“Bitch,” said Mama.
Dan covered his mouth with his hand. “Timi, it’s a misunderstanding,” he said through his fingers. “My fault entirely. Celestine was simply using the outhouse and I walked in.”
A few seconds passed and Mama was quiet. Her lips were pressed closed tightly; she scratched her head.
“You be no-good wife,” Celestine said. “This one”—she pointed to Dan, her breasts still naked, swinging in the same direction as her arm—“needs a good woman. A real woman! He needs one like me. Not a skinny branch.”
I held my own face. Dan walked toward Mama. Mama screamed and ran at Celestine with her fist. She ripped Celestine’s weave straight out of her hair.
“Bitch!” Mama shouted. “This fucking family!”
Alhaji came running out of the house with a kerosene lamp. He handed me the lamp and pulled the women apart. He was shaking so much that I thought he might fall. He pushed Dan out of the way. “Get out of my house!” he shouted. “Get! Get!”
Dan took a long breath. He did not speak, but he looked at Mama, nodded, and turned to walk away.
Alhaji started shouting even louder. “And just you remember this! I will be claiming a fine from you both! A fine from you both! You see?” He looked at Celestine. “Claiming back some of the bridewealth that I have spent! Wasted! All that money! That bridewealth! On a betrayer! I will claim it all back. Every penny …”
Mama dropped Celestine’s weave on the ground and followed Dan to the gate. I stood in the shadows. My legs wanted to run, but Alhaji was looking straight at me.
We stood in silence while Celestine arranged her clothing. It took her a long time to put her night things back on. Alhaji then pointed to the house and she walked in. As he bent to take the kerosene lamp from my hand I saw tears on his cheek. His body stayed bent forward as he followed Celestine.
Grandma pretended to be asleep, but when I went into her bedroom later in the morning she opened her arms and held me without speaking. Whenever I opened my mouth to ask her about the baby girl or tell her about Celestine, she put a finger in front of her face and said, “Shh.” When we came out later for food, Alhaji was in the mosque, and Celestine was in the boys’ quarters. We sat outside eating fried plantain and watching Alhaji pray. Ezikiel was lying under the palm tree listening to a small transistor radio that he told me he had found. I wondered if one of his friends had given it to him. He always seemed to be going out with his friends. He lifted his head.
“What’s happened?” he asked, flicking his arm toward Alhaji, who had been praying continuously for hours. “What’s going on? It’s something to do with him, isn’t it? The oyibo?”
“Nothing,” said Grandma. “Mind your business.”
Ezikiel switched off the radio and got up. He walked to the veranda and sat on the edge swinging his long legs back and forth. I sat next to him. His eyes were red. He smelled like garri a day too old.
“Ezikiel,” I said. He turned to me and smiled. Like my brother. Like Ezikiel. I wanted to tell him about so many things. I leaned my head on his shoulder. “Ezikiel,” I said, “I have so much to talk to you about. Will you be home today?”
“I’m going out in a minute,” he said.
“Where?”
He moved away slightly, letting my head drop down suddenly. “None of your business.”
“But I need to talk to you,” I said. The words sounded wobbly.
“I’m busy. I have important business to attend to.”
Business? Ezikiel? I had never heard of Ezikiel attending to important business. I wanted to ask him if he knew about cutting. About who did it. I wanted to hear him say that any worries I had that Grandma might have done such a thing were stupid.
“The FFIN are not getting the attention of the world press, more action is needed. They have the right cause, but peaceful talks are not getting them anywhere. More direct action is required.” He threw his arms out to the side, nearly hitting Grandma, who was walking past. “Ha! Some groups are kidnapping the white oil workers. They call the oil black gold, so the groups call the oil workers white gold!” He paused, took a long breath. “Sometimes when I hear about the Sibeye Boys—”
Ezikiel noticed Grandma and stopped talking. Grandma jumped up and bent over Ezikiel. She spat at the air in front of his face, her hands waving up and down in front of his eyes. “Stay away from those boys and stay away from that evil forest.” Grandma slapped the back of his head. “The devil is in you,” she said. “I can see him.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Dan bowed his head before Alhaji and did not look at Celestine. If he had looked he would have seen her black eyes. Grandma held me while the sound of Celestine’s screaming filled the air.
