The Other Side of Truth

by Beverley Naidoo

  You would have liked our English lesson this morning, Papa. We watched a TV program called Making News. It is about what is happening around the world. Did you know there is going to be a sports boycott of Nigeria by some European countries? They are protesting against the hanging of Mr. Saro-Wiwa and the other Ogoni leaders. The chief presenter is the same man on the Seven O’Clock News every night. But the other presenter is a child and she has to do real interviews. She only looked about my age. I would love to do that but I would be too nervous!

  The work here at school is not a problem. In fact some of it is easier than at home, especially English! That surprised me. Most of the teachers are not so strict and some of the students are quite cheeky. I think they don’t learn very much about Africa here. Some even think Africa is just one country and one boy asked me if I speak African! In Lower Primary, Mr. Obiki made us learn the names of all the different countries and languages in Europe. Do you remember how scared I was of Mr. Obiki? When his right eyebrow shot up like a question mark, that meant big trouble! I am glad he wasn’t teaching me math this morning. His detective eyes would have seen my mind escaping from the classroom.

  I am happy that you have some friends in prison like the teacher from Somalia. I am praying Mr. Nathan will be successful for you, Papa. There is something I need to talk to you about very badly.

  That is the bell now. O dabo until later!

  7 o’clock

  Papa, I cannot believe they have said NO. Mr. Nathan rang Mama Appiah and she came to tell us. Why won’t they believe us, Papa? WHY??? Aunt Gracie said we should ring you but there is no point. I will just be crying. It is better to be like Femi—like a little stone.

  Midnight

  Papa, I can’t hide this from you any longer. I can’t sleep until I tell you. Before Mama Appiah left she went into the kitchen with Aunt Gracie. I could tell they were going to talk about you. I know I was wrong to listen to a conversation not meant for me. I am becoming underhand, a sneaking kind of person. You and Mama never wanted me to be like that, but I can’t help it any more. Mama Appiah said Mr. Nathan is worried now about a bigger reason why they won’t let you out of prison. Is it true, Papa? Is it true that Nigerian Police want you FOR MAMA’S MURDER? Is it true they have asked British Police to send you home? HOW CAN THEY TELL SUCH A GREAT BIG LIE? If only Femi and I had told the truth about everything right at the beginning, then the people here would know this is a TERRIBLE DISGUSTING LIE.

  Sade

  CHAPTER 31

  SADE’S PLAN

  SINCE THEIR VISIT to the Detention Center, Sade had been holding on to Papa’s four little words, “We must be patient.” Yet there were so many things she desperately wanted to talk about with him. Talking about Mama would be the hardest of all. However, more immediately, she needed his advice about what to do about Mariam and, of course, Marcia. To her relief, Marcia and Donna had completely ignored her again since the trip to Daud’s Store. Neither of them had asked her why she had been away from school for two days afterward. But Mariam was also keeping away, sitting on the other side of the class. She was sure Mariam knew. What made it worse was that she was guilty not only of theft. Mariam had thought she was a friend and had confided in her. She was guilty of betrayal. Not knowing what to say or do, Sade had been avoiding Mariam too. With Papa’s unexpected arrival, she had managed to push all of that to the back of her mind.

  However, with this latest news, once again everything was spinning wildly out of control. She had a vision of Papa being bundled on to a plane by the Eyes and the Fingers. How would “We must be patient” help then? Who would even know what was happening to Papa apart from themselves? That would surely suit the Eyes and the Fingers.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  That would suit the Brass Buttons too.

  When eventually she fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, Sade had a dream that was quite different from those that had been troubling her before.

