by Jowhor Ile
Now Barisua had turned on the radio, and there was a jingle from the Ministry of Health, a caution against littering that ended with “Keep Port Harcourt clean. The Garden City of Nigeria.”
A strong wind lifted and thrashed about the zinc roofs outside, swaying the TV antenna. Barisua stepped in from the balcony and shut the door behind her with a loud bang. Ajie took the book he was reading and headed for the bathroom.
“How are you feeling?” Barisua asked.
“Fine,” he said.
“If you are feeling worse, tell me. Uncle Tam gave the instruction that I should look after you,” Barisua said, and Ajie just replied “Okay” and went into the bathroom and shut the door.
He didn’t feel the need to go, so he sat on the covered toilet bowl with his shorts still on. He turned the page of the book he was reading but wasn’t taking in the words. He listened to the sound of the rain on the roof and the wind whipping about outside.
The rain stopped suddenly, and Barisua knocked on the door. “Are you there?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing? Are you giving birth or what?”
Ajie put the book down and frowned at the door. He imagined her leaning close with her ear by the keyhole, then standing back, arms akimbo, waiting for an explanation when he stepped out.
“I’m just sitting down here,” he answered. “I’m just sitting here reading. I don’t know what’s coming out of me.”
“What?” Barisua laughed.
Ajie turned a page of the book.
“You are so funny, this boy,” Barisua said, still sounding amused. “You think I have time for you, it’s just because you are not well. When you finish, come let’s play Whot.”
They played three sets of the game and Barisua won all. Ajie shuffled the pack of cards slowly, as if about to deal out, and then hissed and said he was bored and that Whot was a silly game anyway. Could Barisua play Scrabble? He would trash her at that. Was she any good at table tennis? He was the champion now in their house. He trashed Paul most of the time. Bibi, too, except when she cheated, which was often.
“Until we play those other games…As for this one, I’ve beaten you three times.”
“I bet it’s the only thing you do well.”
“You have a sharp tongue! Small boy with bad mouth. If you weren’t sick, I would twist it for you until you began to cry.”
Ajie laughed. He wanted to tell her he was only joking, but he refrained. He stretched out on the bed and reached for a pillow to rest his head.
“Why do you like making trouble so much?” Barisua asked him.
He had no quick comebacks, and Barisua was waiting for an answer.
“Why do you like making trouble so much?” she asked again.
Most of the questions he had been asked all his life were questions that had previously been asked of other people: questions Paul had grappled with, questions Bibi had supplied answers to, and all he had to do was vary his siblings’ response; but right now he was treading water, struggling to stay afloat rather than be drawn in by Barisua’s big steady eyes that were on him. He felt that for the first time, another human being was looking at him, really looking at him.
“You always say what you are thinking. I like it.”
He pretended he hadn’t heard her; he allowed his head to sink deeper into the pillow, and they both fell silent for a while.
Before he touched her, he knew she was not asleep. She was lying there breathing softly, her face turned the other way. He placed his hand on her shoulder like he was about to shake her awake, then he just left his hand there. He let his fingers slide up toward her neck, and Barisua turned around and opened her eyes. Now was the moment for him to say, “I wanted to wake you up,” or “Is the paracetamol on the fridge?” But he didn’t say any of these things.
Barisua was silent, too. There was the sound of pounding from downstairs, mortar meeting pestle, and voices from the neighbor’s kitchen as someone made lunch. The sun was out now, and on the fence outside the window, a red-necked lizard eased himself out of a hole on the wall.
“What are you doing, this boy?” Barisua asked, lying on her side now, facing him fully. She looked bemused but completely unfazed by whatever he might turn up with.
“Nothing,” he replied, and hearing his own voice, a familiar thing in this extraordinary landscape, must have been what egged him on. The lines on her neck were a deep brown that could have been purple; he stretched his hand and ran it tenderly over her collarbones. He did not think, What am I doing? He was moved by the twin rising of her breasts beneath her cream T-shirt, and her chest that kept breathing up and down. Barisua shifted on the bed and moved closer to Ajie until they were lying with their noses next to each other. She placed her hand on his cheek and pressed her body to his, and ran her hand slowly from the hair on his head to his shoulders, way down to the small of his back. In that moment, all Ajie could think was So, this is what it means to touch another human being.
