Beauty's Story

by Rita Edah

  Theo shook hands with our chief ‘town crier’ who looked into his hand then bowed from his waist down. “Thanks sir, that’s very generous of you sir, have a safe journey sir, thanks sir.” His companion joined in the profuse thanksgiving.

  August 2001

  Ashleigh (aged 11, nearly 12)

  I thought it was neat that Mum decided that we went with her for her dad’s funeral. It’s sad and everything but we’ll get to hang out together – like a normal family. What I did not know was all the stuff we had to do first.

  Because Mum had been planning for us to travel this summer anyway, our passports were ready. It was cool having two nationalities because it meant we could hold two passports. Mum thought it was better than trying to get a visa. For the British passports Mum sent the forms, photos and cheque through the post. Within a few weeks, we received them through Royal Mail.

  For the Nigerian passports, we had to apply in person at the Fleet Street consular office. It was quite an experience.

  First of all we got lost. We took the wrong turning out of St Paul’s tube station. It wasn’t until about 20 minutes later that Mum asked a newsvendor who said we were going in the opposite direction to our destination. In the end we got there about an hour later than the 10am Mum had planned. She was grumpy about that. Josh was grumpy that he had to get out of bed so early in the halfterm break. Me, I was just eager to see what went on in a consular office.

  Not that I saw much. Just loads of people. Of all ages. And the smell – was that a combination of the sweat from so many people packed in a room without air? I’m sure some of it was baby bums that so needed wiping and airing. Mum said if we’d got there on time we’d have been nearer the front of the queue. So we had to be very patient. At the moment, our ticket number was 99B. They were seeing to 18A. Josh didn’t want to play any games with me. He didn’t want to read anything. So I left him to it and I plugged in my MP3 and browsed Mum’s Hello magazines. I had to make it loud to drown out the noise, and hopefully distract me from the odour. It didn’t quite work that way. And it upset Mum so I had to keep turning it down, then slightly up again when she was on to something else – she kept going up to see how the queue was moving. And muttering about the inefficient system, the grizzly babies and the very loud customers.

  Still, I managed to while away the time, listening to my music and daydreaming. Till about 1.30 when I needed to go to the loo and it turned out that they were all out of order. Mum’s fuming didn’t get us anywhere. In the end, we risked losing our place in the queue and went to the nearby McDonald’s.

  After visiting their small rooms, Mum got us lunch, saying we might as well be set up for the rest of the day. I usually had a chicken nuggets Happy Meal. But this time, I copied Josh and asked for a Big Mac meal. And guess what? I bit into something bony, only to find out that half of my premolar had broken on my burger. Mum had to arrange a visit to the dentist for the other half to be taken out. I can tell you, that’s put me off Big Macs for the rest of my life!

  The rest of the afternoon just carried on as the morning. There seemed to be different people at the till, but the system was the same. Your number came up on the little screen. You took yourself and your party to the allocated window. They checked your paperwork including passport photos, then sent you to another window, where they checked that you had the right fees. And then on you went to another window for what I’m not too sure. And then you got a slip for another date if everything was in order.

  Mum had all her paperwork in place including the correct amount of postal order, although she’d moaned about how inconvenient that was – they didn’t accept cheque or card payments. She got another appointment to go and pick up our passports in a week’s time. We didn’t need to go with her on that day. Phew!

  What else we needed though was jabs. If not for me, Josh would have wimped out of having them. The yellow fever one was more painful than the heps and typhoid ones. I went in first and shrugged when I came out of the nurse’s room, like it was no biggie. He didn’t have a choice then. And we’ve had to be taking those lame Larium tablets, like forever. Mum says it’s much better than having to be treated for malaria fever. She sounded like she knew what she was talking about…

  The Ikeja Sheraton was neat. It was the first time I’d actually stayed in a place that had air conditioning rather than radiators.

