Tiny Sunbirds, Far Away

by Christie Watson

  Snap was always attached to Boneboy’s feet, weaving through them and looking up at him. I had never seen a dog that smiled before. But Snap did, whenever Boneboy looked back down at him, or threw a bone into the air, or shouted, “Well done, boy!” It made me smile too.

  “You can see how he dances,” said Boneboy, moving his hand up and down as Snap stood on his hind legs. Boneboy started to sing an Ijaw song I did not recognize. Snap barked, then smiled, then began to dance. It was true.

  “Ezikiel, look,” I said.

  But Ezikiel was concentrating too much to see the dancing dog.

  Grandma, who was removing the string from the corn, began to laugh. “He is a funny dog,” she said.

  Ezikiel looked up. He almost dropped his textbook. Snap the dog was spinning around on his back, his tail and legs in the air, while Boneboy danced around him. “He is a truly amazing dog,” said Boneboy. “He could be a champion.”

  “Now come,” said Grandma, who was sitting next to a fire she had built dangerously close to the veranda. “Come, children.”

  Youseff’s children poured out of the boys’ quarters and gathered around Grandma’s feet. Ezikiel, Boneboy, and I joined them. Grandma gave out a long piece of sugarcane to each of us. I held it in my hands before peeling off the outside with my teeth and sucking the middle. All of us were sucking so hard that Grandma had to speak loudly at first. But soon we had enough sugar in our mouths and were spitting the pulp onto the ground. Then Grandma’s voice hushed and made the back of my head feel sleepy.

  “Alhaji was a proud man. When I first met him he was just called Sotonye,” said Grandma. When she started speaking in Izon I knew the story had started.

  I watched her closely. She seemed bigger in the firelight. I loved to watch her face; every time I looked I noticed something different.

  “And he shimmied up palm trees with his legs in a perfect circle. He had no need for the leather belt. I have never seen anyone tap for palm wine quicker. People said that he had the heart of a lion, and he would never marry. But back then my hips were wide and my legs were not cracked. I met him at the village where my uncle lived. I was staying to help the family with all the children my uncle had produced. I used to watch Sotonye’s perfect circle legs up and down the tree, from the quiet of the forest, where I was invisible …”

  Later, when I went to bed and told the tears to come, they did not. All I could think of, instead of the pain of the whipping, was the face of a smiling dog and the sound of Grandma’s stories.

  SEVEN

  Ezikiel and I were waiting by the gate when I heard the revving of the car. We had returned from school and finished our homework. Ezikiel helped with mine after he finished his too quickly. “I wish they gave us more,” he said. “I need to get top grades for medical school.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes.

  When we heard the car, we jumped up from the ground. Mama opened the car door and climbed out, walking toward the house. She smiled. I ran beside her. Her legs were long enough that it took two of my steps to match each of hers. That meant that everywhere Mama walked to, I had to run. Ezikiel had longer legs than me. But even though he could easily have walked at the same speed, he always walked slightly slower, holding Mama’s legs back. I was careful not to upset the dust with my bare feet. Mama hated me kicking dust on her clothes. She was wearing her very best clothes. She had combed out her hair. Her lips were red with lipstick applied with the tiny paintbrush. I noticed the red bra underneath her white shirt, almost the same shade as her lipstick. Her shirt was crumpled. The top buttons were undone.

  “It’s like a palace,” she said. “The Western Oil Company compound. A completely different world. Everything is clean, even the floors. There are seven swimming pools, a golf course.”

  Seven swimming pools and a golf course! Oh!

  We followed Mama into the house and the bedroom. I looked at the dust on the floor and the peeling paint and the old mattress and the plug hanging over the fan, which was not going to even bother trying for electricity.

  “It’s amazing,” she said. Mama’s voice was lifted higher than usual, and the words were coming quick. She removed her skirt and white shirt and red underwear. Ezikiel looked away but I looked at Mama’s sharp body. There were spaces where there should have been fat. Her skin was smooth. She tied a wrapper underneath her arms before pushing her feet into flip-flops. “Bars, restaurants. A cinema room, fully air-conditioned.”

