Jagua Nana

by Cyprian Ekwensi

  At the counter he saw a sergeant making entries in a fat book.

  ‘I wan’ to see Jagua, Sergeant.’

  ‘You tink I playin’?’ the sergeant said. He looked up and waved his pen at the others on the counter, ‘All of you, see dis man, who tink I come here for play. Man, go siddown till is you turn. Ha, ha! Dis be Charge Office, not school!’

  A young woman in the corner of the smelly room seemed to be making a statement which Freddie had interrupted. She stood away from the counter which ran across the room and began bawling swear words at the young police constable, who ignored her and kept on writing steadily. Freddie observed at once that other constables were deriving some lecherous satisfaction from the young woman’s behaviour. She had a defiant twinkle in her eye, her breath smelled of alcohol and her blouse – one arm of which had been torn in some scuffle – slouched over a naked young breast with a dare-devil abandon that could not but be comical. She seemed by her manner to be conscious of the power of her femaleness over the males in the khaki uniforms.

  Freddie stared at this ragged woman who confronted him with the eternal struggle to live, so tragic in the lower reaches of Lagos life. She must be a ‘habitual’, Freddie concluded from the brusque manner in which all the men mocked her. He was interrupted by the loud voice of the sergeant who took him to the back of the Charge Office where the cells were. The strong smell of human urine hit his nostrils in the warm air. It seemed to hang in invisible walls of mist along the corridors.

  By this time it was nearly midnight and some of the ‘prisoners’ had already accepted their fate and were lying on the cold cement floor, no bed, no pillow and rolling in their own excrements. But Jagua was wide awake. Freddie saw her standing behind bars, and looking directly at him with an animal muteness not unlike the face he had just visualized in his own darkened room. This was his mistress, and this squalor all came along with the kind of life she had chosen. He felt a mixture of shame, grief and pity. He wished that no one would recognize or identify him. He could not say a word as the big key rattled in the lock and Jagua, subdued and silent, her head swathed in bandages, came out and walked away with him after all the papers had been signed and the undertakings given.

  Freddie was downcast. Jagua would yet see him in even less reputable places. How often had they quarrelled over her madness at the Tropicana? Once there, she became transformed into a she-devil. What angered him now was that her face showed not even a glimmer of distress. She seemed ready for more.

  ‘Why you fight, Jagua?’ Freddie asked when they got back to her room. Jagua was taking off her clothes as if they were already contaminated. Even in his anger the sensual feeling was creeping in on Freddie. Her skin was silken and paler than her face, especially at the back of her neck and sloping down her back beneath the arms. There were no collarbones to be seen when she faced him, and when she turned her back at him, stepping out of her clothes, the voluptuousness of her big moulded hips seduced him and made his anger sharpen at his own weakness for her. ‘You no wan’ to answer me? Why you fight?’

  She was nonchalantly lighting a cigarette now, and Freddie watched her put it to her lips and draw in a deep one. ‘Why you sen’ for me? I don’ tell you make we lef’ de Tropicana. Yes, I tell you make we lef’ but you done see de Syrian man and you tink you kin get money from him. So you disgrace me. Instead you get money now, you goin’ to pay fine or get into de white college for assault … you see?’

  When she had had her bath and combed out her hair she came and took him to bed and whispered to him. She would not be bad any more. ‘True, Freddie, ah mean it dis time.’

  She cuddled him and kissed him, and mothered him, bubbling over with love as she always did whenever she knew she was in the wrong and wanted to be restored to his favour.

  ‘I goin’ to return proper to mah trade. Ah already arrange to speak wid de manager of de company. He goin’ to open branch shop for me, where I kin sell Accra and velvet cloth and lace. When ah pay security, de shop will be under my control.’

