by Rita Edah
“What,” Beauty queried on our behalf, “or where is Point and Kill?”
Theo, laughing, replied, “It’s not a firing squad, I can assure you. Those have been done away with now that Nigeria is a democracy again.” He paused for effect. “It’s a restaurant.”
So different was it that if I’d been blindfolded and taken there, I couldn’t have told you immediately that this was in Warri. There were the welcoming smells and sight of golden palms, queen of the night and hibiscus in the welllit premises; and the well-manicured ioxa hedges transported me back to my childhood when I used to savour sucking the nectar out of its little red flowers… I have to try it one more time…
Theo’s friends were already there. As it was a cool but dry evening, we opted to take tables out on the patio, with a promise to the kids that we’d move indoors if there were too many bugs.
With the streams of jazz music in the background which later alternated with highlife and reggae, we were led to this special room where catfish and tilapia slithered and glided with just about enough water on the floor to keep them in motion. Here, we took a good look at what was available, pointed at what we wanted, it was taken expertly from the pool by hand, and killed (we didn’t have to watch that step, but were welcome to if we wished). The fish were then cooked to our specifications, (hence Point and Kill) and served with whatever accompaniments we wanted which included snails, salad, chicken gizzards, jollof rice, moimoi and peppersoup.
I will never forget the look of fascination and awe on my children’s faces as they watched the whole proceedings.
September 2001
Ashleigh (aged 12)
When Mum is happy with me, and has the time to notice me, she calls me her princess. Visiting her family in Nigeria, I got treated like one. It was just amazing. They did everything for me: served me food, cleared and washed up my dishes, ran my bath and would even have given me a wash if I’d let them. It really was cool.
I’m glad we visited. It cleared my head forever of the only images of Africa I’d had – of starving children (in north Africa) and wild animals (in the east). It was hard sometimes though, seeing hungry-looking children on the streets as we drove by in some of the fanciest cars in Warri. It was hard seeing grown-ups begging along those same streets, as if competing with the children for alms. Mum said that as there was no government welfare, anyone who didn’t have somebody within their family or amongst their friends to help them was basically in real trouble.
I really enjoyed Aunty Mary’s stories. She wasn’t much of a one for TV. She said most of the news was bad news. Which is true over here as well. She said some of it gave her nightmares. Which is true for me also. And she said storytelling brought a family together. Well, what do I know about that? My family hardly ever sat together.
This was one of my favourites:
There was once a girl named Orinrin. She was so beautiful that when she smiled, her teeth made a ringing sound (and Aunty Mary would make this impossible-to-describe sound) that was heard across the seven seas. Her skin was so smooth that when she rubbed on her palm kernel oil after her wash, she glowed about as bright as the full moon. She was the only child of her parents who adored her. And many men wanted to marry her. But she was very aware of her own beauty. She knew that she would never lack for suitors, and wanted to hold out for the most handsome and wealthiest man in all the known world. So she enjoyed taunting her admirers. She gave them impossible tasks and mocked them when they failed.
One morning, she went to the village square and saw the most attractive man she’d ever set her big brown eyes upon. She knew in an instant that she wanted to marry him. So she did. And everyone agreed that she’d made the perfect choice.
At the end of the customary rites, she packed her bags, hugged her parents goodbye and went off with her groom to his village which he said was on the other side of the sun. They had to travel through seven forests and seven seas to get there. She didn’t mind, after all he was handsome and rich. And when they got to his village, she would be the envy of every girl.
After they’d travelled about a day’s journey, they got to the first forest that bordered the sea. They went through the forest and on towards the sea. As they approached the sea, a voice called out, “Handsome Prince of the Seven Seas, can I have back my body part according to our deal?”
The bridegroom responded, “Certainly my friend, and thank you. Here’s your leg, according to our deal.” And they exchanged right legs. His straight strong leg was now replaced with a rickety one full of scabs.
This exchange repeated itself as they got to the next forest that bordered the second sea. (After the first exchange, when Aunty Mary would call out, “Handsome Prince of the Seven Seas, can I have back my body part according to our deal?” we, her listeners, would respond, “Certainly my friend…”)
Eventually, the bridegroom exchanged the seven parts of his body that were borrowed – right leg, left leg, right arm, left arm, eyes, ears and nose – for his own parts, which were really ugly.
When the beautiful bride finally stopped her crying, she asked him why he had tricked her so. His response was, “I’d heard so much about you, and how you’ve dealt unkindly with so many. I just needed to show you that all that glistens is not gold.”
She resigned herself to her fate. But he wouldn’t let her stay. “Obviously you agreed to marry me because you thought I was rich and handsome. As you can see, I am neither. So I am willing to set you free from your oath, if you promise me that you will live according to what you’ve learnt.”
“Oh I promise to live according to what I’ve learnt, starting with today. I can see that your soul is rich and beautiful and that is why I want to stay married to you.”
