CHAPTER 34
OUT OF THE SHADOWS
A SMALL CONGREGATION of faces and placards greeted them as the children and Uncle Roy walked toward the high wire fence at Heathlands Detention Center. Sade scanned the messages: SOLAJA MUST STAY! REMEMBER KEN SARO-WIWA! NIGERIA NEEDS A FREE PRESS! NO MORE DEPORTATIONS! GIVE REFUGEES A FAIR DEAL! The people looked friendly, talking, laughing, calling out. All because of Papa! This would cheer him. The children had spoken to him after seeing the television news and the newspapers. Sade had asked if it was true about the hunger strike. Papa had replied that they must not worry. The most important thing was for his case to be public. But every time Sade ate, she thought of Papa. What was it like not to eat at all?
Behind the wire, a guard crossed the courtyard, his head erect, ignoring the crowd. But from high above the cameras pointed down in their direction and when Sade glanced ahead to her right, she received a shock. Three police vans, full of black uniforms behind the windows, were waiting in the car park near the gate. Were they really expecting trouble?
“Uncle, why—” Before she finished, shouting broke out.
“Solaja must stay!”
“No deportation!”
A policeman and woman marched calmly out of the gate toward the vans.
“Solaja must stay! No deportation!”
Uncle Roy tightened his grip on Sade’s hand. Femi edged a little closer to his sister as they approached the gate and the demonstrators.
A man in the crowd stepped out and addressed Uncle Roy.
“Sir, are these, by any chance, Solaja’s children? The boy looks just like him.” He spoke with a strong Nigerian accent.
Femi frowned but looked pleased at the same time.
“They are,” replied Uncle Roy.
“Listen, good people!” called the man, waving a cloth cap. “This fine young boy and girl are Folarin Solaja’s children. The ones the Immigration say don’t exist! But here they are coming to see their own daddy!”
All around them people started to clap.
“Please tell him we support him all the way,” the man continued enthusiastically. “Tell him that we like what he writes. Nigeria needs more brave people like him.”
The children and Uncle Roy smiled.
“Tell him we won’t give up. We shall demonstrate for him until they let him go! You know—”
“You better let them go now, Deji!” interrupted another man. He laughed. “They didn’t come to hear one of your big speeches!”
“Oh sorry, sorry,” Mr. Big Speech apologized. “But we want your daddy to know he has many friends.”
Mr. Big Speech reminded Sade of Mr. Abiona who kept the stall down their road. He was such a fan of Papa’s that he had often praised him when the children came to buy anything.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “We’ll tell Papa.”
The gate that had curiously swung open for them on their previous visit with Mama Appiah remained closed this time until they were actually standing in front of it. They searched for a bell to ring for entry. Sade could see the Eyes behind the plate glass in the security office inspecting them. Then the buzzer sounded and the gate unlocked. Inside the office, the guards were grimly silent. The calls and shouts of the demonstrators were muffled from here. When Uncle Roy announced that they had come to see Mr. Solaja, even the air seemed to stiffen.
They followed a guard across the open yard to the next locked gate. The demonstrators on the other side of the fence waved and yelled messages of support. Giving a little wave back, Sade felt embarrassed. She was cheating. They would not wave if they knew how she had behaved to Mariam and her family. If only she could talk to Papa now about what she should do. But Papa had far too many bigger problems to worry about.
“He’s in there already.” The woman guard had a face like a china doll’s. Her green eyes signed toward the visitors’ room. Who else was there to see Papa? Sade and Femi darted ahead of Uncle Roy. Papa was sitting in the far corner, facing the door. The visitor’s back was turned to them but when he twisted around, Sade gasped. Uncle Dele! He looked a lot older than Sade remembered. A tumult of words and hugs followed. Papa pulled Uncle Roy into the circle, shaking his hand and thanking him many times over.
“Well, well! My little Olufemi! Folasade! Both so grown up!” Uncle Dele’s eyes looked a little moist as they settled into a huddle of chairs.
