‘But the men are big men. They have the money. They have all the nice things, like big cars and the false hair which come from the white man’s land. And the little girls sleep with them because they like these things.’
‘But what do the mothers of these little girls say?’
‘What can they say? Some of them do not even know that their children are like this. They live in the villages and when their daughters take good things home, they think it is because they are ladies and have got them all with the pay from their work. Some clans learn from the wayside how their daughters are living in the cities. But they are afraid to say anything.’
‘But why should anyone fear her own daughter?’
‘Because she has got a big mouth from what she has seen.’
‘Allah!’
‘But my wife, that is not all. Sometimes they are not afraid of the daughter herself but the big man. Because he has big power and he can ruin them if they do not give him what he wants – their daughter. And Setu my wife, such things have been known to happen.’
‘O Allah, what times we live in. What rulers we have. How can men behave in this way who are our lords?’
‘Mm. Was it different in the old days, Setu my wife? Did not the lords take the little girls they liked among the women?’
‘Zirigu, I do not know. I’m sure you are right. But Allah has made it so. All women are slaves of our lords. These new masters are not Believers. It is not Allah’s will. And they are shameful acts.’
‘But my wife, what are you saying? When a man is your lord, he is your lord. And he behaves like your lord. How else should he behave? And how are we to say that new lords must not do what old ones did? When the white men were here, did they not do the same? Sleep with very little girls, oh, such little girls?’
‘I do not know, Zirigu, I do not know, my husband. . . . Yes, I saw some of these things, when those people were here. But listen, my husband. If one day when you are not looking, a man comes and takes your farmhouse or your kraal, and he begins doing all the things a good man should not do; sells all the yams in your barns without leaving any for planting; boils your eggs as soon as they have been laid and does not spare one for a single hen to hatch; gives great feasts to all his family and all his friends, with your lambs and calves; and generally carries on in such a way that your heart hurts as though it is falling into your bowels every time you look on; and yet you are not able to do anything for many many years, but then one day, thanks to Allah, you get your farmhouse or your kraal back, what then do you do, my husband? So, from the first day, you too begin to kill or sell what is left of your old and miserable cows, sheep and chickens? And if an egg is just laid, you boil it right away, and generally continue the destruction of your property which that robber had started?
‘I do not know, Zirigu, but it is certainly good that all my children are boys. It is good I never had a daughter. Because if I had had a daughter, and I knew a big man was doing unholy things with her, then with a matchet in my own hand, I would have cut that big man to pieces myself!’
‘Oh, Jesu preserve my soul. O Jesu! Setu, what kind of talk is this? You must pray more than everybody else on Friday for these foul words.’
‘Yes, my husband. Let us thank Allah for what he gives. As I say, it is good I have no daughter.’
‘Maybe it is better that all mothers are not like you. Otherwise the land would be flowing with the blood of all the big men.’
‘And who shall lament to see the blood of evil men flow?’
‘But since the masters of the land are always bad, or they have been bad for a long, long time, do you not know that people would not like to see the new ones die? They, like the daughters, also come from homes. Homes where people eat well because they know the big men. Do you think that everybody in the land is like you and me? No, my wife. There are people who will lament to see a big man killed. Because knowing a big man means having someone in the town who has a huge house. It means . . . but it is enough, my wife. The big men we saw yesterday were bad. These we see today are worse. And be sure that those of tomorrow will be like those of yesterday and today put together.’
‘Stop, stop. Stop, Zirigu. You make me feel cold all of a sudden.’
‘Women! Were you not the same Setu who, a while ago, was all ready to cut someone down with a matchet?’
‘But what does one do?’
‘How do I know? I serve them the drinks they ask, cook their meals if they want me to, make their beds, sweep their rooms, and more. And if they bring their women, look after them too. You know, my wife, as well as I, that that has been my life. As for the families of those things – as you call the little girls – that, my wife, I do not know.’
‘Yes, Zirigu, now that you say it, I remember that not all of them, I mean their mothers, even disapprove.’
‘Ah . . .’
‘Look at that Munatu girl.’
