The Girl with the Louding Voice(87)

We drive for about fifteen minutes until the go-slow in one street forces us to slow down, where one man selling ice cream in front of us holds up one block of ice cream and presses his nose to the window.

“Buy ice cream!” he says, and the closed window makes his voice sound as if he is chewing a cloth and talking at the same time.

But when he sees Ms. Tia’s face with all the lines and marks, he becomes stiff, looking at Ms. Tia for a long, long moment, worry and concern all over his face, until the driver presses his horn to make him jump back.



* * *





The house is quiet when I enter.

Big Madam’s car is not anywhere in the compound. Where has she gone? It is late now, around eight o’clock, and by this time, Big Madam will be sucking oranges inside her parlor, watching Sky tee-vee or CNN news channel and cursing Nigeria. I walk fast, my feet crunching the dry grass, until I reach the back of the kitchen. From the kitchen window, I see Kofi’s buttocks up in the air, the top half part of his body inside the oven. I knock on the window, and he brings his head out from oven, makes a beckon.

I enter, greet him good evening. The whole place is smelling of sweet cakes. It turns my stomach, making me want to crawl somewhere and vomit the nothing in my stomach.

“Where have you been?” he asks, wiping his hand on the apron around his body.

“With Ms. Tia,” I say. “Did Big Madam ask of me?”

“She’s out,” he says. “Her sister, Kemi, had an accident. She had to go to the hospital from the shop. Not sure she’ll be back anytime soon. Big Daddy is watching the news in the living room. Completely useless, that man. His sister-in-law is in hospital and he asked me to bake him cupcakes to have with his evening coffee.” He rubs his hand together. “Oh, but I must show you the latest pictures of my project in Kumasi. The roofing is almost complete, and I had to ship the floor tiles from— Chale, why the long face? What happened? Did the school reject you? Did you hear from them?”

“I didn’t hear from them,” I say. “Any work for me to do this night?” I am so tired, but I want to wash and clean and scrub until I scrub away this afternoon out from my mind. Bleach it all away too. Make my mind white, blank.

“Well, there are some clothes that need ironing upstairs, but you don’t look well. Go and lie down. If anybody asks, I will find something to say.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I turn around.

“Adunni,” Kofi calls.

I stop, look him.

“Are you hungry?” he asks. “I can give you some cupcakes. You like cupcakes, don’t you?”

“No, thank you,” I say. “Good night.”

He gives me a long look, sighs. “It will all make sense one day,” he says. “One day, things will get better.”

“I know,” I say with a tiny, tired voice. “Tomorrow will be better than today.”

“Abu is looking for you,” Kofi say, “Shall I send him to your room?”

“Not this night,” I say. I want to hear what Abu wants to say about Rebecca, but I don’t want to hear it tonight. This night, I just want to crawl inside my bed and close my eyes and not think about anything or anybody.

“No problem,” Kofi says. “Go and sleep.”





CHAPTER 48

The sleep is not coming.

I find the sleep, beg it to come, but it is not coming. My eyelids feel like they are full of wet sand, as if I put a stone inside the middle of my eyeballs so that when I try to be closing it, it is scraping my eyes, causing it to hang in the middle of the open and the close. My chest is paining me too, paining from all the things I saw today, from a deep longing for Mama. I want her so much, just for one minute, so I can tell her about Ms. Tia, about what happened today, about the wicked things those women are doing in the church, things that are making God and me and Ms. Tia sad.

A sound cuts my thinking, two short hoos of an owl in one of the trees, and I sit myself up, and peep the crack in the window, at the full moon in the sky casting a glow over the fields, at the grass looking like they are full of tiny blue-green lightbulbs, at the metal fence surrounding Big Madam’s house, high and round and endless, and I wonder if I will ever leave this place, if things will ever be better for me.

When I go back and lie down on my bed, I don’t sleep. I stay thinking about my life, Ms. Tia, Big Madam and her sick sister, about Big Daddy not even caring of his wife, about all the money rich people have and how the money is not helping them escape from problems, until the night turns and brings the morning light.

At the first light, I wash myself, wear my uniform, and find Kofi in the kitchen.

“Morning, Adunni,” he says, slapping a egg on the edge of one glass bowl to crack it. “Do you feel better today?”

“Has Big Madam come back?” I ask.

Kofi shakes his head, yawns. “She’s still at the hospital with her sister. I’m making breakfast for that glutton.” He starts to turn the egg with a fork. “I didn’t go to bed until midnight because of his cupcakes, and at four a.m., he sent me a text to bring up some scrambled eggs. What do you need Big Madam for? You know what to do. Get the broom—”

“I am going out,” I say as I leave the kitchen. “If Big Madam comes back and asks of me, tell her I am . . . Tell her anything you want.”