The Girl with the Louding Voice(58)

“Walahi, Adunni, you are looking for big trouble.” Abu grip his plastic kettle, turn around, and begin to walk fast from me. “If Kofi says she ran away, then hear what Kofi is saying and leave it.”

“Abu! Wait!” I shout, but the man turn a corner by the boys’ quarters and disappear into his prayer room.





CHAPTER 32

Fact: Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, the mother of music legend Fela Kuti, was a renowned feminist who fought for equal access for women in education.

Ms. Tia bring herself back the day after Big Madam travel to the Abroad.

I was washing the downstairs toilet, head deep inside the commode, when Kofi tell me I have a visitor. At first, I was fearing, thinking that Papa have come with the whole village to come find me. But in the reception, I see Ms. Tia bending down to her feets and tying the shoe rope around her white canvas-shoe. She is wearing a tight black trouser and a singlet top, and when she raise up her head, she give me a smile.

“Hi,” she say.

“Hi to you too,” I say. “You are the visitor asking of me?” Maybe she is still vexing because of the foolish thing I say that last time. “Please don’t vex about what I say,” I say. “Sometimes I like to talk too much and—”

She hold up her hand, silent my words. “I actually came by to apologize. I shouldn’t have walked away because you asked me a question I get asked all the time. It was wrong of me. I am sorry.”

“You are giving me apology?” I shake my head, not understanding the woman.

“My conversation with you that day, it kind of . . .” She scratch her head, move the twists out of her face, curl them behind her ears. “. . . moved me in a way I cannot explain. It’s just so strange.”

What is she talking about?

She look around the reception. “Your madam is away, right? She mentioned at the last meeting that she was going away. I hope my being here is not . . . I mean, it is not a problem for you to talk to me now, is it?”

“No problem,” I say.

Both of us don’t talk for a moment. Then she say: “What you said the other day. Questioning my reasons and all that. It dug up something inside of me.”

“What did it dug up?” I ask, fold my hand in front of my chest, looking her.

She rub her hand up and down, finding something to fix her eyes on, the floor, my face. “So, two days ago, I was going for my morning run on the Lekki-Ikoyi bridge. I was all good, running at a great pace, when right there, right in the middle of the bridge, I had an epiphany.”

“Epi— What you call it?”

She wave her hand up in the air, her eyes wide, brighting. “A moment of realization. About my wanting children and all that . . . all because of the conversation we had.” She start a laugh, change her mind, and kill it. “Am I confusing you?”

“Too much,” I say. And yourself. You are confuse of yourself too. Rich people have plenty brain problem, honest.

“I am just a little excited, that’s all,” she say. “I will head home now. Do take care of yourself, and good luck with your exams.” She start to turn around, and I know that if I let her just go like that, that I will never see her again. So before I can think of my action, I jump forward, grab her hand, hold her.

She stop, look me, my hand, my fingers crawling around her arm and squeezing. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry, ma,” I say. “Please don’t be angry.”

“What’s wrong?” she ask.

I wait for her to shout, but she don’t shout. She sound calm. Her eyes sort of melt, a question of a smile on her face. I low myself to the floor and begin to talk. “You ask me about exam,” I say as I put one hand inside my brassiere and bring out the newspaper and press it into her hand. “I don’t have any exam, but I need your help, ma. I need somebody to make reference for me.”

“Reference? For what? Oh, please stand,” she say, pulling me to my feets. “What’s in the newspaper?” She open the newspaper, read it silent, her eyes moving up and down the paper. “I see,” she say, folding the paper and giving it back to me. “A scholarship scheme for domestic workers. What a brilliant initiative. I assume Florence has nothing to do with this?”

“She will kill me if she find out about it,” I say. “But I must try and enter it.”

“What’s the urgency?” she ask.

My eyes fill up, and I press my fingers to my lips. “This is all I been wanting all my life. Please . . .” I stop talking, swallow the tears in my throat. “The final age for entering is fifteen. Please.”

She shift on her feets. “I honestly . . . don’t know you well enough to be able to stand as a guarantor—”

“Big Madam is traveling now,” I say. “So I collect my independent just like Nigeria, but my own is for just two weeks, not forever and forever. You can ask me any question, tell me to do anything, I will do it. You can know me in two weeks. I will show you my real self in the next two weeks and you can write it inside the form and tell them I am a good girl, working hard every time. Please.”

She start a smile, then change it to a short laugh. “You are the most amusing girl I have ever met in my life. Adunni, I would love to help you, but Florence and I don’t get along that well,” she say. “If she finds out I gave you a reference or acted as a guarantor—”