Tiny Sunbirds, Far Away

by Christie Watson

  Celestine stood very still. The only things that moved were her drawn-on eyebrows. I giggled. Celestine’s eyebrows were the shape of the kite. They swooped down into a frown. Grandma and Celestine looked at me and sucked their teeth at the same time. I felt my skin get hotter.

  Grandma removed Celestine’s clothes; the materials sparked, and Celestine twitched like a chicken whose head had been removed. The clothes were thrown in a pile near my feet. I wanted to touch the unfamiliar materials, to hold them in my fingers. To press them on my face. The clothes were soft; they shrank to almost nothing on the ground. The small pile was so bright that it colored the air around it. I sat on the hot ground watching a patch of air change from pink to purple then green.

  Celestine’s undergarments were in a camouflage print material but did not camouflage Celestine’s enormous body. Grandma laughed when she saw them, quite loudly, and Celestine folded her arms on top of her massive breasts as if they were cushions.

  “You see I am very fat.” As Celestine spoke, she sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes. “It is very desirable to be this fat.”

  “Eh!” Grandma chuckled.

  “I did not need plenty of egusi soup. I went to the maiden-ready-for-marriage room.”

  “A fattening room? I thought it was only Efik women who practiced that. My friend Mama Akpan runs a fattening room in Calabar. It is an Efik practice. Ijaw people do not use fattening rooms.”

  “Yes. My family looks after me well. All men love a round woman, not only Efik men.”

  “I am not laughing about your fat.” Grandma scooped up bucket water in a cup. “It is your undergarments that I find amusing.”

  Celestine’s thighs were bigger than my entire body. She had a layer of fat folded around her middle, all the way to her back. Her body skin was smoother than her face skin, and her breasts, the size of pawpaw, pointed upward. Naked, she looked young enough to be Grandma’s own daughter. Or even granddaughter.

  I noticed a swelling where Celestine’s belly button should have been. Grandma pushed it in, and it sprung back out immediately.

  “Dodo,” she said. “Why did your mother not fix this?”

  “It cannot be fixed.” Celestine looked down at the swelling through the large gap between her large breasts.

  “Of course it can,” said Grandma, and she tutted. “We will do it later.”

  She suddenly slapped Celestine’s bottom. It took many seconds to stop moving. My skin burned.

  “Mosquito,” said Grandma, smiling.

  Celestine lifted her head in the air and sucked her teeth. Grandma opened her handbag and pulled out a tin, which said “Boiled Travel Sweets,” from which she took a sharp piece of gray soap, then lathered it in the bucket water. Celestine’s arms became bubbled and frothy. They reminded me of the dog on the roadside during our long journey from Lagos. The dog was almost dead, foaming at its mouth; its eyes were filled with blood. Its chest was moving up and down quickly, flies moving off and settling again with each breath. I had looked away, but Mama turned my head back toward the window. “It won’t go away just because you can’t see it,” she had said.

  I opened my eyes wide. Grandma was concentrating; her face was screwed up into a smaller face. She rubbed Celestine down in sweeping circles, cleaning her from top to bottom. She spent a quick time washing between her legs, and I tried not to look, but I could not help noticing the hair that covered her private parts, as thick as the evil forest. Grandma spent a long time washing underneath Celestine’s arms. I was pleased. Celestine did smell bad in that area. The smell was like iru, the locust bean spice that Father used to use as a punishment. Who needs a flogging, Father had said with the small pot in his large hand, when you can force them to smell iru. And then he laughed, too loudly.

  Alhaji arrived back before dinner. He got out of the car wearing his best clothes and carrying a briefcase I had never seen before. I wondered if he had worn his best clothes to impress Celestine. As he moved toward the veranda where we were sitting, I noticed a red patch on his shoulder. The sun was creating such bright light that I could not see properly until he came to the steps.

  From a distance it looked as if he had been shot. My heart thumped in my neck. He came toward us slowly. For many seconds, I could not move. I managed to put my hand over my eyes and realized he was wearing a bright red hibiscus flower in his buttonhole.

  The cosmetic case was nowhere in sight. Alhaji walked up the veranda steps and waited for Celestine to drop to her knees.

