Jagua Nana

by Cyprian Ekwensi

  Vote for Uncle Taiwo!

  ‘Jagua – who teach you politics?’ Uncle Taiwo asked, when he had finished making his own speech (to which no one had listened).

  ‘Is you,’ said Jagua. ‘An’ again – everythin’ I say is how I feel. Oh, I tire. Make we go home – or Tropicana, any one.’

  Uncle Taiwo led the way. ‘Now I sure I goin’ to win. Le’s go celebrate in de Tropicana!’

  They pressed in on Jagua from all sides, wanting to shake her hand, to detain her, to chair her. She felt truly proud. She had struck the first nail. Freddie would soon be buried.

  21

  When Nancy stepped across the Tropicana floor, all the men fixed their eyes on her for she did not look the Tropicana type. Jagua swivelled round. She saw not the Nancy Oll of old, young and lithe, but an even more superb Nancy with a brilliant touch of sophistication to her. She had learnt in England how to use make-up that heightened her personal charm. Lipstick that blended with her natural complexion, nail varnish that did not convert the nails into blood-stained claws, foundation garments that yet left the body free. Jagua had to admit that Nancy was stunning.

  ‘You seen Freddie?’ she was looking steadily at Jagua.

  ‘Why you ask me, Nancy? First of all, welcome from Englan’! Since I lef’ you for Bagana we never seen. I don’ know say you and Freddie done return from England.’

  ‘You tellin’ lie, Jagua! I awready hear everythin’ about you and him.’

  Jagua was startled by Nancy’s manner. She tried to keep her voice down. ‘Ah swear to God. Why I will tell you lie?’

  ‘Don’ call God in this matter, you devil-woman!’

  ‘I swear to God! I got nothin’ to do with your man since he return. I wantin’ nothin’ from ’im. And he awready pos’ de money he owe me. What more?’

  ‘I say you lyin’, Jagua!’ The words were slapped out in anger. ‘Since we return, Freddie’s been strayin’ from de home; and he strayin’ to your place!’

  Jagua could endure the taunting no longer. ‘Excuse me, Nancy! Who you callin’ liar? Me? I beg you not to call me liar again. Or you done forget your experience in Bagana Creek, how I save your life? I’m not your rank. I don’ care whedder you from England come. You be only small pickin’ to me. I fit born you from my belly. I got nothin’ to do with small pickin’ like you who don’ respect her senior. Go call you Mama an’ I kin talk wit’ her, not you. You’re only small pickin’ to me. I awready dismiss Freddie from me mind because I don’ love him no more. If he runnin’ after some woman, is your own fault, das all! You don’ fit to hold you man!’

  The man seated beside Jagua folded his robes and glared at Nancy Oll. ‘Who’s this lady?’

  ‘She’s de wife of dat man, Freddie Namme who jus’ return –’

  ‘Jagua, but I warn you already about … not to—’

  ‘Shut up, Uncle Taiwo. I don’ know anythin’ about Freddie, das all I say!’

  Men began to crowd round Jagua and Nancy. They formed a ring and their girls enlarged the ring. Jagua turned to them. ‘I jus’ sitting here, drinking with me Master.’ She nodded at Uncle Taiwo. ‘All ’pon sudden, dis small pickin’ of yesterday come to see me to accuse me, where’s her man? I tell her I don’ know who’s Freddie. And she begin curse me—’

  ‘You’re a liar,’ Nancy insisted. ‘You know Freddie – too much! I come here to warn you! Leave my man for me? He see you harlot woman before he marry me. You miss your chance.’

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘Harlot, you got no shame! So you use to run after man who you can born. I don’ blame you, your womb done dried up. You old hag! You kin never born any more.’

  The words slashed deep into Jagua’s pride. She could forgive anything but that taunt about childlessness. She leapt at Nancy, straight from the stool. Nancy clenched her fist to strike a blow, but it never landed. Someone seized her from behind. Jagua found herself entangled in Uncle Taiwo’s robes and he was taking her forcibly out of the Tropicana.

  Uncle Taiwo was shaking his fist at Nancy. ‘You call yourself a lady who been to England. What d’you learn dere, I wonder? You call my missis harlot woman! Wait till I face your man. He goin’ to run out of dis Lagos.’

