Taiye Selasi - Ghana Must Go

Assuming he was mocking her, Niké dropped the sheet and slapped Kehinde so hard that he fell from his chair. Before she could stop herself, Taiwo leapt up and pushed the woman, just once, screaming, “Leave him alone!” But Niké lost her balance, reeling backward in her slippers, fluffy, pom-pom — bearing slippers, landing splayed on her back. The dressing gown, parting, exposed her fat thighs to the houseboy who, entering, dropped his glass tray. Taiwo grabbed Kehinde and pulled him toward her, suddenly aware of their vulnerability, their defenselessness here. Something had broken. The casing around them. The distance between fourth floor and second had closed.

How Niké started screaming:

bloody murder. A madwoman. How she dragged them to the elevator and up to the lounge where they’d come on arrival, last seen in late August, that mishmash of marble and zebra and velour. Their uncle was reclining in his underwear and a bathrobe, Babatunde the little houseboy cutting a line on the table. Uncle Femi stroked the back of his neck as he worked, almost idly, as one strokes a pet at one’s side. Two older boys, teens, were standing guard at the doorway, in white sailor uniforms, like costumes from a play. But with guns. Slender rifles, which they clutched to their chests, neither moving nor speaking as Niké stormed in.

“Well, good morning,” Uncle Femi said softly, always softly.

His wife pushed the twins toward the chaise where he lay. Babatunde looked up, very briefly, then down, back to work, knowing better than to make his presence known. Taiwo and Kehinde looked blankly at their uncle, their aunt at their backs, seething, “Tell him yourselves.”

“Tell me what?” Uncle Femi asked, smiling, genuinely interested. He considered the twins as if he saw them every day, as if just yesterday they’d been chatting about the weather in Lagos, as if he hadn’t been missing for almost a year. Babatunde, finished, moved away from the table. Uncle Femi leaned forward and snorted the line. “ E se ,” he said to Babatunde, sniffing, smiling. The boy nodded, bowed, and rushed out of the room.

“Your uncle asked a question. They think that we’re stupid. And this one. She thinks she can strike me. Odé .” Niké pushed Taiwo, not gently, between the shoulders. Taiwo stumbled forward, caught her balance, straightened up.

“Don’t touch her,” Uncle Femi said. “The boy doesn’t like it.” Now he lit a cigarette. “Isn’t that what you said?” He gestured to Kehinde, brows raised, smiling brightly. “Isn’t that what you told me? ‘Don’t touch her’? Am I wrong?”

“No, sir,” said Kehinde.

“I’m sorry? I didn’t hear you.”

“No, Uncle,” repeated Kehinde, a tremor in his voice.

“Very well then. What happened?” Uncle Femi looked at Niké, then back at the twins in their nightclothes and socks.

Niké cleared her throat as if preparing to orate, but answered, very briefly, “They were caught having sex. The houseboys discovered her blood on the sheet, and the stains from his… climax. I can show you the sheet.”

“You’re lying!” cried Taiwo, on instinct. “We didn’t!” This time the blow made her fall to the ground. Niké, from behind her, halfway shoving, halfway slapping her.

“Are you calling me a liar?!” Niké shouted. “I have proof!”

Taiwo remained kneeling on the floor where she’d fallen, her ear burning sharply, too stunned to stand up. More shocking than painful, the way Niké struck her suggested more violence might follow, and soon. Their parents never hit them, never shouted, never threatened; all their punishment was issued with calm, as in court. She found it insulting to be hit by a grown-up, and trembled with anger, hands balled into fists. Intuiting her intention, Kehinde knelt down beside her.

“Don’t touch her,” Uncle Femi mocked, leaning down toward them. The voice remained soft but had darkened, or hardened, the sound of his laughter too steely, too sharp. A weapon.

Eyes welling with fear and with anger, Taiwo turned to look up at their uncle’s blunt nose. She grabbed Kehinde’s T-shirt. “Come on,” she whispered nervously, pulling him up by the shirt as she rose to her feet. They stood pressed together, now facing their uncle, much closer to his body than they’d been until now. The smell of him — sweat and cologne and tobacco — was overpowering now, as was the heat from his gaze. Kehinde reached over and took Taiwo’s hand, without thinking, and squeezed, fingers shaking.

“You see! You see how they stand so. You see how he holds her.” Niké sucked her teeth, a low, long-lasting tssssssssst .

“Enough,” Uncle Femi said. “Thank you for informing me. You’re welcome to leave. I can take it from here.”

Surprised and affronted, Niké turned and left them standing there, the guards nodding stiffly as she stormed out the door. Taiwo felt her heart sink as the double doors swung softly shut. Baffling as it was, she wished that Niké wouldn’t go. The woman was volatile and violent and dramatic, quite likely insane, but familiar by then. Their uncle was foreign and frightening, a stranger. Too calm, too controlled, and too cold.

How it happened:

“Omokehindegbegbon!” said Uncle Femi to Kehinde. “So only you can touch her, ehn ? Another little princess.” He gestured with his cigarette to the portrait of their grandmother. “A precious little princess, ehn ?” He stood up from the chaise. He came to where the twins were and stood just behind them. He cupped Taiwo’s chin in his hands, turned her head. He held her like this, so she was looking at the portrait. “Look at her. Precious Somayina,” he breathed. He stroked Taiwo’s hair. She could feel Kehinde stiffen, his hand in her hand still, could feel his breath stop. She stood without moving, without looking, her eyes closed, could smell Uncle Femi’s odd sweetness, his soap. “Open your eyes,” he said, touching her chin again, bending beside her, his lips near her ear. “Look at her. Look at her . Looks just like you, no? Like you. Precious princess, that no one can touch.” He took a step over so he was standing behind Kehinde. He touched Kehinde’s cheek as he’d stroked Taiwo’s hair. “Except you, little boy. Only you. You can touch her.” He squeezed both their shoulders. “Show your uncle what you do.”

One of the teens at the door cleared his throat. Uncle Femi looked up. “Lock the door, please,” he said. The boys began leaving. “From the inside, you idiots. You two stay here.” They obeyed. “There we are.” Uncle Femi turned to Taiwo now. “My little Somayina.” He patted the chaise, smiling warmly. “Come here.”

Taiwo took a step toward Kehinde. “Uncle, please. We didn’t do what she said we did.”

“You’re lying.” Not loudly. He smiled again, patting the chaise. “Come lie here.” She squeezed Kehinde’s hand, shook her head, a small movement. He laughed, closed his eyes, and then bellowed, “LIE HERE!” The sound of a voice at this volume was so unexpected, so jarring, she dropped Kehinde’s hand. A bit like a robot, she went to the chaise and sat down. “There. That’s better. Now lie on your back.” He placed a cold hand on her neck, pushing backward. Surprised at the force, at the touch, she lay back.

Kehinde stepped forward. “Please, Uncle. Don’t touch her,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Don’t you worry. I won’t.” Uncle Femi stepped back, considering Taiwo on the chaise, with her arms at her side, body stiffened with fear. Still trembling from shock at his touch, and his shouting, she stared at him back, at the black, red-rimmed eyes. He looked like the drawing of Hades, the “rapist,” a word that she’d heard but never seen written down. Rape . Flesh and flowers, golden chariot, black horses, a girl carried off. “I’m not a pedophile,” he sneered.