‘How about Jimmy Carter?’ Kemi offered.
‘Please Yusuf, don’t exaggerate,’ Joy said, ignoring Kemi’s question.
The Abubakar children spoke only when spoken to, and Tayo worried that he and Miriam had spoilt Kemi. Baba would never have stood for so many interruptions, and yet Tayo knew he should not compare. He had never wanted to be as strict as his father.
‘No, I’m serious,’ Yusuf insisted. ‘I’m telling you that unless this country is ruled by force, we’re all doomed. Yes now, force! Just look at our property. Did we tell you, Tayo, what happened when we came back from Florida last year? We got to our place … you know, our place where we’re building our small-small palace, and found no cement, no bricks, no nothing! The workers were stealing it all and carrying it to their villages to build their menene. So I sacked them, all of them. Wallahi! Look, Nigerians are just too corrupt!’
‘It’s true,’ Tayo nodded. ‘This business of corruption is so bad; when I travel these days I’m even embarrassed to show my passport.’
‘Precisely,’ Yusuf stabbed the air with his fork. ‘You see, you watch everyone passing so smoothly through those immigration places in Europe until it comes to our Nigerian passport and then the way they look at you, it’s an insult. That’s why I got myself a British passport. Yes now! The end justifies the means, isn’t it so?’ Yusuf chuckled.
‘Was Jimmy Carter a dictator?’ Kemi persisted.
‘No, he was a democrat. But not a Naija democrat-o,’ Yusuf laughed.
‘And did you hear about that Professor of Economics?’ Tayo interjected.
‘No. Which one is that now?’ Yusuf laughed in anticipation.
‘Last month,’ Tayo began, ‘the university passed on a candidate to the committee stage, this fellow from Oxford, Innocent something-or-other. I wasn’t involved in the recruiting, mind you, but I just wanted to meet the applicant — a fellow Oxford chap and all that.’
‘Of course. We all know your reputation, Tayo,’ Joy smiled. ‘Always looking out for younger colleagues. Isn’t that so?’
‘Well,’ Tayo shrugged nonchalantly so as not to appear flattered.
‘Haba, Tayo, you’re too humble my friend,’ Yusuf insisted.
‘Anyway, I called Innocent to my office,’ Tayo continued, ‘and straight away I knew something was fishy about the chap. He was sort of shifty-looking and telling me he didn’t have much time to talk. And then I asked him which college he attended at Oxford. Do you know what he said?’
‘What did Mr. Innocent, innocently say?’ Yusuf asked, already laughing.
‘Oxford College!’
‘Why is that funny?’ Kemi shouted, frustrated at being left out.
‘So then I thought, let me just have some fun with this Innocent chap,’ Tayo continued, ‘and I asked him, “Did you read Economics at Oxford?” Of course, as you know, there’s no Economics course at Oxford, only PPE. But this man just nodded saying, “yes, yes, yes”. And then …’ Tayo paused, trying not to laugh, but Yusuf and Joy were laughing so hard that it made it difficult not to do the same. ‘And then I said, “So was Marks one of your tutors?” “Of course,” the chap replied. “Yes, Karly Marx,” he added. So there I was even giving the foolish man the benefit of the doubt asking if he knew Daniel Marks, and the chap thinks I’m talking about Karl Marx.’ Tayo struggled to keep a serious face. ‘So then I ask him if he meant the one who died in 1883. And what did he say? “Karly Marx junior.” Can you imagine?’
Yusuf’s loud laughter, punctuated by fists pounding on the table, now had the whole room going.
‘Come on, Tayo,’ Yusuf spoke in fits and starts. ‘You exaggerate too much, but I like this story-o!’
‘We simply need a God-fearing man in power,’ Miriam remarked, her words landing like a fly swat against their merriment.
‘Well, we certainly need someone who is not corrupt.’ Tayo wiped his eyes. ‘That’s what we need. Someone like Awolowo.’