‘Ah . . .’
‘Do you know how those uncles of hers could have found the money to build that mansion?’
‘Ah . . .’
‘Twelve rooms, they say it has. Twelve rooms. And many pipes for government water in the house. And those who have been inside and peeped into some of the rooms, say that one must see them with one’s own eyes to believe that there are women and men who have such rooms to sleep in.’
‘Ah . . .’
‘And so people try to profit by their daughters by giving them to the big men? And they sometimes even encourage them . . .?’
‘Ah . . .’
‘And if they are like that Munatu’s mother, they come to the market-place telling everybody what and what my lord master is doing and saying . . .?’
‘Ah . . .’
‘When you know that the man will leave your daughter when he’s tired of her or he sees another girl who is more beautiful?’
‘Ah . . .’
‘I spit upon such big men! I spit upon such mothers! I spit upon such daughters!’
‘My wife, now that you are feeling better inside, I will leave you and go to wake up my young master.’
‘And I am getting ready to go and see the doctor about my ears.’
.....
Knock, knock, knock.
‘Massa, Massa, Massa . . .’
‘Y-e-s?’
‘Massa, Massa, Massa.’
‘Y-e-s?’
‘You say: “Zirigu, wake me for eight.” At eight, I com’, you no wake. At ’a pas’ eight, I com’, you no wake. Now, you go wake because ’e be nine o’clock.’
‘But Zirigu, the door was not locked. You could have come and dragged me out!’
‘Ah, Massa, you make me laugh. Me, Zirigu, com’ where yourself sleep com’ pull you?’
‘Why not?’
‘I no fit.’
‘Okay, we shall not argue further about it. Thank you for managing to get me up at last.’
‘But weyting you think you fit do for this place so you wake up early so?’
‘Nothing really. You are right. But I just want to keep on waking up early. It will be bad for me to get used to sleeping late. I should try to get up much earlier than this anyway, but I feel very tired so I am going slow.’
‘But why? For Massa, you fit sleep late. Weyting you go do for office? Like me, I wake early, yes. But you, no!’
‘Zirigu, not all educated people work in offices.’
‘No?’
‘No. And one of these days, I think I’m going to tell you why I don’t want to get used to sleeping late.’
Christ I can feel it coming.
‘I don’ make you coffee for long time. Maybe now, ’e be cold. I go stand am for stove.’
‘Take your time, man. I’ll wash myself and then come and fetch it. Please Zirigu, I’ve said that you shouldn’t wait on me hand and foot.’
‘Massa!’
‘Well, I don’t see why you should. You are old enough to be my father.’
‘My white Massa!’
‘A
nd I am not a white man.’
‘Massa!’
‘Listen, the kitchen is your territory and I shall not come and mess around there. Besides, I am a guest here so there are things I know I should not do. But I’ll be damned if you are going to get me to behave as though I were some accursed invalid or something.’
‘Lord, lord, Massa, such talk no fit for your mout’. I like yourself so you fit do weyting you like. The sun don’ com’ up long time. I wan’ go get good meat for you so I must hurry to market before twelve. Tell me what you sabe for breakfast make I do. Omelette? Poached eggs. Fried egg on toast. Eggs and bacon. Orange juice . . .’
‘Stop, Zirigu!’
‘Why, Massa?’
‘I’m not having any breakfast. Have you got fresh oranges?’
‘No? . . . Yes, in my wife’s kitchen. I go bring am for you.’
‘I will pay for it.’
‘No fear. When I go for market, I go buy you better. Plenty Massas only drink orange juice for the bottle.’
‘I’m mad but I think I’m sane enough not to drink pressed, homogenised, dehydrated, re-crystallised, thawed, diluted and heaven-knows-what-else orange juice, imported from countries where oranges do not grow, when I can eat oranges.’
‘What you say, Massa?’
‘Never mind, Zirigu.’
.....
‘If you ask them, why ten years after independence, some of us still have to be slaves, they say you are nuts to ask questions like that.’
‘You are getting your definitions wrong. By what stretch of imagination does a steward-boy or a housemaid become a slave?’
