Seeds of Plenty (18 page)

PART THREE

1984-1986

 

SYLVIA

Chapter 28

Ayo tried to get in touch with her after the coup, but Sylvia never returned his calls. As the year went by, Ayo and Donna became a full-fledged couple, with Donna moving into Ayo’s apartment on the compound. Sylvia had recommitted to Winston, but nothing had changed between them, in fact, he distanced himself even further as if protecting himself from her.
Her—
she had become that kind of woman, an adulteress, but she had nothing to show for it. The love of her life had moved on. Meanwhile, her husband spent more time on the road, far away from her, the curse still looming over his life, not that he seemed to care. But she tried her best to make sure her children were safe. Her daughter was growing up, and as each year went by, Lila moved one step away from the spirit world until one day she finally severed her ties.

When Lila turned twelve in 1984, she became more brooding, sulky toward her mother. Sylvia found her looking through her drawers, perhaps searching for a piece of evidence, any clue about her real father. Lila clearly didn’t buy the Portuguese ancestor story Sylvia had spun all those years before to explain her different looks. But Lila’s search for her father would change her relationship with the spirit world and this Sylvia welcomed.

One night, Lila had a strange dream. On this particular nightly sojourn to the spirit world, Lila told Sylvia she met a crocodile spirit, half fish and half snake. When she met him, he was angry. Along his river, they were building a modern dam. Its construction would drown the surrounding villages that worshipped him. The crocodile spirit attacked the dam. Several construction workers were buried alive within the dam wall after falling into the wet concrete. But eventually the dam displaced the crocodile spirit and all he stood for. Lila watched as the water rose—people and animals, whole species—were drowned in an effort to bring electricity to darkness. Some tribesman had stayed behind not believing the waters would truly rise. Lila screamed as water filled the lungs of the village children. Lila felt the water rising quickly around her until only her head was free. In a matter of minutes, she feared she would be completely submerged. In his anger, the spirit and his fellow crocodiles feasted on all the corpses left behind.

Suddenly, her father appeared, but the man did not look like Winston, only a hazy version of a stranger whose face she could not see, but somehow Lila knew this man was her real father. The man held his arm out to her to save her from the rising waters. She kept trying to look at his face. Perhaps Lila wanted to see her biological father’s face so much she wanted it to be real, and in that moment, Lila realized she was standing in a dream.

It was then that Lila woke up in her bed, drenched in sweat. Sylvia heard her screaming, and like many nights before, she came to her daughter. But something about that night seemed different. Sylvia had come to Lila when she was a young child, hoping to wean her from the visits to the spirit world but to no avail. Tonight her daughter was sitting up in her bed, wide awake.

“I thought I saw my real father,” Lila said in a far-off voice. “But it was only a dream.” She explained pieces of her dream.

Sylvia held her daughter in her arms. She lay down next to her, holding her until Lila finally fell asleep. Sylvia had waited twelve years for this moment. When a child could finally separate dreams from reality, this was when the child lost all connection and consciousness with the spirit world. Finally, Lila’s dreams started to peel away from her reality and with that, at last, the spirit world began to fade away. From that moment on, Lila was no longer a changeling who could move freely between the earthly and spirit worlds. She was fully grounded in this life. The spirits would no longer be able to lure her back to the afterlife. She had grown up.

Sylvia welcomed this shedding of her spirit side with a mixture of relief and apprehension. She was relieved to be rid of the spirits’ hold on Lila’s life, but at the same time, she was afraid of what had caused it. The timing of it clearly had something to do with her growing suspicions of her biological father.

***

 

With the spirits vanquished, Sylvia seemed to drop her guard. As the weeks went by, Sylvia woke up with dark circles under eyes and wandered around all day in her nightgown. When Winston was away, she didn’t bother to cook. Her children ate Skippy peanut butter and passion fruit jam sandwiches for dinner every night while she had nothing but cups of dark coffee. She was overly anxious and erratic, telling her children one minute not to play on the grass outside because of the snakes while the next minute, she sat on the sofa, staring into space, not noticing if they went outside at all. What was wrong with her, she wondered? Was she pining away or was it something worse, a tropical fever of some sort?

“You sick, madam, you need to go to doctor,” Patience said, worried.

“I went to the doctor. They can’t cure it,” Sylvia lied.

“You need to go to Ayo doctor.”

“No. Don’t you contact him, you hear?”

Sylvia stopped going to the clubhouse and other compound social events or dinner parties. If Lila and Thomas wanted to go swimming, Sylvia sent Patience and the armed guard with the children to the pool. Since Lila had severed her ties with the spirit world, Sylvia was less worried about the threat of water.

