“Marcelo is rebellious. If he was already like that as a child, going to the land of the mitangan only made it worse. He even brought home his father, burnt to a crisp. Did you know he roasted my uncle alive? May he rest in peace!”
I decided to keep my mouth shut.
CELEBRATION
Three days later, everything was ready for me to start working. At the beginning of this century, the population of Equatorial Guinea that lived near Gabon survived thanks to trade, especially with the district of Akurenam. Huge plantations of sugarcane, yucca, corn, malanga, and all kinds of foodstuffs were sold in the French-speaking country. Everyone had to earn money, and I certainly had earned it after all I’d been through!
I was to carry a basket with a container of malamba on my back from Ebian, along with other girls and boys. Selling malamba was so profitable that even Fang men carried baskets of it as well, even though they considered doing so women’s work. My mother’s sister prepared twenty liters of malamba and assured me that I could sell it for 3,000 francs. Such a sum was the same as a million francs back then. It was a lot of money for a girl my age.
I went to work, thinking of how much fun it would be to spend that money with Dina and how I could use it to bribe some family member to tell me where I could find my father. I also planned to bring back a gift for Uncle Marcelo. Although I already knew exactly how I wanted to spend my earnings, my mother’s sister upset my plans by making a list of what I was to buy: all cosmetics, to turn me into a normal woman. And the rest would be set aside for my grandmother.
The work itself was much harder than I’d expected. I thought that we would reach our destination in two or three hours after we left town. If only! We walked for the entire day, across rivers both big and small and through forests barely touched by traditional agriculture, where animals watched us and seemed to laugh at us before running away.
I was especially afraid of the rivers. We had to walk across narrow tree trunks to get to the other side; one had to be a tightrope walker not to fall. I was so nervous that I always crossed in the middle of the group so that, if I fell, someone would be nearby to help me.
At six thirty in the afternoon we reached Oveng, a town that seemed much too large to be located in the middle of the forest with no connecting roads. I was surprised to see that many homes had generators and that there were even bars and nice restaurants, and a lot of glamour, all of which indicated the presence of the Gabonese. On the streets I heard words like bonjour, monsieur, bon voyage, instead of Spanish.
The town of Oveng was a symbol of Gabon’s wealth—a prosperity I hoped to share in myself after the long walk in the dark along that route my companions knew by heart. We had crossed the jungle like animals, in total darkness, with just a lantern to guide us—but only in an emergency, like if someone fell. Some of us even walked barefoot the whole way, and everyone but me had wounds on their back.
Soon after Oveng, we reached Modun, a city inhabited primarily by Gabonese of Fang ethnicity. My grandfather had always praised the solidarity of the Fang people, but beyond the borders of my country they called me ecuató, that is, poor, miserable, ignorant. My mistake had been to identify myself as Equatorial Guinean without knowing exactly what that meant.
The entire city of Modun had electricity. I had never seen so much light! The city center, which was nothing like Akonibe’s, had buildings made from cement and metal that were five stories tall. I had never seen anything taller than just one story. And not just that. In my village, and in the entire region of Akonibe, we all spoke Fang, but the people here, despite also being Fang, spoke in French, even the children.
I soon made another unsettling discovery. My grandfather had always taken pride in being of the Fang people, with our strong ties to malamba. But the passersby and merchants, even though they knew our ethnic origins, treated us like what we were: strangers who had come to their land in search of riches.
During our short stay in this neighboring country, my companions and I visited many shops because we needed to buy everything: matchsticks, candles, lantern wicks, flashlights, fishing hooks, sewing needles, pots, plates, buckets to carry water from the river, notebooks, sandals . . . We needed absolutely everything. I also bought makeup like my aunt had told me to. At two in the afternoon we headed back.
When we arrived, everyone in the village was already asleep. My aunt woke and took care of me. Good thing, too. I had never walked so much in my life.