—
Bendic came to pick them up the next day. The children had been expecting him all morning. Bibi stood on the balcony looking down at the narrow street as cars approached and then went back inside and brought her bag to the parlor. Auntie Leba asked if they had packed all their things and then handed each of them a wrapped gift. “Don’t open it yet,” she said with a smile. Uncle Tam said he had really enjoyed the children’s visit and that he would ask their father to bring them on their next holiday. “Well, I hope they enjoyed their stay,” Auntie Leba said jokingly. “We can’t force them to come back if they don’t want to.” Bibi said she had enjoyed her stay, and that besides, they hardly got to visit anyone’s house, so this was a rare chance for them. Ajie thought it was weird: Auntie Leba and Uncle Tam asking if they had enjoyed their stay. Couldn’t people just tell when someone was having a good time? Why was Bibi giving that speech?
Paul heard the toot of Bendic’s horn and shouted, “I think he has arrived!” and rushed down the stairs. Ajie and Bibi followed, skipping steps and arriving outside breathless just as Bendic was getting out of the car. They ran toward him, and for a moment it wasn’t clear if they were all going to run into him in some sort of group embrace, but that was exactly what they did, and the impact of their hug made Bendic stagger backward one step, laughing. “Where is Ma?” “What did you buy for us?” “You are looking so fresh, Bendic.” “We were so worried, we thought you were on that plane that crashed.”
Uncle Tam, Auntie Leba, and Barisua all came downstairs to join them. The children ran up to get their bags, and when Ajie came down with his, Auntie Leba was talking to Bendic about the plane crash. Uncle Tam mentioned someone the three of them knew who had died in the crash, and Bendic said the husband of one of Ma’s colleagues was on the flight. Paul and Bibi came down and put their bags in the trunk. Bendic was telling Uncle Tam about their trip, and at some point Uncle Tam stepped back to look at him, saying, “See how America’s cool weather has made your skin so fresh in just two weeks. Sun is killing us here.” He shook his head at Bendic in admiration.
Bendic said it was really nice weather for Boston in early September. That it was not too cold, a bit like harmattan weather. Bibi opened the car and invited Barisua to come sit inside with her. Paul got into the passenger seat, straightened out the sun visor to look at the mirror, then closed it up and went to the back to sit with Barisua and Bibi. Auntie Leba looked toward the car, and Barisua kept her face turned toward Bibi so that her gaze wouldn’t meet Auntie Leba’s—she didn’t want anyone to ruin her nice moment with cautionary remarks or maybe sending her off on a errand.
“So you just rushed down to pick up your children immediately on your return. Do you think something will eat them here if you stay an extra day without seeing them?”
Bendic laughed. “No, they return to school next week, else I would have left them with you for a while.” Ajie knew Bendic was only saying things that sounded agreeable without really meaning them, and Uncle Tam
was in on the playful exchange.
“And your driver?”
“He resumes tomorrow.”
“You are sure you can still drive? When last were you behind a steering wheel?”
“Stop that nonsense,” Bendic said with a glint in his eyes. “I drove for over twenty years before I ever needed a driver, and I managed to get here by myself safely, didn’t I?”
It was time to go now, so they came out of the car to say their goodbyes. Uncle Tam gave Paul a firm handshake and then drew him close for an embrace. “Goodbye, safe journey, see you soon, thank you, come back again,” all were repeated several times, and then they finally got in the car. Barisua hurried to the gate to open it, and Uncle Tam and Auntie Leba followed the car as Bendic reversed and headed out.
Uncle Tam, Auntie Leba, and Barisua stood outside by the gate and waved at the Utus as the blue Peugeot 504 rolled down the street. Bendic honked in acknowledgment. The children waved from the car, and Ajie looked back at the three figures standing and waving by the gate, looking smaller and smaller as their car went farther down the road. Barisua was wearing a brown skirt and a green blouse; she did not stop waving until the Peugeot 504 turned a corner and went out of sight.
