* * *
These things you know. In your bones you know them. And you’ll be falling, falling really deep, head first. You will put on your clothes while Janoma is asking you what to do, how she can help. And you will look at her, the tears running, and she will help you put your clothes on because you’re trembling and nothing works that way. She will sit you on the small chair, next to the cardboard box, tell you it’s OK, to let it out and to cry while she slides the flip-flops over your feet. Her hands will touch both of your arms, then your face. She will cup it and then she’ll say: ‘Whatever you need, I’ll take care of it.’
‘I need to go back,’ you will respond, and look into her eyes and between the two there will be this new thing as if you know more about each other than you do.
‘As soon as possible.’
She will understand what you mean and take your hand to lead you to the door. She will look back quickly to check the room is as before. Then she’ll lock the door and push you towards John’s house. She will call her mother to explain, she’ll call Nakale. All the while behind you, her hand will hold you up and lead you. She’ll have no questions, but will take your cue when you arrive at John’s. She’ll introduce herself as your words will be racing and colliding against each other, in the way, too much, the thoughts have no time for this now. Once John understands you will go to the bedroom and Janoma will follow you, the door remaining open. You’ll grab your bag, where you kept the rest of the money, your passport and your ticket. Both of you will rush back out in no time while John’s wife will look so concerned, the baby sleeping on the rug, on top of a baby blanket.
John saying while you are leaving: ‘Do you want me to call your father, Karl?’
And you will turn around again with sudden severity and catch yourself before it just spills out of you: ‘No way.’ You will thank John and feel it too, feel what the man has done for you, what all types of people have done for you recently and then you will be on the stairs again, downwards. When you arrive at the bottom, Nakale will be there, reaching for your arm.
‘My friend. Wetin happen?’
‘They kicked him and I wasn’t there. He is in bad shape, very bad shape, not here, not conscious, hasn’t been, hasn’t woken up. The second day now. Two days. Abu all quiet. I have to get home, I have to be there. He should be talking.’
‘OK, OK,’ Nakale will reply. ‘It’s OK,’ he will say and guard you on one side while Janoma will be on the other. They will walk with you, the short distance to the Internet cafe, but before you get there Janoma will be all organised, forward thinking.
‘What do you need to do? You want to change your reservation, right? So someone calls the airline. Will you be calling Abu’s people, Karl?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll call the airline then. Give me your ticket.’
She will have an in-charge-ness that will make your knees softer than they already are because she will hold you in place, you know it. Just by being her. And you’ll hand her the bag so she can take it out since she saw where you put it. And you’ll be so grateful that people know what to do in emergencies, and if this isn’t one then you don’t know, you don’t know anything any more.
Abu, come back.
You will think about the kicking and the head and the Abu who doesn’t talk any more, the Abu who is quiet and breathing heavily, hopefully breathing, who needs to breathe.
I need you.
At the Internet cafe you’ll see Emmanuel, who is playing with other boys nearby and who comes running now that he sees you, his friends tagging behind. He will smile and try to show off his new friend and you will have no time but to say: ‘Sorry mate, gotta rush.’
And Nakale will translate it for the boy because your British accent will be thin like proper. No weight, nothing for the boy to catch. And Emmanuel will be disappointed but staying close with his friends, watching you and your mini-operation taking over one computer and two phone booths. And while you are speaking to Abu’s mum, who will be crying on the other end of the receiver, Janoma will knock and open the thin door.
‘Next flight with a free seat is tomorrow evening at seven. Take it?’
And you’ll nod, grateful, so grateful that she knows what she’s doing.
‘There’s a charge. Do you have money?’
And you will nod again while covering the receiver with your hand because Mama Abu is still on the other side and you don’t want to interrupt her with these mundane things, the details of how you are getting back to see her son. All you want her to know is that you will be seeing her and her son in like no time whatsoever. And that it is your fault because it’s always about you and the damn running you do, all the way out of Abu’s range of operation so someone else has come in, a whole load of them, and have fucked this up, fucked him up.
Abu. Please. I need you.
Janoma, that angel, will mouth almost silently and you will have to remember that she just asked you a question.
‘Cash?’
And you’ll nod again.
‘I’ll send the driver to their office. They’ll hold it.’
And she will return to her phone conversation in the next booth with the airline and when she softly knocks on yours again a couple of minutes later you’ll hand her the money. The money you have because Uncle T has been sending your mum money since your birth. Money to help raise the child. Money that Rebecca refused but could not stop Uncle T from sending and re-sending. The emergency fund that Godfrey used to get you here in the first place.
Janoma will count the amount that is needed. Nakale will be looking for any message from Abu in your inbox. Anything you didn’t open because really you have been preoccupied and not opened a damn thing, have not engaged properly. Anything that can give a clue to why now, why so severe, who the fuck, what the bloody fuck is going on? But there won’t be any so he will be sitting there, waiting, and Emmanuel will come and speak with him, or more like he will speak to Emmanuel. While you’ll still be on the phone with Mama Abu, who says nothing, nothing at all but who can’t hang up and you don’t want her to because you are here, not there, and that means you are wrong. Very wrong. You will ask Janoma, who pops her head in once more, her eyebrows raised, to email Godfrey. To give him the details of the flight. And before you can leave your booth the driver will have come and picked up the money to secure your flight back. And within half an hour you will have a return journey, no more information from Abu’s mother other than it is critical, and you will sit for a moment outside the Internet cafe.