  Celestine stood up and hugged him, almost lifting him from the ground. “Husband. I have been waiting for you to return.” She looked at Grandma, who had not even stood as Alhaji approached. Mama opened her mouth as if she was about to speak but then she shut it again and folded her hands on her lap.

  “Let me take your bag.” Celestine took the briefcase, which Alhaji did not seem to want to let go of; it hovered between them for a few seconds, like a moth at nightfall between two lamps. Celestine was stronger. The briefcase burst open as she pulled it; Alhaji’s cosmetic case fell out, to the ground. It split open. Pots and packets of tablets rolled across the veranda, a large jar of Marmite fell down the steps.

  Celestine put her hands to her mouth. “Sorry, husband, sorry. I am trying to help, I put the bag away, help you to carry.” Her voice was irritating; it sounded like she was pinching her nostrils shut with her fingers as she spoke.

  Grandma stood and picked up the Marmite, handing it back to Alhaji, who was frowning with his hands on his hips, making his arms into triangles.

  “No matter,” said Grandma. “Sit.”

  She ushered Alhaji to her rocking chair. He sat down as Celestine picked up the tablets. Mama joined in. I fetched the briefcase, which was now empty, and handed it back to Alhaji. Ezikiel ran into the house, returning seconds later with Alhaji’s can of Guinness. Ezikiel did not look at me as he walked past, but he raised one side of his mouth.

  “May Allah reward you well,” said Alhaji. We all looked at him. The words hung in the air long after they were said. I could hear them over the sounds of Alhaji slurping his Guinness, and Celestine saying, “Sorry, husband, sorry, husband,” in her annoying voice.

  Later we ate banga soup in silence, until Celestine burped loudly at the end of the meal. It was clearly a burp. There was no way it could have been anything other than a burp. Even so, Alhaji said, “Al hamdu lillah,” and when Celestine said, “Pardon,” he continued.

  “Praise be to Allah. When a person sneezes, it is good luck. You see?”

  “Oh no, husband.” Celestine frowned. “I was belching. Sorry, sorry.”

  I did not look at Ezikiel, who would surely be laughing. His half-raised mouth would surely be fully raised. Grandma lifted her eyebrows.

  “How is your family?” asked Mama.

  “Very good,” said Celestine in English, “thank you. I get brother in London, with good computer job. And my sister remain for home.”

  Alhaji leaned forward. “Do not use that pidgin English here,” he said. “Speak proper English or speak in Izon until you learn. We like to speak in proper English here. Not rotten English.”

  Celestine opened her mouth, but no words came out. Not even pidgin English ones.

  I was still surprised that Alhaji did not like us speaking Izon. I had thought it would be spoken all the time. Still, I was glad we had learned, that Zafi had taught us.

  Grandma had told me that Celestine was from a very poor background and could not speak English well, like Youseff’s wives. She said that village women were backward and she probably could not read or write. I listened without commenting that Grandma could not read or write either. And when I told Grandma I heard that Celestine had a university degree, Grandma laughed.

  “No young woman with good prospects would become the second wife of Alhaji,” she had said. “He is old, and not that rich.”

  Alhaji spent many nights lying with Celestine in his bedroom and in Celestine’s boys’ quarters room
. Grandma passed the time on the veranda plaiting my hair into neat cornrows, then complaining they weren’t straight and removing them, only to start all over again. It hurt a great deal, but I did not complain. Ezikiel and I sang Itsekiri songs we had learned at school, as loudly as possible to drown out the sounds of Celestine. The sounds were strange. There was laughter, screaming, grunting, and a high-pitched clucking noise.

  “That woman,” whispered Grandma. “That no-good woman is making sex noises like Alhaji is a village man. Does she not know she is the wife of a respectable chief? Why does she not show her respect?”

  I could feel my cheeks get hot.

  Ezikiel was fighting laughter next to me; his stomach had become hard and he was holding his breath. Then suddenly his laughter burst out of him. He could not stop laughing.

  At first Grandma looked at Ezikiel with her eyes close together. I held my breath. But then she began to laugh. She laughed loudly. Ezikiel laughed and held his stomach. I laughed too. The laughter was louder than even Celestine’s noises.

