Girls at War (6 page)

“Madame, you were coming to me,” complained the cheated girl at the next machine.

“Ah, sorry my dear. Next time.”

“Good afternoon, Madame,” sang the sweet-voiced girl already unloading Madame’s purchases on to her counter.

“Cash or account, Madame?”

“Cash.”

She punched the prices as fast as lightning and announced the verdict. Nine pounds fifteen and six. Mrs. Emenike opened her handbag, brought out from it a wallet, unzipped it and held out two clean and crisp five-pound notes. The girl punched again and the machine released a tray of cash. She put Madame’s money away and gave her her change and a foot-long
receipt. Mrs. Emenike glanced at the bottom of the long strip of paper where the polite machine had registered her total spending with the words
THANK YOU COME AGAIN
, and nodded.

It was at this point that the first hitch occurred. There seemed to be nobody around to load Madame’s purchases into a carton and take them to her car outside.

“Where are these boys?” said the girl almost in distress. “Sorry, Madame. Many of our carriers have gone away because of this free primary … John!” she called out, as she caught sight of one of the remaining few, “Come and pack Madame’s things!”

John was a limping forty-year-old boy sweating profusely even in the air-conditioned comfort of the supermarket. As he put the things into an empty carton he grumbled aloud.

“I don talk say make una tell Manager make e go fin’ more people for dis monkey work.”

“You never hear say everybody don go to free primary?” asked the wigged girl, jovially.

“All right-o. But I no go kill myself for sake of free primary.”

Out in the car-park he stowed the carton away in the boot of Mrs. Emenike’s grey Mercedes and then straightened up to wait while she opened her handbag and then her wallet and stirred a lot of coins there with one finger until she found a threepenny piece, pulled it out between two fingers and dropped it into the carrier’s palm. He hesitated for a while and then limped away without saying a word.

Mrs. Emenike never cared for these old men running little boys’ errands. No matter what you gave them they never seemed satisfied. Look at this grumbling cripple. How much did he expect to be
given for carrying a tiny carton a few yards? That was what free primary education had brought. It had brought even worse to the homes, Mrs. Emenike had lost three servants including her baby-nurse since the beginning of the school year. The baby-nurse problem was of course the worst. What was a working woman with a seven-month-old baby supposed to do?

However the problem did not last. After only a term of free education the government withdrew the scheme for fear of going bankrupt. It would seem that on the advice of its experts the Education Ministry had planned initially for eight hundred thousand children. In the event one million and a half turned up on the first day of school. Where did all the rest come from? Had the experts misled the government? The chief statistician, interviewed on the radio, said it was nonsense to talk about a miscalculation. The trouble was simply that children from neighbouring states had been brought in in thousands and registered dishonestly by unscrupulous people, a clear case of sabotage.

Whatever the reason the government cancelled the scheme. The
New Age
wrote an editorial praising the Prime Minister for his statesmanship and courage but pointing out that the whole dismal affair could have been avoided if the government had listened in the first place to the warning of many knowledgeable and responsible citizens. Which was true enough, for these citizens had written on the pages of the
New Age
to express their doubt and reservation about free education. The newspaper, on throwing open its pages to a thorough airing of views on the matter, had pointed out that it did so in the national cause and, mounting an old hobby-horse, challenged those of its critics who could see no merit whatever in a newspaper owned by foreign capital to come forward and demonstrate an
equal or a higher order of national commitment and patriotism, a challenge that none of those critics took up. The offer of space by the
New Age
was taken up eagerly and in the course of ten days at the rate of two or even three articles a day a large number of responsible citizens—lawyers, doctors, merchants, engineers, salesmen, insurance brokers, university lecturers, etc.—had written in criticism of the scheme. No one was against education for the kids, they said, but free education was premature. Someone said that not even the United States of America in all its wealth and power had introduced it yet, how much less …

Mr. Emenike read the various contributions with boyish excitement. “I wish civil servants were free to write to the papers,” he told his wife at least on three occasions during those ten days.

