The Other Side of Truth (13 page)

SADE’S SLEEP WAS TROUBLED
and her nightmare about Mama was even more distorted. Not only was Marcia there pointing at her as she crouched beside Mama’s body, but this time Marcia accused her.

“It’s your fault, little liar!”

But when the embroidered bedspread with its crimson stain was pulled back, Mama wasn’t there. Instead a baby girl with Mariam’s eyes stared lifelessly up at her.

In the morning Aunt Gracie took Sade’s temperature. It was above normal and Aunt Gracie declared that she should stay in the house.

“It may just be a touch of flu, you know, but you don’t look right to me, mi dear.”

But when Femi complained he also wasn’t feeling well, Aunt Gracie said that she was sure he would be all right once he got to school. Just as Femi seemed ready to dig his heels in, the telephone rang. It was Mama Appiah wanting to talk to them about something important. On hearing that Sade would be at home, Mama Appiah said she would call in
during the morning. Femi arched his eyebrows like two bows drawn and ready to fire. But Aunt Gracie disarmed him first.

“Well, Femi, it looks like you should stay! Mrs. Appiah wants to see you both,” she said.

Although her brother didn’t exactly smile, Sade recognized his little look of victory.

Questions raced through Sade’s head as she pulled on her tracksuit. Had the Immigration people found something wrong? Or was there news of Uncle Dele? It must be something urgent or Mama Appiah would have waited until her visit at the end of the week. But just as she was coming down the stairs, her stomach suddenly seemed to lurch beneath her. Mama Appiah had heard about her stealing the lighter! Mariam’s uncle must have realized what was missing and they had worked out it was her. Mariam must have seen her after all! Then her uncle must have gone to the police, who contacted the social workers. Iyawo-Jenny had told Mama Appiah. All these people knew she was a thief! Halfway down the stairs, Sade wheeled around and scuttled back up toward her bedroom. She pushed past Femi on the landing. She slammed her door behind her. Fully clothed, she dived back into bed, burying herself deep under the quilt.

A couple of hours later, Sade sat with arms tightly folded next to Mama Appiah. Femi sat on a separate little stool. From fingertips to toes, Sade tingled with cold. The orange-blue tongues that flickered up from the gas fire that looked like coals made no difference at all. She listened to Mama Appiah
agree with Aunt Gracie that “Sade doesn’t seem right” and stared dully at the dancing patterns of light as Mama Appiah asked Uncle Roy and Aunt Gracie to stay in the sitting room. They too had to know that she was a thief.

“Tell me,” Mama Appiah began. Sade’s head curled inward, like a snail that has lost its shell. Mama Appiah and the Kings had no need to prod her. Her guilt was plain to see.

“Tell me,” Mama Appiah repeated, “Sade and Femi, do you know Mr. Folarin Solaja?”

Sade’s head shot up and Femi’s eyes widened.

“Papa!” he cried.

Mama Appiah’s eyes traveled gravely from Femi to Sade. The little bird-tails at the end of her kingfisher-blue
gele
shimmered, waiting. Sade’s hand covered her mouth.

“He…he is our father!” The words squeezed through Sade’s fingers.

“Well, truly there must be a guardian angel looking after you!” The bird-tails bobbed. “With your names Sade and Femi Adewale, your father might never have found you!”

It seemed unbelievable. Papa was already here in England! Mama Appiah had actually met him! He had told her his story. Their story. How his wife had been shot at their home in Lagos and he had sent his two children immediately to London. His younger brother was meant to take care of them. But by the time he had realized that his brother Dele was missing, the children had already been sent. He was frantically worried. He had no idea where his children were, who they were with and whether they were safe. Their names were Sade and Femi.

Sade bit her thumb so hard, it pained. But where was Papa? Why hadn’t Mama Appiah brought him with her? Then the full story hit her. Yes, Papa was here, in England, but he was in detention. In prison! Femi’s eyes, which had momentarily lit up, were now awash with tears. Papa had attempted to come into the country with the false passport he had to use to escape! He had been so worried about his children that all he wanted to do was to find them before asking the government for political asylum.

