Married But Available

by B. Nyamnjoh

  Although not implicated in any way, Lilly Loveless has decided it’s too risky for her as a fellow Muzungulander to venture into the university in these circumstances. For the time being, she prefers, and has indeed been advised, to do her research from the safety of her rented accommodation in town, Mountain Valley, the Archives and other public places outside the university campus and immediate vicinity. She has also decided to avoid the company of Dr Mukala-Satannie, whom she met briefly at the CNN New Look, a popular bar at the University Junction, where he was surrounded by his student admirers, some university lecturers and journalists, all of whom he was servicing with free drinks and juicy excerpts from his column.

  The VC is rumoured to have awarded the contract for the construction of the fence to herself through her brother as the front man. These allegations are doing their rounds in the newspapers, drinking places, restaurants and resting places.

  In her defence the VC and her supporters argue that the 8km fence may not seem necessary, considering UM’s financial constraints, but the administration have been forced to embark swiftly on this project by “impudent encroachment by squatters” who have erected “hundreds of residential and commercial structures on University land.” This Lilly Loveless has read in the official statement the VC was obliged to release. The situation, she argues, could lead to explosions in future if left unresolved. Hence “the firm decision to put off the fire before too late.”

  To others, Dr Wiseman Lovemore and Desire included, the VC has indulged in the fence because most of the houses and businesses that have mushroomed around the university are owned by people from different and distant ethnic groups perceived to be nothing but opportunists by the local group in whose ethnic territory the university is located. Politically, the VC is said to be particularly hostile to these ethnic others, because they tend to support the opposition parties against the ruling party – PIP, which she serves as member of the central committee and political bureau. She is quoted to have asked “all ethnic strangers” recently to abandon their silly belief in a one-person-one-vote democracy, for the outnumbered sons and daughters of the native soil “expect all strangers to listen and follow us to where we want,” especially as the bulk of the strangers “are mere plantation labourers, loafers and criminals.”

  On this matter of the fence, Lilly Loveless cannot say for sure who was wrong and who was right. Truth in the affair has become like someone midway up a staircase. Those on the ground floor see him as being up, while those further up perceive him as someone down. The person’s basic position remains the same, but cannot be perceived in the same manner by everyone because they do not share the same standpoint.

  The strike has grown in intensity. The VC was on radio this morning to explain her position yet again. She urged the public “not to inhale the rhetorical smoke coming out from misguided students and irresponsible, politically motivated lecturers”.

  Lilly Loveless was lying in bed reading when she heard the news item on the VC. In the broadcast, the VC reaffirmed the university’s decision to construct a fence, arguing that it is a priority project and not a “white elephant” as detractors claim. The fence is one of the priority projects of the university, which also includes the construction of the second phase of laboratories, toilets, a football pitch and a monument in honour of President Longstay and his selfless service to excellence in higher education. The construction of the fence is aimed at forestalling the nefariousness of some of the university’s neighbours, who have been persistently and consistently altering university land. The fence is meant to tackle the encroachment problem once and for all. This action should forestall the inability of the university to expand in the future, due to the illegal occupation of its land.

  On why the university has not planted boundary trees in lieu of a fence, the VC explains that this had been attempted two years ago, “but it proved futile due to the barbarism of animals and humans”. Implicitly referring to Dr Mukala-Satannie and his ‘Den of Mediocrity’ piece in The Talking Drum, she says that “no outsider has the right to dictate priorities to my university”. As a state-owned institution of higher learning, “we cannot afford to throw parochial and unverified criticisms on the government under which we work, and which pays us all the emoluments we receive.” She concluded her broadcast with a call to people to be less sentimental about the university and its deeds. She reassured the staff and students and urged them to have confidence in the university’s actions. “In a context of ruthless and unscrupulous politics in our university campus and lecture halls, the administration cannot sit back and watch vandals destroy what has taken the government and the taxpayers of Mimboland much sacrifice to build.”

  Lilly Loveless is of the impression that no amount of reasoning and explaining suffices to convince ethnic others that the local ethnic elite are not simply using the fence as an excuse to settle political scores. They see the fence as the latest in a series of moves by the local ethnic elite who manage the university against ethnic others. It has been commonplace, they argue, for the VC and Reg to see ethnic other students and staff as working against them and doing everything to make their administration fail, in order to take over the running of the university themselves.

  Yesterday she was spectator to a heated exchange Dr Wiseman Lovemore had with a colleague of his who accused him of hatching conspiracy theories to discredit the VC. “I just don’t see how you can write a love poem when your house is on fire”, Dr Wiseman Lovemore countered. In the course of the shouting match, Dr Wiseman Lovemore insisted that only his conspiracy logic would explain the mobilisation by the VC of “the dreaded Manawa juju of the local ethnic community to intimidate striking students.” The colleague described Dr Wiseman Lovemore as a coward who was using stubbornness to conceal weakness. “I know you are a weak man; I can read that from your eyes,” the colleague told him.

  Passions are high on this matter of the fence, with protagonists behaving like street fighters in academic robes.