  Then Grandma raised her hand. “I will teach you a song now.” She laughed again. “The song from my wedding, all those many years ago.” She had us sing it facing the direction of Celestine’s hut. “Loudly,” she ordered as we sang. Ezikiel mumbled his part, he was still laughing, and his shoulders were shaking, but I sang louder than I ever had before. It was impossible to stay in tune. The notes went from high to low and back again.

  “What’s going on here?” Mama came out of the house, waving her arms at me but looking at Grandma. “I have work in the morning, and all I can hear is this tribal noise.”

  She was still waving one hand in the air with another hand on her hip when we heard the shouting from the bushes. Grandma jumped up suddenly as though the ground was on fire. She ran toward the house. Mama did not react, or even drop her hand from her hip, but Ezikiel and I both turned to see where Grandma was going. What the shouting was for. She came out of the house carrying a bag and did not even say good-bye. She just ran off into the night and left me full of questions.

  NINE

  Mama seemed to be working more and more and leaving earlier and earlier. She did not return until long after the sun had disappeared, and she woke up a long time before dawn to apply her makeup. After the sun came up, she took some off. Even with some makeup taken off, it was thick, like a mask, a different face covering hers.

  “Your makeup is too much. It is not modest.” Alhaji was angry. I could hear his raised voice all the way from the back of the garden where Ezikiel and I were looking at an old snakeskin with a twig. We had stopped using our fingers to touch the snakeskin, as the scales were melting against the heat of our fingertips.

  “Makeup is a necessary part of the job. I have to look my best. The prettiest girls get the best tips.” Mama’s voice was also raised enough that we could hear it clearly. “Oh. And I’ve left some tips under your breakfast plate. Anyway, we need the money. What else can I do?”

  “Aha. The money situation is not so bad that you need to change your face.”

  “We have no money for Ezikiel’s medication, the school fees, food and water! And even if NEPA gave us electricity, we couldn’t pay for it now.”

  Ezikiel dropped his twig and looked up. I looked at him.

  “Eh! Things are not too bad. I have excellent moneymaking ideas. There is plenty of business at the Executive Club …”

  “It is fine,” I whispered. “Mama is exaggerating.”

  But every morning, Alhaji pretended to sniff his plantain and eggs on his way to pray, but I knew that he was checking to see how many dollar bills Mama had left for him. He did not mention the makeup situation again.

  “What can he say?” asked Mama. She was standing next to Grandma in the river, washing her arms with soap. They were both wearing wrappers tied underneath their armpits. I did not see the point. None of the boys or men ever came that far downstream. I was about to join them to bathe, but something about Mama’s voice made me stop and stand behind the bushes.

  “He hasn’t even paid Celestine’s bride price installment this month,” Mama continued. “And that Executive Club! He says he’s doing business there, but it’s just a drain on finances. All the Big Men do there is drink Rémy Martin and tell each other how important they are. Executive Club! Just a club for men to go and show off at. Who has the best car, the youngest girlfriend, the most wives—I know, I’ve seen it. The old men just go there to watch Sky Sports and sit around in the air-conditioning. It’s not exactly moneymaking!”

  Grandma giggled. “All men are foolish! He is a bloody foolish man. But he has been going to that club for years. And a good name is better than gold. But the bride price for that woman. Paying installments. For her! Imagine. That woman is no big dowry wife. Anyway, we are not too poor. We have a house and a garden and food. That is not poor!”

  But although Grandma’s words said one thing, her voice said another. It was higher than usual and she was breathless. Was she worried about money?

  “We may have a house and food and a garden, I agree. Of course, there are people worse off than us. But what about Ezikiel’s medications? His asthma inhaler and injections. Ezikiel’s medicines have to take priority over anything else.”

  “Alhaji will not let Ezikiel’s health suffer,” said Grandma.

  I waited behind the bushes for Mama to say something, but it was quiet after that. All I could hear were the sounds of the river birds and the scrubbing of skin.

  Grandma did as she promised with Celestine. At night she tied a large coin around Celestine’s middle with green string, and pushed the dodo in, placing a ten-kobo coin on top of it. The coin did not cover the swelling and Grandma had to borrow Alhaji’s English fifty-pence coin, which was bigger and shiny silver. Celestine was happy to have an English coin next to her skin.

  “It is probably worth millions,” she said.

