The Other Side of Truth (14 page)

6 December 1995

My dear children,

I feel very bad about the way we said good-bye. The others have gone in for the evening meal but I came back to my room to write. Of course I have no big desk here like at home. But as I sit on my bed, with the pad resting against my knees, I can see you both so clearly. Sade, I can feel your strong grip. I am reminded of Rabbit holding on to Buffalo’s back for dear life so she would not drown as they crossed the river. I hated having to force your fingers to make you let go. More than anything, I want you both near me.

Femi, do you remember how you used to glare at me when you wanted us to play football but I had not finished my work? Mama would tell you to wait and I used to joke about you giving me “Bad Eye.” I wish we could have played together more. But be sure, we shall play again.

I want you to know that I shall do everything possible to be free before too long. Tomorrow Mrs. Appiah will speak to Mr. Nathan and I hope he will come to see
me soon. Then he can explain the truth about us to the authorities. I think they will understand why you used a different name—and why I tried to get through with the false passport. I hope they will then let me out so we can be together while they examine our request to stay here until it is safe for us to return home.

Your loving Papa

Wednesday 6 December, 11:30 p.m.

Dear Papa,

When you see the time above, you will say “Why is she not in bed sleeping?” I did try, but I just lay awake. We only got back here at nine o’clock. Auntie and Uncle were worried that we were late. But Mama Appiah said we should eat something before our journey back to London. She said hunger is a bad companion and she took us into Oxford to get fish and chips. She is very like Mama Buki. The fish and chips were good. I wish we could have shared them with you. Femi didn’t say a word but I saw that he liked the food. Papa, I am so ashamed of how I behaved. I know it wasn’t your fault we had to go. I am sorry. I always make things worse. Like not giving our proper name.

My eyelids are drooping now. There is still space below for Femi to add something in the morning. Please write to us.

Your loving daughter,

Sade

8 December 1995

My dear Femi and Sade,

I was so happy to hear your voices on the telephone last night. Even the few words you said to me, my dear son, Femi, they mean a lot to me. I long to hear more about how you are both getting on in your new schools. Perhaps, Femi, you will write like your sister?

I was very happy to receive your letter, Sade. You must not feel ashamed. It is only natural that you wanted us to stay together. Do not blame yourself for pretending your name was Adewale. It was, after all, Mama’s family name. Lying is not in your nature. Mama and I always brought you up to respect the truth. But you have both been thrown into a situation that has forced you to act secretly. Remember that it was your Uncle Tunde and I who sent you out of the country. No child should have to go through what you two have. But the dishonesty and rottenness of those who have power in our country have now gone very
deep. You know how much I hate cheating and doing things underhand. Yet I myself used another man’s passport.

Mr. Nathan came today. He is cautious (just like your Uncle Tunde) but he is also hopeful that the British Home Office will give me Temporary Admission when they realize we are one family. He is going to ask them to treat the matter urgently. After that he will help me apply for political asylum so that we can stay here longer. I have made friends in here with a teacher from Somalia and am learning a lot from him. He says asylum applications are hard and we shall have to be patient. Zoka who comes from Bosnia told us their saying “Patience can break through iron doors.” Your mama would have liked that. She would be pleased that I am also learning to be patient! It will be so much easier when we are together and we can help each other. As soon as I am free, I shall also begin the search for your Uncle Dele. His disappearance troubles me greatly.

In the meantime, please take good care of yourselves and each other. I hope to speak to you over the weekend. Give my very good wishes to your kind new auntie and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. King, and also to Mrs. Appiah. Write soon!

Your very loving Papa

P.S. I am drafting a letter to the Union of Journalists about the current situation for writers in Nigeria. They
all know about Ken Saro-Wiwa but there are many others. I hope they will also support my application for asylum.

Avon School Library,
Monday 11 December

Dear Papa,

It is dinnertime and you can see I have come to the library. It is quiet in here and I like it. Your letter is in my coat pocket. I think there are good secrets and bad secrets. Your letter is a good one inside my pocket. Even Femi changed his mood a little when he read it this morning. Aunt Gracie says when they let you go, you can sleep in the sitting room here until you can sort things out. Uncle Roy follows the news about Nigeria and says it will be an honor to have you in their home!

You would have liked our English lesson this morning, Papa. We watched a TV program called
Making News
. It is about what is happening around the world. Did you know there is going to be a sports boycott of Nigeria by some European countries? They are protesting against the hanging of Mr. Saro-Wiwa and the other Ogoni leaders. The chief presenter is the same man on the Seven O’Clock News every
night. But the other presenter is a child and she has to do real interviews. She only looked about my age. I would love to do that but I would be too nervous!