“I’m afraid your daddy didn’t know the rules,” Mama Appiah explained. “You have to tell your story—ask for asylum—the moment you arrive. If someone uses a false passport first and the immigration officers then find them out, it’s too late. They won’t believe their real story.”

Sade was stunned. The immigration officers thought Papa was a liar!

The truth is the truth. How can I write what’s untrue?

Papa, who always believed in telling the truth, had kept quiet. Until it was too late. Because he had been frantic to find his children.

Aunt Gracie slipped quietly on to the settee. She wrapped her arm around Sade, who was trembling. Femi hunched himself into a taut little figure on his stool. He had been fiercely trying to wipe his tears away.

“Tell us, Mrs. Appiah, how did you find the children’s father?” Uncle Roy’s bass voice steadied Sade enough to listen to the rest of Mama Appiah’s story.

“A miracle! An absolute miracle, Mr. King! I had to visit a boy who has been detained by Immigration. They say he’s
eighteen so they locked him up. But we think he’s younger.”

Femi straightened up a little at the mention of the boy.

“So I went to Heathlands Detention Center where they keep detainees. Your daddy heard that someone from the Refugee Council was visiting this boy and he requested to see me. He asked if I knew two children with the surname Solaja. I said no.” Mama Appiah turned to Sade. “But when he said the names Sade and Femi—and the dates fitted—I was ninety-nine percent sure it was you two.”

Sade hung her head even though it was pointless trying to hide her tears. Papa was here, in England, behind bars.

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Mama Appiah quietly. “Sometimes people don’t tell the truth because they are so desperate. I am sure that’s what happened with you two and, I am very sure, with your father.”

Sade’s sniffs seemed much louder in her own head than Mama Appiah’s voice and she strained to hear every word.

“From what he told me, I think he must be a very brave man. You must be very proud of him.”

Sade detected Femi sitting up a little straighter as Mama Appiah spoke about Papa. Her mind was bobbing like a cork trapped below a waterfall.

“Do you know, Mr. and Mrs. King,” Mama Appiah continued, “that these children’s father is a writer? He showed me two articles. What strong words! He had to smuggle them out.”

“Well, well—and these two never said a word!” Uncle Roy’s voice rumbled into a deep spray of laughter.

Sade couldn’t help smiling as she blinked back her tears.

Before leaving, Mama Appiah asked if she could ring Heathlands Detention Center to arrange a visit for the children. Sade and Femi clung nervously close as they listened to her spelling out their first names and then S-O-L-A-J-A. There was, however, yet one more surprise.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Solaja, please,” Mama Appiah asked, then held out the receiver to the children. They stared at each other in disbelief. Was it really possible that they could speak to Papa right away? While he was in prison? Sade lifted the receiver uncertainly to her ear. Tinny music was squeaking out. Then suddenly it was switched off, followed by a couple of clicks. A voice—Papa’s voice—was saying “Hello.”

FOR THE FIRST TIME
since arriving in England, Femi invited Sade to play Ayo with him. The smooth blue-brown pebbles trickled through their fingers, swooping in and out of the rows of cups carved into the wooden board. Each tried to hide their excitement and neither spoke of Papa. From Ayo they shifted to cards. Rummy and Patience.

But alone in the shadows of the night, Sade found herself adrift once again. She tossed in her bed thinking about Papa, trying to shut out memories from their last terrible day at home. Yet as soon as she blanked those out, other awful pictures slunk in. Papa lying on a narrow metal bed in a cold dark cell with only a tiny barred window for light. Someone in a white coat like Hawk Man grasping Papa’s hand, forcing his fingers on to an inkpad. Handcuffs snapped onto Papa’s wrists. Sade tried to chase these pictures away by recalling Papa’s voice on the telephone.

Thank God you are both safe
.

She had been too numb to capture the rest. Everything was jumbled in her brain. Papa speaking from inside a prison yet his words escaping like a genie from a bottle.

In the morning, Sade willed the hands on the clock to hurry as they waited for Mama Appiah. Femi tried to cover up his nervousness, but Sade could tell he was wound up like a spring. When at last they were seated in Mama Appiah’s old beige Ford, with Femi in front and Sade behind, the car seemed painfully slow. It nudged its way through mile upon mile of crowded London streets. Even when they reached the highway, that too was choked with traffic. It was only after passing a large green sign with a white arrow pointing to Oxford that Sade felt they were finally taking off. She tapped Femi’s shoulder.

