by Janu,Tamsin
‘I’m not sick.’
‘But sometimes you can be sick without knowing it,’ Nana said. ‘Maybe you have a terrible disease!’
‘I don’t.’
‘Then why can’t you be in the movie? You’re being silly.’
Nana walked off and I followed him, taking his arm again and turning him around.
‘You have to be beautiful to be in a movie!’ I said.
‘You are beautiful, Figgy. Bellissima.’
‘I’m not the right kind of beautiful.’ I jammed my hands on my hips. ‘One-eyed girls are not in movies.’
Nana made a raspberry noise. ‘I never even notice that you only have one eye.’
‘That’s because you know me! Why would those Obrunis choose me for the movie when they could choose a pretty two-eyed girl instead?’
I could imagine the other girls who would be auditioning. Standing in a line, all tall, wearing nice clothes and without any missing body parts. They would probably have long braids in their hair too. And I would be standing at the end of the line with my short braids, only one eye and wearing my tunic that has a black mark on the hem because once Kwesi used it to polish his shoes.
Nana tapped his chin. ‘Maybe having one eye will help you get the part.’
My mouth dropped open. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You are supposed to be playing an orphan, yes?’
I nodded.
‘A poor orphan that the Obruni lady adopts?’
I nodded again. My script said I had to be very sad.
‘For the movie they will want someone who looks poor, like an orphan. Lots of orphans have things wrong with them, like you.’
Nana had lived at an orphanage a few years ago, so he knew about this sort of thing.
‘At the orphanage, my friend James had a strange-shaped foot, so he limped when he walked. And there was a girl with a big red lump on her head. And a baby boy who had no left arm.’
I was thankful I was not that boy. It would be difficult to have only one arm. Much more difficult than having only one eye. And I was beginning to see Nana’s point; maybe the fact I was missing an eye could help me to get picked for the movie.
I felt slightly less nervous as Nana and I ran the rest of the way to school.
My audition was held at the village hall we use for Sunday church. My family and I spent the taxi ride over there pinching our noses and fighting for window seats so we could get some fresh air. Kwesi had been swimming at the lake just before we left and he really stank.
After we arrived Grandma Ama led Kwesi to the water pump and drenched him with water, to lessen the smell. Kwesi was happy to be wet – it was a hot day. When no one was watching Esi got wet too. Even though she was wearing a new dress. Grandma Ama yelled at us after that, and said if anyone else got wet she would send us home with Uncle Philmond.
Nana whispered in my ear. ‘I’m hot. Do you think Grandma Ama will send me home if I get just a tiny bit wet?’
‘Probably.’
‘Even if I take my shirt off first?’
I shrugged. ‘I think so. She seems serious about it.’
Nana sighed but then patted my shoulder. ‘I won’t get wet, then. Even though I am so sweaty my clothes are sticking to my skin. I wouldn’t leave you on the most important day of your life.’
Unlike everyone else, I was not hot. I kept shivering. Uncle Philmond said it was because I was nervous.
I watched as more families gathered around the hall, all accompanied by a girl around my age. I recognised a few girls from my village, but there were others I had never met before. Some had travelled far. Grandma Ama spoke to a family who had caught a bus from Accra, and Perpetua talked to a little girl who had come from Tamale, a town up north.
Some families looked rich. Two girls arrived in their own cars, and one girl wore a pink, sparkly dress that Esi said made her eyes hurt. I tried not to let their wealthiness worry me. As Nana said, they might not want fancy rich girls in the movie. Orphans don’t have cars or sparkly dresses.
When the doors to the hall opened I hugged my family and followed the other girls inside. Six Obrunis sat on a wooden bench up the front. The fat Obruni, David, was speaking into his phone while eating an ice-cream that was melting all over his hand.
Joel motioned for us to sit on the ground in front of him. He caught my eye and gave me a little wave.
The girl sitting to my right nudged my arm. Her hair was plaited in long braids and decorated with coloured beads. ‘What’s wrong with your eye?’
‘I burned it when I was a baby, so it had to be taken out,’ I said.