  The swelling was fixed in no time. Celestine began to wear her T-shirts in a high knot above her waist, showing off her newly normal belly button. Alhaji told her she was too fat for such a display, but Grandma just laughed whenever she saw Celestine carrying water in a bucket balanced on her hair weave, or sweeping the floor with her breasts almost hanging out of her clothes. She wore a bra that was three sizes too tight, which gave her the appearance of having four breasts. She kept her lipstick in the bra, even after it seeped out and stained her right breast a color called “Luscious Loganberry.” Celestine pointed out the color to anyone who appeared to be looking at the stain. No matter how often Alhaji told her to be modest, she ignored him, and Grandma laughed even more.

  “Each man gets what each man deserves,” said Grandma.

  Within a month, Alhaji had stopped visiting Celestine’s room at night and began to say, “Be quiet, silly woman,” during the evenings when he preferred peace. Celestine walked around the compound sucking her teeth and saying, “If we had a generator we could have television” or, “There is never a party here. I am so bored I could die.”

  “I am so lonely,” she said once. Her English was improving.

  I was on my way to collect water, with a pail in each hand. I ignored her and carried on walking. Celestine sniffed. I turned around. She was sitting on the ground, her wrapper fanned around her in the dirt. She looked like an overgrown baby. I thought of how lonely I felt when I had first arrived. Of how much I had missed Lagos. “How can you feel lonely? There are so many people here.”

  Celestine smiled at me. “All the people here hate me,” she said.

  I walked toward Celestine and put my hand on her shoulder. “Nobody hates you,” I said. “It is just different, that is all.”

  Celestine looked up at me and smiled. “Because of my status as the wife of Alhaji. He paid a big bride price for me! But I am a very nice and educated person. If only they would give me a chance. I would even share my things. I have many items. Even my films. I am buying these films, and you people don’t even have a television. Or DVD playe
r, or even electric generator.” She started crying again. “Kung fu dwarf film,” she said between wails. “Very funny. And no way of watching it.” She took a box from her bag and showed it to me. I looked at the cover. A tiny man was in midair, legs split, his foot about to kick the head of another tiny man. Celestine beckoned me closer with her hand. I squatted on the ground next to her. She leaned toward my ear, covering her mouth with her hand. “If we had a DVD player,” she whispered, “I could even show you a dwarf sex film. Very, very, very funny.”

  “Please test this.” It was a week later. Celestine waved a piece of meat in front of Alhaji. Grandma had just served cow leg and I was already sucking and chewing, sucking and chewing. The cow leg tasted sweet. My stomach was swollen full, but I could not stop eating. Grandma said the meat was too cheap and would need to be fried in groundnut oil, so Ezikiel had to stick to yam dipped in palm oil. He looked at my cow leg. My next mouthful did not taste sweet at all.

  Celestine held the white fat, bone, and gristle up to the light. “This could be poisoned.”

  “Stupid woman. Eat.” Alhaji looked up at the sky, sighed, and lifted the bowl to his chin.

  “That rival could have poisoned me.”

  “Eat the food. And stop this stupidness.”

  Celestine put the cow leg back in her bowl. She looked from the side of her eye at Grandma, who continued serving the dinner as though Celestine did not exist.

  “Everyone knows she is amusu. A witch.”

  There was silence. Nobody dared swallow. Cow leg juice dripped down my chin, but I did not wipe it away. It felt like an insect crawling down my face.

  Suddenly Grandma came at Celestine with a wooden spoon. I had never seen a person move so quickly. “I will break you, stupid bloody woman!” She hit Celestine over the head and began to shout. “A fly that accepts to walk in the house of a spider may never live to see another day!” The red wispy hair weave somehow got hooked onto the spoon and was pulled off Celestine’s head, then flicked across the veranda, where it lay like a dead rat. Celestine’s nearly bald head shone. Grandma smacked it repeatedly. The spoon against Celestine’s head made a sound like someone was clapping very loudly. It sounded like the faraway clapping that I sometimes heard at night, but nearer. Mama, Ezikiel, and I ran into the house and stood in the doorway. The two women moved around the veranda, Grandma smacking Celestine and Celestine trying to move away. Grandma was quicker. No matter where Celestine moved to, the spoon stayed near her head.