The Other Side of Truth

by Beverley Naidoo

  “Tell us, Mrs. Appiah, how did you find the children’s father?” Uncle Roy’s bass voice steadied Sade enough to listen to the rest of Mama Appiah’s story.

  “A miracle! An absolute miracle, Mr. King! I had to visit a boy who has been detained by Immigration. They say he’s eighteen so they locked him up. But we think he’s younger.”

  Femi straightened up a little at the mention of the boy.

  “So I went to Heathlands Detention Center where they keep detainees. Your daddy heard that someone from the Refugee Council was visiting this boy and he requested to see me. He asked if I knew two children with the surname Solaja. I said no.” Mama Appiah turned to Sade. “But when he said the names Sade and Femi—and the dates fitted—I was ninety-nine percent sure it was you two.”

  Sade hung her head even though it was pointless trying to hide her tears. Papa was here, in England, behind bars.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” said Mama Appiah quietly. “Sometimes people don’t tell the truth because they are so desperate. I am sure that’s what happened with you two and, I am very sure, with your father.”

  Sade’s sniffs seemed much louder in her own head than Mama Appiah’s voice and she strained to hear every word.

  “From what he told me, I think he must be a very brave man. You must be very proud of him.”

  Sade detected Femi sitting up a little straighter as Mama Appiah spoke about Papa. Her mind was bobbing like a cork trapped below a waterfall.

  “Do you know, Mr. and Mrs. King,” Mama Appiah continued, “that these children’s father is a writer? He showed me two articles. What strong words! He had to smuggle them out.”

  “Well, well—and these two never said a word!” Uncle Roy’s voice rumbled into a deep spray of laughter.

  Sade couldn’t help smiling as she blinked back her tears.

  Before leaving, Mama Appiah asked if she could ring Heathlands Detention Center to arrange a visit for the children. Sade and Femi clung nervously close as they listened to her spelling out their first names and then S-O-L-A-J-A. There was, however, yet one more surprise.

  “I’d like to speak to Mr. Solaja, please,” Mama Appiah asked, then held out the receiver to the children. They stared at each other in disbelief. Was it really possible that they could speak to Papa right away? While he was in prison? Sade lifted the receiver uncertainly to her ear. Tinny music was squeaking out. Then suddenly it was switched off, followed by a couple of clicks. A voice—Papa’s voice—was saying “Hello.”

  CHAPTER 29

  TERRITORY OF THE EYES

  FOR THE FIRST TIME since arriving in England, Femi invited Sade to play Ayo with him. The smooth blue-brown pebbles trickled through their fingers, swooping in and out of the rows of cups carved into the wooden board. Each tried to hide their excitement and neither spoke of Papa. From Ayo they shifted to cards. Rummy and Patience.

  But alone in the shadows of the night, Sade found herself adrift once again. She tossed in her bed thinking about Papa, trying to shut out memories from their last terrible day at home. Yet as soon as she blanked those out, other awful pictures slunk in. Papa lying on a narrow metal bed in a cold dark cell with only a tiny barred window for light. Someone in a white coat like Hawk Man grasping Papa’s hand, forcing his fingers on to an inkpad. Handcuffs snapped onto Papa’s wrists. Sade tried to chase these pictures away by recalling Papa’s voice on the telephone.

  Thank God you are both safe.

  She had been too numb to capture the rest. Everything was jumbled in her brain. Papa speaking from inside a prison yet his words escaping like a genie from a bottle.

  In the morning, Sade willed the hands on the clock to hurry as they waited for Mama Appiah. Femi tried to cover up his nervousness, but Sade could tell he was wound up like a spring. When at last they were seated in Mama Appiah’s old beige Ford, with Femi in front and Sade behind, the car seemed painfully slow. It nudged its way through mile upon mile of crowded London streets. Even when they reached the highway, that too was choked with traffic. It was only after passing a large green sign with a white arrow pointing to Oxford that Sade felt they were finally taking off. She tapped Femi’s shoulder.

  “Do you remember Tortoise when he flew to the feast in the sky?”

  Mama Appiah chuckled. “I know that story too! I couldn’t make this old car fly even if I wanted to!”