  She is sitting in a large empty classroom, her eyes fixed on a television screen. The Seven O’Clock News man moves his lips, but the screen is silent. He is in a desert and his pale hair is windblown, dusted with fine dry red sand. Like that swept down from the Sahara by the harmattan. His eyes concentrate down on her, narrowing, straining to see through the haze. She can tell from the way he leans forward that he is talking about something serious. Suddenly a photograph flashes on to the screen. It is of a round-faced man with daring eyes, a broad handsome smile and a pipe with a curved stem. Mr. Saro-Wiwa! Other faces follow that she doesn’t recognize. The camera switches to a studio. The red dust vanishes, but Mr. Seven O’Clock’s eyes remain narrowed on Sade. Swiveling sideways, he lowers his gaze toward someone shorter at the desk beside him. She is startled to find herself staring at herself.

  When Sade’s alarm buzzed in the morning, her head felt heavy as if it wanted to pull her back into sleep. But an idea was already hazily trying to enter her mind. Gradually it became clearer and sharper, demanding that she think about it. By the time Aunt Gracie knocked on her door, calling that it was time to get up, the idea had turned into a plan.

  When Sade came downstairs for breakfast, Aunt Gracie did not reveal anything of what Mama Appiah had told her the night before. Sade could tell that she was trying hard to be bright as she prepared their cereal and sandwiches. When the telephone rang, Sade guessed it was Papa. Would he also try to keep back the awful news?

  Papa, however, spoke openly about the latest turn in events. Matters were too serious to hide from them. This trumped-up charge against him proved that the government had a hand in Mama’s murder and they were trying to cover up their crime. There was no time to lose. Mr. Nathan would make an immediate appeal and write to the British Home Secretary, while Papa would send his letter to the Union of Journalists. Sade listened. Papa was talking the way he used to speak with Mama. Each time his newspaper had to tackle a new problem with the authorities, he would talk through their plans with Mama.

  “If our strategy and tactics are right, we can hold out against them. They have the power, but we have intelligence!”

  Now Mama was dead and Uncle Tunde was far away, whom could Papa talk to? So he was explaining to her, his daughter.

  “I don’t believe the British will send me back. Anyway, not so soon after the Saro-Wiwa affair.” Papa’s voice had been steady but now he hesitated.

  “I don’t want you and Femi to worry. Let me talk to Femi now.”

  Femi held the receiver like a wooden statue. Apart from tiny humming grunts, he didn’t reply to Papa. Sade took the receiver back to say o dabo. Papa’s voice had become very quiet.

  Sade waited until she had closed the latch on the gate and was walking beside her brother. The bare trees along the pavement stretched upward like elderly hands with knuckled fingers, begging.

  “I know a way to help Papa. Will you come with me after school?”

  “Where?” Femi frowned at her suspiciously.

  “I can’t tell you yet. I have to check something first. Both of us must go,” Sade declared calmly.

  “What will Auntie say?”

  “I’ll ring her—after school. I’ll tell her that we’ll be late. This is very important, Femi.”

  “I’ll miss my programs if I go.”

  Sade swung to a halt. She grabbed Femi’s arm and made him face her.

  “What’s wrong with you? This is more important than watching TV! It’s not playing. Don’t you want to help Papa?” she demanded. A glimmer of hurt flickered in Femi’s eyes before they shut themselves in again. He remained silent, his jaw set tight.

  “Well, if you want to help, meet me at the bus stop opposite your school. I’ll be there at three-thirty.” Sade tugged sharply at her rucksack straps and marched ahead. Farther down the road, guilt began to niggle at her for leaving Femi like that. She needed him for her plan. But it was no use begging, or even prodding, him. He would simply retreat more into his shell. No, she just had to face him roughly
with the choice. Either he helped Papa or he didn’t. But even if he did not come, she would still have to carry it through, as best as she could, on her own.

