‘What was I supposed to do?’
‘You left her?’
‘I didn’t leave her. I called an ambulance. She is in intensive care. Can hardly wake up. Ruptured lung. Had her rib broken, pierced the bloody lung.’
‘Shit. Fuck. Does my mum know?’
‘Course she does. She is doing the whole police thing, already filed a report. Just waiting for her to get well enough. You see, big time fucking shit. I have no choices. I get a call every day. If I don’t see them, they’ll walk me home. Whatever I’m doing, one of them always finds me. Every fucking day!’
‘Did you go to the police?’
‘Are you not listening? They are threatening me. Every bloody day. I need you back here.’
Karl didn’t know what to say. On John’s grainy TV the riots looked unreal. Blown out of proportion. He had only been gone a few weeks. How could there be so much fire? Abu was usually all mouth, no action. Could talk until Karl was sure he had died of an overdose of tonguelitis. Trouble got to him. Just like it followed Karl, it followed Abu, because he trotted behind him, chatting for King’s Cross, not watching out where he went, what was in front. He stumbled into stuff. Usually he was able to shrug it all off.
‘Karl, are you there? Say something. What am I supposed to do?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know. Shit.’
‘Come back. I need you.’
The here, the where, the how to reach. The right timing that was what usually fucked things up. Wasn’t it?
‘You have to say everything to the police. It’s my mum’s friend.’
‘I need you here for that. So far I’ve been stalling. Come back.’
‘Shit, shit, shit.’ Karl went quiet. Emmanuel looked at him, eyes wide again. He got that word. Karl was thinking.
‘Tell Godfrey. He’ll take care of it. You know how he is; he probably knows their parents anyway. I’ll be back in no time. Not finished here. Difficult to explain but—’
It was quiet on the other side. Too quiet.
‘Abu, please. Just hear me out.’
But Abu had already hung up.
The choices, the wrongs or rights. What when where. Priorities.
20
* * *
You don’t need to be
a smart-ass to fuck it up.
You need to be smart to see it coming.
Karl left the cubicle. He should go back. He really should. Rebecca sounded livid. His phone was blowing up with her texts. What was he doing anyway? Not like his father cared. He just needed a little more time. These two weeks. And Godfrey was the one who would have a way in with some of the local boys. Doing the Godfrey magic. The diffusing. He entered the compound, then the buka. There would have to be some serious begging from Karl’s side. Making up for lousy friendship efforts. Abu would understand. This was the only time Karl had in Nigeria. It wouldn’t come again any time soon.
Nakale was waiting. Janoma, his cousin, was sitting on the bench. Her darkness was seamless, uninterrupted. Deep. Unlike the last time, when they had met in front of her Auntie’s shop, she was smiling at him now.
‘Hello. Something happen? You remember my cousin Janoma.’
‘Karl,’ he mumbled and stretched out his hand. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, I was on the phone. It was important.’
‘Hi.’ She jerked her head to the side, shook his hand half-heartedly. She was obviously not into the shaking but she kept it for a while. Maybe she was into holding? She looked at him again, like last time, cocked her head, smiled, then got lost as if she was thinking about something. She was in jeans and a T-shirt, some eccentric pop star’s face splashed over front and back. Metallic blue, red and purple on a washed-out grey. Style.
‘How are you doing? I hear it’s your first time in good old Naija?’
It was hard to tell her age. She was sure of herself in a way that was all accidental, thoughtful but mostly dreamy eyes.
‘It’s alright,’ he replied, thankful that his mouth opened at all.
‘And which parts are alright exactly?’ Janoma’s eyebrows raised. She was probably at uni already.
‘Well, the vibe. I mean.’
‘The vibe?’ She laughed and let go of his hand. Her lips, man, when they moved, they blew you off the surface of the earth. Almost brown, a deep purple.
‘Wow, you mixed kids sure know how to be specific.’
She turned to Nakale and said something. Karl couldn’t hear her. She saw him trying to understand them.
‘Either by early afternoon or you have to drop me at dad’s at six. You know he is not joking about his timekeeping.’
She was so cool, so together, cleaned up good. It made the air burn.
‘Karl?’
Nakale interrupted his analysis.
‘She can come with us? Only then we have to leave earlier? So that we can drop her home in time?’ All as a question.
‘Of course, no problem.’ He felt on a mission. A gang. Although Janoma hadn’t officially joined their twosomeness; he hoped by the end of the day there’d be more to say on that.
Nakale was interviewing one of the elders of the community for an article he was commissioned to write by an overseas news agency. Well, it wasn’t quite an article, more like a report. The correspondent would write their own version later, after a very brief visit to the same area, and without that much engagement. They would take all the credit and be like what atrocities, unimaginable, so much pollution, underdeveloped and shit.
Nakale had also collected more samples. He had some new ideas and was restructuring his data. Karl asked if he could take notes for him. Two sets of ears were better than one. Maybe he could even write his own something. Something he could take back to London. Maybe he could use it for his own project week.
It was all very much as the last time. Endless roads with bush and palm trees. Karl was used to the views, settlements and villages along the way. The car took them off the highway to a small junction, life bustling along on all four of its corners.