Once my mother’s sister had gathered enough money, she told me, “Go on, take the 2,000 francs left over from your trip. Use the money for whatever you need. And don’t breathe a word of this to your grandmother. She loves money, she’ll take it away from you if you let your tongue get away from you.”
Two days later we said our goodbyes, with my aunt giving me a final reminder to tell the man-woman to do his duty for the tribe. I arrived home on a Sunday afternoon, along with the girls who studied at the school in Akonibe. I was eager to see Dina and make love to her, and for us to go together to visit my uncle Marcelo in his forced exile in the forest.
Back in my village, far removed from the outside world, men with machetes and women with hoes, brooms, and baskets were tidying up and cutting back the weeds. Nobody spoke about anything but the arrival of the district political authorities.
The next day, I carried breakfast over to the House of the Word. My grandfather had dressed up in his newest outfit, which his young wife kept for him; the other men of the tribe were also well dressed. I wasn’t going to be an exception—my grandmother was clear about that—and thankfully her anger at my having cut off my hair had passed quickly. She called me into her room and picked up the razor blade as soon as I entered. Again with the eyebrows! The moment I walked through the door she started to lecture me.
“The time has come to turn you into a real woman. Did you know that the authorities travel accompanied by their wealthy friends? Today is a special day for you. It’s time you find a man who might support the family at last. Especially now that you’re getting your monthlies!”
“Of course, Abuelita.”
“You know I’m getting old. After I die, no one will take care of you. Don’t forget that your mother is dead, your father is a scoundrel, and you’re a bastarda. So I want you picked up before I die.”
“Picked up?”
“Married, of course. You’re such a fool! I’ve introduced you to every man there is in this village. All of them chased after your mother’s skirts. You should call them Papa. All of them! So now you’re going to start asking them for favors.”
My grandmother spoke without pause, so pleased she even smiled. I hadn’t seen her so enthusiastic in years, as she searched through the chaos of her room for the finest clothes for me to wear. In the end, she found a skirt so short it left my legs and thighs bare, which in the village we call a “Madonna.” If I bent over, anyone could see my butt, not to mention everything else.
“Take this,” she told me, her smile so wide I could see bits of chewing tobacco inside her mouth.
The two of us went out to the main road and walked toward the school, where we’d been told to wait. At two in the afternoon, the district authorities arrived. The head of the group wore a black suit, and his hair had been straightened and styled so much that he looked like an artist. My grandmother felt betrayed. She’d never seen a man with hair like that in her life, and she began to complain while I thought about how I could slip away. I wanted to look for Dina and find out how my uncle was doing.
Plácido was standing next to me and secretly passed me a little note that read: I’m waiting for you at home. Get away from your interfering grandmother as soon as you can. It’s Dina. I love you.
But I couldn’t leave right away because my interfering companion forced me to listen to the powerful man’s speech. “This village, mmm, full of happy, working people, mmm, has always captured my interest, ehhh, my interest. That’s why, ehhh, that’s how it is. And I don’t come empty-handed. As a son of Af
rica I have brought food: three zebus and various boxes of fish, eh. I hope everyone considers this a historic day, eh. There you have the food. Rejoice! Mmm. What more do you want, eh? For the youngsters, I’ve brought endless boxes of San Miguel beer. Drink! Mmm. Get as drunk as you want! Mmm. I’ve brought plenty of alcohol. I’ll be back at four, and, for now, I invite everyone to the president of the town council’s home to get their portion of food and drink. Mmmm. Eh.”
Like a thick wave, the crowd hurried off to the president’s house. My grandmother walked at the head of the group and I followed just behind, in the middle of everyone, until I managed to slip away from her with an excuse I knew would work.
“I’m going to touch up my makeup, Abuela. It’s started to run in this heat.”
“There’s no time to waste, hija. Don’t you want one of the men who are visiting to take an interest in you?”
“Of course,” I replied, sighing anxiously. “But without makeup, I don’t think any will even look at me.”