“Your beard is like Papa’s! You also copied Uncle Tunde!” Femi sniggered.
“We couldn’t find you! Where have you been, Uncle Dele?” Sade was almost accusing.
“It’s a long story and this beard even comes into it!” Uncle Dele laughed lightly, scratching the trim black border.
“After what these children have been through, it won’t come as a surprise,” Papa sighed.
In his spare time Uncle Dele had been working with Nigerians for Democracy in London. They had been arguing that Nigeria should not be allowed to attend the Commonwealth Conference. In fact, they wanted Nigeria to be expelled from the Commonwealth until there were proper elections that allowed people to vote freely for a new government. Then the threats had started, over the telephone, both at home and at the Art College. At first their uncle had ignored them, but then they grew menacing. The day after Ken Saro-Wiwa was hanged, a note was slipped through the letterbox at his flat. It said “You Next.” He had gone into hiding immediately.
“That was just two days before Mama was shot,” Papa added quietly.
Some English friends had given Uncle Dele a safe place to stay in the countryside for a few weeks. He had not been able to read any Nigerian newspapers and had been cut off from all his usual contacts for the last few weeks. At least one of them must be a spy. The Seven O’Clock News on Friday night had been a terrible shock for him. He had to come out of hiding to help Papa. In fact the press were coming this evening to interview him outside the Detention Center.
“But…this hunger strike of yours, Folarin.” Uncle Dele lowered his voice. “I don’t think that it’s a good idea. Think of your health. Please.”
“My brother, what else can I do?” Papa threw up his hands. His face looked thinner than before. “A hunger strike makes news. It stays news. OK, not for too long, but people will want to know what’s happening. These Immigration people can’t steal me away on a plane when others are watching them.”
Sade watched Papa’s fingers at their gymnastics. Uncle Tunde had often tried to get their father to change his mind, but once Papa had worked out his reasons, it was like trying to uproot a baobab tree. She had always loved to hear Papa argue. He said things in ways that always made matters sharper. How she wished she could talk to him about Mariam. Alone.
They had already hugged Papa good-bye when he hastily pulled an envelope from his pocket.
“Nearly forgot! For Master and Miss Solaja, personal delivery!” Papa made a small mock bow. Sade took the letter.
“Keep writing, my child,” Papa added softly. “As long as we have our pens, we can talk.”
Papa’s words swirled in Sade’s mind as the wooden door crashed heavily behind them. The children, Uncle Roy and Uncle Dele trailed behind the guard in silence across the pools of yellow that lit up the two prison yards. Outside the final gate, they were greeted by cheers and a flash of camera lights.
CHAPTER 35
DARE TO TELL
My dear children,
When you were little, your Mama and I used to tell you stories. So did your grandparents, Uncle Tunde, Mama Buki—in fact many of us elders who loved you dearly. I am sure you will remember Tortoise. He might have been slow like a bent old man, but was he not always quick-witted? Sometimes he was artful and cunning, sometimes sensible and wise! There is one story I especially want to tell you now. It is one in which Tortoise is all these things as well as being courageous and daring. Perhaps you have heard it before. Never mind. The beauty is that we usually do not tire of hearing these stories again. What makes this one extra special is that it is also
a story about stories!
LEOPARD AND TORTOISE
Once upon a time, a hungry leopard was searching for something to eat. He had been prowling around all day without any luck. His stomach was beginning to feel pinched. As evening drew in, he came to a clearing in the forest—and there, in front of him, was a Tortoise. In one single swoop, Leopard slapped down his paw on Tortoise’s back.
“Oh please,” cried Tortoise. “I can see this is truly my end. But please, Mighty Leopard, just grant me a few minutes’ grace before you devour me. I wish to prepare myself to leave this world.” Now Leopard knew that Tortoise could not escape. He also thought that a little time would allow his stomach juices to prepare to receive Tortoise!