“It is necessary,” Grandma said when I began to cry. “She is lucky, bloody stupid woman. Lucky not to be thrown onto the street.”
“Alhaji, sir,” Dan said. “If I’ve in any way caused you any offense I am truly very, very sorry.”
“Yes,” said Alhaji, and looked at Celestine, whose black eyes made it appear if she was wearing sunglasses. Mama had her arms folded. She looked straight at Celestine’s eyes.
“I am sorry for the mistake,” Celestine said in perfect English. She did not get up but remained seated and spoke with a shaking voice. She was wearing a loose blouse, and the buttons were done up right to the top.
“That’s okay,” said Dan. “Let’s not speak of it again.” His voice was warm and sticky like Fanta left in the sun.
I watched Ezikiel watching Dan. He did not say anything at all but kept twirling his red string bracelet over and over and over.
“I want you to find me a job,” Alhaji said eventually, “as a Qualified Petroleum Engineer. A management position.”
“Oh, I really have nothing to do with recruitment, sir,” said Dan. “That’s another department entirely, and I rarely have cause to see them.”
Alhaji turned his head slowly to Celestine, then Mama, then back to Dan.
“But of course I’ll ask around,” Dan said.
Ezikiel did not want to visit Dan’s house. Mama had made him wear a shirt and tuck it into his trousers. A piece was hanging over the back but I did not dare tell him. His cheeks were pushed closer together from holding his teeth tightly.
“Hurry up,” said Mama. She pulled oil between my plaits.
“I don’t feel well,” said Ezikiel through his closed-together teeth.
Mama did not even look up. “You are coming. You are coming and you will behave yourself.”
“But I don’t feel well, my asthma …” Ezikiel leaned toward her and tried to wheeze. But no wheeze would come.
“I’m not discussing it with you. You’re coming.”
It was only when Mama let go of my last plait that I realized she was pulling me too hard; my head fell forward.
We followed Mama to the shining silver car and driver that Dan had sent to collect us. Youseff sucked his teeth at Mama as we walked past, but Mama did not hear him. Ezikiel raised one eyebrow.
The car was cool inside with air-conditioning, and piano music played through tiny speakers. The cream-colored leather seats looked completely new, as though we were the first people to sit on them. The driver nodded at us in the rearview mirror. His eyes moved over our faces until they found the low-cut top of Mama’s dress, and then they stayed there for most of the journey.
As we left the compound, nobody came out to wave us good-bye. Not even Celestine. I wondered where they all were. Did Grandma know I was going out for the day?
We drove past the village. Everything was different through Dan’s car window. People stopped and stood back from the car as we passed them. They did not wave, even though I waved at them. Maybe they could not see my face through the shining glass. We drove past the evil forest, past the queue for the village tap, and past the next few villages and past more forest so thick it felt like we were going through a tunnel. We drove all the way to Warri, and all the way through to the
other side. And all that time we did not speak.
Dan’s compound was surrounded by palm trees and men with guns. A metal gate hid behind the trees, all the way around the compound. At the gate the driver stopped the car and got out, and two men with guns came out to greet him. They looked underneath the car with a mirror attached to a long metal stick.
“What is that for?” I whispered to Mama.
“They’re checking to see if we’ve got a car bomb,” said Ezikiel.
I closed my eyes and prayed that they would not find a car bomb with the tiny mirror. Why would there be a bomb underneath the car?
Mama sighed and smoothed down her hair.
The men with guns looked at us in the car. They looked closely at Mama. Mama did not move her eyes once. She looked straight ahead and crossed her legs. The men made a tutting sound. They spoke to the driver for many minutes, before opening the gate and waving us in.
