Anthills of the Savannah

“OK. I won’t pry any more. But I think it is disgusting, don’t you? And they didn’t even shower first, did they?”

“I wasn’t there, you know; but I don’t suppose they did. She woke him up as I understand it and went straight to work.”

“With all that stuff on it!”

“Dry and caked, yes.”

“Disgusting. I won’t do that. Not for anybody.”

“Don’t worry, love. I won’t ever ask you.”

“What if it happens inside her mouth?”

“What? I see. But isn’t that the whole point?”

“Na Beatrice you de ask? Na me de tell de tori, no be you?”

“Well that’s the whole point, I am told. To give it to her right in the mouth.”

“You’re joking!”

“I swear.”

“Chris, are you sure you haven’t done it?”

“No. It’s the girl who does it.”

“Oh shut up; you know what I mean. And don’t you start anything because I won’t wash it in my mouth.”

“We’ll shower first.”

“You are joking. Oh Chris! Please.”

6

Beatrice

WHEN I PICKED UP the telephone and a completely unfamiliar voice said, “Can I speak to Miss Beatrice Okoh,” my heart fluttered violently in panic fear. I don’t know why but the thing that came into my mind right away was: Oh God, there’s been an accident involving Chris, and someone is calling from the Casualty Ward of the Teaching Hospital. Why my mind should have gone to an accident I’ve no idea but the feeling was so strong that it blocked other lines of thought. So when the caller said, “Hold on for His Excellency,” my answer was a confused and near-hysterical: “His what? Who are you?” It was only when the confident, resonant drawl asked if he was such an unwelcome caller that I realized what I had heard before and stammered an incoherent string of apologies. Even so, while he spoke, my thoughts kept leap-frogging over themselves and it was not until quite some time after he rang off that I had regained enough composure to begin to sort out the details of what he had said. He was inviting me to a small private dinner. On Saturday. Something important and personal he wanted to talk to me about. A car would be sent to pick me up from my flat at six-thirty. Dress absolutely informal, or even casual. See you then. And he rang off. Just like that!

In the early days of his coming to power I had gone fairly often to the Palace with Chris and sometimes Chris and Ikem. But then things had changed quite dramatically after about one year and now apart from viewing him virtually every night on television news I had not actually set eyes on him nor had any kind of direct contact for well over a year. So the telephone call and the invitation were baffling to me and totally unexpected.

Of course Chris had kept me posted on the steady deterioration in their relationship. Would the important and personal discussion be about that? Was I going to find myself listening to awkward recrimination between two friends who’d known each other since I was in nappies… Well, not exactly but almost. That might account for the very early time of six-thirty. It was only then it occurred to me that I was simply assuming that I would be going to the Palace as in the old days with Chris but that nothing of the sort had been said in the invitation. So I rushed to the telephone and called Chris’s house without luck and then his office where he was at work as usual long after everybody else had gone home, eaten their lunch and even had their siesta, and told him the news. No, he hadn’t been asked but he would rather not talk on the telephone. He would pass by my place on his way home shortly. That was on a Thursday evening.

My doorbell rang at exactly six-twenty-five. I was at the dressing-table and soon could hear Agatha, as prompt on the Sabbath as on any other day to open the front door to callers, in lively conversation with a male voice. When she had had whoever it was as long to herself as she thought necessary she came to the door of the bedroom to inform me that one soja-man from President house de for door; he say na President sendam make he come bring madam.

“Tellam make he siddon,” I said, “I de nearly ready.”

Soon the two voices were floating in to me again as I put on the finishing touches. When I got to the living-room a couple of minutes later Agatha was just disappearing through the kitchen door. The soldier who was still on his feet saluted as I entered and I began at once to apologize for my maid’s manners in not offering him a seat.

“No be like dat madam,” he said gallantly. “Your girl polite well well. She tell me make I siddon, she even ask wetin I wan drink. So no be her fault at all madam. Na me one refuse for siddon. You know this soja work na stand-stand work e be.”

“OK. You are taking me to the Palace? I am ready.”

“Ah madam. No be Palace we de go. Na for Palace dem tell you?”

“What? Na where we de go?”