“As I am in a good mood,” he growled. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
As soon as Leopard released him, Tortoise began to scratch furiously at the grass under his feet. He worked in ever-increasing circles. He hardly stopped to breathe. Leopard watched, amazed. Whatever was Tortoise doing?
When Tortoise had used up every last second, he looked around at the deep marks that he had etched into the earth around him.
“Tell me,” said Leopard. “Why have you done this?”
“Well,” replied Tortoise. “From now on, anyone who comes to this place will see that some creature put up a great struggle for life here. You may eat me, but it is my struggle that shall be remembered!”
My dear children, do not worry. I do not intend to be eaten up by any Leopard! But like Tortoise, I believe in the power of the stories we tell. If we keep quiet about injustice, then injustice wins. We must dare to tell. Across the oceans of time, words are mightier than swords.
Your loving Papa
CHAPTER 36
SORRY
MIST WRAPPED ITSELF around the school. It threaded through the skeleton trees that lined the driveway and clung to the frostbitten bushes opposite them.
Very early in the morning, there is sometimes mist in the forest. It lifts in waves like a long-tailed bird forced into the open. Forced to reveal the nest it wanted to hide. Scents of forest and damp earth rise up with the mist. Grandma never allows them out of the compound until the mist has gone. She tells stories of people who lose their way because of it. Stories of iwin, the tree sprites who play wild games and make the wanderers scramble out of the woods with eyes flickering and madness on their tongues.
Sade peered through the gloom ahead. She recognized the slim figure walking alone with her head bent forward, covered by a scarf. She hurried to catch up with Mariam.
“Please. Can we go somewhere? There’s something I need to tell you,” Sade whispered. Her heart pounded.
The hall was hardly private. If Marcia and Donna were there, Sade did not want to see them. However the noisy batches of students took no notice of them as they weaved their way toward an unoccupied corner. Mariam turned to Sade with folded arms. Her dark eyes waited, silently on guard.
“I stole from your uncle’s shop—a lighter, a cigarette lighter.” Sade watched for horror and disgust to change the silent face. But not a muscle seemed to move. Mariam’s gaze remained steady. As steadfast as Mama’s eyes would have been.
“Marcia said her cousin would hurt my brother.” Sade forced herself to continue. “She and Donna came with me. I took the lighter while they kept talking to your uncle and—” Sade hesitated. Her heart was flapping wildly. “That lady is your mother, isn’t she?”
Mariam nodded and Sade watched the navy blue head scarf ripple slightly. She recalled how the thin bony-faced woman in Daud’s Store had also stared at her in this guarded way.
“My mother, my uncle, they know about the lighter.”
Mariam’s voice was so soft and flat that Sade was unsure she had heard correctly.
“Marcia and Donna, they do the same to me,” Mariam continued evenly. “But you stop talking with me. Like you don’t want to be my friend,” Mariam accused her quietly.
“They…you…all know? Why didn’t your uncle stop me? What did Marcia do to you?” Sade’s tongue felt dry and clumsy as her questions stumbled over each other. She ignored the shrill ringing over the tannoy.
“They make me steal. From Uncle. I must give them gold pen or they do something bad. Like fire! But I tell Mama and Uncle and he give me the pen. He say, ‘Let them think you steal it. People like that are no good. Don’t fight them. Just keep away.’ I give Marcia the pen and they leave me alone. But now I see them start with you.”
Sade did not know what to say or where to look. So Mariam and her family had known all along! Papa would surely not have said the same as Mariam’s uncle. How did people know what was the right thing to do? It was all so confusing. Yet she admired Mariam for telling her mother and uncle. At least they had all faced the threats together.
The hall was almost empty. Sade forced herself to look straight into Mariam’s face. The bell was ringing again.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You told me all about your uncle and your mother.” Mariam had even spoken about her father’s death in prison and her brother who was missing. “I told you nothing.”
Mariam’s eyes seemed to soften.