  Jagua felt his protective hands on her as he took her towards the Pontiac. It was a new feeling to her.

  Jagua knew when to expect Freddie. He always came when Uncle Taiwo was away. She took off all her clothes and scented her ear lobes, the pits of her arms. She rubbed scent on her breasts before encasing them in cotton cups. She darkened the lights of the room, then went back into bed. Now she was determined to turn Freddie against his wife, to make him loathe the very sight of her, to break up his home if only to repay Nancy’s humiliation of her. She would show Nancy that a harlot can wield great power over men’s homes. Uncle Taiwo she had already worked up into such a state of anger against Freddie that he could easily waylay and fight him. She had told him that Freddie was pestering her life, that she had warned him often never to come to her but obstinately he still came to worry her in her home. Also that Freddie was resorting to subterfuge to snatch Obanla constituency from him. All this made Uncle Taiwo determined to get even with Freddie.

  Jagua rolled over in the soft bed. She thought of Dennis Odoma. It was now known that the Police Officer had died in hospital. When Freddie Namme came she would appeal to him to help defend Dennis. She was sure Freddie could do a lot for Dennis, if only she could convince him to undertake the defence.

  She heard voices outside. Rosa was speaking to someone. She listened. ‘Sleepin’?’ she heard Freddie say. ‘At this time of de night?’

  ‘She jus’ return from outside.’

  ‘Go an’ wake her! No – never min’.’

  Then she heard the door being softly knocked and she turned and hid her face against the wall and started snoring. She threw her limbs carelessly about the bed, half covering her thighs. Freddie would come in and see her lying seductively. Then he would touch her, and she would sigh and open her eyes and roll away from him.

  But it was Rosa who came into the room. ‘Who dat?’ asked Jagua.

  ‘Is Freddie, an’ one man. I tink is dese election people, I tell dem you sleepin’ …’

  ‘Fool! I don’ tell you say whenever Freddie come here, you mus’ let him enter de house.’

  ‘So you tell me, Ma; but—’

  ‘Outside now. Let me res’.’

  Later that night, Jagua dressed with great care. She went to the Tropicana and sat in a corner. They brought her beer. Not long afterwards she saw Freddie come in. He was surrounded by a number of youngsters, bearded, in bright shirts and boots. He looked worn out. He came and sat by her. The five stalwart ones formed a ring round their table.

  ‘Freddie, who all dese men?’

  ‘My bodyguard.’ He laughed his harsh laugh. ‘You don’ know say every candidate mus’ have bodyguard nowadays?’

  Jagua fidgeted with her glass. ‘As you come sit near me with all dese men; suppose Uncle Taiwo come here into de Tropicana and fin’ you with me?’

  ‘Uncle Taiwo and him people done go to de village to campaign. We lef’ dem dere. He won’ come here now.’

  ‘Freddie, I tink ah already beg you to lef’ politics. Is too dangerous a game now. Fancy, you goin’ around with a bodyguard. You givin’ employment to wild boys who care nothin’ about person life. You ready to take responsible when dem kill some man? Or you think all dis be play?’

  ‘I don’t care now. Is too late to go back. I want money.’

  He told her how he had been campaigning one afternoon when Uncle Taiwo let loose his boys and they ran into his own men, injuring more than a dozen people. He himself was cut in the face. Since then he never went outside without these five boys who had all been in the Burma Campaign. He protected himself because he had been told that Uncle Taiwo was planning to kill him.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Jagua said. ‘Is your political rival, but Uncle T. is not person who will kill somebody
. You jokin’, Freddie! Das de change I seen in you. Since you return from Englan’, you want money, and because of dat you trustin’ nobody.’

  He smiled. ‘Is true, but de man hate me for nothin’ sake. I done nothin’ to him.’ His hands did not even shake as he poured the beer from the bottle.

  ‘By the way,’ Jagua said. ‘You hear about Dennis Odoma? De man I seen among your bodyguard sometime? Dem say de police arrest ’im.’

  ‘So I hear. I sorry for Dennis. He done a foolish thing. No way out for him. He done a very serious thing against de law. Dem goin’ to hang de poor boy, for murder of a police officer. Is a very serious offence.’