And so the ugly bridegroom, who was truly a prince, reigned with his beautiful bride who remained with him. And their kingdom spanned the seven forests and the seven seas. Sometimes today, we still hear the sound that suggests that Princess Orinrin is flashing a smile…
I love the story so much that I’ll look for an opportunity to use it in my creative writing class at school.
The other thing I really liked about the visit was looking through Mum’s family albums. There were lots of photos of her when she was very little, and then some of her and Aunty Beauty. Mum looked so protective of her in many of those photos. That particular exercise seemed to make them both sad. In going through the pile of old photos (not every one of them made it into a proper album), I saw some of Aunty Beauty’s paintings. I knew she liked to read, never knew she could paint so well.
“These are lovely, Aunty Beauty. Do you still paint?” I asked. I was surprised to see her eyes mist over.
“I haven’t for a while now… hopefully I will pick it up again sometime in the future… hopefully before I’m too old to handle a brush,” she smiled. And then she turned to Mum, “You remember our fantasies? I was to be a famous painter and you the greatest singer of all time?”
“Oh yes. I do. Yes.”
“And we were going to be rich. We were going to have large homes in each continent. We were going to eradicate poverty. We were going to change the world,” Aunty Beauty went on.
“Yes, I remember… we were so young… sometimes I wish I could recapture that spirit of adventure and of hope – not that I’m hopeless or anything, but sometimes I feel as though I’m stuck…”
“I know what you mean,” Aunty Beauty replied. By this time I was saying in my head, “Okay…” and began to drift away…
I found some of the games fascinating, and my cousins were thrilled when I tried to learn and join in with them. ‘When Will You Marry?’ was an easy one. It was jumping a skipping rope to the beat of a song that goes: ‘When will you marry? This year? Next year? Sometime forever… January, February, March…’ and so on till you got to December. If you still hadn’t stumbled, then you carried on with ‘How many children will you have? One, two, three…’ and so on till you eventually stumbled. And you were teased – in a
good-natured way – depending on where you fell out. It made skipping really fun.
The one I found tricky to follow was called ‘Ten, Ten’ or ‘Naught’. There was clapping, hopping and kicking the air to a count and a rhythm. The experts twirled with it as well especially when on a winning streak. You needed an opponent to play against. Or two opposing teams. Just too complicated to explain. But I learnt to play it somewhat clumsily… and enjoyed it. Apparently Mum and Aunty Beauty played it a lot as children. They said that it was like our PlayStation to them – they would rather play it than have dinner!
I didn’t see much of Josh though. Apart from when we all absolutely had to be together, he was with Uncle Danny. I didn’t think it possible to bond so fast with a total stranger even if they were your extended family, but Josh did, and I guess it was good for him. He got his hands dirty messing around with car engines in the name of helping Uncle Danny. He went with him to queue for fuel, to wash the car, to collect and return the marquees for the funeral, and whatever else he did while they were out. He really seemed so usefully occupied that for once in a long time, I wasn’t worried about him. Mum just beamed in his direction. She never had worries about him anyway. I hoped that when we got back home, he’d continue to be that same kind and helpful Josh.
No such luck. No sooner were we back in school than he was into his usual pranks with Sam and Jerry. The latest one was them asking everyone in their class if they were ready for the maths test that day (but there wasn’t meant to be one). Half the class didn’t turn up as a result because they thought they might as well be absent rather than completely flunk it. And then when the teacher wouldn’t postpone the lesson due to a ‘lack of quorum’, Josh asked him his views on the transatlantic slave trade, getting everyone into a debate about slavery still being alive and well in Britain today, and who was to blame for it. Not much maths was done in the class that period.
When he told me about it on our way home today, I couldn’t help laughing. I’m so glad I am not in his class though. Call me a nerd if you like, but I really like to get on with my work.
Yes, we are back home. Josh is back to being his annoying silly self. Mum is back to being blinking blind. And me, I’m back to being the one to carry the can.
September 2001
Beauty
It was good to have gone home. It was good to have been part of the farewell ceremonies for Dad. I still can’t believe that I will never see him again. It was really good to have been part of a community once more. And it was brilliant to see Theo in a more relaxed mood, possibly because he had no work issues to worry about or because he was home with his folk or just the general change of air.
Yet it is good to come back to my own home, my own bed, my own kitchen. Here, where I can get out of bed when I want, eat what I want when I want and not have anyone fuss over me (okay, a little fuss once in a while would be welcome!).
I enjoyed the visits Theo arranged for us – the cathedral, the NNPC Refinery, the restaurants (that Point and Kill was peculiar), the Big Market shopping and suya spots at night… he really seemed like he was relishing it all.
The boat ride to his homeland in the Greater Warri area though I found to be particularly hair-raising. I’d never been in a boat before, and even though I can swim, I prefer to have my feet on dry ground, thank you. However, Theo thought it was necessary for me to say thank you to his family for their support. I had seen his parents in their mainland Warri home, but to see members of his extended family, we needed to travel to his family homestead which was about 10km from the mainland. I was grateful that Mel came along to hold my hand otherwise I’m very sure I’d have chickened out at the pier.