On the other side of the gate the air changed. It was impossible, I knew, but it really felt like we were breathing different air. Everything was cooler and quieter. I looked at the top of the gate. The air must have been traveling back and forth. But as the car stopped and we climbed out, I breathed deeply and felt certain the air tasted cleaner. Was it possible to filter air in the same way you could filter water? Maybe the air was pure air and arrived in giant pouches with the pure water.
Dan’s apartment was nothing like our Better Life Executive Homes apartment on Allen Avenue. He answered the door wearing school shorts and a T-shirt and sandals made from fabric. I looked down at the wrapper Mama had made me borrow from her suitcase and wished for my old T-shirt with holes in it. I looked at Ezikiel’s hanging-down shirt and wished that none of it was tucked into his trousers at all.
“Welcome,” said Dan. He opened his arm slowly into the room. The air-conditioning made it feel like walking into another world. Tiny bumps crept up my arms. We walked in one by one, still wearing our shoes. I hovered by the door. “You can leave your shoes on,” said Dan.
I thought of all the outside dirt that must have been trodden into Dan’s apartment. The hallway led to a parlor, which had no furniture except a long sofa made from black leather and a glass table in front of it. A television was hanging on the wall with no shelf. How did it stay there? Had Dan glued it directly to the wall? I wanted to walk toward the television but I did not dare move across the white carpet in my shoes. How did Dan keep the carpet so white when he allowed shoes inside?
“What can I get you to drink? We have everything. Anything you want.”
Ezikiel moved his top lip upward. We followed Dan to the kitchen. I nearly gasped. There was a television in the kitchen! It came out on a stand and turned itself on as we walked in. Even Ezikiel stopped walking suddenly and put his hand to his mouth. The kitchen looked brand-new. The worktops were so clean it was as if no cooking had ever been done there. Where were the pots and pans? Where did Dan keep the food? Our apartment in Allen Avenue was so full of things that you could not see the worktops. The living room was so full of furniture that you could not walk in a straight line through it; you had to zigzag. Maybe Dan did not own too many things? Did they not pay him enough money? Did he give all his money to Mama? To us?
We sat on high-up chairs and leaned our elbows on the shining worktop. Dan opened a cupboard and inside was a fridge! A fridge in a cupboard!
“Here,” said Dan, handing a bottle of Coca-Cola to Ezikiel, then one to me. He opened a drawer and pulled out a metal bottle opener and flicked the tops off our drinks. He poured two glasses of beer and pushed one toward Mama. I did not say a single word even though I had never seen Mama drink beer before.
“This is nice,” said Mama. Then it was quiet. There was no noise at all. I counted to one hundred and sixteen.
“So, Blessing,” said Dan. He drank his beer in sips as though it was tea. “So, your mother tells me you like music.”
I looked at Mama. She nodded. “Yes, sir. I like King Robert Ebizimor. Highlife music.”
Dan smiled. “Excellent. I like jazz myself. As well as opera. The arias. Marvelous to listen to, but not the same as watching opera live, of course.”
Dan had a faraway look in his eyes. “And Ezikiel,” he continued, “do you like highlife music?”
Ezikiel raised his top lip as far as it would go and gulped down some Coca-Cola.
“I like rap, hip-hop,” he said, “like everyone else our age.” He looked at me and shook his head. “Tupac.”
Dan raised both of his eyebrows at the same time. “Tupac? Is he American?”
Ezikiel started throwing his body from side to side. His voice was talking but it sounded like singing; the words came in two sudden parts like a heartbeat. I was so busy listening to the rhythm of the words that at first I did not hear what they said. Something about the Lord saving him, helping him, but suddenly the heartbeat stopped and a word burst out of Ezikiel’s mouth. Motherfucker. I could hear my heart beating Ezikiel’s word over and over in my neck.
My hand flew up to my mouth. Dan’s mouth fell open. I could not see what happened to Mama’s mouth because she moved so quickly across the kitchen. She slapped the back of Ezikiel’s head and knocked him off the high-up chair.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Ezikiel as he climbed back up. He was holding his hands over his head, blocking Mama’s arm, which had stretched right back ready to knock him down again.
“How dare you use that language? What kind of child did I raise?”