  There was something final in Freddie’s voice. Jagua felt the tears coming to her eyes. ‘Freddie, I beg you; go and defend de boy.’

  ‘No, Jagua. I got no time. I got to concentrate on de election. De Government will give him their own lawyer.’

  Jagua sighed. She could not help liking Dennis. Desperately she prayed the law would overlook his mistake and spare his life.

  Jagua did not miss a single dance. It must have been the exhilaration of her election speech, but she found she could not sit still. She tapped her foot and shook her shoulders. The rhythm seemed to filter through her pores into her skin which was now afire under it. Finding no partner she wiggled away alone leaving Freddie at the table.

  She had been dancing alone for some time, when other women joined her, also unpartnered. Tropicana girls sometimes revelled in this kind of exclusive ‘all-ladies’ dance, a fashion parade in Accra wax prints and colourful velvets. Men, take your choice, they seemed to say. Encouraged, Jimo Ladi and his Leopards played even louder, and the high-life spun along for a quarter hour, half-an-hour, one hour non-stop. The tune changed, the rhythm remained solid. The dancers sweated under the heat.

  When the music stopped, they yelled ‘More, more! …’ but it was one hour and Jimo Ladi and his Leopards sat back exhausted. Jagua held her aching hips and went back to the table. She glanced round, but Freddie was not in sight, She sat down with a vague unease. He should have told her before he left; or perhaps he did not want to disturb her dancing. But a wave would have been sufficient. She did not sit long before Number Seven, one of the stewards, came and told her that a man wearing the badge of Freddie’s party, had come in and had called him out ‘urgent’, with some strange message. Freddie had gone alone. Soon after, the five wild ones had rushed out, and ‘I tink he got accident, but I don’ know,’ Number Seven concluded.

  Jagua got up. Instinct told her that something suspicious was going on. Many years later when she remembered that night she never could tell just why she felt so very uneasy. She passed the man at the gate, looked outside the club. Over to her left, near the gutter, a crowd gathered, watching something which looked to her like an accident.

  Jagua pushed through, forcing her way to the front. A man was lying in the gutter with the blood gurgling from his mouth. His head seemed to have been broken into two halves. At first she thought he was quite dead, but looking closely, she saw that he moved his hands. It was Freddie Namme. And nobody could say who had done this to him or what it was all about.

  ‘What you all standin’ there for!’ cried Jagua. ‘Ring for ambulance. Go into de Club and ring for an ambulance!’ But as nobody moved, she began running back to the Tropicana, murmuring, ‘I know who do this! Dem done kill my poor Freddie!’

  For three successive days now Jagua had been trying to see Freddie in hospital. Always it was the same orderly who barred her way. ‘Is better you go back, Madam. Dem say he critical now. Too critical!’ He lingered on the word he had obviously been taught to recite.

  As she went back, she saw Nancy in a neat blue frock and white shoes pass her. Nancy did not so much as glance at her. Nancy received a courteous bow from the orderly who opened the door wide for her. Jagua squirmed. Whatever she had been to Freddie, Nancy was the woman they recognized as his wife.

  Freddie was lying in a private hospital. Jagua remembered now that it was their ambulance which had arrived when she telephoned and took Freddie away. The story came out in the O.P. 1 paper that the man who had called Freddie out of the Tropicana was an O.P. 2 man dressed as an O.P. 1. When Freddie came out he was set upon and beaten up. The paper called on the leader of O.P. 2 to account for Freddie’s injuries and critical condition. But she heard that the O.P. 2 people denied knowing anything about Freddie’s beating-up. They called everything connected with it a ‘frame-up’ – down to the doctor who owned the hospital in which Freddie lay. They said this doctor was known to have O.P. 1 sympathies and therefore any report he might give for the court hearing must be discredited as he was a biased witness. All this Jagua heard as a kind of rumour and she knew now that it was all the kind of complex situation she disliked.