  She spoke to the air in front of her, as if she could not see us sitting on our mattress. I did not mind. It was the first time Mama had spoken to me in weeks, other than to give an instruction: Sweep the floor for Grandma. Do your homework. Collect water.

  “Did you get the job, Mama?”

  “Yes, I did,” said Mama, smiling at Ezikiel. “In a bar. The Highlife Bar. The oil workers go there to watch the wildlife as much as drink. From the table we were sitting at I could see a troop of monkeys travel across the trees. It’s like a national park. Honestly, I can’t believe that the other side of the wall is another world. One minute you’re in an oily swamp, the next, five-star luxury. Cool, air-conditioned, five-star luxury.”

  I felt the hot air around me hold me tighter.

  “And they need a waitress,” continued Mama. “It’s not much, but it’s something. The salary is terrible, but they work for tips.”

  “Congratulations, Mama,” said Ezikiel.

  Mama smiled so widely I could see the tooth at the back of her mouth that was a different color from the other teeth.

  “Congratulations, Mama,” I said.

  Mama looked at me. She was smiling, but not as widely. I could no longer see the different-colored tooth.

  “They have a list with twenty-three different cocktails, but most of the patrons drink beer. And they don’t call them beers, they ask for sundowners. The manager thinks I’ll learn the cocktails quickly. He said they’re not complicated. I mean, the money is poor but better than nothing, and it’s a step in the right direction. The tips will be good, I’m sure. Not as good as my hostess job, but at the moment any money is better than none. We’re virtually starving.”

  I looked at Ezikiel and smiled. Sunflower oil, I thought. Vegetable oil. Imported olive oil.

  Mama smiled and looked over my head. “The security is unbelievable. I was searched four times.”

  I wondered what they searched Mama for.

  “Can we come and see you there?” asked Ezikiel. His body was stretched up high and I knew that he was thinking about seven swimming pools. And air-conditioning.

  “Well, family members are not really allowed. Not for locals, anyway.” Mama’s voice became quieter. She looked at Ezikiel’s face. “But we’ll see. I’m sure they must have a family day for all employees. And at least one of us gets to see civilization during the day.”

  “You will sleep in my room. You have fourteen years. That is too old for a boy to be sharing a room with his mother.” Alhaji waved his hands around as he spoke.

  Mama was standing between Ezikiel and me. I looked behind her back to see Ezikiel nodding his head. I could not believe it. Why was he nodding?

  “This is a new environment for them. Let him stay with me for a few more weeks, at least.” Mama moved slightly closer to Ezikiel’s arm, away from me.

  “It is not appropriate, you see?”

  “Why not? He is just a boy!”

  “He is a young man. He should stay with Alhaji. My word is final.”

  I looked behind Mama at Ezikiel, who was still nodding quietly. But his face had changed. His skin had become lighter and patchy as though he were a sky full of clouds.

  It was the middle of the night when I heard arguing; the moon was midday-sun high. I was hanging off the side of the mattress, next to Mama; Ezikiel was on his own mattress in Alhaji’s room. Even though Ezikiel had nodded in agreement with Alhaji, as though he was not at all upset, I found him in the cornfield afterward, crying so hard his nose had forced out tw
o snot caterpillars. I put my arms around him and did not let go until he stopped crying.

  Mama was still asleep, even more beautiful in the moonlight. Her skin was the color of golden syrup. She slept with one hand over her head, the other hand resting on her chest. She had not curled up around me. I had not curled up around her. There was an Ezikiel-sized gap between us.

  “Do you think I need help?” Grandma shouted in Izon. I crept up from the mattress and opened the door so quickly it did not have time to squeak. I could feel my heartbeat in my neck. I tiptoed out and stood on a puffy chair, to look through the too-large gap above the door. The children sleeping on the puffy chairs did not wake. They did not even wake to the sound of the call to prayer through the loudspeaker.