  Freddie made a face to show her he was not convinced. Jagua had always promised to be good, to settle down, to open a retail shop and engage in petty trading, mainly cotton-wax prints. He knew she had already made some money in the cloth trade, selling Georgettes and Damasks, and sheer brilliant Manchester prints – the kind which girls like Nancy tied skirt-wise over blouses. Jagua knew the West Coast of Africa from Gambia to Lagos, with Ghana as a kind of Parisian centre of fashion. Before Freddie met her she used to travel regularly to Ghana and beyond, buying there and selling in Lagos. It was partly one reason why they called her Jagua. She had style. Whenever she put on anything it became the fashion in Lagos, and the girls and women came flocking to her and wanting to know where the article had come from. Then she would go into the room and produce the material and more women would hear about it and come too. During that time Jagua was well known to all the Customs men and the Border Police. What had happened to her Freddie could not say. Sometimes she talked of going to Onitsha by the Niger. There she hoped to become one of the Merchant Princesses who controlled tens of thousands of pounds. Freddie had an idea that she was capable of doing it, but she would not leave Lagos. Or while in Lagos she would not exert herself. It was three years now since she had been to Ghana. The Tropicana had sapped all her energy. She seemed to be one of those women who are always trying to prove to men that they are still young. And to do so, she must always remain focused in their sights. Going away from the social centre might make them forget her.

  Freddie soon learnt what had happened in the Tropicana after he had left. Jagua told him that Mama Nancy had come in and had lured away the Syrian gentleman from her. He rightly belonged to her, but why should Mama Nancy come and claim him when – that night – he had decided to change over to Jagua. Freddie was so irritated with her story that he cut her short halfway through.

  ‘You know sometin’?’ Jagua confided now. ‘Freddie I sorry for wat happen. I shame too much. If I tell you I no shame, I tellin’ you lie. So I begin tink, as I lay down in de cell. If to say ah get me own man!’

  Freddie grunted. He was used to these fits of repentance.

  ‘If to say ah get me own man like you, Freddie. I mean – not jus’ lover, but man forever! Den people will point and say, “Das Freddie Namme, husband of Jagwa.” Oh, my heart will full up with proud. I no go care anythin’.’

  ‘Why den, Jagwa? You keep findin’ trouble. I already tol’ you, le’s leave de Tropicana. I tol’ you I been tryin’ to read de law, so I kin pass all de exam and become a man. You won’ let me learn. Always findin’ trouble for me. How I kin get peace of min’?’

  ‘No worry, Freddie. I goin’ to sen’ you to England. If you don’ find peace of min’ dere, den. God don’t say make you become lawyer. I goin’ to send you to England so you kin read proper law in de inns of court!’

  Freddie’s smile was tolerant. ‘Nonsense! You jus’ jokin’, Jagwa. You not goin’ to sen’ me to England with you own money. You got odder thing to do wid de money.’

  ‘Ah got odder thing to do, but sendin’ you is de best of all. I goin’ to send you to Englan’; and you goin’ to return and marry your Jagwa. Yes, Freddie. I wan’ me own man now. Dem insult me too much. But as you is only a poor teacher you no reach yet for marry Jagwa woman. You mus’ go train yousself to be proper man … Den I kin born chil’ for you. An’ you kin look after me, in me old age.’

  ‘So you sendin’ me to Englan’ to return an’ marry you?’

  ‘Ah got anodder reason. I hear say Mama Nancy, she want to bluff me. She say she sendin’ her own young man to Englan’, so he too kin return an’ marry her.’

  ‘Oh! …’ Freddie turned in the bed and faced the wall. He really had no wish to marry Jagua. As a mistress she was brilliant, but he could not imagine her as a wife, when young ones like Nancy were available.

  Jagua pressed her lips against his ears, and her arms enfolded him in a soft embrace. ‘I goin’ to sen�
� you to England, so you kin come back and marry me.’

  Freddie did not share the delight she felt in the underlying condition.

  6

  As the weeks slipped by, Freddie began to see signs that Jagua meant every word. How she surmounted most of the hurdles the Government placed in the way of the private, ill-equipped but ambitious student he never could tell. The Nigerian Government regarded the student ‘adventuring to England’ with the same dark frown that the French Government viewed the globe-trotting fool attempting to cross the Sahara on a pedal-bicycle.

  Jagua revealed that she had some money saved up from her cloth trade in Ghana and this money she now drew liberally. She paid for Freddie’s dinners at the Inns, transferred enough money to pay Freddie’s rent for one year and clothe him and buy him books.