The work here at school is not a problem. In fact some of it is easier than at home, especially English! That surprised me. Most of the teachers are not so strict and some of the students are quite cheeky. I think they don’t learn very much about Africa here. Some even think Africa is just one country and one boy asked me if I speak African! In Lower Primary, Mr. Obiki made us learn the names of all the different countries and languages in Europe. Do you remember how scared I was of Mr. Obiki? When his right eyebrow shot up like a question mark, that meant big trouble! I am glad he wasn’t teaching me math this morning. His detective eyes would have seen my mind escaping from the classroom.

I am happy that you have some friends in prison like the teacher from Somalia. I am praying Mr. Nathan will be successful for you, Papa. There is something I need to talk to you about very badly.

That is the bell now.
O dabo
until later!

7 o’clock

Papa, I cannot believe they have said NO.
Mr. Nathan rang Mama Appiah and she came to tell us. Why won’t they believe us, Papa? WHY??? Aunt Gracie said we should ring you but there is no point. I will just be crying. It is better to be like Femi—like a little stone.

Midnight

Papa, I can’t hide this from you any longer. I can’t sleep until I tell you. Before Mama Appiah left she went into the kitchen with Aunt Gracie. I could tell they were going to talk about you. I know I was wrong to listen to a conversation not meant for me. I am becoming underhand, a sneaking kind of person. You and Mama never wanted me to be like that, but I can’t help it any more. Mama Appiah said Mr. Nathan is worried now about a bigger reason why they won’t let you out of prison. Is it true, Papa? Is it true that Nigerian Police want you FOR MAMA’S MURDER? Is it true they have asked British Police to send you home? HOW CAN THEY TELL SUCH A GREAT BIG LIE? If only Femi and I had told the truth about everything right at the beginning, then the people here would know this is a TERRIBLE DISGUSTING LIE.

Sade

SINCE THEIR VISIT
to the Detention Center, Sade had been holding on to Papa’s four little words, “We must be patient.” Yet there were so many things she desperately wanted to talk about with him. Talking about Mama would be the hardest of all. However, more immediately, she needed his advice about what to do about Mariam and, of course, Marcia. To her relief, Marcia and Donna had completely ignored her again since the trip to Daud’s Store. Neither of them had asked her why she had been away from school for two days afterward. But Mariam was also keeping away, sitting on the other side of the class. She was sure Mariam knew. What made it worse was that she was guilty not only of theft. Mariam had thought she was a friend and had confided in her. She was guilty of betrayal. Not knowing what to say or do, Sade had been avoiding Mariam too. With Papa’s unexpected arrival, she had managed to push all of that to the back of her mind.

However, with this latest news, once again everything was spinning wildly out of control. She had a vision of Papa being bundled on to a plane by the Eyes and the Fingers.
How would “We must be patient” help then? Who would even know what was happening to Papa apart from themselves? That would surely suit the Eyes and the Fingers.

Out of sight, out of mind
.

That would suit the Brass Buttons too.

When eventually she fell asleep in the early hours of the morning, Sade had a dream that was quite different from those that had been troubling her before.

She is sitting in a large empty classroom, her eyes fixed on a television screen. The Seven O’Clock News man moves his lips, but the screen is silent. He is in a desert and his pale hair is windblown, dusted with fine dry red sand. Like that swept down from the Sahara by the harmattan. His eyes concentrate down on her, narrowing, straining to see through the haze. She can tell from the way he leans forward that he is talking about something serious. Suddenly a photograph flashes on to the screen. It is of a round-faced man with daring eyes, a broad handsome smile and a pipe with a curved stem. Mr. Saro-Wiwa! Other faces follow that she doesn’t recognize. The camera switches to a studio. The red dust vanishes, but Mr. Seven O’Clock’s eyes remain narrowed on Sade. Swiveling sideways, he lowers his gaze toward someone shorter at the desk beside him. She is startled to find herself staring at herself
.

When Sade’s alarm buzzed in the morning, her head felt heavy as if it wanted to pull her back into sleep. But an idea was already hazily trying to enter her mind. Gradually it became clearer and sharper, demanding that she think about
it. By the time Aunt Gracie knocked on her door, calling that it was time to get up, the idea had turned into a plan.

When Sade came downstairs for breakfast, Aunt Gracie did not reveal anything of what Mama Appiah had told her the night before. Sade could tell that she was trying hard to be bright as she prepared their cereal and sandwiches. When the telephone rang, Sade guessed it was Papa. Would he also try to keep back the awful news?