Tayo wished Miriam wouldn’t always insist on a God-fearing man. He had nothing against the suggestion itself, but the predictability of Miriam’s responses and her simplicity annoyed him even more than their daughter’s interruptions. Yet, when he’d first met Miriam it had been that very simplicity, her youth and her unwavering faith in God, that he’d liked. So why did these things now bother him? At least she hadn’t joined the Aladura church or any of the cults popping up like anthills all over the country. He would never dismiss religion or faith, but he wished she were more questioning, or could at least engage with other people’s ideas the way Joy did, for example. There was so much that he wanted to do, so much he wished to change in his country, yet Miriam showed very little interest. In the early years it hadn’t been like this: they had discussed things together. Miriam had read literature and taken an interest in the courses he taught, but now she confined her reading to the Bible and Christian pamphlets. He couldn’t help but wish she’d never fallen pregnant all those years ago and that way they also wouldn’t have gone through the trauma and heartbreak of losing the baby that had made things even worse. Doubly tragic. But no, he wasn’t being fair. This was life and they’d both decided to try to make it work and maybe it had worked, as well as could have been expected. Meanwhile, Yusuf was still talking and teasing Tayo about Awolowo.
‘I’m telling you, Awolowo is corrupt, no be so?’ Yusuf turned to Ibrahim, who had begun clearing their plates.
‘So oga, when you go be President?’ Ibrahim asked, looking in Tayo’s direction.
‘Me? You wan make I die? Neva!’ Tayo laughed. ‘Make you bring me some of dat your fruit salad.’
‘And do you have sherry trifle?’ Yusuf inquired.
‘Yes sah. We also have Bird Eye costad and ice cream.’
‘Eh-henh, then make you bring all of dem.’
‘Yes sah.’ Ibrahim dashed off to join the rest of the amused waiters, who stood idly in a line at the back of the room.
‘Ah-ah, look at this man, our Black American brother!’ Yusuf exclaimed, pointing to a new arrival. It was Kwame, who had come with some friends for lunch.
Tayo stood up and they chatted for a while.
‘So how do you know Kwame?’ Tayo asked, once the desserts arrived and Kwame had left.
‘We play tennis. The man’s an Arthur Ashe, you know.’
‘I didn’t realise he was that good.’
‘Shows how little you know about your university colleagues. He used to be a Black Panther too.’
‘Well of course I knew that,’ Tayo smiled.
‘He’s a good man, so dedicated to our country,’ Yusuf mused.
Tayo nodded. They were all close friends now, but he remembered when Kwame first arrived and how aloof he’d been. It was only when Tayo told Kwame about his admiration for Brother Malcolm and the fiery Oxford debate of 1964 that Kwame grew more relaxed in his presence. Perhaps, Tayo mused, Kwame, like Miriam, found him too English and not quite African enough.
The children had finished their ice cream and were eager to play in the pool, so the women took them away while Tayo and Yusuf stayed behind to drink tea and continue their conversation.
‘Karly Marx Junior and Professor Innocent,’ Yusuf repeated, shaking his head and laughing. ‘Did the man even know any economics?’
‘Who knows?’ Tayo laughed as they stood up. ‘But the man was smart enough at least to try bluffing his way into university.’
They walked slowly across the courtyard, past the building where the annual horticultural show took place and where Scottish dancing was taught on Sunday evenings—the last vestiges of colonial days that seemed destined to linger.
‘Now Tayo, remind me again, when is the baby due?’
‘We’re told the last week in August.’
‘Inshallah. Good. Very good.’ Yusuf stared ponderously at his snakeskin slippers. ‘So, are you still considering that job at Birmingham University?’
‘Yes, still deciding.’ Tayo didn’t need Yusuf to remind h
im that it was an attractive offer. It was a chance to teach in the African Studies Centre while completing his own research towards a PhD, yet he was reluctant to accept. Life would be better in England, offering a more conducive academic environment, and greater financial security, but Tayo felt an obligation to remain in Nigeria if for no other reason than for his students.
‘And what does Miriam say?’
‘She thinks we should go.’
‘You know you owe it to your family. You must be very careful, Tayo, how you criticise the government these days.’
‘I take it Miriam told you to say that?’
‘Look, my friend, you think we don’t read your articles in the paper? You have to be careful Tayo, I’m telling you. These guys aren’t the small-small thugs we used to fight in Bradford. These ones have guns and armies, my friend.’
‘But you know as well as I do that this government is corrupt.’
‘Yes, and that’s why I say we need a dictator. I don’t want any of my friends losing their jobs for the sake of politics, and I’m not even going to mention losing your life.’
‘So what do you propose?’