In the end she let me go, with the promise that I come right back. I ran off toward Dina’s home, located at the edge of the village. The doors were all closed, and she was seated on a bench in the yard holding a basket. We kissed behind the banana trees, and I asked about the other girls in the quartet. We walked for a few minutes, talking about all the excitement in the village stirred up by the visit of the political authorities. When the village was about a kilometer behind us, we prepared a spot on the ground with banana leaves. I gave her half of the 2,000 francs I had brought back from my trip. She didn’t want to take the money, claiming that I needed it more because of my family’s instability, since I could be struck by a machete at any moment when my grandfather’s two wives were fighting. As we spoke, I lay down on top of her, my head resting between her breasts. It didn’t matter that she was still dressed, I was aroused. The image of her naked body was engraved on my mind.
Four hours later, we reached my uncle’s cabin. He ran out to embrace me and carried me in his arms into his dwelling of calabó wood and nipa palms. Inside, his woman friend was seated on one of the three beds along with a man I didn’t know who looked at me jealously. We gave them the basket of food that Dina had prepared, but I wanted to meet the strange man there with them.
“He’s a personal friend,” my uncle said.
“And what is a ‘personal friend’ for you?”
Dina looked at me angrily.
“He is a man-woman,” my uncle said nervously. “Let’s just say that we’re together the same way you and Dina are together.”
It seemed that Dina had told him all about us.
“And how does Fang tradition define us? If a man who is with another man is called a man-woman, what are women called who do the same?”
“There isn’t a word for it. It’s like you don’t exist,” my uncle said bluntly. “You and Dina love each other, right? That’s what matters. This man and I have had a relationship for ten years now. We both live in the forest because . . . You understand me. In his village, five kilometers from here, they also reject him. So be careful.” He pointed at me and then at Dina. “Because if you’re discovered . . . You’ll see. There’ll be an uproar in the village.”
My uncle was all nerves as he spoke. I noticed it as he took my hand and asked me to say hello to Jesusín, his partner. I did.
They served us vegetables. They lived in the middle of the forest, surrounded by animals, but refused to hunt them. As soon as I got the chance, I asked my uncle where I could find my father.
“You promised me in your letter, Uncle.”
“He lives in Asok Abia, a town located a few kilometers from here. His name is Ondò Mebian Angué.”
At that moment, my appetite vanished, and I let the spoon fall from my hand.
“Tell me about him. I want—I don’t know—to know why he’s never looked for me. And did he get along with my mother? Why does everyone call him a scoundrel? Do you think he loves me, Uncle?” I started to cry. “And why are you telling me this now that they’ve kicked you out of the village? Is it because you want revenge against Abuela and Abuelo?”
“You have so many questions, I’ll answer the ones I can.” He held Jesusín’s hand. It was a strange thing for me to see, and they both noticed.
“Don’t you think it’s unusual that you and Dina are together?”
“Yes. But in the village they say that a normal man doesn’t give up making love to women. That’s why they call you man-women. We don’t even have a name.”
“But isn’t that worse?” Jesusín said. “If you don’t have a name, you’re invisible, and if you’re invisible, you can’t claim any rights. Besides, the offensive label man-woman implies disdain toward women. It reduces them to passive sexual objects that never act on their own desires. Think about it. From what I can see you’re no fool.”
“Of course she’s not!” my uncle interjected. “She passed all her subjects in school. But let’s go back to the question of your father. If I kept quiet while I lived in the village, it was only because I didn’t feel I was the right person to talk to you about him. I’m just your mother’s cousin. But I still don’t think you’ll understand, because you’re Fang.”
“Uncle, what’s your point?”
“Okay,” he sighed. “I don’t know why your father hasn’t come to look for you despite how close he and your mother were. When I met him, he and your mother were very much in love. He didn’t seem like a scoundrel to me. You’ve asked if he loves you, but I honestly don’t know. I guess he does.”