It was quiet for a long time. I counted again but kept losing the number I’d thought of and had to start again. Still, I got to eighty-four before Dan spoke.
He turned to Ezikiel and stood right in front of his face. I thought perhaps he was going to smack him, but Dan’s arm stayed still. “I understand,” he said.
We all opened our eyes wide, even Ezikiel. But it was Mama who asked, “You understand hip-hop?”
Dan laughed. “No, no, not hip-hop. I’m afraid I don’t have any understanding of that style of music. Well, I wouldn’t even call it music, really. Not really.” He turned away from Ezikiel and stepped back. “But I do understand what it is to be angry. I was an angry young man too, believe it or not.” Dan’s voice became quieter, softer. He whispered as if he was afraid of waking someone sleeping. “My father left too.”
Dan’s words made his face look a different shape. It was no longer flat but perfectly round, the sphere shape on the front of Ezikiel’s Atlas of the World.
I could feel Ezikiel’s breathing quicker, quicker.
Dan looked away from us. “Of course in those days I listened to the Rolling Stones.” He held an imaginary guitar in front of his waist, moved his hands and fingers and face to silent, loud Rolling Stones music. Then he dropped his hands suddenly and sighed. “Maybe you’d like to watch a movie? I’ve got a great selection—all the latest DVDs. Do you like movies?”
I nodded my head. It had been so long since we had watched a film. Father used to like Rambo. I wondered if Dan’s father watched films with him.
“Have you ever seen Karate Kid? It’s old, but I expect you’d like it.”
Ezikiel did not move, but he had lowered his hands from his face, and his breathing had slowed down.
“Well, let’s all sit down and watch a film. I’ll see if there’s popcorn.”
Dan opened cupboards and drawers. He whistled as though Ezikiel had never used bad language at all. He whisled as though he not just remembered something that changed the shape of his face. He had forgiven Ezikiel’s language and the matter was finished.
But Mama had not finished. Her arm was stretched out behind her. As soon as Dan went into the other room to set the film, she let it fly back toward Ezikiel’s cheek.
The rest of July Alhaji became increasingly impatient and bad-tempered. Even Youseff kept out of his way and offered to run any errand for Grandma. Celestine prayed every day and was not allowed to mourn. Her prayers became louder and slower, as though she was practicing anywa
y. Alhaji had burned her Lycra collection in the barrel that it had arrived in. She had wept for four days and then followed Alhaji around everywhere. She fetched his dinner, rubbed his feet, served his drinks. Mama stayed out at work all the time, and Dan visited at least once a week. He told Alhaji that he had asked his colleagues if there was a vacancy for him. Ezikiel left as soon as Dan arrived. Mama said that suited her fine.
It seemed as if Alhaji had forgotten who he was. He walked around shouting orders as usual, but at strange times. During dinner, he would suddenly shout, “It’s time for prayers,” and we would have to wake the imam from where he slept at the back of the makeshift mosque. Alhaji would forget to dress in the morning and come out wearing his large Marks & Spencer y-front and undershirt, and Grandma would have to speak quietly in his good ear, making him run back to his bedroom. I got used to seeing his back. He usually ignored me, but now he started ordering me to do things, such as sweep the already swept floor, or cook the already cooked plantain. I did whatever he asked.
“Stupid girl,” he said one day when he found a torn newspaper.
“Sorry, sir,” I said, even though it was not my fault. I avoided Alhaji and spent most of my time in Grandma’s bedroom, which Alhaji never entered. Her room was the hottest room in the house and had no window. The walls were bare. There was a hessian mat rolled up and balanced against the wall. The mattress on the floor was too soft for Grandma’s back. I lay down on the soft mattress and closed my eyes for hours, trying not to think.
“Blessing.” Grandma entered the room and sat on the mattress next to me.
“What is wrong with Alhaji, Grandma?”
“He is a proud man, and pride for men is like love for women. Very strong. The most important thing for men is pride. So don’t mind him.” “Grandma, I need to ask you some things. I wanted to talk to you—”
Tiny Sunbirds, Far Away Page 24