The only thing Sylvia did on a weekly basis was to shop at the market in town. She borrowed videos from a makeshift rental place at the back of a furniture store run by an Indian family. In between the Bollywood musicals, the shelves in this small backroom were stocked with TV or rerun movies on blank tapes with hand-written labels, recorded from BBC or ITV by the owner’s cousin in the UK—plenty of James Bond, Grace Kelly, and Peter Sellers. She would watch movies all day dressed in her nightgown and robe. VHS had just been invented, and television-starved expats all over Africa were the first to adopt it.

As the weeks progressed, Sylvia began to have increasingly bizarre dreams, hallucinations in vivid clashing colors. She dreamed she planted a sacred silk cotton or
Peregun
tree outside Ayo’s father’s house. The tree was known to secret a semen-like juice that traditional Yoruba medicine used as an aphrodisiac or love potion. It was used by women seeking special favors from their husbands when rivaling other wives. In her dream, the tree’s branches wound its way like snakes throughout Ayo’s house.

These horrible dreams haunted Sylvia now every night, and she became an insomniac, afraid to close her eyes. For several nights in a row, she had a reoccurring nightmare. In the dream, she sensed someone scraping a sharp tool against her skull, engraving Chinese oracles into her bones. She felt the cracking of her skull. She didn’t need to interpret the cracks—they were predicting death.

 

WINSTON

Chapter 29

In the fall of 1984, Simeon experienced the worst harvest ever. Winston followed the harvest procession through the sacred part of the forest. This patch of thick, virgin tropical jungle had been preserved and untouched for centuries. It was not a forest Winston could forget. The place still haunted him—perhaps the darkness even in broad daylight or the thickness of the undergrowth and vines. He knew it was a sacred grove frequented by spirits, a meeting place for religious chiefs, village ceremonies, or initiation grounds for secret societies. Supposedly, the plants and trees possessed special healing powers. But since the forest was sacred, the inhabitants of the villages nearby guarded it with their lives. No one was permitted to cut down a tree or plant in the forest without special permission. Winston noticed over the years that the neighboring Cole Agribusiness plantation had expanded so that now its chain-link fence bordered this forest.

The harvest procession moved through the forest. Winston dutifully followed even though every limb in his body wanted to flee in the other direction. Today, few villagers danced. When they reached the shrine deep in the middle of the forest, a village elder, dressed in a white robe, offered a white kola nut and a white pigeon to the shrine along with a few yams and ears of corn from the meager harvest. It was nothing like the mounds of yams and corn offered in years past.

This year the pests had been cruel, leveling the kind of attack that Simeon and the other farmers had never seen before in their lives. The leaves of the maize crop were full of holes, bitten to death by bugs. Simeon desperately sprayed double the amount of pesticide, but this seemed to have little effect. Winston wondered if this was some sort of retaliation against the pesticides themselves.
The chemicals were made to kill all in their path. They didn’t differentiate. The “good” bugs that might prey on the pests were also killed. This might also explain the sudden spike in the pest population. Had man, in his pursuit to control nature in the end, toppled nature’s own finely tuned ways of control? The question lingered in the forefront of Winston’s mind.

Winston leaned in with the crowd, turning his attention to the divination rite of the harvest ritual. He hoped that next year would be better. The elder tossed the yams, and the entire village held its breath. But then both yams fell facedown. The crowd seemed to collectively gasp and put their hands over their mouths in fear. Winston knew this signaled the worst was still to come. Not even the prediction of ambiguity. He suddenly thought of his wife. Lately, she seemed sick, depressed even. His wife and his project were unraveling before him, and he felt powerless. The procession walked slowly back to the village, and the crowd congregated for a feast under the thatched canopy, but the mood was somber. This time, Simeon did not invite the village over to his house to watch his television. His house remained half-built, and the generator had broken, Simeon had not bothered to fix it. The television still stood under his porch, orange dust caking its screen.

Winston and Simeon sat alone on his porch next to the dusty television.

“You know, dis spray you give me, it may kill da bug,” Simeon said bitterly, “but de bug rise from de dead and come back more of dem. Dey angry at us. We were at peace with dae bug before. Now dey are at war with us.”

Winston said nothing. He knew Simeon was losing faith, and Winston himself was beginning to doubt.

“I dunno if I have de money to replant. I borrow, I buy, like you tell me, but I don’t sell nothing. Nothing,” Simeon continued, he shook his head. “De spell, we can’t fight it no more. It’s stronger than us.” He seemed angry at his defeat. “Dat Oluwa, he wins.”