  Sade edged back into her seat as the car rattled and shook along a road that snaked between fields of brown earth and gray-green hills. The scenery outside was like a film. Or a fairy story. Nothing would be real until they saw Papa. But how strange that his prison was near Oxford!

  Two enormous books stand on Papa’s desk like fat generals in royal blue uniform, each with a red and green stripe on his cap. They are wedged upright between a pair of gleaming ebony Oko and Iyawo heads that are twice as large and stout as the couple on Sade’s own desk. The two volumes of The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary hold place of honor in Papa’s study. Mama says that each is almost as heavy as a newborn baby. Treat them with care. Open them only on the table itself so their spines do not break. Sade loves the row of little fingernail half-moons slanting down along the right-hand side, each with its own gold letter of the alphabet. Papa tries to leave a small space clear of papers so the dictionary can be consulted without him being troubled. But sometimes, if he is working at his desk, he stops to ask what word she is seeking. Sade much prefers to consult “the Oxford,” as they call it, rather than her school dictionary.

  The name Heathlands did not sound like a prison. But when Sade and Femi clambered out into the country lane where Mama Appiah parked, they stared up at a six-meter-high wire fence topped with great loops of barbed wire. Behind the thick poles and the wire, a cluster of large brown brick buildings loomed above a tarmac yard. Every window was barred. Was Papa behind one of them? Waiting, watching. Impatiently they both searched the rows of windows, but the bars were too dense and the glass too dark to see anyone or anything.

  As they approached a metal gate in the fence, there was a curious buzzing. Slowly the gate swung open as if pulled by some invisible force. A small square office overlooked the gate and, through the large plate-glass window, Sade glimpsed three figures in black and white uniforms. Once again they were entering the territory of the Eyes.

  Inside, at the desk ahead of them, a visitor was arguing.

  “It’s only fruit for my friend! You can check it!”

  “We’re sorry, sir, but it’s not allowed. Your friend gets fruit at mealtimes.”

  “Not like this! I bought pineapple and mangoes especially! Check them!”

  The Eyes continued to refuse. They were polite but the answer remained no. Finally, when the man agreed to leave behind his bag of fruit, it was their turn at the desk. The Eyes and The Fingers inspected the contents of Mama Appiah’s bag. Stepping through the metal-detector door frame, Sade surveyed the stretch of open tarmac leading to the next high wire barrier. Looking upward, she spotted the cameras.

  They followed a guard through two further gates before entering a building with a heavily locked door. Mama Appiah shepherded the children into a large room lined with red chairs. People sat talking quietly in small groups and pairs. Anxiously Sade and Femi scanned them. Papa wasn’t there.

  “They’ll send for your daddy now,” Mama Appiah reassured. “He’ll be here very soon.”

  It could have been a waiting room anywhere, with a machine for canned drinks in one corner. Mama Appiah had explained that Heathlands was a prison for people who wanted to live in England but who came without permission.

  “It doesn’t look like prison,” Femi muttered to Sade.

  “See there, in the corner,” she whispered. There were cameras by the ceiling. The Eyes were everywhere.

  They hovered close to the glass door. Through it they could watch the entrance desk where two officers sat chatting. The lady officer had smiled at the children when they entered, but neither Sade nor Femi had responded. How coul
d they smile at Papa’s jailers? Papa was locked up behind all the wire and bars just like he was a criminal. Sade kept her eyes trained on the corridor beyond the desk. Every time a figure appeared in its distant shadows, her fingernails dug deeper into her palms. Mama Appiah suggested that the children sit down, but both shook their heads, choosing to stay rooted near the door.

  At last a familiar figure, but looking strangely different, came striding past the desk without even glancing at it. Toward the glass door, toward them. Papa! It was Papa, wasn’t it? Behind a short beard and mustache, the face broke into a well-known smile. He pushed the glass aside and, in a great arc, his arms swept up the children. Sade felt all stiffness give way as Papa pressed them to his chest. With Papa’s breath in her hair, the tears spurted hotly down her cheeks. They soaked into her father’s shirt as she heard his choking voice repeat their names.