  On this particular afternoon Jagua dug in outside the hospital, hoping that when Nancy left, she could bribe the orderly into letting her in – just for one moment. She could not bear the thought of Freddie so critically ill without some comfort from her. She kept pacing up and down in front of the gate and when one Land Rover drew up she saw it but it did not at first strike her as unusual. Close behind the first Land Rover came an ambulance which parked aggressively into the gate; but the sign she noticed on the ambulance did not belong to this private hospital. From the ambulance emerged two policemen, one of them, the driver. Jagua sensed something unusual. She was now all eyes. Soon afterwards she saw a third Land Rover, slightly shorter than the first and bearing the sign POLICE just beneath the aerial. One of the Officers was holding a mike in front of him and shouting, ‘Calling Robot Two … Calling Robot Two … Over! …’

  Jagua saw the crowd beginning to press against the door of the police ambulance. In a few moments, market women, clerks, cars, lorries, taxis, they all took up position and they were an angry crowd. ‘Stop dem! … Dem want to remove Freddie from de hospital. Is all engineered by O.P. 2! …’

  ‘Suppose he die? Jus’ let dem try. Dem responsible for Freddie’s life!’

  ‘Them can’t remove him. The doctor won’ agree …’

  The police cars had blocked up the road. Horns blared impatiently from the far end of the street. But the drivers, getting no attention, reversed their cars and branched out on a side street. It seemed to Jagua that this went on for hours, and that some deadlock had been reached within the hospital. The passers-by kept swelling the crowd and shouting angry words at the police. Among them Jagua could see the Volkswagens of O.P. 1 supporters and some newspapermen she had often seen at the Tropicana. They stood in a corner, writing furiously in their slim notebooks. The police would not budge. The crowd surged away from the hospital gates. Jagua saw the stretcher bearing Freddie come down the steps into the ambulance. She caught one glimpse of Nancy’s face, red with weeping. She was crying quite shamelessly. She tried to see Freddie’s face, but it was all wrapped up in bandages. She watched the ambulance drive off, carrying Freddie on the stretcher and guarded front and back by the Land Rovers. The police had won.

  Jagua walked home in fear. She was thinking how very stupid the police can be, how ordinary people she knew became transformed by this strange devil they called politics. When so transformed a man placed no value on human life. All that mattered was power, the winning of seats, the front-page appearance in the daily papers, the name read in the news bulletins of the Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation. When they asked her, she never could tell whether Freddie was alive or dead. But she knew this strange fear and it was something she could not dismiss lightly.

  Jagua mingled with the crowd and slipped into the Namme household, the house of death and mourning. Nancy was sitting on the bare cement floor surrounded by weeping women. Her eyes were red, and there was still a look of doubt, of hopeful disbelief on her face. She turned these yellowish-red eyes here and there as more and more men and women flooded the sitting room, her small lips parted, the breath coming in short puffs like the panting of a small engine.

  With all, J
agua found her attractive in her raggedness and misery. When she saw Freddie’s friends, all dressed in black, she seemed to crumple up, and a loud moan escaped her. One man dressed as a lawyer went up to her and said: ‘On behalf of all of us at the bar, we come to express our heartfelt sympathy …’ He stopped short because a chorus of wails answered him. He turned to his friends: ‘Let’s go outside, friends. She can’t take it.’

  The body of Freddie Namme lay on the bed, behind the mosquito netting. They said he had died in that long drive to the hospital. They had dressed it up in black with white socks and white gloves. The head was bandaged in white and the nostrils had been plugged with cotton wool. Jagua looked at it and began to sob quietly. It could not be true, she kept telling herself. Freddie dead! The shuffling feet of strangers, the thudding, scraping feet of curious men who had come because of the big incident outside the hospital, the sighs, the groans, the moans and expressions of sympathy, all seemed to her like something happening in a film she was watching. She sat completely mesmerized and surrendered herself to the atmosphere of gloom. She saw old women in white, attractive young girls pulsating with life, one of them especially caught her eye: a light-brown-skin girl in a fanciful headtie and blue velvet wrapper. So alive, and so incongruous in the room of death. Who was she? And did Freddie, alive, know all these people?

  Turning her eyes towards the bereaved Nancy, Jagua came face to face with the two wet red eyes and their look of hostility. At that moment she could see that grief was a private thing, to be shared only by friends; and she was an enemy. As soon as Nancy saw Jagua she sprang to her feet.