  At break, Sade hurried to the library. On previous days, she had watched the librarian help students who came with different questions. Mrs. Howe would point them to the right books or to the computer. Throughout the morning’s lessons Sade had silently tried out various ways of asking her question. Everything depended on it. She might have asked her English teacher, but was worried that Mr. Morris would become curious and ask unwelcome questions. She was not yet ready for that. She was at the top of the stairs leading to the library, when she almost came face to face with Mariam. Sade turned aside so hastily, and pushed open the library door so forcefully, that she would not have been surprised if Mrs. Howe had sent her right back out. The librarian flared with annoyance, ready to order the noise vandal out. But as she met Sade’s eyes, her anger strangely dropped.

  “What is it?” she asked evenly.

  “Excuse me,” Sade’s voice fell to a whisper. “I need the address for the Seven O’Clock News—the television studio—please.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Sade eased her way through students crowding the stairs and corridors with the address on a piece of paper in her pocket. It was somewhere near the center of London, according to Mrs. Howe. At lunchtime, Sade returned to the library to study a map. On the back of the paper with the address, she drew a rough map and wrote in the names of roads and places that she would need to recognize. She would ask at the bus stop which was the right bus. She and Femi had managed it once before all on their own. It should be easier now, she told herself. Nor was she worried about the fares, having saved most of her pocket money from Aunt Gracie. Her biggest worry was Femi. She fervently hoped that he would come with her. She needed him for her plan as much as she needed his company.

  Sade reached the bus shelter at half-past three and scanned the small group of waiting passengers. No Femi huddling among them. Only a couple of children were still waiting outside Greenslades School. They wound their arms around their coats to keep out the wind whipping down the street. Femi must have gone back to his television programs. Aunt Gracie would have a piece of cake and a drink waiting for him and the house would be warm. She couldn’t blame him. She should have explained more of her plan to him instead of being so secretive. But she had told him it was for Papa. Didn’t he care?

  Sade looked for a notice about the buses. A small board, with the glass broken, indicated the place where there had once been information about bus numbers and routes. Her eyes trailed across to Femi’s school again. The two children had gone and the school looked deserted. If she was already feeling cold and lonely, it was going to be far worse later this evening. She was wondering whom to ask about the bus when someone tugged her coat. She swung around. Femi had come after all! She could have hugged him. Instead she grinned.

  “Where we are going?” he asked solemnly.

  CHAPTER 32

  MR. SEVEN O’CLOCK NEWS

  “DON’T WORRY, AUNTIE. We’ll be all right.” Sade tried to sound confident. Femi trickled his fingers down the misty glass of the cramped phone booth. The concern in Aunt Gracie’s voice sparked through the telephone wires. It was going to be a freezing night. They could get lost. London was dangerous. Their father would be terribly worried if he knew. Why did they have to go on their own? Uncle could take them. He would come for them if they would just say where they were now and where they wanted to go. Three pips called urgently for more coins.

  “Please, Auntie. We’ll come—”

  The line went dead. Sade’s hand trembled as she replaced the receiver. How could she explain that this was something she and Femi had to do by themselves? So many dreadful, frightening things happened to people that were never reported. Like to Mariam’s family. Or to those people at the Screening Unit—like the mother with the face of sunken dunes. With so many stories, why should Papa’s tale matter enough to become news? But if Mr. Seven O’Clock saw two children on their own, he might just stop to listen. It was up to her and Femi to show that it mattered.

  They jumped on the first bus with Waterloo Bridge on its list of destinations. It was one of the names Sade had written on her own map. She would have liked to ask the driver where the bus would go after that. But he was a scowling man who shoved back their change so roughly that she kept quiet. The bus downstairs was full of passengers. Femi clumped up the stairs and Sade followed him without protest. It would also be easier to see from on top.

  “We have to look out for the river,” she told Femi, without adding that it was her only sure landmark.

  The bus carried them over the Thames. On either side, along the riverbank, great buildings towered like castles with thousands of lights sparkling between the violet sky and the mud-colored water. The river looked nothing like the fat bright blue snake on the library map crossed by a zigzag of yellow stripes. It seemed even more remote from the squiggle of lines on the map in her hand. On the library map, she had counted five big yellow streets that they would have to cross before the long road where they would find the television studio. But there had been lots of little streets between the yellow ones and Sade was soon confused. Every street outside the bus appeared large enough to be colored yellow! She had to do something quickly before the bus moved too far from the river and she lost her bearings altogether.