“Do you remember Tortoise when he flew to the feast in the sky?”

Mama Appiah chuckled. “I know that story too! I couldn’t make this old car fly even if I wanted to!”

Sade edged back into her seat as the car rattled and shook along a road that snaked between fields of brown earth and gray-green hills. The scenery outside was like a film. Or a fairy story. Nothing would be real until they saw Papa. But how strange that his prison was near Oxford!

Two enormous books stand on Papa’s desk like fat generals in royal blue uniform, each with a red and green stripe on his cap. They are wedged upright between a pair of gleaming ebony Oko and Iyawo heads that are twice as large and stout as the couple on Sade’s own desk. The two volumes of
The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary
hold place of honor in Papa’s study. Mama says that each is almost as heavy as a new
born baby. Treat them with care. Open them only on the table itself so their spines do not break. Sade loves the row of little fingernail half-moons slanting down along the right-hand side, each with its own gold letter of the alphabet. Papa tries to leave a small space clear of papers so the dictionary can be consulted without him being troubled. But sometimes, if he is working at his desk, he stops to ask what word she is seeking. Sade much prefers to consult “the Oxford,” as they call it, rather than her school dictionary
.

The name Heathlands did not sound like a prison. But when Sade and Femi clambered out into the country lane where Mama Appiah parked, they stared up at a six-meter-high wire fence topped with great loops of barbed wire. Behind the thick poles and the wire, a cluster of large brown brick buildings loomed above a tarmac yard. Every window was barred. Was Papa behind one of them? Waiting, watching. Impatiently they both searched the rows of windows, but the bars were too dense and the glass too dark to see anyone or anything.

As they approached a metal gate in the fence, there was a curious buzzing. Slowly the gate swung open as if pulled by some invisible force. A small square office overlooked the gate and, through the large plate-glass window, Sade glimpsed three figures in black and white uniforms. Once again they were entering the territory of the Eyes.

Inside, at the desk ahead of them, a visitor was arguing.

“It’s only fruit for my friend! You can check it!”

“We’re sorry, sir, but it’s not allowed. Your friend gets fruit at mealtimes.”

“Not like this! I bought pineapple and mangoes especially! Check them!”

The Eyes continued to refuse. They were polite but the answer remained no. Finally, when the man agreed to leave behind his bag of fruit, it was their turn at the desk. The Eyes and The Fingers inspected the contents of Mama Appiah’s bag. Stepping through the metal-detector door frame, Sade surveyed the stretch of open tarmac leading to the next high wire barrier. Looking upward, she spotted the cameras.

They followed a guard through two further gates before entering a building with a heavily locked door. Mama Appiah shepherded the children into a large room lined with red chairs. People sat talking quietly in small groups and pairs. Anxiously Sade and Femi scanned them. Papa wasn’t there.

“They’ll send for your daddy now,” Mama Appiah reassured. “He’ll be here very soon.”

It could have been a waiting room anywhere, with a machine for canned drinks in one corner. Mama Appiah had explained that Heathlands was a prison for people who wanted to live in England but who came without permission.

“It doesn’t look like prison,” Femi muttered to Sade.

“See there, in the corner,” she whispered. There were cameras by the ceiling. The Eyes were everywhere.

They hovered close to the glass door. Through it they could watch the entrance desk where two officers sat chatting. The lady officer had smiled at the children when they entered, but neither Sade nor Femi had responded. How could they smile at Papa’s jailers? Papa was locked up behind all the wire and bars just like he was a criminal. Sade kept her
eyes trained on the corridor beyond the desk. Every time a figure appeared in its distant shadows, her fingernails dug deeper into her palms. Mama Appiah suggested that the children sit down, but both shook their heads, choosing to stay rooted near the door.

