Jowhor Ile - And After Many Days

“They have gone to work,” she replied with a quizzical look, as if Paul should know better than to expect people who worked to be at home at that time of day. “But they told me to wait for you people and show you everything until they return.”

The stairs were steep, the banisters rusty and riddled with holes, waiting to drive splinters into any hands running over them.

She walked quickly ahead of them and opened the door that led to the flat, holding the curtain out of the way. The house smelled of scented soap, and the living room flooring was of plain terrazzo. In front of the set of wooden sofas, a small TV was placed on a sideboard by the wall.

“Uncle said you should relax and feel at home until he returns, and that I should show you your rooms.” She looked at Bibi. “Me and you are staying in the same room, so wait.” Then to Paul and Ajie, “Two of you, come.”

She opened the door to a room and walked right to the center of it. The room was spacious, with high ceilings, filled with the sharp light of afternoon. The curtains were all drawn and tied to a knot. “This is the boys’ room,” she pronounced with a wide sweep of her hand, as though she were a monarch bequeathing a kingdom to some deserving warriors. Ajie gave Paul a telling look. Bossiness was an instant offender. Paul acted like he hadn’t noticed Ajie’s face but immediately asked just as she was leaving the room, “So, what is your name?”

She turned around, and a fleeting gentleness crept into her face. “Barisua.”

Paul nodded. “My name is Paul.”

“I know your names,” she responded.

—

That first night, Uncle Tam made it clear that he didn’t mind where they had their dinner.

“I eat in front of the TV all the time,” he said. “You are free to join me if you like.” So they sat with their plates of rice and stew in their laps, watching a fictional cast of family members scheme against one another on Checkmate .

Uncle Tam held a drumstick in his left hand, having rested his spoon, and tore at the meat with his teeth. His maroon socks were pushed down to a fold near his ankles. He hadn’t taken them off when he changed from his work clothes. His blue shorts ran way up his thighs, and just above, there was the heaving mound of his belly and the carpet of hair that continued to his chest.

Auntie Leba was still in the kitchen with Barisua. Because it was their first night, she said, they ought to be given a treat. She had a print wrapper tied over her breasts, and the tiny straps of her chemise showed off her surprisingly slender shoulders and smooth back.

“Dumle was at my office today,” she said to Uncle Tam as she came back into the parlor carrying a tray with bowls of fruit salad. “Did I not mention it already?”

“Dumle? What did he want?”

She passed a bowl of the fruit salad to him, and he lapped up some of the juice with a spoon, then put the bowl down on the side stool.

“Dumle can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned. Now that they have seen how powerless we have made them, they are tiptoeing back. What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He said that he was passing by and stopped to say hello. He said I should extend his greetings to you.”

“Indeed.” Then he said something in their native Ogoni. Auntie Leba said something back, and Uncle Tam frowned and Auntie Leba laughed.

—

“Dumle used to be a friend of my uncle and auntie,” Barisua said to Bibi as they went about cleaning the house the next morning. “Every Sunday after church, he would come here to eat jollof rice and salad. Every Sunday.”

Ajie was listening in, waiting to hear what this man had done.

“But now he has become a betrayer.” She spoke of him as if he were a family member who had engaged in misconduct and tarnished the family name.

Universities had closed for the semester, but Uncle Tam and Auntie Leba still went out every morning. One day just after they had gone to work and Barisua had done the laundry out on the balcony, she said, “Don’t be there thinking that as they go out every day, it’s all work they are going to,” her voice decidedly casual.

“Okay.” Paul nodded.

“They go for secret meetings, too,” she said, again in the same tone, as if it weren’t a big deal for her to know, although it should definitely be for them. There was an important man from their village, she continued, who had been arrested by the government and kept in detention for over a year now because he had told the government and the oil companies in their village to come and repair the damage they had caused or leave.

Paul’s ears flicked. “What was the man’s name?”

When Barisua said who it was, Ajie was disappointed. The whole buildup she gave to her story, only to tell them about someone they all knew about. A man who was frequently in the news and whom Bendic and Ma often discussed with their visitors. Bendic had even met him several times in the High Court premises. Barisua flapped a pillowcase, and droplets of water landed on Ajie’s cheeks.

“Oh, we know him,” Bibi said, but Barisua didn’t look like she had heard and began singing an Ogoni chorus that sounded mournful and celebratory at once.

Ajie took exception to Barisua’s attitude, the tone she put up to exclude them, as if she knew things they didn’t. Her haughtiness and self-righteousness were barely concealed, the manner with which she went into Uncle Tam’s room and came out with a pile of clothes for washing, as if to say she was just the sort of girl whose place in the world it was to carry out such tasks.

When Paul asked her if there was anything they could do, she replied, “Yes. Yes, of course. But nothing really to do for today, maybe tomorrow.” Bibi stayed with Barisua and helped her spread out the bedsheets on the line.

Paul and Ajie went to the sitting room, and since there was nothing else to do, Paul turned on the radio, and that was when they heard the news that a plane traveling from Port Harcourt to Lagos had crashed into a forest that morning, minutes before landing.

—

About an hour after the news was broadcast on the radio, Uncle Tam returned home. He paced the sitting room, asking if they had the phone number of the hotel in Lagos where their parents were supposed to stay before their flight to Boston.

Bibi came out of the bathroom for the third time since hearing the news of the crash. She told Ajie she was having a runny stomach.

“We aren’t even sure what flight they went on,” Uncle Tam said, looking at Paul.

“No, we are not sure. But we know their flight was for this morning,” Paul said.

“Three flights leave Port Harcourt to Lagos every morning, I think.”

The doorbell rang, and Uncle Tam went to open it. It was Bendic’s friend Dr. Idoniboye.

Ajie looked in the man’s face and knew what he had come to tell them: Their parents had been blown into pieces. He could imagine the panic on the flight when the passengers sensed there was serious trouble. Ma would have held Bendic’s hand and screamed, “Jesus! Jesus! The blood of Jesus!”

Ajie imagined her clutching on to her faith and Bendic’s hand. One of her favorite Scriptures was from the prophet Isaiah: “When the enemy comes against you, like a flood, the spirit of the Lord will raise a standard against him.”

She had recently purchased a study Bible that had various commentaries from theologians who argued over the arbitrary commas in the translations of that verse from the ancient Hebrew. Is it the enemy who comes like a flood? Or is it the standard raised by the spirit of the Lord that is likened to a flood? Ma told them, during their morning devotion, that the name of Jesus was the standard that should be raised; the blood of Jesus was equally efficacious. You needed to invoke them in times of trouble. In Ajie’s mind during that morning devotion, the blood of Jesus rising like a violent flood cut a more intense picture.