by Luz Gabás
Clarence only a few days ago had learned that Iniko was a widower and had two children who were ten and fourteen and lived with their maternal grandparents. She finally said, “Iniko talks a lot about everything, but little about himself.”
Laha nodded and took a sip of coffee. He remained quiet for a few seconds.
“How were your parents able to pay for your studies in the United States?”
Laha shrugged. “My mother has always been a resourceful woman, both in her work and in managing to get scholarships and grants. With Iniko staying here, the two of them were able to help me a lot in allowing me to continue my studies, because I was good at it.”
“And your father?” she dared to ask. “What happened to him?”
Laha let out something like a snort. “You should really say your fathers. Iniko’s father died when he was a child. I never knew mine. My mother has never talked to me about him.”
Clarence felt ashamed for having asked. “I’m sorry” was the only thing she could say.
Laha waved his hand. “Don’t worry. It’s not that strange here.”
She decided to continue with another, less offensive, question. “And what scrapes did Iniko get into when he was young?”
“When he was young … And not so young, as well!” Laha sat into his chair, looked around him, and lowered his voice. “Have you heard of Black Beach or Blay Beach?”
Clarence shook her head, intrigued.
“It’s one of Africa’s most famous prisons. It’s here, in Malabo. It’s known for its mistreatment of prisoners. Iniko was there.”
She opened her mouth. She could not believe it. “And why was he put in prison?”
“For being Bubi.”
“But … how is that possible?”
“Since Guinea got its independence in 1968, the people in power mainly have come from the Fang race. Five years ago there were troubling incidents in the city of Luba, which you must know as San Carlos. A group of armed and masked men killed four workers, and the authorities accused a group that supported the island’s independence and self-determination of being responsible. As a result, there was wide-scale repression of the Bubi community by the army. Real atrocities were committed.” Laha paused.
“I …” Clarence swallowed. “I don’t remember having read anything at home.”
Laha took another sip of coffee and shook his head. “They detained hundreds of people, among them my brother. I was lucky, I was in California. My mother made me promise not to put a foot on Bioko until things had quieted down.”
“And what happened to Iniko?” she asked in a barely audible voice.
“He spent two years in Black Beach. He never talks about it, but I know he was tortured. They later sent him with others to the Evinayong prison, in Mbini, on the continent, which you would know as Río Muni, where he was made to do forced labor. One of the people with my brother was eighty-one years old … can you imagine?” Laha took a deep breath. “Remember that the two parts of Guinea, the island and the continental part, are separated by over three hundred nautical miles. It’s not only a geographic separation, but also a cultural one. The Bubis are foreigners in Muni. They were sent there to separate them from their families and make their incarceration more painful.”
“But,” she softy interrupted, “what were they accused of?”
“Of anything. Of treason, terrorism, unlawful possession of explosives, arms smuggling, attempts against national security, coups, secession … Surreal, isn’t it? Fortunately, two years ago, several prisoners were pardoned, among them Iniko. It was a conditional release, but at last he was able to get out of that hellhole. So did Melania. They met there.”
Clarence was stunned. These things happened in the twenty-first century? She took for granted the democratic state that her forefathers had fought for not so long ago—it was very difficult to comprehend everything Laha had told her. She now understood the nervousness of the group when that foreigner was arrested.
Poor Iniko!
Then, she remembered the suggestion that Iniko had made to her, and she felt an uneasy throb in her chest. She had felt tempted to accept the offer, but after what Laha had just told her, she was not so sure.
That night it was difficult for Clarence to sleep.
In the end, she had accepted Iniko’s offer. She would travel around the island with him. She would get to know villages that, just by their names, evoked stories and anecdotes of Jacobo and Kilian. Two or three days. Her journey was coming to an end, he argued, and she had not been out of Malabo. The trip included a visit to a special place named Ureca and a quick stop in Sampaka. He had promised that she would not forget this trip, that Bioko was a beautiful island, and that with him she would get to see places unknown to many.
And if they were stopped at a checkpoint?
Iniko was a well-known cocoa company agent, in charge of paying the Bubi farmers. Also, he knew the island like the back of his hand.
Nobody, except Laha, would know where they were. If something happened to her, it would take days for her to be missed in Spain.
On the other hand, how fortunate that Iniko had to make the trip! This would force her to exhaust all remaining possibilities relating to her family. She felt a renewed excitement. How could she have given up her search so soon?
The answer was simple. Each time she reproached herself for cowardly abandoning the search for answers, images of Mamá Sade and her son appeared. Maybe it was not such a good idea to rake up the past. Maybe there were things better left unfound. All families had secrets. Life went on …
She sighed deeply.
Go around the island with Iniko …
This crush was ridiculous. She felt as if she were fifteen!
Well, well, she thought, the timid Clarence is going to the jungle with a hunk of a man who has been in prison and who probably has a girlfriend.
Iniko.
A man who was intelligent, sensitive, committed, a good talker, and attentive.
A couple of days with him. Alone.