‘Look, Tayo, you’re right to blame our leaders, but they don’t work alone. They dance with Western governments and oil multinationals, and each one of them is taking a slice of our national cake. I don’t need to tell you that.’
Tayo shook his head and sucked his teeth in irritation.
‘But Yusuf, change has always come from individuals and we first need to fix our problems at home before thinking of changing the World Bank and all those people. Remember Nehru and Gandhi, Martin Luther King.’
‘Tayo, you know I can’t talk books like you, but I can tell you one thing for sure — in this, our country, don’t make waves alone. Why don’t you go into business instead? Take a break from the teaching.’ Tayo glanced at his wife sitting with Joy by the side of the pool and sighed. He resented those that criticised the government but did nothing to change the status quo. Admittedly, Yusuf was not as bad as Ike, who had joined the government talking about the need for change from within while changing nothing. Yusuf wasn’t that bad, but the suggestion to go into business irritated Tayo. He’d heard the line too often. He was fed up with it and if anything were to drive him back to Europe, it would be this growing lack of respect for the pursuit of knowledge. He did sometimes wonder if he should have stayed in Europe in the first place, forging a serious career there many years earlier. And not just for his career. Other things might have been better too.
‘You have a good family,’ Yusuf repeated, as though he’d read Tayo’s thoughts and decided to challenge them.
‘As do you,’ Tayo muttered, watching his daughter dive under water and out again.
‘Look Daddy!’ Kemi squealed with delight, ‘I’m doing synchronised swimming like at the Olympics!’
‘I can see that,’ Tayo smiled. ‘Show me some more!’
Kemi trod water and raised her hands high in the air. ‘Does it look good, Daddy?’
‘Beautiful,’ Tayo smiled. Sometimes when he saw Kemi it seemed impossible that she’d grown so big. It felt like yesterday when he’d held her in the palm of his hands and now look at her — a potential Olympic swimmer. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you some papers,’ Tayo added, taking them from his briefcase so Yusuf could borrow them.
Yusuf thumbed approvingly through the Weekly Guardians. ‘And when you’ve finished, I’d like that article back.’ Tayo pointed to the one he’d circled.
Yusuf studied the paper and read the title aloud. ‘“African Authors Write Back”. Do you have a mention in this?’
Tayo nodded. His children’s stories were mentioned. They were gaining greater international acclaim these days, too, but that wasn’t why the article was important to him.
‘Hey, make you treat my papers properly! Don’t bend ‘am now!’ Tayo ordered, stopping Yusuf from rolling the paper into a tube.
‘Na just paper now,’ Yusuf protested.
‘It’s not just paper, my friend. It’s the person who wrote it.’
‘Vanessa Richardson,’ Yusuf read the name without recognition.
Tayo nodded, thinking for a moment that he would remind Yusuf of who she was, but the wives had returned and the moment had passed.
Chapter 22
That evening, after Kemi and Miriam had gone to sleep, Tayo went to his study to read. He started with what lay on his desk, some academic journals and Ngugi’s Petals of Blood, but soon he had put down his reading and was looking in his drawer for something else. The object was a tattered diary, which had found its way to him in 1979 via his father’s old address in Ibadan. The address on the inside cover was the only bit of writing still clearly legible in Vanessa’s handwriting, yet he kept these torn and yellowing pages and would look at them from time to time, dreaming of what might have been. How would his life have turned out if Vanessa had stayed with him in Nigeria? If he’d returned to Oxford, or if he’d been able to join her in Dakar?
He looked up when he heard a door creak, followed by the sound of flip-flops slapping gently against the concrete floor. It was Kemi on her way to the toilet. ‘Vanessa,’ Tayo muttered wistfully, turning back to the journal. Had it not been for his mistake, had he known, had they known that the pregnancy would not hold … but what was the use of wishing now? It was all in the past. Now Vanessa was a well-known writer and one of Africa’s most lauded journalists. So much for him wondering whether she would fit into West Africa; of course she did. He reached for the wedding photograph that sat on his desk and used his sleeve to dust it off. What if he’d married Vanessa regardless?