‘We’re entering Ogoniland, Karl. I will show you where they captured Ken.’
Karl nodded. Who the hoot was Ken?
‘Saro-Wiwa,’ Janoma, who sat next to him on the back seat, continued. Karl could feel her breathing, or maybe it was just his own breath. Moving in and out in that obvious manner that makes you even more nervous than you already are.
hotness /hɒtnəs/
noun
1. Intense.
‘Like the writer and activist?’ She took his hand and pointed to the left. The car slowed down and was rolling along the smaller street they entered.
‘Look there. The sign.’ Her hand was cool. The aircon was on. Karl’s hand was sweaty.
‘MOSOP,’ Karl read out. At least that part worked; his speaking faculty did its job.
‘Movement of the Survival of the Ogoni People. Nakale, explain it. How should he know these things? Not like he was old enough then.’
She leaned close to the window but deep back into her seat so Karl could poke his head forward. His nose touched the window. Her hand was still holding his; their thighs touched and he could feel her breath close to his ear now. Karl looked outside, then at Nakale, then back outside. What was he meant to do? Just stay here? All close up and shit?
Nakale was deep in thought.
‘One day the government decided that it had had enough of leaders like Ken, who spoke up and rallied the people against what Shell and all the oil thieves were doing to our beautiful land. So the military convicted them on false charges and hanged them, although human rights groups and governments all over the world were condemning the whole thing. Some witnesses admitted later that they had been bribed by Shell to give false testimony against what we call the Ogoni Nine. Ken and the other activists.’ It seemed like a thought broke off. ‘That’s it. Nothing else to say.’ He seemed pissed off.
‘Ken is Nakale’s hero.’ Janoma let go of his hand. Karl moved back to his side of the back seat, armpits all
sweaty.
Nakale was still like, absent.
Karl nodded. It took someone to show you what was going on, sometimes right in front of your eyes. Sometimes it was further away. There was more shit in life, much bigger shit, than your own personal problems. That was for sure. Nakale was showing him that it mattered how you dealt with it. Not just your own stuff, but the bloody balance of the world.
They drove on and Karl followed the fleeting images outside of the window until they got to the elder Nakale was interviewing.
Nakale and the man exchanged greetings and news and he led them into a cramped bungalow. The man’s two younger daughters watched Karl curiously. Janoma was already sitting on one of the armchairs, drifting off in her own thoughts, but once in a while her eyes met Karl’s. Nakale and the man sat on a small sofa. They started in the middle of a sentence, as if they had left the conversation midway on their last visit. Karl was struggling with the heat; the stuffy room offered no reprieve, no air, no movement. He was glad when they left an hour later. It had been too hot and he had heard nothing. The only thing he had observed was the heat that hovered around every thought and every look at Janoma. He wanted to be back at John’s to think of her, but the thought of parting made him anxious.
21
* * *
How many times can you turn,
without making your way?
His mother was waiting for him. Abu pulled the key out and closed the door behind him. She stood there, arms hanging by her side.
‘I didn’t do anything.’
Her head was moving the tiniest bit but he didn’t know whether she was nodding or shaking it.
‘I swear!’
It was that much stronger this way. The disapproval. The not talking made you feel bad whether you had done anything or not. Abu had expected a didn’t I tell you not to leave?
Like this, quiet and without accusation, her disappointment stung more. He lowered his head and tried to thin out to make it past her without having to touch her. The twins were in bed. His father back at work. It was quiet in the flat. He couldn’t bear sitting in the living room with her. TV on or not it would make his insides want to crawl out of his throat.
Godfrey had been summoned. Be a fucking adult. In those exact words. Rebecca had screamed down the phone when he eventually called back the day after she left her first message. ‘Be a fucking adult and tell me exactly what is going on. Not tomorrow or when you have time or you’re out from an appointment or when you bloody feel like it. Now!’ She had slammed down the phone again but this time she hadn’t thrown it. One lucky escape was enough; she didn’t need a broken mobile on top of everything else. Mama Abu was in Rebecca’s kitchen. Abu’s father was babysitting the twins at home. Godfrey sat in the armchair. Abu on the couch. Rebecca was standing.
‘Abu?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t … nobody told me …’
Rebecca walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s not OK to lie. Certainly not like this.’
He nodded, biting his lips. She pushed his shoulder, motioning for him to join his mother in her kitchen. It didn’t take a second and Abu was out of the tense air.
‘Just you and me.’
Rebecca leaned on the doorframe, arms folded, one leg casually placed over the other. Her hair was pulled back, tied. You could see everything on her face. The question, the contempt, the anger.
‘Me and you, Godfrey.’
‘I know …’ Godfrey started.
Rebecca just raised her eyebrows, mocking him with such intensity Godfrey couldn’t continue. She stared at him until he looked down at his hands, shaking his head.
‘Rebecca…’
‘Try and explain. Try!’
‘There is nothing to explain. Not more than I already said. It was a bad idea, a very bad one.’
‘You think this was just a bad idea? Godfrey, do you even know where Karl is? Do you have any fucking clue where my son is?’
And they were back to the heavy silence that felt like an embargo. Nothing in, nothing out. Her foot was moving left and right, hitting the skirting board each time it made it to the right.