  Grandma was standing with her hands spread over her face. She had tiny hands; I could see through her fingers that her cheeks were wet. Alhaji was opposite her, hopping from one foot to the other like a lizard on hot ground. He looked small next to Grandma, like a child.

  “A co-wife!” Grandma spoke through the gap in her teeth. “A rival!”

  “Ah.” Alhaji half smiled. “With a co-wife, a junior wife, think of the help that you will get. You see?” His voice was softer than usual, but I could still hear him clearly.

  “I want to break your head,” Grandma said in English.

  Alhaji held up his hands in front of him as though he was about to pray. He swallowed hard. It sounded like a hiccup.

  “Do you think I need help?”

  “All women could use help. And it is my decision. I am your husband.” Alhaji answered Grandma in Izon. It was the first time I had heard him speak Izon in the compound.

  “We are not living in past times.”

  “The Koran states …” Alhaji did not continue but moved away slightly as Grandma brought the kerosene lamp into the air and held it high.

  There was a smashing noise, and then it was quiet. Grandma watched the glass by her feet. Small flames danced, then collapsed. She looked at Alhaji through her fingers. Her eyes were wide. I wanted to run over and put my arms around her. I heard Grandma’s stories in my ears.

  Alhaji was called Sotonye when I first met him. He used to tap for palm wine. I liked to watch him shimmy up trees with his legs wrapped around them in perfect circles. He never needed the leather belt.

  The only light was coming from the moon; still, it was bright enough to see clearly. Grandma lowered her hands from her face. Her cheeks were shining with tears. Alhaji dropped to his knees by Grandma’s feet, picking up pieces of glass from the smashed oil lamp.

  “Sorry, sorry.” Grandma knelt down to help. Alhaji looked even smaller, as though the world was swallowing him up. Grandma’s fingers picked up the glass so quickly that she cut her hand. Large drops of blood spilled onto the veranda, but she carried on, until all the pieces were together in a pile. Alhaji noticed eventually and held up Grandma’s cut hand to blow on it. His fingers were shaking. Grandma’s hands were steady. He took a small pot of Marmite from his medicine bag and unscrewed the lid. Then he rubbed some Marmite onto Grandma’s cut and wrapped up her hand in a handkerchief. He cradled the pot of Marmite as if it were a baby.

  Grandma let him pull her up, leaning on him, but not too much. He looked like he might fall over.

  “How old is she?” Grandma started speaking in English once more. It made the words sound less important. “I will not have any part of it if she is a child. And how will you finance this? These old men marrying children. I will not accept a rival who—”

  “She is a college graduate and almost twenty-two.” Alhaji’s words were also English. “Our finances are not too poor.”

  “Well. It does not make any difference. It will still cause problems. We have been on our own for so long now. I thought you were happy. Not like those other men. Not like the other men. After all these years you—”

  “I need to do this,” Alhaji said. “I have no choice. They are laughing at me. ‘Only one wife and no son.’ ” He reached out and stroked Grandma’s cheeks, running his fingertips along the lines of her scars. “And now you have your grandchildren here. You need the extra help. And of course, Allah permits it.”

  Grandma slapped Alhaji’s hand away. “Do what you have to.”

  I nearly fell from the puffy chair. I had to grab on to the door frame; a piece of rotten wood came away in my hand. Grandma was looking up, not at Alhaji but at the sky. She shook her fist. Palm fronds cut shadows on her body. The insects were quiet, as if they had flown to the moon when the oil lamp had smashed.

  EIGHT

  Celestine arrived dragging a suitcase with a wheel that curved to the right. This meant she had to stop every few seconds and move the suitcase slightly to the left. She looked much younger than twenty-two, nearer to my age than Grandma’s. She was fatter than Grandma, with a sticking-out bottom and knees that seemed to be glued together. Her feet looked like they wanted to walk in opposite directions. Celestine had thin lips and a wide nose. Her face was patchy from whitening cream, and her hair weave was bleached to the orange color of the JESUS LOVES YOU sticker on the car window, which Alhaji had allowed to remain. He took the opportunity to discuss the prophets whenever he saw it.

