I think of Papa smashing his radio this morning, of how he is planning to buy new things with Morufu’s moneys.
“You like it?” Enitan ask again.
“You are dancing as if you have a sickness in your two legs,” I say to Enitan with a laugh that feel too heavy, too full for my mouth.
She drop her cloth, press a finger to her jaw, and look the sky. “What can I say to make this Adunni happy now, eh? What can I—Ah! I know what will make you happy.” She pick my hand and begin to drag me to the front of her house. “Come and see all the fine, fine makeups I am planning to use for your wedding. Do you know there is a color green eyespencils? Green! Come let me show you. When you see it all, you will be so happy! Then, after that, we can go to the river and—”
“Not today,” I say, collecting my hand and turning away to hide my tears. “I have too much work. All the . . . the wedding preparations.”
“I hear you,” she say. “Maybe I should come to your house in the afternoon for the makeups testing?”
I shake my head, begin to walk away.
“Wait! Adunni,” she shout. “What color of lipsticks should I bring? The red of a new wife or the pink of a young—”
Bring a black one, I say to myself as I turn a corner. The black of a mourner!
CHAPTER 4
Two years before my mama was dead, one car drive inside our compound and bring itself to a stop in front of our mango tree.
I was sitting under the tree, washing my papa’s singlet, and when the car stop, I stop my washing, shake the soap from my hand, and keep looking the car. Is a rich man own, this car, black and shining with big tires and front light like the eyes of a sleeping fish. The car door open, and one man climb out, bringing along the smell of air-con and siga and perfumes. He tall like anything I ever see, with skin the brown of roasted groundnut, and his fine face and long jaw make me think of a handsome horse. He was wearing costly trouser cloth of green lace, with a green cap on his slim head.
“Good morning, I am looking for Idowu,” he say, talking fast, fast, voice smooth. “Is she around?”
Idowu is the name of my mother. She didn’t ever use to have visitor, except of the five womens from the Church Community of Praying Wife every third Sunday in the month.
I roof my eyes from the morning sun. “Good morning, sah,” I say. “You are who?”
“Is she around?” he ask again. “My name is Ade.”
“She have go out,” I say. “You want to sit-down wait?”
“I am sorry, I can’t,” he say. “I only came to Ikati village to visit my grandmother’s burial site. She, uh, passed away while I was abroad. I thought to say hello to your mother on my way back to the airport. I fly back tonight.”
“Fly? Like aeloplane? To the Abroad?” I have been hearing of this the Abroad, of the Am-rica and the London. I am even seeing it inside the tee-vee, the womens and mens with their yellow skin and pencil nose and hair like rope, but I have never see anybody from there before with my two naked eyes. I been hearing them in the radio sometimes too, talking fast, fast, speaking English as if they are using it as special power for confusing everybody.
I look this tall, fine man, at his skin, which is the brown of roasted groundnut, and his short black hair like foam sponge. He is not resembling the peoples in the Abroad tee-vee. “Where are you from?” I ask him.
“The UK,” he say, smiling soft, showing white teeths in straight line. “London.”
“Then why you don’t look yellow like them?” I ask.
He strong his face, then laugh ha-ha. “You must be Idowu’s daughter,” he say. “What is your name?”
“Adunni is the name, sah.”
“You are just as pretty as she was at your age.”
“Thank you, sah,” I say. “My mama have travel far to greet Iya, her old friend that is living in the next village. Till tomorrow before she is coming back. I can keep your message.”
“Now that’s a shame,” he say. “Can you tell her Ade came back to look for her? Tell her that I didn’t forget her.”
After he climb inside his car and was going, I keep thinking, who is this man, and how he knows my mama? When Mama return and I tell her Mr. Ade from the Abroad of the UK come and see her, she shock. “Mr. Ade?” she keep asking as if she deaf. “Mr. Ade?”
Then she was starting to cry soft because she didn’t want Papa to hear. It take me another three weeks to be asking her why she shock and cry. She tell me that Mr. Ade is from a rich family. That many years back, he was living in Lagos, but he come to Ikati to be staying with his grandmother for holiday season. One day, Mama was selling puff-puff and Mr. Ade buy some. Then he just fall inside love with her. Big fall. She say he is her first man-friend, the only man she ever love. The two both of them was suppose to have marry theirself. But my mama didn’t go to school, so Mr. Ade family say no marriage. When Mr. Ade say he will kill hisself if he didn’t marry Mama, his family lock him inside aeloplane and send him to the Abroad. After Mama cry and cry, her family force her to marry Papa, a man she didn’t ever love.
And now, my own Papa is wanting to do the same to me.
That day, Mama say, “Adunni, because I didn’t go to school, I didn’t marry my love. I was wanting to go outside this village, to count plenty moneys, to be reading many books, but all of that didn’t possible.” Then she hold my hand. “Adunni, God knows I will use my last sweat to be sending you to school because I am wanting you to have chance at life. I am wanting you to speak good English, because in Nigeria, everybody is understanding English and the more better your speaking English, the more better for you to be getting good job.”
She cough a little, shift herself on the floor mat, keep talking. “In this village, if you go to school, no one will be forcing you to marry any man. But if you didn’t go to school, they will marry you to any man once you are reaching fifteen years old. Your schooling is your voice, child. It will be speaking for you even if you didn’t open your mouth to talk. It will be speaking till the day God is calling you come.”
That day, I tell myself that even if I am not getting anything in this life, I will go to school. I will finish my primary and secondary and university schooling and become teacher because I don’t just want to be having any kind voice . . .
I want a louding voice.
* * *
“Papa?”
He is sitting in the sofa, keeping his eyes on the tee-vee, looking the gray glass face of it as if it will magic and on itself so that he can be watching the elections news.