“Perhaps you should first account for the failure of the black man to curb the white man’s mission,” Kainene said.
“Who brought racism into the world?” Odenigbo asked.
“I don’t see your point,” Kainene said.
“The white man brought racism into the world. He used it as a basis of conquest. It is always easier to conquer a more humane people.”
“So when we conquer the Nigerians we will be the less humane?” Kainene asked.
Odenigbo said nothing. Something rustled near the cashew trees, and Harrison leaped up and ran over to see if it was a bush rat he could catch.
“Inatimi has given me some Nigerian coins,” Kainene said finally. “You know these Biafran Organization of Freedom Fighters people have quite a bit of Nigerian money. I want to go to Ninth Mile and see what I can buy, and if that goes well, I will sell some of the things our people at the camp have made.”
“That’s trading with the enemy,” Odenigbo said.
“It’s trading with illiterate Nigerian women who have what we need.”
“It’s dangerous, Kainene,” Odenigbo said; the softness in his voice surprised Richard.
“That sector is free,” Olanna said. “Our people are trading freely there.”
“Are you going too?” Surprise lifted Odenigbo’s voice as he stared at Olanna.
“No. At least not tomorrow. Maybe the next time Kainene goes.”
“Tomorrow?” It was Richard’s turn to be surprised. Kainene had mentioned it once, wanting to trade across enemy lines, but he did not know she had already decided when to go.
“Yes, Kainene is going tomorrow,” Olanna said.
“Yes,” Kainene said. “But don’t mind Olanna, she will never come with me. She’s always been terribly frightened of honest free enterprise.” Kainene laughed and Olanna laughed and slapped her arm; Richard saw the similarity in the curve of their lips, in the shape of their slightly larger front teeth.
“Hasn’t Ninth Mile Road been occupied on and off?” Odenigbo asked. “I don’t think you should go.”
“It’s all decided. I leave with Inatimi early tomorrow morning, and we’ll be back by evening,” Kainene said, with that finality to her tone that Richard knew well. He was not opposed to the trip, though; he knew many people who did what she wanted to do.
That night, he dreamed that she came back with a basket full of chicken boiled in herbs, spicy jollof rice, soup thick with fish, and he felt irritable when he was jerked awake by raised voices just outside their window. He was reluctant to leave the dream. Kainene had woken up too and they hurried outside, Kainene with a wrapper tied around her chest and he in his shorts. It was only just dawn. The light was weak. A small crowd from the refugee camp was beating and kicking a young man crouched on the ground, his hands placed on his head to shield some of the blows. His trousers were splattered with holes and his collar was almost ripped off but the half of a yellow sun still clung to his torn sleeve.
“What is it?” Kainene asked. “What is it?”
Before anyone spoke, Richard knew. The soldier had been stealing from the farm. It happened everywhere now, farms raided at night, raided of corn so tender they had not yet formed kernels and yams so young they were barely the size of a cocoyam.
“Do you see why anything we plant will not bear fruit?” said a woman whose child had died the week before. Her wrapper was tied low, exposing the tops of drooping breasts. “People like this thief come and harvest everything so that we will starve to death.”
“Stop it!” Kainene said. “Stop it right now! Leave him alone!”
“You are telling us to leave a thief? If we leave him today, tomorrow ten of them will come.”
“He is not a thief,” Kainene said. “Did you hear me? He is not a thief. He is a hungry soldier.”
The crowd stilled at the quiet authority in her voice. Slowly, they shuffled away, back to the classrooms. The soldier got up and dusted himself off.
“Have you come from the front?” Kainene asked.
He nodded. He looked about eighteen. There were two angry bumps on either side of his forehead and blood trailed from his nostrils.
“Are you running? I na-agba oso? Have you deserted?” Kainene asked.
He did not respond.