Figgy and the President

by Janu,Tamsin

  Joel handed me two pieces of paper with writing on them. One had information about my audition. He said the other one was called a script – on it were the words I had to learn so that I could show the Obrunis what a good actress I am. Nana and Jeffenick squealed and read over my shoulders. We knew Jeffenick couldn’t read most of the words, but we didn’t mind that he was pretending.

  Joel had said other girls would be auditioning, which made me nervous. I am bad at competitions. I feel really sorry for the person who loses. Not long ago we had a running race at school, and because my friend Rhodaline had been practising her running every day, I pretended I was slower than her so she wouldn’t come last.

  But I really wanted to be in this movie. More than I had ever wanted anything. (Except for a new left eye and to travel around The World. Those were still my two greatest wishes.)

  Joel grinned at me. I grinned back. I liked him, even though he looked like a girl and Grandma Ama would tell him to wash his face.

  ‘Will your parents bring you to the audition?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t have parents.’ I folded the papers Joel had given me and tucked them in the front pocket of my tunic. ‘Grandma Ama will come.’

  Joel patted my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what, sir?’

  ‘That you don’t have parents.’

  I shrugged. Why was Joel sorry? He didn’t take my parents away. Mama left me on Grandma Ama’s doorstep when I was a baby. At least I had Grandma Ama.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Lots of my friends don’t have parents.’

  Nana raised his hand. ‘I don’t have any. My mama is dead and Papa beat me so I ran away. Do you want to see the scars on my back from the beatings? Papa used a long whip –’

  Nana began to lift his shirt but I stopped him. I had seen his scars many times, and they were horrible.

  Joel, David and Melanie were staring at us. There was orange juice dripping down David’s chin, but he wasn’t wiping it away.

  ‘Sometimes I wish I didn’t have parents,’ Jeffenick said, looking at the ground. ‘They make you clean the house and fetch water.’

  Nana nodded. ‘And even though Jeffenick has two parents, their family is so poor that he and his brothers and sisters can’t go to school because they have to work!’

  ‘And we never get enough food to eat,’ Jeffenick said, very softly. He doesn’t usually like people to know how poor he is.

  ‘See,’ Nana said, ‘maybe having parents isn’t so good anyway!’

  Melanie’s eyes were watery. Joel was looking down at his hands. David was shaking his head. And no one was speaking.

  What had we done? Was it offensive in these Obrunis’ culture to speak about families? Nana and Jeffenick were watching the Obrunis too. Jeffenick’s forehead was creased with concern but Nana’s eyebrows were raised, as if he was amused. Why wasn’t he worried? We might have ruined my chance to be in a movie! Before we could upset the Obrunis further I grabbed Jeffenick’s arm with one hand and Nana’s with the other, shouted that I would be at the audition, then pulled the boys away as quickly as I could manage.

  When we were back amongst the market crowd I breathed a sigh of relief. Jeffenick was asking Nana if Joel was a girl or a boy, while Nana was deciding if Melanie had watery eyes because there was something wrong with her brain.

  Which left me to my own thoughts. A movie? Me, with my funny name and missing eye, in a movie?

  Nana and I left Jeffenick at the markets and chatted all the way home. Nana was so excited for me that he did a few cartwheels along the road. He was almost run over by a taxi, and its driver tooted loudly and made a rude hand gesture out of his window.

  Nana thought the driver was waving. So he waved back.

  We skipped through the gate and ran up to Grandma Ama, who was sitting on the front step of our house. She had her head in her hands, and our neighbour, Adwoa, was rubbing her back.

  My hands went clammy. Something was wrong.

  Grandma Ama looked up at me, her eyes ringed with red. She tried to smile, but only one side of her mouth turned upwards.

  ‘My Figgy,’ she said. ‘Your mama has come home.’

  CHAPTER 3

  GETTING AWAY

  I didn’t know what to say. Nana was staring at me. Adwoa pulled me on to her lap.

  ‘Your mama is staying at my house,’ she said. ‘Your Grandma Ama’s house is too busy and loud. And I have lots of space.’

  Adwoa’s house has lots of space because she and her husband can’t have children. Adwoa’s body doesn’t make eggs, and you need eggs to make a baby. Before she told me that, I didn’t know people started life as an egg. It made me feel like a chicken.