Papa, however, spoke openly about the latest turn in events. Matters were too serious to hide from them. This trumped-up charge against him proved that the government had a hand in Mama’s murder and they were trying to cover up their crime. There was no time to lose. Mr. Nathan would make an immediate appeal and write to the British Home Secretary, while Papa would send his letter to the Union of Journalists. Sade listened. Papa was talking the way he used to speak with Mama. Each time his newspaper had to tackle a new problem with the authorities, he would talk through their plans with Mama.

“If our strategy and tactics are right, we can hold out against them. They have the power, but we have intelligence!”

Now Mama was dead and Uncle Tunde was far away, whom could Papa talk to? So he was explaining to her, his daughter.

“I don’t believe the British will send me back. Anyway, not so soon after the Saro-Wiwa affair.” Papa’s voice had been steady but now he hesitated.

“I don’t want you and Femi to worry. Let me talk to Femi now.”

Femi held the receiver like a wooden statue. Apart from tiny humming grunts, he didn’t reply to Papa. Sade took the receiver back to say
o dabo
. Papa’s voice had become very quiet.

Sade waited until she had closed the latch on the gate and was walking beside her brother. The bare trees along the pavement stretched upward like elderly hands with knuckled fingers, begging.

“I know a way to help Papa. Will you come with me after school?”

“Where?” Femi frowned at her suspiciously.

“I can’t tell you yet. I have to check something first. Both of us must go,” Sade declared calmly.

“What will Auntie say?”

“I’ll ring her—after school. I’ll tell her that we’ll be late. This is very important, Femi.”

“I’ll miss my programs if I go.”

Sade swung to a halt. She grabbed Femi’s arm and made him face her.

“What’s wrong with you? This is more important than watching TV! It’s not playing. Don’t you want to help Papa?” she demanded. A glimmer of hurt flickered in Femi’s eyes before they shut themselves in again. He remained silent, his jaw set tight.

“Well, if you want to help, meet me at the bus stop opposite your school. I’ll be there at three-thirty.” Sade tugged sharply at her rucksack straps and marched ahead. Farther down the road, guilt began to niggle at her for leaving Femi
like that. She needed him for her plan. But it was no use begging, or even prodding, him. He would simply retreat more into his shell. No, she just had to face him roughly with the choice. Either he helped Papa or he didn’t. But even if he did not come, she would still have to carry it through, as best as she could, on her own.

At break, Sade hurried to the library. On previous days, she had watched the librarian help students who came with different questions. Mrs. Howe would point them to the right books or to the computer. Throughout the morning’s lessons Sade had silently tried out various ways of asking her question. Everything depended on it. She might have asked her English teacher, but was worried that Mr. Morris would become curious and ask unwelcome questions. She was not yet ready for that. She was at the top of the stairs leading to the library, when she almost came face to face with Mariam. Sade turned aside so hastily, and pushed open the library door so forcefully, that she would not have been surprised if Mrs. Howe had sent her right back out. The librarian flared with annoyance, ready to order the noise vandal out. But as she met Sade’s eyes, her anger strangely dropped.

“What is it?” she asked evenly.

“Excuse me,” Sade’s voice fell to a whisper. “I need the address for the Seven O’Clock News—the television studio—please.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sade eased her way through students crowding the stairs and corridors with the address on a piece
of paper in her pocket. It was somewhere near the center of London, according to Mrs. Howe. At lunchtime, Sade returned to the library to study a map. On the back of the paper with the address, she drew a rough map and wrote in the names of roads and places that she would need to recognize. She would ask at the bus stop which was the right bus. She and Femi had managed it once before all on their own. It should be easier now, she told herself. Nor was she worried about the fares, having saved most of her pocket money from Aunt Gracie. Her biggest worry was Femi. She fervently hoped that he would come with her. She needed him for her plan as much as she needed his company.

Sade reached the bus shelter at half-past three and scanned the small group of waiting passengers. No Femi huddling among them. Only a couple of children were still waiting outside Greenslades School. They wound their arms around their coats to keep out the wind whipping down the street. Femi must have gone back to his television programs. Aunt Gracie would have a piece of cake and a drink waiting for him and the house would be warm. She couldn’t blame him. She should have explained more of her plan to him instead of being so secretive. But she had told him it was for Papa. Didn’t he care?

Sade looked for a notice about the buses. A small board, with the glass broken, indicated the place where there had once been information about bus numbers and routes. Her eyes trailed across to Femi’s school again. The two children had gone and the school looked deserted. If she was already
feeling cold and lonely, it was going to be far worse later this evening. She was wondering whom to ask about the bus when someone tugged her coat. She swung around. Femi had come after all! She could have hugged him. Instead she grinned.

“Where we are going?” he asked solemnly.