The boats didn’t instil any confidence in me. The fact that we were renting a 12-seater motor boat for just the three of us did nothing to allay my fears. And seeing sea creatures trying to come into it just before our setting off simply terrified me. But I needn’t have worried. Our captain was experienced and friendly. Once we were off, apart from the noise and the water spitting behind us, I found it relaxing. I gradually was able to let go of the railings which my pale hands had been clutching.
Although the family homestead was about a 10-minute walk from the shore, it was really easy for Theo to point it out. It wasn’t a multi-storey building, but as it was surrounded by many thatched and mud huts, it appeared rather imposing in its saffron yellow, green and cream motifs.
Somehow word got out that we’d arrived because, in no time, many had come to meet us in the street, welcoming us loudly and brightly. Theo translated as much as he could and I could see from the facial expressions that they were pleased with our coming.
We were only able to spend about a couple of hours there for we needed to get back before dark. In that time though, we’d been feted with food, drinks, and high praise along with traditional music and dancing in the open courtyard.
Just before our departure, Theo’s mum took me aside to one of the smaller lounge-rooms. I can see where he gets his looks – his mother’s pretty face and his father’s stature combined in Theo make him the specimen of a man that he is.
“You know Theo loves you, don’t you?” Her kind eyes searched mine.
“Yes, Ma’am, I do. And I love him too.”
“I’m glad to hear it. You know he’s my only son.”
“Of course I do,” I replied lightly, thinking ‘I have an idea where this might be going’.
“I heard about the miscarriages. I’m sorry to hear this.”
“Thanks, Ma’am.”
“I understand that you’re tired now – you don’t want to try anymore?”
“That’s not exactly correct.” I wished I could have been less defensive, but I’d been caught off guard.
“Are you saying that my son is lying, that you are really trying?” She spoke so softly, so sweetly. Why did that hurt me so? It was all I could do to keep the agitation from my voice.
“I haven’t said that. I’ve said it isn’t correct to suggest that I don’t want to try anymore.” And I hated Theo for putting me in this kind of position.
“I would want to encourage you to please keep trying. I will be praying for you.”
Before I could say anything to that, Theo was at the door. “Mama, why don’t you pray for us and bless us before we go?”
And so she asked God to bless us. To prosper us so that the next time we came, there would be more of us for her to entertain. She asked that the family name and title did not end with Theo. She asked God to forgive us if any of us, and she really stressed that point, if any of us had done anything wrong from when we were children that would make him withhold children from us, to forgive us, and to release his blessings in every area of our lives…
The ride back was easier. I knew what to expect this time. And my mind was working overtime following the conversation and prayer by Theo’s mum. Somehow it reminded me of something Theo had said before, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it. Not wanting to spoil what had otherwise been a good holiday (apart from the fact that my dad wasn’t with us anymore), I decided not to dwell on it any further. After all, I don’t get to see them often, and if this was an opportunity for her to share her anxieties over wanting grandchildren, then I could afford to be gracious. And it was also possible that she’d misunderstood whatever it was Theo said to her, for surely Theo knew it wasn’t for lack of trying on anyone’s part.
That concern resolved on the inside, I found I was at ease enough to allow my surroundings to soak in – the sounds of the river ripples, and shoreline birds twittering; the tadpoles, sea anemones, sea turtles and other creepy crawlies edged their music into my soul. I found that I was thinking more and more of picking up my paintbrushes once again… just for the sake of it.
On the eve of our departure, Aunty Mary, in her farewell to me, said something like, “Please try oh, and don’t give up, no matter what.”
“Aunty Mary, what exactly are you talking about?”
“You kn
ow what I’m talking about. Children are important in every marriage. So please don’t give up trying, even though it can be difficult sometimes. Theo, as you know, is an only child, and he is really worried.”
“Why do you say that? He knows I’m not to blame for the fact that since the last miscarriage I haven’t fallen pregnant again.”
“Yes, he accepts that, but somehow thinks that if you tried harder…”
Needless to say, during the entire journey back to Lagos, and subsequently to London, I closed in on myself. I’m sure everyone had different theories as to the reasons for my withdrawal. It wasn’t until we were home that Theo forced me into a conversation and it all came tumbling out.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “we’ve had a rough year and it would be good if we had something to look forward to.”
“Certainly.”
“This time next year, it would be good to be holding our baby.”
“You do realise that it is not down to me, Theo?”
“Yes, I do, but still, if we tried…”
“If I hear that word ‘try’ one more time, I won’t be responsible for my reaction!”
“Come on, Beauty, calm down, control yourself. Everyone is just interested in our happiness.”
“And you’ve been giving ‘everyone’ the impression that I am not trying hard enough? What do you want from me? Am I a magician? Am I God?”
“No, but if you would ask God for forgiveness, genuinely ask him, I’m sure He will act in our favour.”
“Forgiveness for what exactly?”
“I don’t know, but you can’t have lived a perfect sinless life. When I met you, Mel was the more religious one.”
“So why aren’t you with Mel if that meant so much to you?”