On the expressway, Bendic drove slowly in the speed lane. Paul sat in front with him, his eyes on the road. Bibi was squinting outside toward the breeze, her hand gripping the coat hook above the door, looking like she had a mandate to mind that exit. Cars overtook them, and some passengers turned back to give them disgruntled looks. Ajie could see that Bendic didn’t care about this. “We have missed you children,” he said. Even though Ma was at home waiting, he still said we.
This was the moment when Ajie realized that Bendic would one day die. He knew this because real people never said such things to their own children, that they missed them. Only people in films said those things, and everyone knew it was all an act. Film talk. Love you, Mum! Love you, too. Miss you, Dad! Miss you, son!
But here was Bendic, saying he missed them.
Whatever was next?
Bendic glanced every now and then in the side and rearview mirrors. His head was still dense with hair but speckled with a rich supply of gray. Looking at him from the backseat, even with the graying hair, Ajie wasn’t able to imagine his father as aging, even though Bendic had turned sixty-seven that year.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Port Harcourt International Trade Fair was scheduled for April 4–18, 1995. The jingle was on the radio long before Ajie, Bibi, and Paul returned for their second-term break. The Rivers State Chamber of Commerce, Industry, and Agriculture also sponsored short TV programs to advertise the fair.
The children were in the car heading home after spending the afternoon in Bendic’s office. Their car sped under a banner left flapping on a high-tension cable up above the road. Port Harcourt International Trade Fair. The Garden City welcomes the world.
They drove past Isaac Boro Park, where sheds, booths, and kiosks had been set up for the fair. Car dealers had erected colorful shops. The TV commercials announced innovative local technology that was relatively cheap but as good as the best the world could offer: portable ovens manufactured in Ilorin, kerosene-run generators fabricated in Awka. Come and see for yourself, the ads implored. There would be sheds for furniture makers and interior designers from home and abroad, displaying standing and decorative wall mirrors, chandeliers, lights, lamps, beds and headboards, boudoir furniture, bathtubs and washstands, chairs, stools, chest drawers, and desks. There would be long rows for textiles, drugs and pharmaceuticals, and engineering goods.
In Shed 33, you would find the renowned trado-medical practitioner, Alahaji Dr. Musa Jubril, whose ads ran most frequently on TV and radio. He had solutions for all ailments stemming from both physical and spiritual sources. He specialized in herbal cures for asthma, barrenness, manhood problems, low sperm count, hypertension, heart disease, diabetes, internal heat, waist, and GBP (general body pain). He would brandish a little wrap of something and say, “This one here, if you put a portion in a bottle and fill with water, kai-kai, or any authentic gin and leave it for three days, then drink first thing every morning for one week, it will restore your body, it is also good for cough and for purging your system, cancer cannot come near you, and if you are having bad dreams, too, they will stop.”
A long bus painted green and yellow went by the other way and Ajie read out the words written on the side, Welcome to the Garden City, Host of the International Trade Fair.
“Why are we called the Garden City?” Bibi asked. There were some trees and flowers about town, Bibi said, but she didn’t think they exactly qualified Port Harcourt as a garden.
“Well, it was supposed to be,” Bendic began, and then stopped by the lights, where some hawkers shoved their wares into the window.
“Oga, see fresh banana. This na original wristwatch. Buy groundnut, one for five naira, I give you three for ten naira.” A boy who was about Ajie’s height squeezed some foamy water quickly on the windshield before Bendic could tell him not to bother, then began to wipe it quickly with a brush attached to a long stick. Bendic asked Paul to select some bananas and groundnuts. Eight fingers of banana in a bunch, going for ten naira.
Paul selected three bunches. “Give me these three for twenty.”
“Bros, na thirty,” the banana seller replied, and Paul made a show of returning them. “Okay,” the seller seemed to yield, “take am twenty-five, this na nice fresh banana.”