  “Hello, hello,” she said and smiled, revealing a lipstick stain on her tooth that I could see from where I was standing on the veranda. I could feel Grandma next to me, watching Celestine. I could imagine her thoughts. I moved closer to her, until our arms were touching.

  “Hello,” said Ezikiel. He stopped scratching his mosquito bites long enough to hold out his hand. Celestine walked up the wooden steps. The whole veranda jumped up and down.

  “Little prince,” she said, kneeling to Ezikiel as though he was a grown man. His smile became so wide that his lips cracked and disappeared. Then he went back to scratching. There was a bite on his forearm the size of a walnut.

  “Ek’abo,” Mama said, welcome in Yoruba. Nobody noticed or commented, but Ezikiel stopped scratching and looked straight at me. Mama had not spoken Yoruba since we had left Lagos almost three months ago. Since Father had left us. A pain in my shoulder made me breathe in suddenly.

  “Little queen,” said Celestine in Izon. “Queen. Alaere,” and she held my shoulder, where the pain was. Her fingers were fat and sweaty. They felt like the sausages that were No Longer Permitted. I looked through Celestine’s wispy ginger hair at Grandma and forced my lips downward. Grandma stepped forward and Celestine removed her hands from my shoulders. Celestine dropped to the ground and said, “Doh,” but she did not lower her head. She looked as though she was reaching to pick something up, instead of kneeling to Grandma. Then she stood up almost instantly to face Grandma, stretching her forehead upward, making her neck appear less fat.

  “Where is my husband?” she asked. When Grandma laughed, she looked surprised.

  I thought of Alhaji marrying Celestine. We had not been invited to the wedding. I had heard Alhaji telling Grandma that it would be a simple ceremony at Celestine’s village. When Alhaji had disappeared for almost a week, nobody spoke about the wedding, but still, I had noticed Grandma crying. It made me never want to hear about the wedding ceremony at all.

  “Your husband is in Port Harcourt on business,” said Grandma, in English, still laughing. Celestine looked puzzled; her eyes darted around and her drawn-on eyebrows rose up her forehead. But Ezikiel, Mama, and I were just as surprised. I did not know what business Alhaji would have in Port Harcourt. It must have been important; Mama had told me Port Harcourt was a four-hour-drive away.

  “Come,” said Grandma, “I will help you to freshen.”

  Ezikiel took Celestine’s suitcase to the small hut next to the boys’ quarters, where she would stay. As he walked away, his long body tilted to the suitcase side and gave him the shape of a question mark. I followed Grandma and Celestine to the area at the side of the outhouse where the rubbish was held until the rains came to wash it down the river. Things were already piling up. Plastic, wire, metal cans, bro
ken bottles. They rustled when we arrived. Grandma had told me they saved it all every year, then God washed it away. I wondered where the rubbish ended up and who lived at the end of the river.

  I walked toward the bushes, expecting to push our way through toward the river, but Grandma stopped me. She had lined up plastic buckets full of river water against the bushes. I did not understand why when the river was so close. Grandma must have known what I was thinking about. “Don’t want any boats going past,” she said. “Especially those gunboats.” She laughed. “Don’t mind them. Just Area Boys. There is trouble in the creek villages, so we will take baths here today.”

  Area Boys? Gunboats? I thought of Boneboy’s parents. Grandma had told me that there were still boats full of boys who went up and down the river, but I had never thought they would travel so close. It had not occurred to me to remember that the river was right there, at the back of our compound. Grandma had said that the trouble had stopped. Had the fighting started again?

  I looked up at the sky at a black kite hovering above us. At first it did not move at all; if it had been on the ground I would have thought it was dead. But then it swooped very gently and curled back in on itself. I tried to imagine a gunboat.