  But the trip to Warri was, oh my gosh! As we drove through Lagos, we saw big yellow buses with people hanging from the doors and out of the windows. Mum said these were molue, the cheapest form of public transportation available in Lagos. They honked their horns all the time. Actually, all the drivers seemed to be doing was swerving and honking and yelling. Now I knew the real meaning of ‘cacophony’ that Mum likes to say about my music.

  I think Cousin Daniel (“please call me Uncle Danny,” he’d said) tried to be careful. Just as I was beginning to wonder why he didn’t just drive straight on the road, I saw that he was trying to avoid potholes. He wasn’t always able to do so and my backside was sore from the bouncing by the end of the seven-hour trip. Uncle Theo said it shouldn’t have taken more than four. And muttered under his breath that all this roadblock nonsense still hadn’t stopped.

  To be honest, I’m glad he travels in his uniform because some of the police officers who stopped us looked really mean. But when they came close to the 504 station wagon and saw him in the ‘owners’ corner, they quickly snapped their feet together, gave a sharp salute and waved us on.

  As we got off the main road on to untarred winding lanes, I guessed we must be near Granddad’s home. We’d passed so many cyclists, but now they seemed like flies everywhere. I was really scared when I saw this Vespa with a woman carrying a child strapped to her back and another one between her and the cyclist who was weaving in and out of traffic. A motorcycle came between a truck and our car and he was going at such speed… looking back, what difference did ducking my head make? Duh!

  Finally, we were on an unmarked road with only a few houses sprinkled here and there. When we stopped at this massive thing, I thought my mum must be from a royal family! The gates swung open after Uncle Danny spoke into the wall. Mum turned to me and Josh and said, “Welcome home, guys,” and started to cry…

  August 2001

  Beauty

  I can still see the disgust on his face, the first time he told me I wasn’t a man – as if I didn’t know it already, the size of my nose, my muscular arms and facial hair notwithstanding – and to quit acting like one. I retreated, the fool that I was, not intending to be macho, only wanting to air my views on something or other which right now I cannot remember.

  What I cannot forget is how long it took him to tell me. To just tell me, his wife, that I’d lost my father. And when he finally did, it had to be in public. And when Mel left without a word or a hug – I could understand, she was in as much shock as I was. What I cannot understand is how he let me spend the whole night by myself. No matter how hard I try, the events of that evening keep going on like a merry-go-round in my head. Only, there is nothing merry about these rounds.

  I can see how he would want to cater more for Mel’s welfare than for mine.

  For I am familiar with the every imperfection of my form. I’m only a couple of inches taller than the tallest dwarf. Petite, my dad, used to say. But then, he’s my dad – was… Everyone else called me ‘shortie’, including Theo.

  Mel, however, has the stature and elegance of a supermodel. She could have been a Hollywood star, our Mel… and she is a super mum. She was born for stardom. When I tell her that, she just laughs. But she is a star. Always has been to me. And me, I was born to walk in her shadow. Always have. Always will. That’s the bit I haven’t told her yet, and don’t know if I ever will.

  But for her, I wouldn’t have come on this trip. I wanted to visit while Dad was alive. I didn’t feel up to an elaborate funeral ceremony. Plus I had nothing tangible to show for having been in England all these years. Mind you, it was
good to get to meet and know the white wing of the family. Still… what have I achieved? When she saw that I wasn’t budging, she got Aunty Mary on my case and she somehow convinced me that I could regret missing out on an opportunity to say goodbye to Dad, something I never had a chance to do with Mum. She insisted it would help with bringing closure. And she told me that she missed me, and wanted to see me again, irrespective of the circumstances.

  So here was I, wrapped in Aunty Mary’s generous bosom, sobs wracking through mine, wails pouring out of my soul that continued as though they would go on forever. Soon a whole company of women had joined me and the ululations persisted till the wee hours…

  Funnily enough, I woke up the next morning feeling much lighter on the inside. The smell of yam and peppersoup tickled my nostrils and the sounds of children carrying on didn’t bring on a wave of nausea, an iota of longing or an ounce of anger. And for the first time since I learnt of Dad’s death, I was hopeful that I could actually forgive Theo.