At last a familiar figure, but looking strangely different, came striding past the desk without even glancing at it. Toward the glass door, toward them. Papa! It was Papa, wasn’t it? Behind a short beard and mustache, the face broke into a well-known smile. He pushed the glass aside and, in a great arc, his arms swept up the children. Sade felt all stiffness give way as Papa pressed them to his chest. With Papa’s breath in her hair, the tears spurted hotly down her cheeks. They soaked into her father’s shirt as she heard his choking voice repeat their names.

A little later, they sat on the red visitor chairs, the children on each side of Papa. There was a brief awkward silence as they struggled to find the words to begin.

“Papa, why did you grow a beard? And a mustache?” Femi wrinkled his nose. Sade wondered how her brother had managed to remain dry-eyed.

“It makes you different, Papa! I almost thought it wasn’t you!” said Sade.

“You look like Uncle Tunde! It’s—” Femi broke off.

“You’ve noticed my new gray hairs, have you?” Papa smiled. “Well, it was your uncle’s idea! To change my looks as much as possible.”

Their father looked thinner, especially in this narrow white shirt with buttons and not one of his usual free-flowing
agbadas
, but Sade didn’t want to say it.

Papa wanted them to tell him everything. When he and Uncle Tunde had found they could not contact Uncle Dele, they had become very worried. The agent assured them that Mrs. Bankole would be taking good care of the children but said he had no way of contacting her. They suspected that he wasn’t telling the truth yet there was nothing they could do except wait for the passport to be arranged.

“We tried to ring you, Papa,” Sade said. “But the line was dead!”

“The police were looking for me. They cut off the phone. But now I want to hear all about you two. Until I met this good lady”—Papa’s low voice almost sang the words “good lady” as he smiled at Mama Appiah—“I was almost losing my mind.”

There was so much to tell Papa. Too much. Desertion at Victoria Station. The shock of Uncle Dele missing. Darth Vader of the alley grabbing their bag. Video Man accusing them and calling the police. Mrs. Graham taking them in, Kevin complaining. The awful Asylum Screening Unit…But also Iyawo-Jenny, Mama Appiah, Mr. Nathan…and of course Aunt Gracie and Uncle Roy, who were trying so hard to make them feel at home. Papa nodded with satisfaction when he heard that they were both in school. However, Sade mentioned nothing about Marcia nor about Mariam. After the earlier hugging and excitement, Femi was quieter. He said little about Greenslades Primary. Even when he was looking up at Papa, Sade thought her brother’s eyes seemed lost inside him.

In the end the conversation returned to how lucky they were to have found each other again. Sade began to explain to
Papa why she had given a false surname and suddenly, without warning, she was crying again. Both Papa and Mama Appiah comforted her. All was not yet lost, they said. Mr. Nathan would take on Papa’s case. He would explain to the Immigration people that Sade and Femi were actually Papa’s children. He would ask them to release Papa to be with them, at least while they considered his case.

The afternoon slipped away. It came as a shock when the guard announced that all visitors had to leave. Sade hadn’t yet asked anything about Mama. She hadn’t yet found the words to ask where and how Mama had been buried. Nor had she brought herself to ask about Grandma. She wanted to know. Needed to know. But they were being told to go away! Femi stalked across to the door. He looked so small, tight and lonely, as if shutting himself in once again. Sade clung to Papa. Could they not stay here with him?

“I’m afraid they won’t allow it.”

She glimpsed a slight quivering around his mouth before the muscles tightened. Fiercely she wound her arms around him.

“Don’t worry, children. This won’t be for long. We shall talk on the phone. We shall be together very, very soon. We must be patient.” Papa softly repeated his reassurances. But the more she heard, the tighter she held on. Papa talking about being patient didn’t sound like him at all. Mama Appiah’s hand lightly touched her shoulder.

“All visitors must leave right away.” The guard held open the glass door. Sade wanted to shout:
“We’re not visitors. This is our father.”

She shut her mind to all the words around her until gradually she felt Papa’s strong fingers very gently prizing her away. The same fingers that a little while ago had been pressing her close. It was too much to bear. She let go and ran headlong toward the glass door, her sight blurred with tears, her head throbbing.

“
O dabo, Sade! O dabo, Femi!
Good-bye, Mrs. Appiah! Thank you.” Papa’s stifled voice followed as if from a great distance.

Unable to bear seeing Papa left by himself, Sade did not turn around.