  A little later, they sat on the red visitor chairs, the children on each side of Papa. There was a brief awkward silence as they struggled to find the words to begin.

  “Papa, why did you grow a beard? And a mustache?” Femi wrinkled his nose. Sade wondered how her brother had managed to remain dry-eyed.

  “It makes you different, Papa! I almost thought it wasn’t you!” said Sade.

  “You look like Uncle Tunde! It’s—” Femi broke off.

  “You’ve noticed my new gray hairs, have you?” Papa smiled. “Well, it was your uncle’s idea! To change my looks as much as possible.”

  Their father looked thinner, especially in this narrow white shirt with buttons and not one of his usual free-flowing agbadas, but Sade didn’t want to say it.

  Papa wanted them to tell him everything. When he and Uncle Tunde had found they could not contact Uncle Dele, they had become very worried. The agent assured them that Mrs. Bankole would be taking good care of the children but said he had no way of contacting her. They suspected that he wasn’t telling the truth yet there was nothing they could do except wait for the passport to be arranged.

  “We tried to ring you, Papa,” Sade said. “But the line was dead!”

  “The police were looking for me. They cut off the phone. But now I want to hear all about you two. Until I met this good lady”—Papa’s low voice almost sang the words “good lady” as he smiled at Mama Appiah—“I was almost losing my mind.”

  There was so much to tell Papa. Too much. Desertion at Victoria Station. The shock of Uncle Dele missing. Darth Vader of the alley grabbing their bag. Video Man accusing them and calling the police. Mrs. Graham taking them in, Kevin complaining. The awful Asylum Screening Unit…But also Iyawo-Jenny, Mama Appiah, Mr. Nathan…and of course Aunt Gracie and Uncle Roy, who were trying so hard to make them feel at home. Papa nodded with satisfaction when he heard that they were both in school. However, Sade mentioned nothing about Marcia nor about Mariam. After the earlier hugging and excitement, Femi was quieter. He said little about Greenslades Primary. Even when he was looking up at Papa, Sade thought her brother’s eyes seemed lost inside him.

  In the end the conversation returned to how lucky they were to have found each other again. Sade began to explain to Papa why she had given a false surname and suddenly, without warning, she was crying again. Both Papa and Mama Appiah comforted her. All was not yet lost, they said. Mr. Nathan would take on Papa’s case. He would explain to the Immigration people that Sade and Femi were actually Papa’s children. He would ask them to release Papa to be with them, at least while they considered his case.

  The afternoon slipped away. It came as a shock when the guard announced that all visitors had to leave. Sade hadn’t yet asked anything about Mama. She hadn’t yet found the words to ask where and how Mama had been buried. Nor had she brought herself to ask about Grandma. She wanted to know. Needed to know. But they were being told to go away! Femi stalked across to the door. He looked so small, tight and lonely, as if shutting himself in once again. Sade clung to Papa. Could they not stay here with him?

  “I’m afraid they won’t allow it.”

  She glimpsed a slight quivering around his mouth before the muscles tightened. Fiercely she wound her arms around him.

  “Don’t worry, children. This won’t be for long. We shall talk on the phone. We shall be together very, very soon. We must be patient.” Papa softly repeated his reassurances. But the more she heard, the tighter she held on. Papa talking about being patient didn’t sound like him at all. Mama Appiah’s hand lightly touched her shoulder.

  “All visitors must leave right away.” The guard held open the glass door. Sade wanted to shout: “We’re not visitors. This is our father.”

  She shut her mind to all the words around her until gradually she felt Papa’s strong fingers very gently prizing her away. The same fingers that a little while ago had been pressing her close. It was too much to bear. She let go and ran headlong toward the glass door, her sight blurred with tears, her head throbbing.

  “O dabo, Sade! O dabo, Femi! Good-bye, Mrs. Appiah! Thank you.” Papa’s stifled voice followed as if from a great distance.

  Unable to bear seeing Papa left by himself, Sade did not turn around.