  This was the first time Lilly Loveless was hearing of the “Manawa,” so when the quarrel was over and his colleague had left fuming, she asked Dr Wiseman Lovemore to tell her more on what actually happened.

  “On Tuesday armed troops and the Manawa juju were invited to intimidate students into abandoning their strike. The idea was also to force the students to stop their agitation for the release of five journalism students detained by the police upon instigation by the university administration for propagating ‘falsehood.’ According to the charge, ‘the students were guilty of illegal production of the campus newspaper – La Voix du Place to Be – unauthorised broadcast over an opposition radio station of information internal to the University of Mimbo, publication of derogatory articles in radical newspapers intended to incite the general public against the University of Mimbo.’” In his fury Dr Wiseman Lovemore looked like a human shredding machine that would not hesitate to lend itself to the students to make mincemeat of the authorities.

  As he speaks on, Lilly Loveless understands why he is so angry. “Some of the students have been arm twisted and threatened into betraying the cause by apologising and asking for leniency before a disciplinary board hastily constituted by the university administration keen to emphasise ulterior motives. In their pleas for leniency, the students claimed they had no intention of tarnishing the image of UM, and that their actions were instigated by politically motivated lecturers who disliked the VC and her ethnic elite at the helm of the institution. One of my colleagues, a close friend, has been falsely accused by these students of having urged them to burn the Reg’s official car. And I understand the students are still going to name further instigators. The question is, if these instigators are real, why name them piece–meal? Why …”

  He spoke like someone who sensed danger coming.

  “The VC and Reg are vindictive and vicious creatures. Raw, brutal power is their only strength, and woe betides whoever their bile settles on.”

  Lilly Loveless decided to c
ool him down with a drink.

  “Let me buy you a drink at Mountain Valley,” she suggested, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

  He smiled agreeably and followed her, his mind still absorbed by developments at the university. He must compose himself, for in Mimboland, one must never pretend to be dead, else people will bury you alive.

  The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

  “The university?” she asked.

  He nodded. “They’ve invited the gendarmes again, to silence the students with torture.”

  “Still no agreement then? I wonder why they can’t negotiate. Why can’t they iron out the wrinkles in their relationship?”

  “None trusts the other.”

  “What a shame.”

  4

  Mountain Valley was full when they arrived. Dr Wiseman Lovemore recognised a couple of his female students sitting some tables away from the main entrance, but they avoided looking in his direction. To keep them comfortable, he opted for a table at the far end, where he sat with Lilly Loveless, back to the students.

  “I spotted two students of mine as we walked in,” he told Lilly Loveless.

  “Smart move to sit away from them,” she stole a look in the direction of the girls. “Do you know those men who they’re drinking with?”

  “No, but the number plates of the flashy cars over there would suggest they are from Sawang. Customs officers or treasurers, probably.”

  “Why customs officers and treasurers? What’s so special about them?”

  “They are the ones with the money, lots of bribes to spend. Their appetites are big and greedy. They are the engine of the national corruption machine for which we are world famous.”

  Lilly Loveless was familiar with the yearly Transparency International corruption indexes, in which Mimboland was invariably amongst the world’s most corrupt countries and most difficult places to do business. Busy-ness was about the only business possible in Mimboland, she had read. From businessmen to politicians through intellectuals, civil servants, the police, military and general public, everyone was busy making money without producing money. Until now, she had thought this assessment was a bit exaggerated by the Muzunguland newspaper that had carried the story.

  “When the world calls Mimboland a tropical paradise for parasites, the treasurers and customs officers are those who benefit the most, after President Longstay and his ministers.”

  Just then, the waitress came up to them and took their orders.

  “They are amongst the hottest on campus,” Dr Wiseman Lovemore told Lilly Loveless about the girls.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Going after men, who are known locally as Mbomas.”

  “What is Mbomas?”

  “It is a long story,” Dr Wiseman Lovemore began. He told her how many years ago the Mim dollar was radically devalued by 100 per cent, causing lots of hardship among Mimbolanders whose salaries, for the civil servants amongst them, had just been slashed by over 50 per cent. The times were tough, and few could make ends meet. Most men and women lowered their standards and tastes for one another, but even then, men would say to one another: ‘Can anyone afford a deuxième bureau these days when things are so hard?’ And the answer, of course would be: ‘No way, unless of course na njoh bureau.’ Deuxième bureau means a woman on the side, and ‘njoh’ means for free.

  Then there were all these rumours.

  In Sakersbeach rumour rose and spread to the effect that foreign businessmen from a neighbouring country were using magical powers to shrink or steal sexual organs of local men, just by shaking hands with them. ‘Penis snatching,’ they called it. Some of the allegations even made their way to court, despite the reluctance of the latter (modelled on Muzungulander legal systems) to deal with cases of witchcraft where there is often little “concrete evidence” and proof “beyond any reasonable doubt”. Curiously there were no parallel rumours about shrinking or disappearing women’s genitals. It was said that Mimboland men, in fear that their women would all be food for rich foreign business tycoons, could not ignore such a development. Hence no stone could be left unturned as concerned Mimbolander men sought to put a halt to this. Foreigners had to conform and live peacefully with their impoverished hosts or leave the country. The stories were widely reported and widely believed, and Mimbolanders warned not to shake hands with foreign businessmen.