I hugged my knees to my chest while the girl scratched her head. My friend Felicia says long braids can make your head itchy.
‘It looks strange,’ the girl said. ‘And ugly.’
Tears welled up in my eye. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’
The girl shrugged and scratched her head again. ‘I’m just telling the truth.’
I moved to sit next to a girl from my village. Maybe Nana was wrong. Maybe I was too ugly and poor to be in a movie.
Joel introduced Melanie to us as the movie’s lead actress. Melanie’s shiny hair was piled in a bunch on top of her head and she was wearing blue shorts that Grandma Ama would say were not an appropriate length for a moral woman. At first I thought she was chewing sugar cane, like my uncle Philmond does. But you have to spit sugar cane out after a while because it becomes tough and its sweetness is gone. Melanie didn’t spit; she kept chewing and chewing. Eventually one of the girls whispered that what she was chewing was gum.
The girls took turns saying their lines with Melanie at the front of the room. Some of the girls were very good. And I was still upset about what the rude girl had said about my eye. So by the time it was my turn I was shaking and almost crying and I wanted to hug Grandma Ama.
But I needed a career. Nana, Perpetua, Jeffenick and even Kwesi knew what job they would have. This was my chance to find something.
I stood in front of Melanie and smiled.
‘Good afternoon, Madame,’ I said.
Melanie said hello, in an annoyed kind of way, and fanned her face with her papers. Her face was very red – she must have been hot. And she was probably bored with saying the same lines over and over again.
It was then I remembered the candy in my pocket that Nana had given me, the one Grandma Ama had told me not to eat until after supper. It was a bit squashed, but it would still taste nice. Maybe a candy would make Melanie happier. I held it out to her.
‘Would you like to eat this? It is very sweet and will give you energy.’
Melanie wiped her forehead. ‘I feel too sick to eat,’ she said. ‘It’s so hot in here. I need some water.’
The candy was still balancing on my outstretched palm as Melanie walked away.
‘I don’t think she wants the candy,’ David said. He had finished his ice-cream and was wiping his sticky hands with a wet rag. ‘She doesn’t like sweets. But I’ll eat it!’
I hesitated. David had just eaten an ice-cream. Grandma Ama never lets us have candy straight after we eat ice-cream – it isn’t healthy. But David was an adult, and he was fat already, so I decided that one candy wouldn’t make a big difference. I put the candy in his hand and he grinned.
Melanie returned a few minutes later holding a bottle of water. Her face was still bright red. ‘Let’s hurry up before I collapse completely,’ she said.
I said my lines just how Nana and I had practised them. My voice was a bit shaky, but when I finished Joel gave me a thumbs up, so I was quite proud of myself.
When all the girls had finished we were told to wait outside the hall. Uncle Philmond had taken Kwesi and Esi home, but Grandma Ama was talking to a neighbour and Perpetua and Nana were playing a drawing game in the dirt. Nana was telling Perpetua that when he is the President of Ghana, every school will have its own aeroplane so that Ghanaian kids can travel all over The World.
I was so nervous,
I drew my name over and over again in the dirt until a man leaned over and asked me what a ‘Figgy’ was.
The Obrunis finally came out of the hall. Melanie was not with them. I hoped she had gone home to sleep. With a cold cloth on her forehead. Grandma Ama says that everyone gets grumpy when they are hot and tired.
As the families gathered around Joel stepped in front of the other Obrunis.
‘What’s wrong with his hair?’ Grandma Ama whispered.
‘Thank you for coming,’ Joel said, opening his arms wide. ‘The auditions were truly fantastic. But there can be only one little lass in our movie …’
Perpetua was gripping one of my hands, Nana the other. Grandma Ama’s hands were on my shoulders. She leaned down to whisper in my ear. ‘Are you sure this man is safe?’
Nana and Perpetua shushed her, and Grandma Ama was giving them a lecture on the importance of respecting one’s elders when I heard my name. Lots of eyes whipped to me and Nana let go of my hand, putting both his hands over his mouth.
