No Longer at Ease (The African Trilogy 2)

As the weeks passed, however, Obi’s guard began to come down “small small,” as they say. It started with Clara’s visit to his office one morning to tell him something or other. Miss Tomlinson had heard her voice on the telephone a few times and had commented on its attractiveness. Obi introduced them, and was a little surprised at the English woman’s genuine delight. When Clara left she talked about nothing else for the rest of the day. “Isn’t she beautiful? Aren’t you lucky? When are you getting married? I shouldn’t wait if I were you,” and so on and so forth.

Obi felt like a clumsy schoolboy earning his first praise for doing something extraordinarily clever. He began to see Miss Tomlinson in a different light. If it was part of her tactics, it was really a very clever one for which she deserved credit. But it did not look clever or forced. It seemed to have come straight from her heart.

The telephone rang and Miss Tomlinson answered it.

“Mr. Okonkwo? Right. Hold on for him. For you, Mr. Okonkwo.”

Obi’s telephone was in parallel with hers. He thought it was Clara, but it was only the receptionist downstairs.

“A gentleman? Send him up, please. He want speak to me there? All right, I de come down. Now now.”

The gentleman was in a three-piece suit and carried a rolled umbrella. Obviously a new arrival from England.

“Good morning. My name is Okonkwo.”

“Mark is mine. How do you do?”

They shook hands.

“I’ve come to consult you about something—semiofficial and semiprivate.”

“Let’s go up to my office, shall we?”

“Thank you very much.”

Obi led the way.

“You have just come back to Nigeria?” he asked as they mounted the stairs.

“I’ve been back now six months.”

“I see.” He opened the door. “After you.”

Mr. Mark stepped in, and then pulled up suddenly as if he had seen a snake across his path. But he recovered quickly enough and walked in.

“Good morning,” he said to Miss Tomlinson, all smiles. Obi dragged another chair to his table and Mr. Mark sat down.

“And what can I do for you?”

To his amazement Mr. Mark replied in Ibo:

“If you don’t mind, shall we talk in Ibo? I didn’t know you had a European here.”

“Just as you like. Actually I didn’t think you were Ibo. What is your problem?” He tried to sound casual.

“Well, it is like this. I have a sister who has just passed her School Certificate in Grade One. She wants to apply for a Federal Scholarship to study in England.”

Although he spoke in Ibo, there were some words that he had to say in English. Words like school

certificate and scholarship. He lowered his voice to a whisper when he came to them.

“You want application forms?” asked Obi.

“No, no, no. I have got those. But it is like this. I was told that you are the secretary of the Scholarship Commission and I thought that I should see you. We are both Ibos and I cannot hide anything from you. It is all very well sending in forms, but you know what our country is. Unless you see people …”

“In this case it is not necessary to see anybody. The only …”

“I was actually thinking of coming round to your house, but the man who told me about you did not know where you lived.”