” “Do you ever feel like people look at us and don't realise we're Black?” Müge stared at her. “Jo.” “What?” “We're not Black.” Jo looked genuinely offended. “Speak for yourself.” “JO.” “It's spiritual.” “That isn't how ethnicity works.” “Music doesn't see colour, Müge.” “That sentence doesn't mean what you think it means.” Jo leaned back. “You've forgotten where you came from.” “Türkiye?” “No.” “Singapore?” “No.” “Where then?” Jo pointed dramatically toward the shopping-centre speakers. “The streets.” Müge looked around. They were sitting outside Kmart. “Jo, the closest street is Grand Boulevard.” “Exactly.” There was silence. Then Müge nodded. “West side.” Jo raised her coffee. “West side.” They clinked cups. And somewhere, somehow, Tupac felt a disturbance in the universe