‘Was it not enough that whole sections of us were bred so that all they could do was to minister to the needs of white men and women? Doing soul-killing jobs? Do they have to do them for us too?’
‘What are you talking about? It partially solves the unemployment problem. Or minimises it, at least. Can you imagine what would happen if all the house-boys and housemaids were not doing what they are doing?’
‘How about the pay?’
‘How about it?’
‘And anyway, most of them, especially the house-girls, are people’s relatives . . .’
‘Problems are solved only when you tackle them in all seriousness.’
‘Eh – captain, another beer, please.’
.....
‘Massa, I must go to market now. I say I wan’ get good meat. What you go chop?’
‘I’ll eat anything you cook.’
‘Massa, you tink you go like fried fillet of calf? Or a braised lamb liver? Yes, here a good one. An escalope of veal with onions and fried potatoes.’
‘Zirigu, whom did you say you were going to cook for?’
‘Yourself, Massa.’
‘But that is not the food I eat.’
‘But ’e be white man chop.’
‘Zirigu, I no be white man. And that is the second time this morning I’ve told you that. And if you do it again, I’ll pack up and leave.’
Jesus, isn’t there anywhere on this bloody land one can have some blinking peace? Jesus . . . Lord I am sweating . . . God . . . see how I’m sweating. Jesus see how I’m sweating.
‘Massa, why you sweat so?’
‘It gets hot here early.’
‘Yes, make I open them windows.’
Jesus!
‘Massa, I beg. Don’t make so. I no wan’ vex you. This here chop, ’e be white man’s chop. ‘E be the chop I cook for all massas, for fifteen years. The Ministars, the party people who stay for here, the big men from the Ministries, the Unifartisy people, the big offisars from the army and police. . . . ’E be same chop, they chop, this white man chop.’
‘Zirigu, can’t you cook any food of the land? Don’t they sell things in that market with which you could make the food of this land?’
‘Yes. But I no fit cook your kind food. No, I no fit cook food of your area.’
‘How about the food of your area? Your food?’
‘I no fit cook that.’
‘Jesus. And you’ve been a cook steward here for all these years?’
‘Yes. But Massa. I know my job. Massa, don’t com’ make trouble for me. O, look, my hair don’ gone white. I no fit find another job. Who go look for my pickin’? I know how to cook, Massa, white man’s chop.’
‘That’s the problem. Listen. God forbid you should even think I’ll make trouble for you. In fact, that is not what I am talking about. But I’m just about beginning to understand. Gradually. You went into training, qualified and have been gaining experience all these years as a cook for white people. You do not know how to cook the food of the land because it is your food. And you are a man. And a man normally does not cook. But you cook the white man’s chop because that is white man’s chop, your job, not food. Or . . .’
‘Massa, God knows I know my job.’
‘Of course! As a man of the land and your wife’s husband you are a man and therefore you do not cook. As a black man facing a white man, his servant, you are a black, not a man, therefore you can cook.’
‘Massa, Massa. You call me woman? I swear, by God, Massa, this na tough. I no be woman. God forbid!’
‘Ah, Zirigu. I am only thinking something out. Ah . . . God is above, I no call you woman. Soon I go talk all for you.’
‘But Massa, you no know. Don’t call me woman.’
‘No, I will not.’
.....
When a black man is with his wife who cooks and chores for him, he is a man. When he is with white folk for whom he cooks and chores, he is a woman. Dear Lord, what then is a black man who cooks and chores for black men?
.....
‘Listen Zirigu, does the Mother your wife know how to cook the food of the land?’
‘Yes. But not of your area.’
‘No. Of your area.’
‘Yes!’
‘Okay, can you charge me the normal rate for supper and ask the Mother to count my mouth in for the supper this evening?’
‘W-h-a-t? What you say Massa? What?’
‘I say, Zirigu, can the Mother count my stomach in for the evening’s meal?’
‘Massa. I no wan’ play?’
‘I am not playing.’
‘Heh? God. You mean you go eat tuo?’