“It’s OK. Maybe you worried about something,” she said. “Come. Morrissy go mad if we late. You see me at break?”
Mr. Morris was calling the register when they entered the class. Sade expected him to say something cross or sarcastic. However, his gaze seemed to rest on her for an extra second like he was taking a snapshot on slow shutter speed. He simply said, “Ah, there you are!” Marcia’s narrowing eyes could not hide a flicker of surprise as Sade followed Mariam down the aisle. Was it at seeing them together again?
“Why don’t you tell them off, sir? You tell us off if we come late!” Donna’s words were as spiky as her hair.
“Indeed I would, Donna. If only to hear whether your latest excuse was any better than your last!” Mr. Morris’s words produced muffled laughter and giggles. There even seemed to be some snorts from Kevin’s desk.
At the end of the register, Mr. Morris announced that the class could talk quietly among themselves until the bell. Then he signaled to Sade.
“I’d like a word in private with you, Sade.”
“Telling you off in private! That’s discrimination, that is,” Donna hissed into Sade’s ear.
“Do you want me, sir? I come late with Sade.” Mariam stood up with Sade. She was coming to her aid. Despite everything.
“A friend in need,” Mama would say.
“No, thank you, Mariam. This concerns Sade only,” said Mr. Morris. His eyes roamed the classroom. “I shall just be outside in the corridor. If your chattering lifts the ceiling, my Christmas present to you will be detention.”
Sade followed Mr. Morris, feeling dull and numb. What now? Why did he have to notice her? She had more than enough to worry about already. In her other life, if a teacher wanted to have words with her, she would quickly think of Iyawo sitting quietly on her desk at home. Iyawo, who held up her graceful neck and lace-patterned head so calmly. That used to soothe any butterflies in her stomach. She tried to think of her Iyawo now. But the only picture that came to mind was an Iyawo who was dried out—the wood split and cracked. The patterns on this Iyawo’s hair were furrows eaten by termites. Sade bent her own head in dismay. She felt herself crumbling.
When Sade next opened her eyes, she was lying on a bed staring at someone misty and fuzzy. Slowly the figure became Miss Harcourt. There was no Mr. Morris, no class, no corridor. She was in a small room full of whiteness. White walls around her, white sheet beneath her, white screen at the end of the bed, white chair beside her. Miss Harcourt asked how she was feeling. Sade barely managed to nod. Everything about her felt heavy, most of all her tongue. She watched the teacher’s silky chestnut hair swing lightly as she tilted her head.
“You gave us quite a fright! Passing out like that! Mrs. King is on her way now…need a doctor but…probably stress. We had no idea…”
Sade drifted in and
out of listening. It seemed that the school now knew something about Papa. Did that mean they also knew about Mama? Did they know what happened to Mama after the ambulance men carried her away under the blinding white sheet?
She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if Papa knew. She had not even had a proper chance to ask him.
“If we had known before…help…cope…”
Sade shut her eyes and her ears.
Aunt Gracie’s doctor came to the house and declared he could find nothing wrong with her. His eyes twinkled behind thick round glasses, like those of a friendly Brown Owl. Once again Sade heard the word “cope.”
“It must have been all too much to cope with, Mrs. King. Even for an adult, you know, it would be too much. What the child needs is rest. And you must encourage her to eat more.”
Aunt Gracie led the doctor out of the pineapple-colored bedroom to the door.
“I think she finds it hard to eat because her father has stopped…”
The hushed tones trailed down the stairs, out of Sade’s hearing.
CHAPTER 37
BLAME
AUNT GRACIE COAXED SADE with a bowl of soup. She brought it into the bedroom on a small tray brightly painted and labeled FLOWERS FROM JAMAICA. Sade avoided looking at her, staring instead at the scarlet imitations of flowers that looked like flaming forest buds.
“My mother made the very same chicken broth, you know. She used to say, ‘It build you up, so you better drink up!’”
The Other Side of Truth Page 16