  Life began to acquire a new meaning for Freddie when, after months and months of waiting for letters from the immigration and the shipping authorities, they told him he would be travelling on a Norwegian cargo boat. The journey would be slow and long, but the food would be a compensation, he was assured. The sailing date was not definite – they still had a lot of cargo to take on board; and for this reason, Freddie could not tear himself away from Lagos and journey to his native Bagana in the East to say goodbye to his friends and relatives. He particularly wanted to see his mother, and if Jagua also wanted to be introduced to his parents, what harm could that do?

  But Jagua herself could not readily leave Lagos now. She was still on bail, and when eventually her case came up Freddie saw her fined thirty shillings and warned to keep the peace. After that, not enough time was left for journeying to Bagana, and besides they had not been able to include the visit in their plans.

  About a week to sailing time, the news leaked out among Freddie’s friends, who pinned him down to a nightmare of farewell parties. He had even less time for anything else. Many were the nights when he put on his baggy velvet trousers and fez and in the warm humid air sat down and listened to speeches by his friends. He was, they said, a good example to Africa in thus ‘seeking the Golden Fleece of Knowledge and Leadership’. Nigeria’s future salvation depended on such trained people, they claimed. Looking at the speaker’s eyes, Freddie knew he was speaking what he believed. In a way he knew that all his friends identified him with their own secret ambitions to study abroad. He did not like being fêted, but he bore it all with fortitude safe in the knowledge that he would soon be out of their reach.

  What troubled him more at this time was that Jagua had become unbearably touchy and morose. Freddie noted how unfriendly she had become. She walked about with a long face and for the most trivial reasons she started yelling abuses at him. Could it be that she no longer wanted him away from her? At such times when he tried to reason with her and failed his spirits would sink and he would wish he could be with Nancy to soothe away the rough edges of his nerves.

  One afternoon he ran across her in the Square. He was transported with delight. The smell of that warm night under the woods immediately filled his nostrils. In the midst of the confusion of pressing bodies and arms reaching out to grip the bus railings, he felt the silky-sweet touch of her hand. He noticed her because of the way she moved – hips fanned out by the georgette check in bold yellow and brown, the unconscious wiggle which drew him out to ‘follow me’. She wore her hair short, and perhaps because she had been shopping in the sun it stood straight, without kinks, with beads of oil glistening in it. Her upper lip had gathered the crystal drops of perspiration, but she gave him a sweet smile and her eyes were keen. The greenish nylon blouse blended with the yellow georgette, and he could see the shadow of her pointed breasts with the dark nipples and soft pale sides that trembled.

  They climbed into the bus with Freddie close behind her, his hand on her smooth cool arm. They sat down, intimately crushed in the seat. She mopped her brow with a soft cloth and soaked away the crystals of her lip.

  ‘Freddie, I hear you almos’ leavin’ for England; and you don’ care to come and see me. Is it good? And you say you love me?’

  ‘Not so, Nancy. I try to come, but—’

  She gave him an accusing look. ‘When ah come to Englan’, we will meet dere.’

  ‘You jokin’?’

  ‘I mean it, Freddie.’

  He searched her face and could make nothing of her eagerly gleaming eyes. She took out two oranges from her shopping and offered him one. ‘My Mama tryin’ to sen’ her young man; but he grown conceited, so she askin’ me whedder I want to go and qualify as secretary typist. De Syrian man will pay all de fee.’

  ‘You mean it? You really mean it?’ He tried to keep back his delight.

  ‘I coming to England and we will marry there.’ She waved the orange joyfully, and pressed it to her lips.

  They were nearing their destination now and Nancy looked at him suddenly and whispered. ‘I goin’ to be your Englan’ lady, Freddie. You no glad? See how God use to do him own thing.’

  Freddie helped her down, and together they walked some of the way. As they entered the home street, he handed back her shopping bag and stood for a moment under the trees, well away from the other end of the street where Jagua lived. But Nancy succeeded in enticing him out of his hiding and step by step they moved up, until Freddie found himself near the end of the street.