‘I have all the addresses. I spoke to Karl the day before yesterday. Tunde is in touch with me, regularly.’
‘Tunde.’ She laughed. ‘And how long have you known Tunde?’
He was nodding now. He put his hands over his face, lowered them again.
‘I know it’s out of order, I know. It was supposed to be two weeks. I had my reasons, believe me. The important part is that he is safe. He hasn’t disappeared. Nothing has happened to him. He’s simply not come back when he was supposed to.’
It took a while for Rebecca to respond. She was busy processing what Godfrey had said. Or maybe she was planning how best to tell him what a fool he had been. Godfrey got up and came closer but she thrust her hand out to stop him.
‘This is Karl. Did you think he would come back when you told him? When has he ever done that?’
She was right. He knew it. But how to tell her that it could have been worse? He could have run away without any sort of update. Money or not. Karl would have found a way. How to tell her that he had been scared, more scared of that than anything?
‘I’ll call Tunde straight away. Make sure that he gets Karl on the next plane.’
‘Tunde is a dreamer, Godfrey. It will be ver y difficult to reason with him. But what happened to Adebanjo? I thought Karl went to be with his father.’
* * *
‘I take Karl. We meet dere.’
Mena was preparing for lunch. Nakale had dropped in on his way to uni. Karl had just joined them outside the building. John was there. He was on his way to arrange something. Probably to work, for the father, but he hadn’t said. There was no talk of the father. The word and person. Omitted. It was easy, as they had already stopped speaking much about him over the weeks of waiting for him to show up.
The night before, John had asked Karl, ‘I should book your flight back?’
He was polite like that. He was supposed to have booked that flight a few days back when the father went all offensive behaviour on Karl. But he hadn’t. They hadn’t even mentioned it. After returning from the heavy shooter Karl had just asked how he could help. To give something for all the trouble. John had replied, ‘Nothing my friend. No need for dat one.’
Karl planned to leave something. Or Nakale could help him get a couple of gifts for their flat.
To the question, he had replied, ‘I’m not yet ready to go back to London. Is it OK with you if I stay for a few more days?’
He had left out that both Godfrey and Rebecca were blowing up his phone. He now left it switched off mostly. Checked for messages once in a while.
And John had hugged him.
‘Please. You are welcome.’
The others were all discussing something but Karl got lost in the accent until John turned toward him.
‘Auntie says there is something tonight. She wants to take you.’
‘Something?’ Karl was confused.
Nakale shot Mena a look but she just raised her head, shaking it once.
‘John, don’t worry what it is. A gathering. A party. Whatever you want to call it. It will be special for Karl. Learn about our country.’
John’s eyebrows met in the middle. ‘She wants to know if you can go.’
This was the weird bit. Who had authority? Would anyone impose a curfew? If so, who? Karl looked at Nakale, who looked at him expectantly. Mena smiled reassuringly and nodded. John had a question on his face. It seemed Karl would be deciding this by himself; better make arrangements before anyone remembered that Karl was supposed to be in someone’s care. Meaning: not going out at night. At least not by himself. Without a guardian. But it was difficult to make out who that was these days. Uncle T was only supposed to hand him over and the father had cleared himself of any obligation, of any involvement, of any interest. Since then Uncle T had found it hard to make a decision concerning K
arl, especially since he had to always be back in Lagos for most of the week. And he was still knocked sideways, lost, waiting for the answer to ‘But what happened, Karl? What?’
‘I’ll bring him back.’ Nakale reassured. ‘Not too late.’
John looked uneasy. ‘You will be—’
‘I will take care of him,’ Nakale added and put his arm around Karl.
‘I will be dere John. Don’t worr y yourself,’ Mena said. Her first customer was coming up from the road. ‘Nakale if you’re not back in time I can take him. No problem.’ And she winked at Karl and went to serve her first dish of the day.
It was obvious John didn’t know what to say. No one had briefed him. What type of care should he impart? Mena came back out and spoke to him quietly. She took his arm and pointed into the air with her other hand. It was like she was outlining something. Then, louder, she said, ‘John, dis be your junction. You can go dis way or dat way. But no be you who is going. Let Karl decide. It will be well. Nakale will bring him back.’
John couldn’t help himself. ‘You need to leave the junction bit. I was just making a point. Once! No need to talk dat one all de time.’ But he laughed. And agreed reluctantly. As long as they were making sure Karl got back in one piece. She went back inside the small shop to prepare for the lunchtime rush. Nakale waved as he walked away.
‘I will be there by seven.’
When they got off the okada, Karl could hear music and voices. It was low but it rose above the noise of the street. They had driven through a maze of roads and had come out at a small junction. Mena paid the driver and he sped off the congested road they had come from. It was dark but the street was lined with petty traders, their wobbly tables illuminated by small petroleum lamps. The flames flickered, making it all sweet and romantic. It was busy but it was slower than in the daytime. People had time to walk and chat, to stop and enquire. In-between, a few people rushed ahead, or jumped on one of the buses that didn’t quite stop here but only slowed down enough for someone to hop on.
When We Speak of Nothing Page 17