‘Figgy?’ Joel said, his eyes searching for me in the crowd. ‘Ah, there you are. Come over here so everyone can see our star!’
I felt like I was floating when I walked to the front and shook the hands of the Obrunis. Then someone was taking photos, and Perpetua and Nana almost broke my ribs because they hugged me so tightly, and Grandma Ama kissed me on the head and said she was very proud. David gave Grandma Ama lots of forms and instructions while Nana cartwheeled all over the place and kicked an Obruni’s car by mistake.
When we got home Perpetua and Nana ran inside to tell everyone but I waited while Grandma Ama paid the taxi driver. She pulled her wooden cane from the back seat and patted my cheek.
‘Are you happy?’ she said.
I nodded. Of course I was happy. But there was someone I wanted to talk to about the movie. Before anyone else.
‘Grandma Ama?’
‘Yes, Figgy?’
‘I’m ready to meet my mama.’
CHAPTER 5
FAMOUS
It was growing dark by the time I was clean and ready. I walked over to Adwoa’s house by myself, wearing my best dress. Grandma Ama usually only lets me wear it on Sundays, for church, but she didn’t tell me to change. She knew that I wanted to look nice for Mama. Grandma Ama says that making a good first impression is very important.
Adwoa met me at the door and led me inside. Her husband was asleep on a rug in the living room. I stepped around him (Adwoa nudged his tummy with her foot, which made him grunt and roll over) and we entered a small room to our right. At first I thought the bed was empty. But when Adwoa spoke, the covers moved and someone asked for help. Adwoa grabbed two pillows from the corner of the room. After fluffing them up she placed them at the bed head, next to the wall. Then she gripped the woman in the bed under her arms and lifted her into a sitting position, resting her back against the pillows. After kissing me on the head, Adwoa left the room.
I had my first look at Mama.
She looked different to how I had imagined. She was so thin and bony. And her forehead was creased in a permanent frown. She kneaded her face with her palm, as if trying to smooth out her wrinkles. Her hair was frizzy and patchy, so I could see parts of her scalp, and she only had a few teeth. The teeth left over were chipped and yellow. She looked old. Grandma Ama was much prettier.
She wiggled a finger, letting me know that I should come closer. I sat on the chair next to the bed. I wasn’t sure what to do with my hands, so I fiddled with the end of the sash tied around my waist.
She finally spoke. Her voice was croaky and soft. ‘You are beautiful.’
‘Thank you, Mama,’ I said.
I looked at my mama’s round tummy. A baby was growing in there. Mama took my hand and placed it on her bump. Then she put her own hand on top of mine. My hand was cold, so Mama rubbed the back of it with her palm. I couldn’t feel the baby but it was nice to be so close to it, and to be close to Mama. We sat like that for a while, in silence.
Adwoa eventually took me home. When I left I gave Mama a little wave.
I hadn’t told Mama about my audition and the movie. I didn’t feel like it. I would have to visit again, so I could let her know.
While my cousins slept and Grandma Ama and Uncle Philmond cleaned the kitchen, Nana and I whispered in bed about my mama. Nana had his head propped up on his hand and I was lying on my back, looking up at the ceiling. The ceiling fan was very wobbly, and looked as if it might fall at any second. I decided to tell Grandma Ama about it in the morning; maybe Adwoa’s husband would fix it for not much money. If the fan fell it would crush little Esi, who was sleeping underneath it. That would be tragic.
‘What did you talk about?’ Nana said.
I turned my head to look at him. ‘Nothing. We only said a few words.’
Nana raised his eyebrows. He loves talking. I didn’t expect him to understand that Mama and I, on our first meeting, just wanted to sit together.
Nana flopped on to his back.
‘Your mama is a nice lady,’ he said. ‘She told me I will be a good President. But you can see in her face that she has had a hard life.’
I agreed. Mama’s face was sunken and leathery. It looked like the faces of the poor people who live on the streets around my village and hold out grubby plastic cups for people to put coins in.
‘But she has us now,’ Nana continued. ‘We will love her. And the baby when it comes. So she will be better and happier soon.’