  Two days after the interment, Theo led his family in paying the traditional homage by the son-in-law. Ordinarily, it would have been done in some three months’ time but we only had 10 days altogether to spend in Warri, so the time frame had to be adjusted.

  The morning opened on a bright and light note. The palm frond booths were still in place from the funeral ceremonies. Fortunately we were in proper August break so the rains had kept away, apart from the occasional showers like last night.

  The women in our household had been up at the crack of dawn. After persistent nagging from Mel and me to join in the preparations, Aunt Mary’s team of helpers allowed us to give a hand with the salad. Josh had been clinging to Daniel and had gone off with him on some errand or other. Ash seemed a bit lost sometimes, and followed me and Mel around like Mary’s little lamb.

  I hadn’t seen much of my stepmum, Rosa. She’d remained mostly in her chambers. Whenever she’d come out, she was in black from head to toe. It was good to see her this morning in blue attire.

  By mid-day, we were thrown out of the kitchen to go and get ready. My outfit was a white organza blouse that had white and gold appliqué. It had a square neckline with an off the shoulder short sleeve, and a discreet zipper to the side.

  To be able to walk comfortably in the up and down lace George wrapper, I had to hold the bottom piece of the wrapper behind me at waist level, with my legs hip-width apart. Then I had to take the end held by my left hand across to my right side before bringing my feet together and taking the right-hand edge to the left. Aunty Mary had given me an old tie of my father’s to use to secure it tightly around my waist. This bottom piece had to drop way down to my ankles. The top piece, however, I tied in a similar fashion but without the belt, and it only dropped to my calf. I could have worn it shorter or longer as I pleased.

  Before going on to the gele, I had to ensure I’d put on my coral beaded earrings, bracelets and necklaces. I had my gold and silver open-back sandals and matching clutch purse.

  The white, silver and gold gele was expertly knotted on my head by Aunty Mary. To the uninitiated it looked like an elaborate hat – and that is how I wore it – but it was actually a stiff 100cm by 190cm headscarf made of polyester/metallic material.

  Mel and my three half-sisters would be dressed similarly, but in colours different from mine. They’d agreed on a blue motif. My coral beads were heavier and more elaborate as it was my husband and his family that were coming to pay homage.

  The rising level of buzz from arriving guests created an excitement and a fear in me at one and the same time. I could hear salutations and ululations and eulogies to my late dad. I fought between the urge to cry and the wish to smile. In the end, the tears simply trickled as I recalled the way he used to say my name…

  “Aunty Beauty, you look gorgeous.” It was Ash, knocking and dashing into my room on the dot of four o’clock.

  “So do you, my darling.” She was in a maxi skirt and smart blouse, with gele, no doubt crafted for her by Aunty Mary.

  “They want you to come now.”

  I took her hand and we walked into the main reception area. Mel and Josh were right behind me. My other sisters and some cousins, including Onome, followed. This entourage was then flanked on either side by a bevy of older female relations who fanned us with intricately designed handheld fans as we walked, calling out:

  Iyibo ‘r awveren (literally, ‘Our white persons’ or ‘Our very important persons’)

  Omokiyovwin (What a beautiful child!)

  Emotekoba (Daughters who are like royalty)

  Ibenjamini nierhi (Benjamin had a good destiny)

  We were escorted to our special booth where my dad’s siblings and other family members were already seated.

  Looking across to the in-laws’ booth, there was Theo, resplendent in his outfit. His wrapper was a large single piece, wrapped to the left and folded casually at the top. This, however, was obscured by his shirt that fell to just above his knees. Our colours were matching in every way, except that he had a black bowler hat and a black walking stick.

  Drinks and food were served as the customary introductions were made.

