Jagua Nana

Freddie’s smile was tolerant. ‘Nonsense! You jus’ jokin’, Jagwa. You not goin’ to sen’ me to England with you own money. You got odder thing to do wid de money.’

‘Ah got odder thing to do, but sendin’ you is de best of all. I goin’ to send you to Englan’; and you goin’ to return and marry your Jagwa. Yes, Freddie. I wan’ me own man now. Dem insult me too much. But as you is only a poor teacher you no reach yet for marry Jagwa woman. You mus’ go train yousself to be proper man … Den I kin born chil’ for you. An’ you kin look after me, in me old age.’

‘So you sendin’ me to Englan’ to return an’ marry you?’

‘Ah got anodder reason. I hear say Mama Nancy, she want to bluff me. She say she sendin’ her own young man to Englan’, so he too kin return an’ marry her.’

‘Oh! …’ Freddie turned in the bed and faced the wall. He really had no wish to marry Jagua. As a mistress she was brilliant, but he could not imagine her as a wife, when young ones like Nancy were available.

Jagua pressed her lips against his ears, and her arms enfolded him in a soft embrace. ‘I goin’ to sen?

? you to England, so you kin come back and marry me.’

Freddie did not share the delight she felt in the underlying condition.

6

As the weeks slipped by, Freddie began to see signs that Jagua meant every word. How she surmounted most of the hurdles the Government placed in the way of the private, ill-equipped but ambitious student he never could tell. The Nigerian Government regarded the student ‘adventuring to England’ with the same dark frown that the French Government viewed the globe-trotting fool attempting to cross the Sahara on a pedal-bicycle.

Jagua revealed that she had some money saved up from her cloth trade in Ghana and this money she now drew liberally. She paid for Freddie’s dinners at the Inns, transferred enough money to pay Freddie’s rent for one year and clothe him and buy him books.

Life began to acquire a new meaning for Freddie when, after months and months of waiting for letters from the immigration and the shipping authorities, they told him he would be travelling on a Norwegian cargo boat. The journey would be slow and long, but the food would be a compensation, he was assured. The sailing date was not definite – they still had a lot of cargo to take on board; and for this reason, Freddie could not tear himself away from Lagos and journey to his native Bagana in the East to say goodbye to his friends and relatives. He particularly wanted to see his mother, and if Jagua also wanted to be introduced to his parents, what harm could that do?

But Jagua herself could not readily leave Lagos now. She was still on bail, and when eventually her case came up Freddie saw her fined thirty shillings and warned to keep the peace. After that, not enough time was left for journeying to Bagana, and besides they had not been able to include the visit in their plans.

About a week to sailing time, the news leaked out among Freddie’s friends, who pinned him down to a nightmare of farewell parties. He had even less time for anything else. Many were the nights when he put on his baggy velvet trousers and fez and in the warm humid air sat down and listened to speeches by his friends. He was, they said, a good example to Africa in thus ‘seeking the Golden Fleece of Knowledge and Leadership’. Nigeria’s future salvation depended on such trained people, they claimed. Looking at the speaker’s eyes, Freddie knew he was speaking what he believed. In a way he knew that all his friends identified him with their own secret ambitions to study abroad. He did not like being fêted, but he bore it all with fortitude safe in the knowledge that he would soon be out of their reach.

What troubled him more at this time was that Jagua had become unbearably touchy and morose. Freddie noted how unfriendly she had become. She walked about with a long face and for the most trivial reasons she started yelling abuses at him. Could it be that she no longer wanted him away from her? At such times when he tried to reason with her and failed his spirits would sink and he would wish he could be with Nancy to soothe away the rough edges of his nerves.

One afternoon he ran across her in the Square. He was transported with delight. The smell of that warm night under the woods immediately filled his nostrils. In the midst of the confusion of pressing bodies and arms reaching out to grip the bus railings, he felt the silky-sweet touch of her hand. He noticed her because of the way she moved – hips fanned out by the georgette check in bold yellow and brown, the unconscious wiggle which drew him out to ‘follow me’. She wore her hair short, and perhaps because she had been shopping in the sun it stood straight, without kinks, with beads of oil glistening in it. Her upper lip had gathered the crystal drops of perspiration, but she gave him a sweet smile and her eyes were keen. The greenish nylon blouse blended with the yellow georgette, and he could see the shadow of her pointed breasts with the dark nipples and soft pale sides that trembled.

They climbed into the bus with Freddie close behind her, his hand on her smooth cool arm. They sat down, intimately crushed in the seat. She mopped her brow with a soft cloth and soaked away the crystals of her lip.

‘Freddie, I hear you almos’ leavin’ for England; and you don’ care to come and see me. Is it good? And you say you love me?’

‘Not so, Nancy. I try to come, but—’

She gave him an accusing look. ‘When ah come to Englan’, we will meet dere.’

‘You jokin’?’

‘I mean it, Freddie.’

He searched her face and could make nothing of her eagerly gleaming eyes. She took out two oranges from her shopping and offered him one. ‘My Mama tryin’ to sen’ her young man; but he grown conceited, so she askin’ me whedder I want to go and qualify as secretary typist. De Syrian man will pay all de fee.’

‘You mean it? You really mean it?’ He tried to keep back his delight.

‘I coming to England and we will marry there.’ She waved the orange joyfully, and pressed it to her lips.

They were nearing their destination now and Nancy looked at him suddenly and whispered. ‘I goin’ to be your Englan’ lady, Freddie. You no glad? See how God use to do him own thing.’

Freddie helped her down, and together they walked some of the way. As they entered the home street, he handed back her shopping bag and stood for a moment under the trees, well away from the other end of the street where Jagua lived. But Nancy succeeded in enticing him out of his hiding and step by step they moved up, until Freddie found himself near the end of the street.

He watched her walk away with the young upright shoulders, dainty steps and trembling bottom. When she had vanished beyond the mango tree by the foodseller he looked up, and there gazing down at him from the balcony was Jagua Nana. The smile on her face did not mask the greenish tinge of anger. She must have seen everything.

‘Freddie, who dat I see with you?’

‘You mean – with me?’ He looked up the street. ‘Oh – is only Nancy Oll. She gone back to her modder. Is only Nancy—’