The girl came to inform me there was no sugar for the tea. Stood in front of me holding out the empty blue cardboard box with the red lion stamped on the cover.
‘So you told me yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that,’ I told her. ‘Perhaps you think I’m senile, that I don’t remember.’
‘No, aunty.’ But she didn’t go away, just stood there with the box in her hand. As though I would magically fill it up again.
So I asked her: ‘You think I can snap my fingers like that and make sugar for you?’
‘No, aunty.’ She spoke softly, especially when she was being rude. This girl could go back to her family for all I cared. If she ever became somebody’s wife they’d send her back with sixpence on her head in no time at all.
‘“No aunty, no aunty.”’ I mimicked her. ‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Maybe you can buy some when you go into town.’ And she had the audacity to look me straight in the face when she spoke. Straight in my eye! Such insolence. I snatched the box and threw it upon the fire. You just had to watch the change come over her when Lansana was home on leave. Like a cat on heat. That sullen face suddenly all pouts and simpers. Encouraging his teasing. Brushing her breasts against him whenever she passed, hiking her skirt up round her thighs when she sat down opposite him. Then and there I promised myself I’d be rid of her before his next visit.
At breakfast the girl ate noisily. Swallowing great mouthfuls of porridge and plugging her face with hunks of bread. She’d eat me out of house and home, this one. I stood up and removed the dish, before she could finish the lot, otherwise there would be nothing left for tomorrow except carambola from the tree that hung over the wall from my neighbour’s garden. And that always gave me problems with my stomach.
‘Have you ironed my dress yet?’ I asked her.
‘You haven’t given it to me,’ she said with her mouth still full. Always with an answer. Too clever for her own good. I would have thrown it at her, but for the fact it was my best dress. I stepped inside to prepare myself.
I sat down in front of the mirror and creamed my face, using some of the face cream Lansana had given me. On the side of the jar along with some kind of Arabic writing was a drawing of a woman with black, black hair and eyelashes, red, red lips and white, white skin. She was holding a rose up to her face. A red rose. I dusted my face with a little talc and dabbed some perfume on my neck and between my breasts from the little bottle I kept hidden from the girl. I put it carefully back in its place behind the loose stone in the wall.
The girl came in with the dress just as I was replacing the stone. Now I’d have to find a new place for the bottle. I stood and watched her out of the corner of my eye as she laid the dress on the bed. She was making a good show of pretending not to be interested in what I was doing.
‘Go count the chickens,’ I told her, just to get rid of her. Go count your chickens before they hatch, I thought. She’d get a surprise soon enough when I sent her on her way. That would wipe the smirk off her face.
I slipped the top over my head. It was tight-fitting, with narrow sleeves to the elbow. I regretted then that I had sent the girl away. She might have made herself useful helping me, but it was too late for that. By the time I managed to get my head through and straighten the bodice I was damp with sweat. I stood with my legs apart while I wound the lappa three times around my waist and then sat back down again for a moment to catch my breath. My jewellery box was on the table in front of me. I opened it and rummaged through the odd buttons, hair clips and safety pins until I found what I was looking for. The pair of gold earrings.
I let them drop from one palm into the other. I pushed them through the holes in my ears and lifted the mirror up to my face. I turned my head from side to side, feeling the weight pulling at my lobes. The reflected light bounced from my cheekbones. I took them off and inspected them again. One of the hoops was very slightly dented. I rubbed my finger across the place, as if I might smooth it out. It didn’t matter. Nobody would see. All they would notice was the size of the hoops, the quality of the gold. Eighteen carat. Twenty-four probably. Such good quality, a son buys nothing but the best for his mother.
Outside I heard my neighbour calling. I didn’t answer. I stayed where I was. Let her think I wasn’t at home. She’d only be coming to bother me for the four cups of rice I borrowed from her the week before. Let her wait. She had plenty of rice. I had seen inside her storeroom myself. It was full of food. The Government had warned against people who hoarded food, driving up the prices so everybody suffered.
While I waited for her to clear off, I searched for my umbrella and when the coast was clear I stepped out of the house.
I walked to town. I didn’t have the money for transport. The rain was gone, replaced by the sun. I walked the whole way, carrying my umbrella aloft. When Lansana gave it to me I told him it was the widest one I had ever seen, and it was true. It provided me with a pool of shade to walk in.
With each step I felt the earrings swing against my face. Every so often I lifted my hand to my face to feel them again. I wished I’d brought the mirror with me so I could stop and look at them.
A tune came into my head and I hummed for a while as I walked. Then I remembered it was something my first husband used to whistle and I stopped. Both my first and second sons lived with him now, working in the butcher’s trade. They didn’t visit their mother as often as they should; I suspected him of turning them against me. But then they were as soft and foolish as him. Still, you can’t throw away a bad child. They were my sons. I would always be their mother. The rest of it is up to God. Now Lansana, my Okurgba, my warrior — he’d made me proud. Followed my brother into the Army, where he had been promoted I don’t know how many times. He wore stars on his shoulders and sent me gifts he paid for with his salary.
Outside the Contehs’ house the awning had yet to be dismantled, though the chairs were gone. The opening of the house had been Wednesday past. I hadn’t been invited. I could have gone anyway, but I chose not to. The Contehs didn’t know it but I knew they whispered about me behind my back. That morning I would have liked them to see me pass, but the house was quiet. In fact, the street was empty. A thought came to me. I glanced around. I lowered the umbrella and rolled it up. I veered towards the front of the house. The thatch of banana leaves on top of the awning was already fading, the green bamboo poles that held it up had begun to blanch. Still nobody looking. I reached out and hooked the handle of the umbrella around the pole nearest to me, gave it a good yank. I walked on. Behind me the awning lurched violently as one corner collapsed. Never looking over my shoulder, I raised the umbrella over my head, and walked on to the end of the street.
There was the petrol station where the bicycle taxis waited. I hadn’t travelled that way in many months now. It wasn’t such a comfortable way to travel but it was better than being on foot. Anything else was unaffordable. The price of petrol was always going up. Always going up. Nothing ever became cheaper. None of the boys leaning on their bicycles looked up as I passed. Well, I wasn’t young any more.
In front of the covered market I slowed my pace a little, just to see what was on offer. I had a few things to buy, but that would have to wait until the end of the day, when the traders were willing to drop their prices just to be rid of the stuff. Other times I went to market in the early morning. The stall holders liked to treat their first customer well. Not for the customer’s benefit, I should add, only because they thought it boded well for the rest of the day.
Ahead of me two women entered Asana’s fabric store. I wondered whether she was in town or travelling. Who would choose such a life? No husband, no time to talk even. Always busy, working herself into the ground. Well, I suppose she didn’t have any brothers. But really, she should have had more sons. I bought the cloth for my dress there the last time she was out of town. Seven yards of brocade. The girl in the shop — who did she think she was? — looked as though she was about to refuse me credit until I reminded her I was family. I passed by on the other side of the road, deciding against going in. Wait until Lansana was home and then we’d go in together.