by Luz Gabás
With full stomachs and good wine coursing through their veins, the family had gotten over the initial slight tension of the introductions.
“Clarence told us many things about her trip to Guinea,” said Kilian, reclining in his chair.
This movement indicated that the conversation was about to veer into more serious matters.
“We”—he gestured toward his brother—“were very pleased to get firsthand information after so many years. Nevertheless, given that you’re here, I’d like you to tell us how things are going.”
Kilian had made a big impression on Laha. He must be over seventy years old, but his energy had not left him. He gesticulated passionately when giving his opinions, and his smile was always frank. Jacobo resembled his brother physically, but there was something in his look that was off-putting. It was not exactly the speck, like a small thick spiderweb, in his left eye; it was that he did not look straight at Laha. He also kept out of the conversation, as if it did not interest him in the slightest.
Daniela and Clarence watched their fathers, confused. Something did not fit. It was Kilian who led with the stories. And Jacobo was grumpier than ever. Maybe they had both had too much wine.
“Actually,” said Laha, “I don’t know what to add to Clarence’s report. I assume she told you that life isn’t easy there. The country’s lacking in infrastructure, good jobs, labor laws, progress in justice, in the administration, in sanitary conditions …”
As a nurse, Daniela was interested in the state of public health. In fact, she was becoming interested in everything Laha said and did. She began to understand why Clarence had suffered this man’s absence in silence. But how could she have hidden this secret from her? If Daniela had fallen in love with someone like that, she would have announced it to the four corners. Was her cousin’s love unrequited? She had not stopped looking at them since they arrived. Clarence treated him with exquisite deference, even a mutual understanding, and glanced from Laha to Jacobo continuously, as if she were waiting to see what impression the young man made on her father. Jacobo, for his part, did not look too pleased with his daughter’s companion. Was it because of the color of his skin? Poor Uncle Jacobo, she thought. Surely such a thing had never occurred to him! Daniela bit her bottom lip. She was going too quickly. She saw Laha and Clarence very happy together, but she had yet to see any gesture that meant anything more than a good friendship. Or that’s what she wanted to believe.
Laha criticized the lack of resources and qualified personnel not only in the larger-population medical centers, but also in the rural areas. The infant mortality rate had remained very high. Daniela listened, hanging on his every word. Laha was wearing a white shirt and had put on a tie. He had curly hair, with rebellious locks that fell over his forehead. His head tilted back when he laughed, and his eyes gleamed.
Daniela did not want Laha to stop talking to her. She felt a pang of guilt, but Clarence did not seem to mind Daniela hogging his attention.
“But how could a small country with so much oil still live with such conditions?”
Laha shrugged. “Bad management. If the production was properly programmed and controlled, the country would have one of the highest per capita incomes on the African continent.”
“Clarence told us that most of it is due to the rivalry between Fang and Bubi,” Carmen chimed in, her cheeks red from the wine.
Laha sighed. “I don’t agree. You see, Carmen, I have many Fang friends who understand the unease of the Bubi population. But the Bubis aren’t the only ones who are marginalized. There are many Fang not among the privileged members of the power circles. The race conflict is often used as an excuse. If a Bubi is detained or murdered, the family paints all Fang with the same brush. That is how race hatred is perpetuated. A hatred that is very convenient for the regime.”
Kilian got up to refill the glasses. Suppressing a smile, Jacobo asked, “And what’s this that Clarence was telling us, that there are still some asking for the island’s independence?” He rubbed the scar on his left hand. “They weren’t happy enough when they broke from Spain … now they want independence for the island itself!”
Clarence shot him a hard look, but Laha did not seem upset.
“There are also independence groups here, yes? On Bioko, the independence movement can’t even get recognition as a political party. Even though they defend nonviolence and the right to freely debate ideas and opinions, as in any democracy.”
A small silence followed, broken by Daniela. Clarence was surprised at how talkative she was.
“I suppose it’ll be a question of time. Things don’t change overnight. Clarence told us that she saw many things being built and that the university was not as bad as she had thought it would be … That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
Laha turned to her. Daniela looked very young, definitely younger than Clarence. She was wearing a black dress with straps and had her shoulders covered with a woolen sweater. She had gathered up her light-brown hair in a small bun above her neck. Her skin was very white, almost porcelain, and she had expressive eyes that he had been staring at all night. Daniela blinked, looking away toward the table, then focused on the box of chocolates and spent a few seconds choosing her favorite. Laha noticed that she left it there, slowly taking her hand away so that nobody would notice that she had just gotten nervous.
“Yes, Daniela.” Laha continued to look at her. “You’re completely right. It has to start somewhere. Maybe, one day—”
“Listen!” interrupted Carmen, in a lilting voice. “Tonight is Christmas Eve! You have plenty of days to solve Guinea’s problems, but now we are going to talk about more cheerful things. Laha, would you like more custard?”
Laha hesitated while rubbing his eyebrow, and Clarence burst out laughing.