She was in the lobby of the hotel at seven o’clock, surprised to find out that Bisila would be traveling with them on the first part of the trip. To a certain degree, Clarence was relieved not to be completely alone with Iniko. Her dreams at night were one thing; the reality was altogether another.
Clarence went over to Bisila and gave her two affectionate kisses. She silently approved of her dress, pleated below the bust and made from the same orange material as the scarf that covered her in the African style of headdress.
They got into Iniko’s white Land Rover, and he explained to her that although the two main roads on the island, which went to Luba in the east and toward Riaba in the west, were perfectly surfaced, the rest of Bioko was connected by secondary roads strewn with roadworks every few kilometers, delays, potholes, temporary detours on dusty tracks, and dirt roads difficult to travel on without a suitable vehicle. In particular, the southern part was the most isolated because of the natural characteristics of the terrain, making access difficult in the rainy season.
And they were in the rainy season. The day dawned fairly cloudy. Some light mists rode around the summit of the majestic Basilé Peak, at whose feet Malabo was situated. Clarence had been lucky recently, with hot days unusual for the month of May. This morning the sky threatened rain.
She looked out the window of the car and silently prayed not to see a tornado.
Iniko put her mind at ease.
“We’ll be going to well-known places. This island can be driven across quickly. Most of the time, we will be in villages where we can shelter if it rains.”
“Fine. And what is our first destination?” she asked, assuming that it would be Sampaka.
“I thought about driving clockwise. We will start in Rebola.”
“Ah! As it is so close to Malabo, I thought our first stop would be Sampaka.”
“Well, if you don’t mind, we’ll leave the plantation until the end of the trip.” Iniko tur
ned around slightly. “My mother doesn’t like going to Sampaka.”
Clarence turned to Bisila, who, sitting beside her in the backseat, watched her in silence. She did not know if it was her imagination or if the woman was actually studying her movements, wanting to find some familiar gesture. In the light of day, she looked even more beautiful. Bisila smiled at her timidly.
“Of course I don’t mind,” said Clarence with a smile.
As they distanced themselves from the city, the rising mountain peak brought on memories of her Pasolobino valley. Except in Bioko, the vegetation was much greener.
“Basilé Mountain is impressive,” she murmured, turning to Bisila.
She nodded. “It’s the highest peak on the island,” she explained. “From the summit, you can see the whole island on a clear day. It’s actually an old volcano, now extinct. The last recorded eruption was in 1923.”
“It must be stunning to see a volcano erupting,” commented Clarence, lost in thought. “I imagine it like an outpouring of passion. For a period it remains dormant, contained, hidden from the outside. The only one who knows how alive it is inside …” She realized how serious she had become and laughed. “I’m not surprised that volcanic land is so fertile. Well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?”
Iniko looked at her in the mirror with an intensity that made her blush.
“I like that,” he said. “I think it fits our way of life very well.”
“Don’t be upset,” she replied with irony, “but I thought your people were known for being quiet and peaceful.”
“Until we explode.” Iniko gave her a wry smile.
Bisila cleared her throat. “Did you know that the peak has five names?” she asked.
“I know two, Basilé and Santa Isabel. My father and my uncle always referred to it as Santa Isabel. And the other three?”
“In Bubi it’s called Öwassa,” answered Bisila. “The Nigerians called it Big Pico. And the British called it Clarence Peak.”
“Well, well!” exclaimed Iniko sarcastically. “The Clarence volcano! Don’t be upset, but I think you are a quiet and peaceful woman.”
The three of them burst out laughing. Even Bisila seemed more relaxed. They continued chatting until they got to Rebola, a town on a small hill at the feet of a beautiful Catholic church. Iniko went to visit some people, and the two women strolled along the streets until they got to the upper part of town, where they had a wonderful view of Malabo Bay. It was the first time Clarence had been alone with Bisila.
“I find it strange that churches like those in my village are in a place full of spirits,” mused Clarence.
Bisila explained why the Catholic religion had become so deeply rooted. Clarence listened, surprised by the similarities between the Bubi story of creation and the one she had learned as a child.
“There isn’t that much difference,” added Bisila, “between our Mmò and the Holy Spirit, between our bahulá abé and the evil spirits and demons, between our bahulá and the pure spirits and angels, or between Bisila and the Virgin Mary.”
“But admittedly, you are known for being much more superstitious than we are. Everywhere there are amulets, animal bones, shells, and feathers …”
Bisila looked at her with an amused expression. “And what do you say of your relics—saints’ bones, holy cards, and medals?”
Clarence did not know how to counter this argument, so she decided to ask why the Bubis so honored the souls of the dead. Bisila explained that the world consisted not only of the material but also included the ethereal, or spirit, region. The pure spirits, or bahulá, were in charge of the world’s physical laws. But the human souls were in charge of the baribò, or the souls of the various family heads that made up the Bubi people. When she saw Clarence frowning, she explained.
“I’ll give you an example. God created my soul, but he ceded or sold it to the morimò, or the soul of one of my ancestors, who has protected it and will protect it all my life in exchange for me honoring him as is due. And I, as any heir of my family or line, make an effort to give homage to both my protector spirit and those of the rest of my family so they can safeguard our prosperity, both on earth and when I’ve gone from it.”