“But if he didn’t come looking for me, it must be because he doesn’t love me. Does he know my mother is dead?”
“Yes, he knows. He was even at the funeral.”
“As soon as I get back to the village, I’m going to go and look for him,” I thought out loud. Dina, who was sitting beside me, offered to come with me.
“And the harvests they say you’ve ruined?” I asked my uncle. “Are you really a bad person? Do they really burn people alive in Spain?”
“Every culture has its own special way of treating the dead. In Spain, they burn the bodies of the deceased; they don’t burn people alive.”
Restituta joined in: “The fact that there aren’t any fish in the rivers is not your uncle’s fault. It’s because of the mitangan, their exploitation. They fish with advanced technology while the people of the villages still use traditional methods. As for the ashes of Marcelo’s father, tell your grandmother they’re still with us, and that they’re no threat to anyone.”
“Then why did my grandmother accuse you, Uncle?”
“Your grandmother is an ignorant woman.”
When evening fell, Dina and I returned to the village. We were both very worried. One of my uncle’s legs was hurt, and he walked with a limp. He had broken it the day they had to flee.
When I got home, I found my grandmother celebrating, but her face sobered when she saw me. She gave me one of those looks that made my legs quake.
“The authorities have left along with their friends and the money they brought. Tell me where you’ve been hiding. I looked for you everywhere in the village.” As she spoke, squatting beside the hearth, unbothered by the thick smoke in the kitchen, she stuffed tobacco into the fold of her lip. I sat down nervously on the bed next to hers. I had to make up an excuse fast if I wanted to avoid one of her angry beatings, the kind that would leave me with a painful bump on my head for days.
“You didn’t give me the key when we said goodbye, so I went back to where the event was. I looked for you until I was exhausted, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. So instead I went with a girl who said she would let me use her mother’s makeup.”
“And what is this girl’s name?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. She looked like a jar.
I hesitated before answering. My grandmother knew me well, and she knew I was trying to make up a name. I was saved by some shouts coming from the street. Two men, about forty or fifty years old,
seemed to be dying. My grandmother ran outside to find out what was going on while I stayed inside to think of a better lie.
The cries and shouts in the street went on and on. Everyone assumed the two individuals must be all but dead. They had volunteered to participate in a competition organized by the authorities. One of the members of the committee had offered 500,000 francs to any brave man who managed to drink a liter of whiskey in a few minutes.
The two agonizing men had taken part in the competition, but after drinking the bottle as fast as they could, they had collapsed in front of my grandmother’s house on the way to their homes.
The villagers, feeling pity, slowly approached the scene. But there were some who had other concerns. I had almost forgotten about the other two girls in our quartet, but they hadn’t forgotten us. In a fit of jealousy they walked up to my grandmother and, in the presence of all our neighbors, declared, “Your granddaughter is a woman-man.”
My grandmother asked what that was.
“She sleeps with other women, with Dina, to be more exact,” they said together.
“Silence! The woman-man does not exist in Fang tradition,” argued my grandfather, who witnessed this scene seated beside his first wife.
“Call it what you want, but that’s how things are.”
My grandfather demanded proof to support the truth of these accusations. The two girls explained that while the entire village was celebrating the visit of the district authorities, I had been enjoying myself with Dina in the forest and then had gone to visit Marcelo. My grandmother spoke up in my defense, assuring everyone that this couldn’t be true because the two of us had been at the event together. Having made their accusation, the two girls departed. I hadn’t opened my mouth once. I knew that for the sake of the family’s honor, my grandparents wouldn’t let people in the village know that I was indecent.
An hour later, my grandfather sent me to go bring water from the river. Waiting for me there were the two girls who had denounced me, and they gave me a thrashing. I returned to the village without the water, my body covered with cuts and bruises, feeling so ashamed I couldn’t possibly tell the truth. I tried to hide in my grandmother’s room, but she found me.
La Bastarda Page 5