The same scene repeated itself the following day, only the menu and the conversation were different. Everyone had gotten up late, except Carmen, who once more deployed all her talents and surprised everybody with a marvelous Christmas meal with an enormous turkey stuffed with nuts. The skies had granted them a brief respite before snowing again, and almost half a meter accumulated on the roofs and the streets, making it difficult to get out for a walk. Clarence, Daniela, and Laha helped in the kitchen and laid the table. Jacobo and Kilian turned up, listened to the conversation between the women and the guest, and disappeared. The house was so big that there were many places to hide with memories.
Carmen asked Laha about Christmas at home. Laha asked which home, African or American. Carmen said she could imagine the American one from the films, so she was more interested in his African one. Laha began to laugh, and Daniela sneaked a glance at him.
Despite her constant worry about Laha’s identity, Clarence felt happy. She liked this time of year, with the fire always burning, the white landscape, the lights decorating the streets, the children hiding under their caps, and the kitchen full of dishes, pots, and pans filled with one thing or another.
The kitchen was very big, and even so, Daniela and Laha always seemed to pick the same time to go for the door, bumping into each other and apologizing.
Laha told Carmen that Christmas in Pasolobino was the real Christmas. In Guinea, it was the dry season, and people most liked cooling down in the shower—those who had a shower—or in the rivers and in the sea. There were Christmas lights in the cities that sometimes went out because of power cuts, but the villages remained dark. It seemed strange to see decorations and hear carols in such heat, but you did see and hear them. The children were not bombarded with advertisements for toys, as no one gave or got presents. Finally, people drank to celebrate the holidays; he did not know if quite as much as in the House of Rabaltué—the women laughed—as alcohol was cheap and people drank in the streets in short sleeves.
Laha had brought presents for everyone and asked when it would be a good time to give them out. Carmen smiled. The more she got to know this young man, the more she liked him. She would not mind having him as a son-in
-law. Daniela wondered what he could have brought her. She was left with no choice but to wait until dessert to find out.
When the family exchanged gifts, the women received perfume, rings, and new purses. Jacobo got a sweater. Kilian, a leather wallet. Then it was Laha’s turn to give out his presents. He had brought Carmen three books, one on the customs and traditions of home, an anthology of Guinean literature, and a small recipe book. For Jacobo, some films that a Spanish director had taken on Fernando Po between 1940 and 1950 and that Laha had gotten in Madrid. For Clarence, music from Guinean bands that had recorded albums in Spain. And for Daniela, sitting beside him, a gorgeous shawl that he delicately placed on her shoulders. Daniela did not take it off all afternoon, not even when clearing the table, because Laha had touched it.
Last, Laha handed over a small packet to Kilian, sitting at the head of the table. Before it was opened, he said, “I ran out of ideas. I asked my mother for advice and … I hope you like it!”
Kilian unwrapped the packet and took out a small wooden object in the shape of a rectangular bell from which hung not one but several clappers.
“It’s an … ,” Laha began to explain.
“… elëbó,” Kilian finished the sentence in a hoarse voice. “It’s a traditional bell used to ward away the evil spirits.”
Everyone raised their eyebrows. Clarence rested her chin in her hand. What had Simón said in Sampaka about the instrument? He said that if the eyes did not give her the answer, she should go and find an elëbó. Where should she look for it? First the pith helmet, and now that bell … Why had Bisila suggested to Laha to buy Kilian precisely that present? As far as she knew, Simón and Bisila were not in contact.
“Thank you very much,” her uncle added, pale. “I appreciate it more than you can possibly imagine.”
Daniela picked up the object and looked at it closely.
“Where have I seen this before?” she asked, frowning. “It reminds me of …”
“Daniela, Daughter,” Kilian brusquely interrupted. “Where are those excellent chocolates we ate last night?”
Daniela got up, forgetting her question.
“Lately,” Carmen said, “this house has been getting some very unusual presents.”
Laha tilted his head slightly.
“She’s talking about a pith helmet that your mother asked Iniko to give me,” explained Clarence.
“A helmet?” Laha gave her a puzzled look. He did not remember ever having seen that in his life. He turned to Kilian. “Where could she have kept it? When I was seven or eight, Macías ordered all houses searched to destroy any object associated with the Spanish colonial period.”
Kilian blinked. “Something similar happened here. With the Francoist law on confidential documents, it was forbidden to speak about or give out information on Equatorial Guinea until the end of the 1970s. It was like a dream, as if it had never existed. It was impossible to know anything about the nightmare going on.”
“Was it that bad, Laha?” asked Carmen sweetly.
“Fortunately, I was a child,” Laha responded. “But yes, it was terrible. There were the repressions, accusations, detentions, and the deaths of hundreds of people. I could give you specific examples of how crazy the man was.”
Daniela sat down beside him.
“Macías couldn’t stand the idea that anyone was better qualified than he, so he attacked those who overshadowed him intellectually. Possession of the Geography and History of Equatorial Guinea textbook from the Sacred Heart fathers was punishable by death. In its place, he imposed a compulsory textbook that insulted Spain, even as he sought out economic aid. Pamphlets appeared saying he was a murderer, and all typewriters were confiscated. He ordered all books burned. He ordered all scholarship students in Spain to return, and when they did, some of them were murdered. Use of the word intellectual was forbidden. He organized the invasion of the island by the continental Fang Guineans. They were young and uneducated, coming from the deepest part of Guinea, and he supplied them with arms. He shut down the press. He forbade both Catholicism and the visits to our Great Morimò in the Moka Valley.” Laha rubbed his eyes. “Well, what do you expect from a man who publicly praised Hitler?”