  He watched her walk away with the young upright shoulders, dainty steps and trembling bottom. When she had vanished beyond the mango tree by the foodseller he looked up, and there gazing down at him from the balcony was Jagua Nana. The smile on her face did not mask the greenish tinge of anger. She must have seen everything.

  ‘Freddie, who dat I see with you?’

  ‘You mean – with me?’ He looked up the street. ‘Oh – is only Nancy Oll. She gone back to her modder. Is only Nancy—’

  ‘Wat you mean, is only Nancy? Nancy not woman, yet? She no reach for sleep wit’ you and born pickin’?’

  ‘I comin’ up to explain, Jagua. Have patience – is nothin’. Nothin’ at all. I comin’ up to explain.’

  7

  Freddie walked quickly to his room and threw the armful of shopping on his bed. Knowing how very sensitive Jagua was about her age, he felt now he should at least have spared her the challenge and the humiliation of being compared with the teenage Nancy, daughter of her rival Mama Nancy. And this at a time when she had sacrificed so much for him too.

  At her door, he hesitated and listened. Voices drifted to his ears. He heard the sound of glass on glass. He knocked and the door opened. To his shock he was greeted by a strong smell of beer and for a moment could not see round the room through the fumes of cigarette smoke recalling the atmosphere of the Tropicana. Then the smoke cleared a little and he saw the three men in the room; men whom he had never seen or met before. He identified their kind instantly: the influential men of Lagos. Private business men, perhaps; dabblers in party politics, almost certainly. They were in the same age-group as Jagua, men in their early fifties, and what they lost in youthful virility and attractiveness they made up by lavishing their money on women like Jagua Nana, on letting their tongues run away with them in recalling fanciful accounts of their prowess with women in distant lands. The sight of those three men drinking ice-cold beer and lounging carelessly in the chairs of Jagua Nana threw a mist of anger between him and Jagua. He pushed past her into the room. Jagua introduced them as ‘three men just back from Ghana and Overseas’, but Freddie had already taken in the situation with the intuition of a lover and he was not deceived. No one told him they had come for the woman Jagua. Living in Lagos had taught him that this was the way it worked. The men came to a woman like Jagua, in the daytime, socially. Then individually they sneaked back at night or in the morning when the office workers were poring over their files beneath waving overhead fans. At such times they drank beer and paid for the ‘love’ they bought. Freddie took this visit by the three men as a survey of Jagua’s residence, and no matter what they did to disguise their intentions, he stuck to his co
nclusion and it made him see all their actions in an angry light.

  It did not once occur to him that he had no right to be resentful, that as a poor teacher he could not even begin to think of buying Jagua half the luxuries with which these men pampered her. But that did not ease the pain. In a city where money was the idol of the women, an idol worshipped in every waking and sleeping moment, sentiment was a mere pastime. And to Jagua, Freddie classified as sentiment.

  He looked at her now, the ways she was dressed to sell her body, so that these men could see for themselves and inflame their senses with what they saw: the smooth round arms, the long neck, the smooth well-moulded calves. And when she bent forward to fill a man’s glass with beer, raising the glass from the little stool and tilting it so that it did not froth too much as she poured the beer from the bottle, her breasts hung down pendulously. He could see them clearly in the nylon brassiere inside the loose transparent blouse. He noticed too with a jealous twinge that she had groomed her hair, combing it straight backwards and decorating it with a gold band. She looked to him not more than thirty now.

  He excused himself and shut the door behind him. Jagua wrenched it open and pulled him in, leading the way to the bedroom. She told him she did not know the men and had never seen them before they turned up that afternoon, looking for someone who had lived at this same address before she moved in. But how, Freddie asked her, could they have missed their way into this – her own particular room? And knowing they were in the room why did she have to call him up to face the humiliation of knowing his rivals?

  ‘Sorry, Freddie,’ Jagua said. ‘I done nothin’ with them. I tell you, I don’ know them.’ She opened the cloth which she had tied sarong-wise, folded it back again round her hips. Freddie caught a flash of her beautiful legs. ‘You think I will tell you lie?’ She looked at him fully.