24
* * *
Presence is
when you sit.
Properly.
The sun was setting. Nakale, Janoma, Karl, Emmanuel and his little friends sat outside the Internet cafe. All were falling into deep contemplation after the hectic back and forth of airlines, Godfrey, Mama Abu, Karl’s mum.
Nakale informed Karl that he would be staying with him tonight. Janoma called her parents to ask what was the latest the driver could pick her up. The young boys watched and discussed feverishly among themselves, the way kids do when they are negotiating the rules of the latest game.
Reddish strips of light were scattering behind the dusty houses. The commotion stopped. Madam had finished her workday and done all the things she usually did when she was about to get ready to leave. Emmanuel’s mother worked nearby in a little stall. His mum could see him if she walked a few steps; the stretch of street was not very long. It looked like there was need of sitting and drinking something.
The group outside madam’s shop looked lost. A warm Coke would do. Electricity had gone a while back and she had switched off the generator. The fridge sat lopsided on the two narrow wooden planks that held it up. All silent. She didn’t owe these customers anything, but she brought out a wooden bench that seated the three barely adults, the boys already sitting on the red ground. The open sewer dropped down a little way to the side, a cement path leading to the entrance of the shop, covering the a greenish-black t
hickness, complete with empty plastic bottles and colourful paper scraps. Janoma looked at Karl.
‘Finished?’
He nodded.
‘What are they saying?’
‘Some people found him in front of the house.’
He wondered if Nalini knew. Nobody would have told her. He didn’t have her number. He needed to let her know.
‘They called the ambulance straight away. The hospital is just around the corner.’
He stopped. Time was making itself very present. Two hours, two bloody hours, stretching apart as if there was no tomorrow needing drama.
‘He’s been out for two days.’
‘Is there anything they can do?’
‘He needs to wake up.’
The little boys looked at Karl. He handed them his phone. Another heated argument, now about who was to play the game on it. Madam offered her Coke. Karl bought a bottle for each of them. Their eyes widened and their cheeks collapsed from the intense straw-sucking. Happiness could be such an easy thing, Karl thought. It was in those moments. They only came by accident: a collection of people, random. A frame: the surrounding and the opportunity to highlight it. Like madam’s offer. He smiled. The first since the phone call.
‘So, Emmanuel.’
The boy looked up. His pride was shining so bright it could have switched the electricity back on. Janoma laughed.
‘You na like dis man?’
Emmanuel stole a glance at his friends, who were all standing mouth open, Coke bottles resting on chins, straws connecting bottles to mouths. There was no drinking; the noise had stopped.
‘Coke is your favourite?’
‘Yes,’ he replied quickly. And to prove it, he sucked even more on the chewed end of the straw.
‘And football?’
‘Yes,’ all of them replied.
‘Which team do you like?’
‘Man United.’
And Karl laughed at the knot of them that twisted and unwound itself, excitement pulling and releasing their limbs.
‘No, Arsenal na be de one.’ Emmanuel was adamant.
Karl felt heavy.
‘My friend at home. He dey like Arsenal. Like you. He like am too much.’
Emmanuel was still nodding. Eager.
‘What about school?’
Madam came out of the stuffy shack and leaned against the metal bars she would soon lock in front of the door.
‘Primary first. He’s on holiday now. That’s why he is here. To help out and stay out of his mother’s way. If he is with his mum, he likes to get into trouble. Walk off with his friends here.’
She gave them all a pretend stern look. ‘He listens better here.’
Then she turned to Emmanuel. Emmanuel nodded. Prime position, spotlight on him as he moved his head up and down, shaking off any doubts as to his manners and matters of obeying the rules. His eyes were still on Karl. The tension that held Karl’s body was leaving. The little time he had left expanded.
‘You know how to use computa?’ Karl asked him.
And again the feverish replying started, all boys jumping off the ground, showing off to each other when and how and where and how much they had used anybody’s laptop, PC, computer, smartphone, until Emmanuel trumped.
‘My friend’s uncle, dey get tablet we me go play one game for.’
That was settled, then. The adults hid their amusement. It was simple like that, the showing off. The sharing. The Cokes finished. Time was running out. Karl took his phone back.
‘I am leaving tomorrow. I will see you next time, Emmanuel.’
He stroked the boy’s hair. Emmanuel looked sad. Karl looked even sadder.
They returned to John’s place. Nakale needed to collect the bag he’d left at the buka while waiting for Karl and Janoma.
The two had a minute. Like one, only one.
‘So no last kisses then.’ Janoma no longer teased. It was pretty shit.
‘Looks like we might not get a chance.’
There was silence again, the loaded type, the one you don’t want to break because it feels sweet, but it also hurts a whole damn lot. Once they broke it, time would move on. Like fast.