  Grandma Ama stroked my cheek. ‘But you must wait until the morning to see your mama. She is very sick.’

  I could finally speak. ‘What kind of sick? The sickness you take pills for? Or typhoid fever, like Nana had when he was in hospital?’

  Grandma Ama shook her head. Her hair was tangled and fuzzy. She is usually so careful to keep it neat. ‘We don’t know what is wrong. We will call The Doctor tomorrow.’

  I groaned. Why would they call The Doctor? He would only make my mama worse, with his bad advice and sneakiness.

  ‘There is another thing, Figgy,’ Adwoa said. She looked at Grandma Ama. Grandma Ama nodded, and Adwoa continued speaking. ‘Your mama has a baby in her belly.’

  Nana couldn’t keep quiet any longer. He clapped his hands and said, ‘I love babies!’

  But I was confused. ‘Who is the baby’s papa? Is he here too?’

  ‘No,’ said Grandma Ama. ‘So we must give your mama as much help as we can. Do you understand?’

  I said I did because Grandma Ama looked so sad and I didn’t want to upset her more by making her explain.

  But I really didn’t understand at all.

  That evening Nana and my cousins were so excited that I was going to meet my mama. Their mamas are dead, but Perpetua and Nana still remembered good things about theirs. How my cousins’ mama gave the longest hugs, and how Nana’s mama would sing to him when he couldn’t sleep. They made having a mama sound good.

  But did I need a mama? I had been so long without one, and I already had Grandma Ama to look after me. My mama didn’t know me. She might not even love me.

  But Nana and my cousins were so excited, and Grandma Ama was so upset, and everything was so confusing.

  Before falling asleep I realised I had forgotten to tell Grandma Ama about my movie audition. It didn’t seem important any more.

  I woke before it was light, and after taking a piece of bread from the kitchen counter I tiptoed out of the house. I knew Grandma Ama would be angry that I had left without telling her where I was going. She would threaten to cane me. And she wouldn’t really cane me but would talk in a cross voice and make me do chores.

  But I had to get away, just for a day. I didn’t want to meet my mama. Not yet.

  I walked to the markets and sat by the side of the road as the sun rose and the people around me set up their stalls for the day. I read the script the Obruni, Joel, had given me – there weren’t many words and they were not difficult so I memorised them quickly. I wished I had Nana to practise with.

  I spent the morning walking around the stalls, trying to avoid people who knew Grandma Ama. It was difficult, because Grandma Ama knows almost everyone. She is very friendly. Though she says children have to be more careful than adults when making friends, because we sometimes aren’t good at telling the difference between good and bad people. Esi is terrible at it – she trusts everyone. One day she went out alone, became friends with an old man and invited him into our house. He stole three saucepans before running away.

  Grandma Ama didn’t care about losing the saucepans. She was just glad the man hadn’t stolen Esi.

  I was resting under the shade of a tree when a taxi pulled up beside me. I recognised it immediately, because it was red and battered and its roof was
sunken. It was Kwaku’s taxi.

  Kwaku is the brother of my friend Osagyefo. He is twenty years old but acts like a kid, because he has something wrong with his brain. He is very nice and talks a lot, and sometimes he lets me ride in his taxi for free. The roof of his taxi is sunken because once Kwaku climbed on top of it so he could reach a ball that Osagyefo had kicked into a tree. But Kwaku was too heavy for the roof.

  Osagyefo’s papa, Eddie, bought the taxi a couple of years ago when Kwaku was having trouble getting a job because of the way he speaks and acts. Having the taxi means Kwaku can work for himself. Kwaku loves being a taxi driver, especially because he can toot the horn. Though sometimes he drives too fast.

  I don’t think I would be a good taxi driver. Kwaku tells me that when you are driving it is important to be constantly watching and to know what is going on around you. Since I only have one eye I would have a bigger chance than anyone else of running over people and crashing into houses or market stalls.

  Kwaku’s taxi was empty so I jumped into the front seat.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school?’ Kwaku said, looking at himself in the side mirror. Kwaku is obsessed with how he looks. He even has a comb on his dashboard so that he can do his hair when he is waiting in traffic. ‘Osagyefo is at school.’