But he couldn’t have left Miriam when she was pregnant. His whole family loved Miriam. Miriam had looked after Father after his stroke, and because Baba always attributed his speedy recovery to her nursing, she became an honorary member of the Ajayi family even before he married her. The affair with Miriam happened on a whim, in a moment of weakness. She was the one that had come to him after Baba’s operation, comforting him when nobody else thought to do so. He’d been touched by her kindness and felt indebted to her. He’d taken her out for a drink one night, and then met with her a few more times in the weeks that followed. And then, even though he hadn’t intended to and didn’t even really want to, he hadn’t been able to resist her and they had slept together. She was beautiful and religious and so it had happened despite her religion or maybe because of it. Perhaps it was the taboo of her tightly-held religious views, and the fact that she wanted him in spite of this, that had excited him. When she fell pregnant, he felt he had no choice but to marry her. But had he known …
‘What are you doing, Daddy?’ Kemi asked, causing Tayo to jump and knock over the photograph. Kemi stood by the door watching him, squinting beneath the glare of the bare yellow light bulb dangling from the ceiling. She wore her Snoopy nightdress, which read, ‘Love is the whole world.’
‘Just working, baby,’ he answered, watching as she started rubbing one foot rapidly against the inside of her standing leg. ‘I need to spray your room for mosquitoes.’
She dropped the foot and wandered closer to his desk, yawning. He reached quickly for Ngugi’s novel and placed it on top of the journal.
‘You work too much, Daddy.’ Kemi said picking up the wedding photograph. She removed the cork backing and straightened the print before pressing the frame back together. ‘There.’ She smiled, propping the photograph back on his desk.
‘And you should be sleeping, my baby.’
‘But I can’t sleep Daddy. I’m too excited about the holidays. I can’t stop thinking about it.’
‘All the more reason to try. That way time will go faster. Before you know it, we’ll be off to Lagos.’
‘Okay,’ she smiled, walking towards the door, ‘but Daddy,’ she stopped and turned back, ‘will you tell me a story of when you were a child? Just one! Please?’
He smiled, knowing already the one she wanted to hear. ‘Come then,
baby. Come and sit on my lap and I’ll tell you a story.’ He pushed his chair away from the desk and she hopped onto his knee. ‘In 1951, there was a little boy…’
‘Was it you, Daddy?’
‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘Now, are you sitting comfortably?’
‘Yes,’ she nodded.
‘I’ll start again then.’
‘Once upon a time, in 1951 there was a little boy called Omotayo, who was visiting Lagos for the very first time. The boy came with his father from Ibadan and this was their second day in Lagos.’
Kemi smiled as he began this story of his childhood, describing how he’d been forced to sit patiently in church waiting for the service to finish before he could run outside and see the fine ocean liner called the Aureol.
‘And who else gets impatient? Tayo smiled, tickling Kemi’s tummy.
‘Stop it, Daddy!’ Kemi giggled. ‘Tell me the story!’
‘Shh! You’ll wake your mum.’ But it was too late.
‘Ah-ah! You two!’ Miriam stood by the door, shaking her head.
‘Look, we’ve woken Mummy now.’
Miriam smiled and walked to where the two of them sat. Kemi was rubbing her eyes sleepily.
‘Just finish your story and come to bed, both of you,’ Miriam said, kissing them both on the forehead.
‘Come,’ Tayo called, touching Miriam’s leg. ‘There’s room in the armchair for you two,’ he said, stroking the side of her large tummy.
‘Come to bed,’ Miriam smiled, massaging the back of his neck.
Tayo dropped his arm behind Miriam’s back where Kemi could not see what he was doing and lifted Miriam’s cotton nightdress to caress her naked thighs.
‘Hey!’ Miriam whispered, moving away.
‘I’m coming soon!’ Tayo called after her.
‘Daddy!’
‘What?’
‘Finish the story!’
‘So Omotayo was standing there, waiting and praying to see the ship again when suddenly his father seized his hand, and lifted him up. ‘THE AUREOL,’ Omotayo screamed excitedly. On his father’s shoulders he could see the entire ocean. He watched people running on deck in white shirts and shorts, and he wondered how the ship knew which way to drive. Would it get lost? Who would find it then? Omotayo lifted a hand from his father’s head to wave at the passengers. Then the church people started singing and he joined in with words he didn’t understand but which still sounded good to him: ‘My Bonnie lies over the ocean, Oh bring back my Bonnie to me.’ It was then that Omotayo saw something that made him jolt and nearly lose his balance. His father said children couldn’t go on ships, but look! There was a child just like him, held up by her mother. She must be what they called the maiden voyage!’
In Dependence Page 14