  CHAPTER 30

  WANTED

  6 December 1995

  My dear children,

  I feel very bad about the way we said good-bye. The others have gone in for the evening meal but I came back to my room to write. Of course I have no big desk here like at home. But as I sit on my bed, with the pad resting against my knees, I can see you both so clearly. Sade, I can feel your strong grip. I am reminded of Rabbit holding on to Buffalo’s back for dear life so she would not drown as they crossed the river. I hated having to force your fingers to make you let go. More than anything, I want you both near me.

  Femi, do you remember how you used to glare at me when you wanted us to play football but I had not finished my work? Mama would tell you to wait and I used to joke about you giving me “Bad Eye.” I wish we could have played together more. But be sure, we shall play again.

  I want you to know that I shall do everything possible to be free before too long. Tomorrow Mrs. Appiah will speak to Mr. Nathan and I hope he will come to see me soon. Then he can explain the truth about us to the authorities. I think they will understand why you used a different name—and why I tried to get through with the false passport. I hope they will then let me out so we can be together while they examine our request to stay here until it is safe for us to return home.

  Your loving Papa

  Wednesday 6 December, 11:30 p.m.

  Dear Papa,

  When you see the time above, you will say “Why is she not in bed sleeping?” I did try, but I just lay awake. We only got back here at nine o’clock. Auntie and Uncle were worried that we were late. But Mama Appiah said we should eat something before our journey back to London. She said hunger is a bad companion and she took us into Oxford to get fish and chips. She is very like Mama Buki. The fish and chips were good. I wish we could have shared them with you. Femi didn’t say a word but I saw that he liked the food. Papa, I am so ashamed of how I behaved. I know it wasn’t your fault we had to go. I am sorry. I always make things worse. Like not giving our proper name.

  My eyelids are drooping now. There is still space below for Femi to add something in the morning. Please write to us.

  Your loving daughter,

  Sade

  8 December 1995

  My dear Femi and Sade,

  I was so happy to hear your voices on the telephone last night. Even the few words you said to me, my dear son, Femi, they mean a lot to me. I long to hear more about how you are both getting on in your new schools. Perhaps, Femi, you will write like your sister?

  I was very happy to receive your letter, Sade. You must not feel ashamed. It is only natural that you wanted us to stay together. Do not blame yourself for pretending your name was Adewale. It was, after all, Mama’s family name. Lying is not in your nature. Mama and I always brought you up to respect the truth. But you have both been thrown into a situ
ation that has forced you to act secretly. Remember that it was your Uncle Tunde and I who sent you out of the country. No child should have to go through what you two have. But the dishonesty and rottenness of those who have power in our country have now gone very deep. You know how much I hate cheating and doing things underhand. Yet I myself used another man’s passport.

  Mr. Nathan came today. He is cautious (just like your Uncle Tunde) but he is also hopeful that the British Home Office will give me Temporary Admission when they realize we are one family. He is going to ask them to treat the matter urgently. After that he will help me apply for political asylum so that we can stay here longer. I have made friends in here with a teacher from Somalia and am learning a lot from him. He says asylum applications are hard and we shall have to be patient. Zoka who comes from Bosnia told us their saying “Patience can break through iron doors.” Your mama would have liked that. She would be pleased that I am also learning to be patient! It will be so much easier when we are together and we can help each other. As soon as I am free, I shall also begin the search for your Uncle Dele. His disappearance troubles me greatly.

  In the meantime, please take good care of yourselves and each other. I hope to speak to you over the weekend. Give my very good wishes to your kind new auntie and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. King, and also to Mrs. Appiah. Write soon!

  Your very loving Papa

  P.S. I am drafting a letter to the Union of Journalists about the current situation for writers in Nigeria. They all know about Ken Saro-Wiwa but there are many others. I hope they will also support my application for asylum.

  Avon School Library,

  Monday 11 December

  Dear Papa,

  It is dinnertime and you can see I have come to the library. It is quiet in here and I like it. Your letter is in my coat pocket. I think there are good secrets and bad secrets. Your letter is a good one inside my pocket. Even Femi changed his mood a little when he read it this morning. Aunt Gracie says when they let you go, you can sleep in the sitting room here until you can sort things out. Uncle Roy follows the news about Nigeria and says it will be an honor to have you in their home!