“Twenty,” Paul insisted, his eyes now on the red light, a little impatient. “Okay,” he conceded, “bring five naira change,” and the banana seller braced the tray on his hip and searched his pocket frantically for change before Paul handed him the money. The other boy had finished with the brush and was polishing off the windshield with a cloth just before the lights turned orange, and Bendic gave him some of the change from the banana seller. “God bless you, sir!” He showed a set of white teeth and threw in a salute for Bendic’s generous tip as the car sped off.
Bibi was munching already, biting off the banana and throwing groundnuts in her mouth, perhaps already forgetting her question to Bendic about the Garden City.
“The original plan for this town,” Bendic began, “was for it to be a small, self-contained space surrounded by gardens and parks.” He tried to catch Bibi’s face in the rearview mirror. It was named for Viscount Lewis Harcourt, a British Member of Parliament and secretary of state for the colonies, in 1913. Lord Lugard, who was the governor general of the north and south protectorates of Nigeria, wrote to this man, asking if the new port city could be named for him, as no local names were suitable. Lewis Harcourt, however, never visited the city, Bendic said as he turned onto Nzimiro Street, which was at all times shaded by trees and where colonial houses still sat quietly, surrounded by large lawns and short picket fences.
—
The person at the gate banged it in a way no sensible person would. Ma stepped out of the kitchen into the parlor, knife in hand, onion tears in her eyes. “Paul, go and check.”
It was a Friday, and Ismaila had taken the afternoon off to go to mosque for prayers, after which he would visit his friends who lived near the central mosque at Mile Three.
The visitor, when he was escorted into the living room by Paul, didn’t waste time with salutations. “I have come from home,” he said.
Ma squinted a little bit. “Are you not Ikpo’s son…emm, Moses?”
“There is problem,” he said, nodding, and Ma became alarmed, dropping the hand that still held the kitchen knife.
“Is your father okay? What has happened?”
“My father is okay.” He sounded and looked weak, like someone who had trekked a long distance. “Your husband is not at home?”
As if on cue, Bendic walked into the parlor, tightening the wrapper on his waist. “Soldiers drove into town this morning with trucks. They shot down five boys.”
Bendic shouted, “What soldiers? Whom did they shoot?” Ma ask
ed Moses to sit down and made a gesture at Paul to get the tired guest drinking water. Bibi and Ajie were standing near the room dividers as Bendic roared out his questions.
“As we are here,” Moses said, “there are people hiding in the bush still. We ran through the bush to Ogbogu. My father said you had to hear at once. The soldiers are still in Ogibah as we are here.”
Moses struggled his way through the story. Yesterday, he said, there was an altercation between Ogibah youths and some of the workers on the new gas pipeline construction. The police intervened, but the matter got out of hand when a policeman was hit in the head with a plank. The policeman landed in the hospital, fighting for his life.
The children were all standing in different positions, encircling Moses as he told the story. The smell of something burning was coming from the kitchen, and Ma snapped at Bibi to go turn off the stove, as if it were Bibi’s fault.
“Ifenwa!” Bendic was shouting into the phone receiver. “Come, please. Come down at once, are you hearing me?
“Get me my glasses, Paul,” Bendic said, and Paul hurried out of the parlor.
—
When Mr. Ifenwa arrived, they drove out together and Bendic came back very late that night. Paul had gotten the guest room ready for Moses, and Ma asked him if he would like to wash with hot or cold water. “Ka obula. Whichever one,” he replied.
Bendic left early the next morning. He said he and Marcus would pick up Mr. Ifenwa from his house before they headed out to see if they could get an audience with the commissioner of police. Bendic came back at about ten o’clock that night, and this went on for about two weeks, at which point the soldiers finally left Ogibah. Bendic was among the first people to enter the village after the soldiers left. He went with Marcus and they spent three days there. When they came back, he told Ma her camera battery ran out after the first day and they couldn’t find replacements in the shops in nearby villages. He told her he’d heard there had been one or two newspeople who came around, also some organizations, he wasn’t sure what they were, but nothing to reflect the scale of the event. “Nothing is left. They brought the whole place down.”