Everyone fell silent.
Daniela poured more wine into Laha’s glass.
“But, Laha,” Jacobo began to say, “wasn’t Macías democratically elected?”
“He was always on the television,” mused Kilian. “He was very popular because he knew how to take in the people by using liberation talk. He promised to return to the blacks what belonged to the blacks.”
Laha cleared his throat. “The Spanish trusted the wrong person when leaving the island in his hands. He had learned the pruning technique very well …”
“And how long did that horror last?” asked Daniela, who looked at him with eyes open in indignation.
“Eleven years,” Laha answered. “From 1968 to 1979.”
“The year I was born,” murmured Daniela.
Laha quickly did the math in his head. Daniela was younger than he had thought.
“Do you know, Daniela, that the terror he awoke among the natives was so bad that no Guinean soldier dared join his firing squad? They had to use Moroccan soldiers to shoot him.” He moved closer and lowered his voice. “The legend also says that he murdered the ex-lovers of one of his women and that, when they were going to shoot him, he placed his outstretched arms behind him, palms facing toward the ground, prepared to fly …”
Daniela gave a start, and Laha smiled impishly.
Clarence remembered very well where conversations about the spirits could lead to, and she raised her hand to her neck to stroke the necklace that Iniko had given her.
“Well, everyone,” she cheerfully said. “Laha has yet to open his presents.”
She handed him a woolen hat with matching gloves and then a copy of a recently edited book titled Guinea in Pasolobinese.
“It’s a book written by someone from our valley,” Clarence explained, “about the people from here who lived for years in Guinea during the colonial period. Sure, it only gives one side of the story, the white side, but well, it could be interesting to know the context …” She began to think that maybe it had not been such a good idea to give him the book. “And there are photos of Kilian and Jacobo in it!”
Laha helped her. “Of course I find it interesting, Clarence!” he said, with a smile. “You can’t deny what happened.”
He opened the book and began to turn the pages, closely looking at the photographs. In them, he saw white men dressed in white cotton and linen clothes, with their inseparable pith helmets and, in many cases, holding a rifle. He also saw black men in worn clothes working on the plantations. When the black men were posing for the photographer, they were often sitting at the feet of the white men, and it was not uncommon to see a white man’s hand resting on the head of a black. As if he were a dog, Laha thought in disgust. There were also photos of men holding up large boa skins. He tried to rack his brain for early childhood memories, but he did not find anything he saw in the photos. Either he had not been born, or he had been very young when the last photos had been taken. Maybe Iniko would recognize some of those shots.
Kilian and Jacobo also made comments about the emblematic buildings in colonial Santa Isabel, like the Casa Mallo, on the old Avenida Alfonso XIII, and the cars of that period and the names of the ships: Plus Ultra, Dómine, Ciudad de Cádiz, Fernando Poo, Ciudad de Sevilla … Kilian took a breath on hearing this last name. How many times had he thought that the life of that ship had run parallel to his own! The luxurious and elegant flagship of Trasmediterránea, after traveling half the world, was partially scrapped in the middle of the 1970s. Then it was refitted, and one day it was found drifting near the port of Palma, in danger of breaking in two. Later, it suffered two big fires and had to be fitted out once again … But despite everything, after seventy-six years in existence, it was still out there.
When there were no mo
re photos to comment on, Kilian shook his head and sighed. “How times have changed! It doesn’t feel as if so many years have gone by since we were in Fernando Po.”
Jacobo nodded. “And from what Clarence and Laha say, it doesn’t seem to have changed for the better.”
Laha arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” he asked.
Jacobo took a sip of coffee, cleaned his lips with a napkin, put his hands on the table, and looked seriously at Laha.
“In our time, around fifty thousand tons of cocoa used to leave the island, and from Sampaka alone, six hundred thousand kilos, thanks to us. And now, how much?” He looked at his brother. “Three thousand five hundred kilos? Everyone knows that since we left, the country hasn’t gotten its head above water.” He spoke to Laha directly. “You live worse now than forty years ago. Is that true or not?”
“Jacobo,” Laha answered in a level tone, “Guinea is a newly independent country that is trying to improve after centuries of oppression.”
“What do you mean, oppression?” Jacobo leaned forward. “Didn’t we bring you our knowledge and culture? You should be thankful that we took you out of the jungle …”
“Dad!” exclaimed Clarence, furious, as Carmen put an arm on her husband’s thigh to quiet him.
“Two things, Jacobo.” Laha sat back in his chair, his voice no longer calm. “One, we assimilated your culture because we had no choice. And two, unlike other Spanish colonizations, the conquistadors of Guinea only got involved enough to mix their blood with the conquered. That’s how inferior they considered us to be!”
Kilian observed both of them silently.