  I leaned my head back. ‘I didn’t feel like going today.’

  Kwaku giggled. ‘Your Grandma Ama is going to cane you.’

  ‘Be quiet, Kwaku.’

  Kwaku stuck his tongue out at me and slammed his foot on the pedal.

  I spent the afternoon as Kwaku’s passenger while he drove customers around our village. He talked the whole time, which was good because it distracted me from thinking about my sick mama and the baby in her belly and how much trouble I would be in when I got home. The best story Kwaku told was about the frog that used to live in a puddle outside his house. One day, when Kwaku was talking to the frog, a big bird swooped down, grabbed the frog’s leg in its beak and began to fly away. But Kwaku thought quickly. He picked up a stick and whacked the bird, and the frog fell out of its beak and back into the puddle. The whole event sounded very exciting.

  It was growing dark, and I was thinking about going home when a man and a girl jumped into the back seat of the taxi. I turned to say hello, as I had done with all of the passengers.

  My mouth fell open.

  ‘FIGGY!’ Perpetua said. ‘Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you all afternoon, and we …’

  I stopped listening to Perpetua when I recognised the man sitting next to her. It was Perpetua’s papa, my Uncle Philmond. I leaped out of the front seat, over to the back and into his arms.

  Uncle Philmond has a job in Accra, so we don’t see him much. I love having Uncle Philmond around. He makes Grandma Ama laugh a lot, tells exciting stories and cooks fried plantain for us to munch on after school. His hair had grown since I last saw him. I ran my fingers through it and sat back to look at him, grinning. He grinned too.

  ‘What’re you up to, Figs? I hear you didn’t go to school today.’

  I shook my head. And I tried to ignore Perpetua’s disapproving ‘Hmph!’ and Kwaku’s giggles and whisper of, ‘Her Grandma Ama will cane her!’

  ‘Why are you here, Uncle Philmond?’ I said. ‘You weren’t supposed to come for three weeks.’

  Uncle Philmond tapped my nose. ‘I’m here to see my little sister.’

  I was confused. ‘Your little sister?’

  ‘Your mama. I haven’t seen her since before you were born.’

  At the mention of my mama I burst into tears. Kwaku stopped giggling. And, following Uncle Philmond’s instructions, he drove us home.

  Perpetua ran ahead of us so she could tell everyone I had been found. I wiped away the last of my tears and Uncle Philmond took my hand.

  ‘Are you ready?’ he said. I nodded, and we walked through the gate.

  Kwesi ran over to hug me and Esi jumped on to her papa’s back. Grandma Ama stood at the front door, her eyes narrowed. One hand was on her hip. In her other hand she held her wooden cane. This time I was scared she would actually use it.

  ‘You are a naughty girl, Figgy,’ she said, glaring at me. She wasn’t blinking at all.

  ‘Yes, Grandma Ama.’

  ‘You have shown me great disrespect.’

  ‘Yes, Grandma Ama.’

  ‘I have been worrying about you all day, and your Uncle Philmond and cousins have been searching for hours. And Nana skipped school to look for you so he is in trouble too.’

  I hung my head. I hadn’t meant for anyone to worry, or for Nana to get into trouble. I should have known he would go looking for me.

  ‘Sorry, Grandma Ama.’

  ‘You will sweep the courtyard every morning this week. And you will not be given the candy Uncle Philmond brought you from Accra.’

  ‘Yes, Grandma Ama.’

  That was sad. I looked forward to receiving Uncle Philmond’s candy almost as much as I looked forward to seeing Uncle Philmond. Not that I would ever tell him that.

  ‘And Figgy?’

  I looked at Grandma Ama again, nervous about my next punishment. What could be worse than no candy? But her forehead had unwrinkled, and her eyes looked less angry.

  ‘Yes, Grandma Ama?’

  ‘You will not meet your mama until you want to. Do you understand?’

  I was relieved. ‘Yes, Grandma Ama.’

  ‘Good. Now give me a kiss or I will cane you.’

  CHAPTER 4

  FIGGY’S AUDITION

  During the next few days no one spoke about my mama when I was around. But I saw them walking in and out of Adwoa’s house, and whispering about Mama behind their hands. Grandma Ama was smiling more. I hoped that meant Mama was feeling at least a bit better.