I hoped so. I didn’t know why my mama had left me when I was a baby, or why she had come back. But I thought I could grow to love her anyway.
We waved goodbye to Uncle Philmond before school the next day. He was travelling back to Accra on a tro tro (tro tros are minibuses that Ghanaians use to get around). Nana, Kwesi and I ran after the tro tro until we couldn’t keep up with it any more.
Everyone was sad and quiet as we walked to school. Everyone except Nana, who wouldn’t stop talking about a man who had come to my audition whose mama was born in Egypt. As soon as we reached the playground my cousins ran off to join their friends. And about ten kids of all different ages surrounded me and Nana.
‘Is it true you are going to be in a movie, Figgy?’ said the biggest boy.
I wasn’t surprised the news about my movie had spread so quickly. Grandma Ama had been telling anyone who would listen.
I nodded and the children gasped. The littlest one jumped up and down, her braids bouncing with her.
The big boy scrabbled around in the bag hanging off his shoulder, and pulled out a scrunched piece of paper and a pencil. He hastily smoothed out the paper with his hands.
‘Can I have your autograte?’ he said.
I screwed up my face. ‘What’s an autograte?’
‘An autograph,’ Nana said, shaking his head at the boy’s mistake, ‘is when famous people sign their name on a piece of paper.’
What a strange idea. ‘But I’m not famous.’
‘You will be,’ Nana said. ‘You’re going to be a movie star.’
‘Why would someone want my name on a piece of paper? I don’t even have neat writing.’
‘It is proof they have met you.’
The boy nodded. ‘I have never met a famous person.’
Across the playground I could see my friends playing a running game. I wanted to join them. So to get rid of the children surrounding me I reached out to take the boy’s pencil and paper.
But Nana grabbed my hand before I could, whispering that he had a ‘very clever’ idea.
‘Figgy will sign autographs at break time,’ he said loudly. ‘Right now she has more important things to do.’
The crowd of children looked at us in shock as Nana led me through the playground, towards our friends. I pulled my hand from his.
‘That was rude, Nana. I don’t mind signing my name.’
Nana was grinning, his hands in his pockets. ‘It wasn’t rude! Famous people can’t give away autographs for free!’
‘Because you have to use your fame for something good. We will ask everyone to pay ten pesewas for your autograph. Then we will give the money to Grandma Ama.’
‘What would she do with the money? Grandma Ama doesn’t like to take money from other people.’ She says that her pride forbids it.
Nana shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t spend the money on herself. She could use it to buy school books for Jeffenick’s family.’
It would be good if Grandma Ama could buy more school books. She only had two, and one was so old it was held together with tape and string. And kids do bring money to my school because sometimes women sell pancakes and popcorn during break time.
‘But will people pay money just for my name?’
Nana waved to Osagyefo, and asked if he would pay ten pesewas for my autograph. Osagyefo’s face lit up. ‘Of course! Figgy is going to be a real movie star! Will you sell them during the break? I will tell everyone!’ And he ran off.
Nana gave me his ‘I told you so’ look and ran after Osagyefo.
I had never thought that being in a movie would make me so popular. Or that it would turn my messy handwriting into something people would pay for.
At break time I signed my name on little bits of paper, one after another, until my wrist hurt. While I signed Perpetua tried to keep everyone who was waiting in a straight line, and Nana stood next to me holding a metal cup, smiling every time someone dropped in a coin. It was embarrassing, but also exciting, to be getting so much attention. By the end of break time I was feeling rather pleased with myself.
After school Nana and I gave the cup of coins to Grandma Ama, and she kissed our cheeks. Then Nana and I visited my mama and told her about my movie and the money we had made. Mama smiled but her eyes kept drooping. I don’t think she heard everything we said.
CHAPTER 6
OFF TO THE BEACH
My first movie rehearsal involved doing acting games with Joel, at his house. Joel had a rich house with running water and electricity. While we were eating lunch he told me that he came from Scotland, a country which has lots of sheep and where people eat something called haggis instead of yams.