  Then Theo’s family spokesman rose. “We have come here today to give honour to an illustrious man. A simple man. A man of honesty and integrity. A kind-hearted man. One who was kind enough to allow us into his family, and bless us with his daughter. And not only that, but one who accepted our son as if he were his own. This man is our father, Benjamin Etakibuebu Iroro, who has now gone ahead of us to a better place. Today we will eat and drink and sing and dance as we remember that we have been a blessed people for having become part of Mr Iroro’s family.”

  As if on cue, the lead singer of the live band began: “Was he a good man?”

  “He was a good man,” his band replied.

  “Was he an honest man?”

  “He was an honest man.”

  Family members, in-laws and guests were now joining in the response.

  “Was he a handsome man?”

  “He was the most handsome man of his generation!”

  This carried on in various forms for a while, and then the band went into very high tempo musical numbers, and everyone was encouraged to dance with thanksgiving for the life and times of Mr Benjamin Iroro.

  I surprised myself at how I tapped and swayed and moved to the African highlife rhythm. And I was surprised to see Theo join me, not only in dance, but in slapping 50 naira notes on my forehead and round my neck and arms – any bare bits of my frame. Mel and Ash did the honours of picking the money off me and off the floor while I beamed and swayed even harder. When I spread out my arms and went into the traditional rhythmic chest pops, the whole crowd went up in a wild cheer. And as I continued popping my chest, limboing downwards with intricate footwork, Theo mirrored my steps and pace, limboing opposite me and continuing to shower me with naira notes.

  By the end of the evening, exhausted and exhilarated, I regained a conviction that I had long lost – that Theo, indeed, did love me.

  CHAPTER 5

  September 2001

  Theo

  There’s nothing like visiting Nigeria after you’ve been away for a while. And although it was under sad circumstances, it was a fruitful visit. Visiting with family and friends, giving a great funeral and in-laws homage to my dear father-in-law, and winning back Beauty’s heart once again made it an experience worthy of the cost.

  It was particularly pleasing to see my parents and family members not just being civil to Beauty and her family but giving us their full cooperation. My parents had come a long way from when I first told them I wanted to marry Beauty Iroro. I’d met Beauty and Mel one summer after the Notting Hill Carnival. I’d just completed my Political Science degree at the University of East London. I missed home dreadfully but the political climate was unsafe and Papa, a very outspoken human rights activist, had got under the skin of the military junta, so he thought it safest for me to be away from Nigeria for a while. That Christm
as was the first time I’d be home in three years.

  After the festivities of the season, as I began my preparations to travel back to London, my mother came up with her pet subject. “Look after yourself, my son, keep your head down, and don’t wait too long to settle down and bless me with grandchildren.”

  That really used to irritate me. But this time, I smiled, “Your prayers might be getting answered soon.”

  “Really, tell me all about her.” She was beaming.

  And I think I was beaming too as I told her about Beauty – her grace, her patience, her intelligence, her cooking skills and the fact that we were in love with each other.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Beauty.”

  “That’s a lovely name. Where is she from?”

  “Her father is from Warri mainland, and her mother was from London.”

  “Was?”

  “Yes. She died soon after Beauty was born.”

  “How soon?”

  “A few hours, I think.”

  “God forbid!” And she made this gesture of rolling her hand over her head and clicking her fingers at the end of the move which finishes as if writing an ‘o’ in the air. Her face had passed from joy to horror. Though I was deflated by her reaction, I wasn’t entirely surprised, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t be a major issue.

  “What’s wrong, Ma, I thought you’d be happy for me?”

  “I was, but can’t be now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because your father will kill me, that’s one reason.”

  “Why so?”

  She took pains to explain. That as my father was now a chief in our Itsekiri ethnic community, it would be disgraceful for his only son to marry from another (read as rival) ethnic group. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the bride-to-be is not even fully from that group. She’s partly white. That means his grandchildren will be a mixed breed of sorts and so the chieftaincy title will not pass down my line as it must be kept pure. It didn’t seem to matter that I personally wasn’t interested in the title. It didn’t seem to matter either that she’d been hassling me to get married and to give her grandchildren while she still had some energy to play with them.