‘Why not? At home I eat banku. Isn’t it the same? One of rice, the other of corn? Aren’t they all farina? Semolina? Whatever?’
‘Massa, I no wan’ trouble.’
‘What kind of trouble do you think you are going to get? Perhaps you think I’m a child?’
‘I mean your tommy.’
‘What about my tummy? Do you get tummy trouble when you eat your wife’s food? What are you saying, man? And anyway, I can look after myself in that kind of way. I am a medical doctor, you know.’
‘I know, young Massa. I say, this man look small but him too, ’e be big man. . . . But you go chop, tuo?’
‘Yes.’
‘As for you self!’
.....
‘S-e-t-u! S-e-t-u! S-e-t-u-e-e-e! Where is that woman? S-e-t-u!’
‘What is it, Zirigu? I was in the bath. Did I not tell you I was getting ready to go and see the doctor?’
‘Listen, my wife. I never heard a story like this before.’
‘Well, I haven’t either. But how can I know for sure when you are not telling it?’
‘Hmm . . . S-e-t-u . . . how shall I begin?’
‘Perhaps we better wait until this evening, since I have no time to . . .”
‘No . . . no . . . no! Hmm Setu, the young Master says he does not want to eat this evening.’
‘And is that a story?’
‘But that is not all.’
‘Well, just tell me the rest.’
‘He says he will eat some of your food this evening!’
‘H-e-e-eh! Allah. Zirigu, it is not true.’
‘He is in there, sitting by the table eating his orange. Go and ask him.’
‘E-e-e Allah. Zirigu, do you think
this boy is right in his head?’
‘Setu, I am not sure. Setu, really, I am not sure. But his eyes do not rove so even if he is ill, it is not serious yet. He talks funny sometimes though. But I don’t know. Yes, he says he will eat tuo and that I can charge it to his general bill. Lord, in all the twenty or so years I’ve been general keeper and cook for this Rest House, I have not encountered a thing like this, eh Setu, have we?’
‘No, my husband. But times do change.’
‘Yes, you are right, my wife. So after you’ve been to see the doctor, go straight to the market, buy some very good vegetables, fresh greens, okro . . .’
‘Zirigu, now you better shut up your mouth before you annoy me. Since when did you start teaching me how to do my marketing? This is my job. A woman’s job.’
‘Yes, Setu.’
.....
‘Massa . . .’
‘Zirigu, how often should I tell you not to call me that?’
‘But you are my massa!’
‘I am nothing of the sort. I was born not six years when you were going away to fight. How can I be your massa? And this is a Government Rest House, not mine, I am not even your employer. So how can I be your Master?’
‘But all the other Massas, they don’t say make I no call them so?’
‘Hell they don’t. That is their business. Not mine. My name is Kobina, not Master.’
‘Kob-i-n-a . . . K-o . . . Massa, I beg, I no fit call you that. I simple no fit.’
‘Too bad. That means I’ll have to leave here too, earlier than I had hoped.’
‘I dey go for town buy eggs, soap and some more yama-yama for the house. Make I buy you something?’
‘Oranges, more fruit.’
‘No drink?’
‘Christ, no. Ah, yes, perhaps pito?’
‘As for you, Massa self! You wan’ drink pito?’
‘I want to taste it. I understand one can get it real fresh around here. And I want to taste it. Haven’t drunk any before. Is it good? Does it make one drunk?’
‘Yes. Very good. No, ’e no make one drunk. Not too mus.’
.....
There should be something said for open spaces. And yet what? Nothing. It should be possible that if one can see several miles out in front, into the distance, one should also be able to see into time. All this breeze. These clear skies. Fresh breezes should blow the nonsense from our souls, the stupidities from our minds and lift the veils off our eyes. But it’s not like that. It’s never been like that. There are as many cramped souls around here as there are among the dwellers down there. In the thick woods and on the beaches. Like everyone else, those poets were wrong. They lied. But Zirigu is alright. And so is his wife, the Mother. They are alright, like all of us. Alright. I only hope that one day, they will learn that we are all the same.
No Sweetness Here and Other Stories Page 2