Simeon went into his hut and returned with a pesticide canister. He opened it and took out a crumpled stack of IOU notes. Winston was shocked at how much Simeon owed. It had been his idea for Simeon to borrow the money in the first place. Winston felt the burden of saving Simeon clearly rested on his shoulders.

***

 

The next day, Winston paid a visit to the neighboring plantation managed by Cole Agribusiness. As he drove through the plantation’s maize fields, he noticed their leaves were full of holes from bugs as well. He saw the Cole representative Jim McCormack standing outside his office, supervising some men loading farm machinery into a truck. Jim waved at him with his usual misleading smile.

“Howdy,” Jim said. “Always pleased to see ADA men.”

Of course, he was pleased to see ADA staff, Winston noted with cynicism. Winston had come to save Africa from poverty and hunger, but in reality, he and his other colleagues at the ADA had amounted to nothing more than traveling salesmen for Cole Agribusiness, peddling bags of their seeds under the banner of “third world development.”

“The local farmers are having the worst pest year they have ever seen,” Winston began. “I see your crop is experiencing a similar fate.”

“These African bugs are tough little buggers,” Jim responded. “But we’ll just spray twice the amount next season. That should fix the problem.”

“You think more pesticides are the solution? They could be the cause of the problem.” Winston realized a representative of Cole would not admit this, of course. His solution would be to advise an increase in purchases of the pesticides. He was a well-programmed corporate robot, this man Jim.

“Business is good. We’re planning to expand,” Jim said.

“Really? Expand? Where to? Into that forest? You know it’s sacred.” Winston pointed toward the forest between the plantation and Simeon’s village. At six-foot-four, Jim towered over Winston. Usually, this didn’t bother Winston, but today, standing next to the man, he suddenly felt the inferiority of his physical size.

“No, no, of course not,” Jim said, but he looked down at the ground.

“Then where?” Winston was worried. Simeon’s village was on the other side of the forest.

“Let me give you a word of advice,” Jim said, his icy blue eyes looking straight at Winston now. “I know you’re trying to help these farmers, but don’t worry yourself with things that don’t concern you. After the day is done, you and I will be going back to our respective countries.”

Winston noticed a framed photograph of Jim’s smiling family, little blond children living back in America. Of course Jim wanted to go home. Winston realized there were vast differences between this man and him. Winston couldn’t go back to Communist China. He had no plans to go anywhere. Africa was his home now.

 

Chapter 30

The miracle seeds, brought in the palm of the white man, had displaced centuries of seeds carefully saved by farmers after every harvest, stretching back to the dawn of agriculture. Since his adoption of the Cole Agribusiness maize seeds more than a decade before, Simeon had stopped saving some of the corn kernels from his harvest to replant. Winston told him these hybrid seeds, concocted in the laboratory, were not self-fertile. In fact, replanting these seeds would not produce the same kind of successful plant that would ensure high yields or fast growth. But Simeon had tried replanting these cross-bred seeds and had gotten a crop that reflected a random assortment of genetic traits that bordered on the bizarre. In order to replant, Simeon was forced to purchase new seeds from Cole Agribusiness every year. He had been doing this since 1974 for over a decade now. By planting season in May of 1985, despite his failed crop and growing debt, Simeon had no choice but to purchase another bag of seeds.

Winston and Donna walked along the narrow dirt footpath in between the tall grass and new maize fields toward Simeon’s village.

“Dey were here yesterday,” Simeon said, his head hung low. These days, any news seemed to be bad news.

“Who?” Winston asked.

“De plantation people. Our neighbors. Dey tell us dis land and dis forest is not ours, dey showed us paper dat de government owns it and sold it to dem. Dey want us off. But I told dem we are not leaving. We don’t have paper, but we live here for many years, my fatha’s fatha and his fatha. Dis is our land.”

Winston was afraid of what Simeon and his village were up against.

“Those assholes. Who do they think they are?” Donna ranted. She spoke with such confidence and rage, Winston thought, it was infectious. “You guys have lived here for generations, and now they’re saying you need papers to prove it. What a scam. This is bullshit.”

***

 

At Donna’s suggestion, Winston agreed to go over to the Cole plantation next door and “get some answers.” As they drove up to the Cole office on the plantation, Winston saw the tractors lined up, parked near the warehouse. They knocked on Jim McCormack’s door, and not waiting for him to answer, Donna pushed it open.

“I was expecting you,” Jim said. He didn’t offer them coffee.

“What papers are you flashing at the farmers next door?” Donna wasted no time. She stepped in and leaned on his desk. Winston had always had mixed feelings toward Donna. She was culturally alien to him with her feminism and hippie hair, but now at this moment, he felt oddly aligned with her. She was saying the things he wanted to say, only more brashly with no respect for diplomacy.