  “Excuse me, can you tell us where we are on this map, please? We want to go here, please.” Swallowing her shyness, Sade propelled her sketch toward a young man sitting alongside them. He blinked in surprise, then brought the paper so close to his face that it almost touched his nose. The longer he spent examining it, the faster Sade felt her heart pumping. Her map was much too rough! She should have copied it out more clearly. By the time the man could make sense of it, they would have gone too far. They should at least get off the bus. She was poising herself to speak when the young man handed the map back. They were in luck. The bus would actually go along the end of the road they were looking for, he said. He would point it out to them.

  Once off the bus, the children steered their way through figures wrapped securely in coats and scarves. Shops and offices were closing and people were going home. A plump Father Christmas and an airy snowman twinkled down at them above the street lights. Giant stars and Christmas trees flickered above the traffic. However, around the corner, the road was not lit so brightly. Cars and taxis still roared past, but there were fewer shops and people. More shadows.

  “Listen, child. London streets are full of strangers—and some are very sick, you know. Your daddy is trusting me and Uncle Roy to take good care of you.”

  Aunt Gracie’s words echoed in Sade’s head. She remembered Darth Vader of the alley lunging out at them on their first night in the city.

  “How far is it?” Femi mewled. Sade was peering through the gloom at each new entrance, searching for signs and brass number plates. She had no idea what kind of building they were looking for.

  “It can’t be far.”

  “You lie! How do you know? You haven’t been here before!” It was the whine that always got on her nerves.

  “Then why ask me such a stupid question?!” Sade bit her lip. The moment the words were out she knew that they were a mistake. Femi stamped to a halt.

  “If I’m so stupid, why do you need me? I’m going home! Give me my bus money!”

  “Don’t be so—” Sade swung around. Femi’s jaw jutted out fiercely. He was serious. He might even try to walk all the way if she refused to give him his bus fare. Her whole plan was going to be ruined.

  “Oh don’t let’s argue!” Sade pleaded. “I’m sorry. It’s me that’s stupid. We won’t help Papa if we fight.”

  Slowly Femi’s jaw and shoulders relaxed. Like a bristling cat letting its hair down. They set off again in silence. Ahead of them most of the buildings were shrouded in darkness. Was this really the right street? Sade would have liked to check her map under one of t
he pools of light but she dare not let Femi see any doubt. Her face prickled with the cold and her fingers stiffened despite her gloves.

  A glow of light and two taxis pulling up alongside a row of great white pillars were the first signs. When they drew nearer, they could see the building was quite different from the rest. Behind the pillars, the pavement sloped up toward two large revolving glass doors. The entire wall was made of glass. Inside a brilliantly lit hall, glossy green trees grew in huge tubs and televisions hung from the walls like decorations. For a little while they stared without speaking at this world inside a world. They could see everything but hear nothing. People walked briskly from the revolving doors to a man behind a desk. The buttons on his uniform glinted as he nodded and pointed.

  “Will that man let us in?” Femi asked.

  Sade had only imagined being with Mr. Seven O’Clock himself. She hadn’t thought about getting past any guards! And if she had to ask for him, what would she say? Suddenly she couldn’t even remember his real name! Whatever would she call him? Hardly ‘Mr. Seven O’Clock News’!

  “We’ll have to wait outside. No one can chase us away from here.” Sade tried to keep her voice low and calm. Mr. Seven O’Clock was probably inside the studio already. At Papa’s office, the journalists worked for hours before the paper was published each day. She and Femi might have to wait until the program was over. She raised her watch toward the light inside the glass wall. Just past five-thirty. The news finished at eight. She hadn’t thought about the waiting time.