Anthills of the Savannah

“Hadn’t I better be going?”

“Why? I thought you were staying.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to.”

“Is that a good reason?”

“Yes.”

“I have a better one.”

“For going or staying?”

“For going.”

“What is it?”

“Because I don’t want to…” We laughed and I tried to kiss her but she covered my mouth with the palm of her hand… “Wait! I haven’t finished yet…” And she sang the rest: “but twelve o’clock done knack and my mama go vex with me.” Then she re-arranged her countenance from the angelic model demanded by her song and offered to stay… on one condition, she said.

“What is it? Don’t tell me, I know.”

“What is it?”

“That I don’t make love to you.”

She shook her head. “Maybe I should add that now that you mention it. Have another guess.”

“That we first talk about ourselves.”

“Who wants to hear any more about you? You will end up talking about other people, anyway.”

“I give up.”

“Promise me that you will go in now and switch off that air-conditioner in your bedroom.” I burst into uncontrollable laughter. BB, feigning great seriousness, informed me that she nearly froze to death just walking through to the bathroom a short while ago. Incredible girl, BB; her demands were never such as to break a man’s back!

Not for her the lover as tiger that some women crave, a bloody spoor strewn with shredded garments. The day I first made love to her, months after we began to go together, I wrote down in my diary: Her passion begins like the mild ripples of some tropical river approaching the turbulence of a waterfall in slow, peaceful, immense orbits. Pompous? No. Immense.

“You were telling me about the white girl and your big friend,” she said abruptly, switching on the bed lamp I had just turned off and holding back my hand reaching again for the rope-switch. Before I could answer she said: “Why did you call her a miracle worker?” I had said I would go at BB’s pace but I’d be damned if I would spend the rest of the night talking about Sam and Gwen who had already come up for mention at lunch with Ikem and his new girl, Joy. So I went straight to the point.

“In the morning after a very exhausting night this girl, Gwen, wakes him up and wants to begin again. I remember how Sam put it: My brother, there was absolutely nothing left in the pipeline. So Gwen swings herself around and picks up his limp wetin-call with her mouth. And from nowhere and like magic life surges back into it. Sam had never seen that kind of thing before.”

BB didn’t respond immediately except to get a little closer to me. Then she asked: “You mean people actually do that?”

“All the time.”

“Disgusting,” she said.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You sound as if you wouldn’t mind yourself. Or perhaps you have done it already.”

“No, I haven’t. It’s the girl who does it.”

“All right Mr. Smart. Has any girl done it for you?”

“Let’s not make it personal.”