“You mean when you have … died.”
“You say it as if it were something terrible,” said Bisila, raising her eyebrows.
“Because it is.”
“Not for me. When we leave here, the soul goes to a much better world. Precisely to prevent the soul of a dead body losing its way, wandering in torment, and becoming an evil spirit, it’s necessary to have funerals of mourning and adoration to our ancestors.”
Clarence could understand respect for their ancestors, but believing in spirits seemed a little childish.
“So,” she said carefully, “you believe it’s possible that here and now, there are one or more wandering spirits, trying to find their way.”
“If their families haven’t honored them well,” responded Bisila with conviction, “yes, of course.”
Clarence gazed over the red roofs of the small houses and paused at the spectacular view of the sea fading on the horizon. A light breeze began to rustle the palm trees. Beside her, Bisila rubbed her forearms.
Suddenly, something ran toward them and stopped a few paces away. Clarence let out a scream and clung on to Bisila, who showed no signs of fear.
“What is it?” she asked.
Bisila chuckled. “It’s only a lizard, Clarence. Don’t be frightened.”
“You mean an alligator or colored crocodile,” said Clarence, looking at the enormous green, red, and yellow animal.
“It’ll leave soon.”
But the reptile did not leave. It looked at them inquisitively, moving its short and wrinkled neck from side to side until it shot toward her. She stayed as still as she possibly could, willing to give it a kick when she got the chance, but the lizard did not seem aggressive. It halted a few centimeters from her, and as if possessed by a fit of madness, it started to go around in circles trying to bite its tail. It spent a good while at this until it managed to do so. Then it stopped, looked at the women, let its tail go, went around Clarence a couple of times, and disappeared.
Clarence was perplexed. She turned to Bisila and saw that she had covered her mouth with her hand.
“It’s a message,” she said in a deep voice. “Something is going to happen. And soon.”
A shiver ran down Clarence’s spine.
“Ready to continue!” exclaimed Iniko behind them.
He looked at her and asked with a worried face, “Have you seen a ghost?”
“Poor Clarence!” explained Bisila. “We were talking about religion. I think I might have frightened her a bit with so many spirits and dead souls.”
“Thank God it’s midday!” joked the young woman. “If we had talked about this at night, I would have died of fright.”
Iniko turned and stood in front of Clarence. Bisila continued walking toward the car.
“I think I have the cure for your fears,” he said.
He brought his hands up to his neck and undid the leather cord from which a small shell hung. Carefully, he moved her hair away from her neck and knotted the cord.
Clarence could feel Iniko’s hands on her skin. She shivered once again, but this time with pleasure.
She turned to look into his eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “But … who will protect you now?”
“We have two options,” he whispered. “I can buy another one, or I can stay close to you so that the same amulet can protect us both.”
Clarence bowed her head.
At that moment, she felt how the real Bioko and the imagined Fernando Po began to meld together in her heart.
10
The Guardian of the Island
“What’s our next destination?” Clarence asked while she pored over the simple map.
“Are you afraid of getting lost?” Iniko gave her a mocking look.
Bisila noticed that the young w
oman blushed. “I have family in Baney,” said Iniko’s mother. “From time to time, I stay with them for a couple of days.”
Her last visit had been just two weeks ago. Iniko found it strange that his mother had asked him to take her again. Bisila bit her bottom lip. If Iniko knew the real reasons. She heard her son speak and Clarence giggle. She was a cheerful young woman; she would have inherited that from her father.
From Jacobo.
How long had it been since she had thought about him? More than thirty years. She had managed to erase him from her mind completely until Clarence mentioned his name the night of the dinner. From that moment, she recognized him in his daughter’s movements, in her features, in her eyes … Bisila had been angry with the spirits for having woken up memories that she thought were buried. But after mulling things over, she began to understand.
The spirits were being very cunning. From the start, she knew that sooner or later, everything would make sense, that the earthly suffering would find eternal relief. The signs that the moment was approaching were obvious. Clarence was in Bioko, and a lizard had danced in front of her.
The cycle would soon close.
“We’re nearly there,” Iniko announced.
Clarence looked out the window. The dense vegetation had made way for unpaved streets with small one-and two-story houses at either side, similar to the outskirts of Malabo. Iniko drove toward the high part of the village, and they passed in front of a run-down red church with a very high bell tower, a large cross on the moldy facade, and two arcades over a wide set of steps. He had to beep the horn several times to warn the numerous children who were playing in the streets that a car wanted to pass.
Clarence thought they were all very good-looking, especially the girls, with their light-colored dresses and their hair tied up in immaculate little buns and braids. When the car stopped in front of the houses, several children crowded round to greet them. Bisila went straight into the building, and the other two stayed with the small ones. Clarence regretted having nothing in her bag to give them. She looked for her purse and decided to give them some change. She had only handed out three or four coins, which the fortunate ones received with grateful smiles, when Iniko asked in a temper, “What are you doing?”