  The worst thing to come out of the day I skipped school was that Nana wouldn’t speak to me. Every time I tried to get his attention he would walk away, or pretend he didn’t hear. I couldn’t understand why he was so upset with me. Grandma Ama hadn’t been very angry with him. She had even let him keep his candy from Uncle Philmond! Perpetua refused to give me some of her candy, and she told Esi and Kwesi not to give me theirs either. So I ended up getting none. If Nana hadn’t been angry with me he would have given me some of his candy. Probably all of it, if I had asked. Nana is very generous.

  I missed Nana, particularly his talking. My world was so quiet without his constant chatter in my ear.

  It was after three days of silence that I’d had enough. I was playing with my cousins and friends after school, next to our village’s rubbish heap. It stinks there, but the ground is flat so is good for soccer games. I had yelled at Nana to pass me the ball because I was in the perfect position to shoot a goal. But he kicked the ball to my friend Rhodaline instead. I burst into tears.

  Everyone stopped playing and ran over to me. Except Nana, who was staring at the ground and fiddling with a hole in his shirt. If Grandma Ama had seen him doing that she would tell him to stop, because fiddling with the hole would make it bigger and it would be harder to mend.

  Osagyefo hugged me and Esi took my hand.

  ‘See, Kwesi!’ Esi said. ‘I’m not the only one who cries – big kids cry too. Even Figgy cries, and she is the oldest kid in our house.’

  I looked at Nana. He was still staring at the ground, but was grimacing. He wouldn’t like it that Esi had forgotten he is older than me.

  ‘You are right,’ I said loudly. ‘I am the oldest. I’m ten years old.’

  ‘But isn’t –’

  Perpetua slapped Kwesi’s hand to silence him. And we looked at Nana. His face was screwed up and he was shaking his head. His left leg jiggled and he began to make a squeaking noise. He couldn’t take it any more. He looked like he was about to pop.

  ‘I am older than her!’ he said, looking up at us with his hands clenched in fists. ‘I am eleven!’

  Esi clapped her hands. ‘Does this mean you are talking to Figgy again?’

  Nana shook
his head, and his gaze returned to the ground. I wiped the tears from my face as I walked over to him. And I poked his chest with my finger.

  ‘You will stop being silly, Nana. You are making me sad.’ Nana finally looked at me. ‘I have already said sorry that you got into trouble when I ran away. So you should forgive me now, and talk to me again.’

  ‘I didn’t mind getting into trouble,’ Nana said, folding his skinny arms. ‘Grandma Ama is the nicest woman in The World, so her punishments are always fair and reasonable. I am angry because you didn’t tell me you were skipping school. If you had, I would have come with you.’

  ‘Nana, that is a silly thing to say –’ Perpetua yelled from behind us.

  The other children said ‘Shhhh!’ until she fell quiet.

  Nana’s face was serious. ‘When you are best friends you have to tell each other the important things.’

  ‘Even when they are sad things, like your mama being sick and having a baby in her belly and you don’t know if she will love you?’

  Nana nodded. ‘Especially the sad things. So will you stop crying now?’

  ‘Yes. Are we best friends again?’

  ‘Certo.’

  I thought that must mean ‘yes’ in another language, so I grinned. I had Nana back. I was walking towards him to give him a hug when he ran over to the ball and everyone scrambled to get into their positions.

  I would hug him later.

  Nana and I spent a long time practising for my audition. I didn’t agree with all of Nana’s suggestions. For one thing, I refused to do a handstand in the middle of a scene like he told me to. But practising with Nana was encouraging, because he always told me how well I was doing. I tried to believe him, but it was hard to calm the nerves fluttering in my tummy.

  While we were walking to school on the morning of the audition, I stopped suddenly and grabbed Nana’s arm.

  ‘Nana!’ I said. ‘I can’t be in the movie!’

  Nana frowned. ‘Are you sick? Maybe we shouldn’t have eaten that old stew yesterday. Grandma Ama did tell us to stay away from it …’

  Nana pressed his hand against my forehead, checking for a fever. I shook him off.