“Official government papers,” Jim said. This time he was not smiling.

“We don’t want to cause any problem. I understand you have official papers. But what about the people you are displacing?” Winston said.

“We’re not displacing them. We’re modernizing agriculture. Turning this hodge podge of small plots into a more efficient, large scale farm. We’ll offer them jobs on our plantation.”

“And what if they don’t want jobs as slaves on your plantation?” Donna said.

“Whoa. Wait a sec. If they don’t want well-paid jobs that include housing and schooling for their kids, that’s fine. They can join the rest of the crew migrating to the cities. We’re giving them a better option out here.”

“Shouldn’t you ask them first what they want?” Winston said.

“We did ask them. We’ve already got one farmer from the village that’s signed up to be the manager of all the farm workers. We’re building him a proper cement house with electricity. We’ve thrown in some extra land for him and his family as well. Let me tell you, he’s very happy.”

“What’s his name?” Winston asked.

“I can’t remember,” Jim said. “Those Nigerian names all sound the same to me. Begins with an O or ends in an O. I can’t recall.”

Winston and Donna exchanged glances. Oluwa? They hadn’t expected him to join Cole.

“I’m not going to let you do this.” Donna’s voice was quiet, hollow even. “I’ll stop you if I have to lie on the ground in front of your bulldozers.”

“Be my guest. But if you get hurt, don’t tell me I didn’t warn you to get out of our way.”

“Is that a threat? You threatening me, Jim?”

“Let’s go,” Winston said, seeing the conversation was spiraling downward.

***

 

As they drove off in their jeep, Donna said, “What do you make of Oluwa’s involvement? Why would he partner with Cole? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I think he’s more cunning than we thought. He seems to want to one up Simeon at any cost, even if it means destroying his own village in the process,” Winston said.

“Well Oluwa better be careful. He doesn’t know who he’s just jumped in bed with. I’ve seen Jim’s type before. He’s a real jerk, he doesn’t care about Africa or its people. He just cares about his own profit and promotion coming down the pipe. Jim probably wants out of this hell-hole place, he’s probably already envisioning his corner office in a glass skyscraper back in Chicago if all goes well.”

Winston wondered what Cole Agribusiness would do to get what it wanted. The company, motivated by profits and expansion into world markets, and its staff, incentivized through bonuses and raises, might stop at nothing.

“I’m going to contact my journalist friend. Works for National Geographic. This would make a great story and bring international publicity to this problem. Get that asshole back,” Donna said.

“Good idea.”

It’s so frustrating to come out here,” Donna continued. “To want to do good and then you meet assholes like him. This is bullshit.” She hit the steering wheel with her fist.

“Why are you here, Donna? In Africa?” Winston asked, suddenly curious.

Donna paused and then spoke slowly, “I’ve come a long way.”

“From where?”

“Westchester County. Idyllic countryside suburb near New York City. Beautiful homes on lots of land, wealthy people but dysfunctional lives. I had to get out.”

Winston waited for her to continue.

“I was very angry.” She took a deep breath. “Angry at my parents. Dad is a Wall Street guy. Mom’s an attorney. Both were completely fucked, excuse my language, but that’s the only way I can describe it. It ended up in a nasty divorce. I was a product of their dysfunction. And all that money.”

“I’m sorry,” Winston said. He didn’t look at her, but just to the side of her, embarrassed by her language.

She shrugged. “Who gives a shit? I wanted to get away, far away. So after college, I joined the Peace Corps. Got sent to Benin. Thought there’d be, y’know, some fun and adventure.”

“Was there?”

“You know the answer.”

“What you got was no fun, lots of hard work. It completely changed your perspective on the world and yourself,” Winston said. He had heard this story many times. He sometimes felt the value of the Peace Corps was not just the work it did in Africa but its role in educating generations of young Americans about the world.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my story. The Africa-changed-me story. It opened my eyes. Made me realize my own ignorant-rich-girl suffering was pretty stupid, self-imposed indulgence stuff. I felt pretty dumb, considering real suffering was happening here every day. So I went back to get my PhD at Harvard. Now I’m here.”

“We need people like you.”

Winston was glad that for every Jim McCormack, luckily there was a Donna Burns. He also realized that Donna’s altruism surpassed his. He had wanted to use science to solve world poverty; he was motivated by proving a concept. She, on the other hand, had fallen in love with the country, the whole continent, for that matter. In contrast, she despised her own people. This was evident in the way she spoke about her fellow American, Jim McCormack. It was as if Donna was bearing the burden, the past crimes of her own country, and that was what caused her to act the way she did. It was a kind of apologetic altruism. She wanted to single-handedly make right all that her country had wronged.