  Around the same time, it was rumoured that two girls at the University of Asieyam in Nyamandem had fallen victim to a foreign tycoon with lots of hard currency to spend. The girls were said to have gone out with him for a good time, and to have returned with him to his posh residence in the Beverly Hills area, where he had chosen one of them with whom he retired to bed. But instead of making love to the girl, he had opted for a full meal by swallowing her after transforming himself into a boa constrictor, known locally as Mboma. By the time the other girl found out, her friend had been swallowed right down to her legs, stopping short of her anklets. She stormed out and alerted the police who upon investigating, discovered that it was common practice with this man to make a meal of those he lusted after. The story was widely disseminated by the famished press and also by word of mouth and Radio Trottoir, but generally taken for granted.

  “Since then, all sugar daddies or sweat mamas are called Mbomas,” Dr Wiseman Lovemore concluded. Then something struck him: “But all of this is in my paper,” he added proudly, unsettling dandruff as he scratched his unkempt hair.

  “Yes, of course,” said Lilly Loveless, as she desperately tried to mask the fact that she had not read his paper yet. “It is all there in your paper, well articulated. I just wanted to hear you tell me about it in person.” She fidgeted with her glass, uncomfortable to be lying to a man with eyes magnified by such oversized goggles. How she wished he wouldn’t ask to discuss his paper further.

  Just then, a journalist well known to Dr Wiseman Lovemore walked in, spotted them, and started coming to their table. “There’s a friend of mine, the funniest man in town. He has these outbursts of laughter that are so infectious you can’t avoid laughing with him. He is coming to join us.”

  Lilly Loveless saw a tall, lanky, extra-dark skinned man dressed in a lovely colourful embroidered short-sleeve shirt. He held an unlit cigarette in his left hand and a newspaper under his left armpit. Mid forties or thereabouts was her estimate of his age. She was drawn to his eyes, which stood out so much that the rest of his face, with the exception of his unusually long ears, seemed to fade away.

  “Hi, Dr Lovemore,” he shouted, holding out his right hand. “When are you going to start loving less?” he asked, jokingly.

  Lilly Loveless exploded in laughter, wondering what the guy would say when he found out her name.

  “Young lady,” he addressed her, shaking her hand. “It is no laughing matter. Tell your friend to love less,” he burst out laughing himself, as he took a seat. “The hazards are just too many.”

  “I’ll tell him,” said Lilly Loveless, light-heartedly. She could see this guy would be fun.

  “Iroko, meet Lilly. Lilly, meet Iroko,” Dr Wiseman Lovemore cut in.

  “Lilly, sweet name,” said Iroko. “But what kind of introduction is that?” he reproached his friend. “Lilly what?”

  “I am Lilly Loveless,” she laughed.

  “No kidding! I like that. You must tame my friend here.”

  Dr Wiseman Lovemore laughed. “She is not my girlfriend…”

  “Who said anything about girlfriend?” Iroko interrupted. “To love less, you need a therapist not a girlfriend.” Then turning to Lilly Loveless, he said, “Lilly, by the way, I am Bobinga Iroko, senior journalist with The Talking Drum, the one and only newspaper in Puttkamerstown worth writing home about. In most parts of Mimboland, it is not the cock which wakes you up in the morning; it is newspaper vendors screaming ‘The Talking Drum, The Talking Drum’.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said Lilly Loveless, shaking hands with him again, thinking
, I have probably shaken far more hands in my short stay in Mimboland than I have in all my life in Muzunguland.

  The waitress returned with the drinks, and went back with Bobinga Iroko’s order.

  “Now Lilly,” Bobinga Iroko began, holding her right hand, “tell me your surname.”

  “I told you already.”

  “You mean Loveless?”

  She nodded.

  “Loveless? … Your name? … For sure?”

  She nodded again.

  “Why would your parents do a beautiful girl like you a disservice of such magnitude by having a name like that?”

  “I came too late to influence the naming of my dad,” she giggled. “But I do remember asking him why his parents gave him the name. Being a librarian, he looked up the name, traced it in the family to a time when there was so little love in the world that people thought, would this child survive in a loveless world?”

  “Amazing coincidence: Loveless meets Lovemore. What does that yield?” He laughed mischievously, before adding: “Don’t tell me just yet. I am an investigative journalist.”

  He took out three bitter kolas from his pocket and offered one to Dr Wiseman Lovemore, who declined, saying: “You know I don’t like bitter kola.”

  “He doesn’t like bitter kola,” Bobinga Iroko mocked.

  “Why?” Lilly Loveless asked, accepting the curious-looking nut herself.

  “He’s never had any experience in bitterness,” replied Bobinga Iroko, jokingly. “His life so far has been a bed of roses.”

  “Don’t. He’s certainly getting there.” Lilly Loveless interjected without thinking. And when she stopped to think, she couldn’t figure out what made her say it. Fortunately, neither Bobinga Iroko nor Dr Wiseman Lovemore paid her statement much mind or asked her to explain what she meant.