‘Why don’t you come to London when you are off uni?’
It had been on Karl’s mind. Despite all the other urgencies, this one was one too. This couldn’t be it. Was Janoma thinking any of that?
‘I’ll try.’ Her eyes followed stuff on the ground. They could see Nakale, held back by Mena. She was waving at Karl, concerned look. Karl waved back. The shop was already closed, but she was cleaning. The counter collapsed yesterday for some reason. Her teeth flashed now and Nakale joined in on the joke.
Karl and Janoma were running out of time. Out of their one minute.
‘I want to.’ She sounded sad. The air between them melted. They couldn’t touch. Not here. ‘I want to see you again.’
The little stalls that lined the edge where dirt yard met street lit their kerosene lamps. Inside the houses, people were going about their evening business with the evening noises that came with all of that. The crickets were having another party. Their choral chirping making it all a little more intense. Karl. Heat heavy on his skin, on his mind.
‘Please try.’
Nakale was saying ‘bye’ and he started to walk. It was only a few steps.
‘Janoma, you won’t just forget me? You’ll bbm? I can call you?’
This wasn’t going to be bloody it, right? Whatever the rest would be this was not the last of it. Right?
‘I’ll call you as soon as you’re back in London. Karl …’
Karl wanted her to rush, say everything, before Nakale joined them and they had to be a group of friends again, without this, this just-them-ness.
‘You’re awesome. We will stay friends, right?’
And Nakale reached. Karl took her hand and squeezed it as they walked up the stairs. John was expecting them, his wife behind him, baby in arms.
Nakale insisted. Karl like, can’t really fault my life for not bringing me some good peeps. Just how to handle them?
‘Karl, you are my friend. I no dey leave you.’
And John thought it a good idea for Nakale to stay with Karl for the night. Very good, very good indeed. When he saw how Karl stormed out of the house to the Internet cafe, brain and spirit floating outside the current universe, like the oil on the creeks, attached but not belonging there, he thought company would be good. Janoma’s lips still lingered. He smiled, walking up the stairs, stomach in knots. Her skin, her arms, her lips, her breath, her eyes.
Uzo was on her way to bed. John asked if they needed anything. They brought a mat and a pillow. A sheet to cover. Nakale went to wash and Karl waited in the dark lounge. It was slightly cooler. Quiet. The evening had not yet turned into night but John excused himself. He would be up early to help.
After Nakale finished, Karl went into the bathroom and scooped water with a plastic bowl from the big container that was still half-full and stood next to the sink. Washed his feet. Took off the rest of his clothes. Stood in the lukewarm air, in the darkness, closed his eyes and tried to keep the rushing away. The head-on collision. Usually Abu would help out when things like that happened. Or Karl would leave wherever he was, hit the asphalt and let it lift him up and off the ground because he needed the air. Air between his body and the world so his body could leave the dirt underneath. The stuff that fit nowhere. Then he would knock at Abu’s door.
But Abu was looking for his own way back in and Karl could not leave the house and Janoma. Janoma, who he had not found yet but was already losing. And Nakale. What to do with Nakale?
25
* * *
Home is always
holding hands.
Without touching.
‘Are you sleeping?’
Nakale laughed. ‘Wetin you dey do my friend? You dey wash with toothbrush?’
Karl laughed too. ‘I’m just so tired, Nakale. I needed a minute.’
‘I
dey get am my friend.’
‘No, it doesn’t work like that. I get it or pidgin, not both.’
‘Why not?’
Nakale made bloody sense, like usual. Karl was lost in his track. ‘Not sure. You’re right. I dey get you.’
‘You fi teach me proper London pidgin o.’
‘For sure. But we don’t call it pidgin.’ When had he become such an annoying smart-arse? It was dark. There was no electricity. It was beautiful that way. Quiet. The neighbourhood seemed to be rationing their generator fuel. The thick air lay on Karl’s feet, pushing him in the ground.
‘You want me to light a candle?’
‘Yes now. You fi pack your tings.’
‘Not really much you know. I can do it in the morning.’ Karl lay down on the slim mattress. This was almost a reversal. Usually he was the one in the middle of the room. Abu the one at the wall. He had put on his boxers and another T-shirt. It was hard to lie down. His body wanted to be lifted, feet on the cool ground.
‘You dey a’right?’ Nakale all worried, turned towards him, leaning on his side.
‘Yeah. How’s de mat sef? Sorry, it must be so hard. We can swap.’
‘Ah ah! Me I have slept too many nights like dis. No be special like for you Europe people.’
‘Yeah.’
Karl was tired of jokes, tired of everything. ‘Nakale.’
‘Wetin my brother?’
‘Janoma.’
‘You dey like am.’
‘She told you?’
‘Ah, no need to talk dat one. Everyone can know dat one.’
‘You are not going to tell anyone are you?’
‘What?’
The whats of life. Which one? Which one should one convey? All or none? Or stick to the graduations?
‘Is it my concern that you, my special friend, like my cousin?’
‘Me and Janoma … this afternoon … anyway I need to tell you something else.’
The gap. It was reaching.
When We Speak of Nothing Page 20