“This is not bad, but he should have mentioned that this country has made tremendous strides in education since independence because parents know the value of education and will make any sacrifice to find school fees for their children. We are not a nation of Oliver Twists.”

His wife was not really interested in all the argument at that stage, because somehow it all seemed to hang in the air. She had some vague, personal doubts about free education, that was all.

“Have you looked at the paper? Mike has written on this thing,” said her husband on another occasion.

“Who is Mike?”

“Mike Ogudu.”

“Oh, what does he say?”

“I haven’t read it yet … Oh yes, you can trust Mike to call a spade a spade. See how he begins: ‘Free primary education is tantamount to naked Communism’?
That’s not quite true but that’s Mike all over. He thinks someone might come up to nationalize his shipping line. He is so scared of Communism.”

“But who wants Communism here?”

“Nobody. That’s what I told him the other evening at the Club. But he is so scared. You know one thing? Too much money is bad-o.”

The discussion in the Emenike family remained at this intellectual level until one day their “Small Boy,” a very bright lad of twelve helping out the cook and understudying the steward, announced he must go home to see his sick father.

“How did you know your Father was sick?” asked Madame.

“My brodder come tell me.”

“When did your brother come?”

“Yesterday for evening-time.”

“Why didn’t you bring him to see me?”

“I no no say Madame go wan see am.”

“Why you no talk since yesterday?” asked Mr. Emenike looking up from his newspaper.

“At first I tink say I no go go home. But today one mind tell me say make you go see-am-o; perhaps e de sick too much. So derefore …”

“All right. You can go but make sure you are back by tomorrow afternoon otherwise …”

“I must return back by morning-time sef.”

He didn’t come back. Mrs. Emenike was particularly angry because of the lies. She didn’t like being outwitted by servants. Look at that little rat imagining himself clever. She should have suspected something from the way he had been carrying on of late. Now he had gone with a full month’s pay which he should lose in lieu of notice. It went to show that kindness to these people did not pay in the least.

A week later the gardener gave notice. He didn’t try to hide anything. His elder brother had sent him a message to return to their village and register for free education. Mr. Emenike tried to laugh him out of this ridiculous piece of village ignorance.

“Free primary education is for children. Nobody is going to admit an old man like you. How old are you?”

“I am fifteen years of old, sir.”

“You are three,” sneered Mrs. Emenike. “Come and suck breast.”

“You are not fifteen,” said Mr. Emenike. “You are at least twenty and no headmaster will admit you into a primary school. If you want to go and try, by all means do. But don’t come back here when you’ve gone and failed.”

“I no go fail,
o
ga,” said the gardener. “One man for our village wey old pass my fader sef done register everyting finish. He just go for Magistrate Court and pay dem five shilling and dey swear-am for Court juju wey no de kill porson; e no fit kill rat sef.”

“Well it’s entirely up to you. Your work here has been good but …”

“Mark, what is all that long talk for? He wants to go, let him go.”

“Madame, no be say I wan go like dat. But my senior brodder …”

“We have heard. You can go now.”

“But I no de go today. I wan give one week notice. And I fit find anoder gardener for Madame.”

“Don’t worry about notice or gardener. Just go away.”

“I fit get my pay now or I go come back for afternoontime?”

“What pay?”

“Madame, for dis ten days I don work for dis mont.”

“Don’t annoy me any further. Just go away.”

But real annoyance was yet to come for Mrs. Emenike. Abigail, the baby-nurse, came up to her two mornings later as she was getting ready for work and dumped the baby in her lap and took off. Abigail of all people! After all she had done for her. Abigail who came to her full of craw-craw, who used rags for sanitary towels, who was so ignorant she gave the baby a full bowl of water to stop it crying and dropped some through its nose. Now Abigail was a lady; she could sew and bake, wear a bra and clean pants, put on powder and perfumes and stretch her hair; and she was ready to go.

From that day Mrs. Emenike hated the words “free primary” which had suddenly become part of everyday language, especially in the villages where they called it “free primadu.” She was particularly angry when people made jokes about it and had a strong urge to hit them on the head for a lack of feeling and good taste. And she hated the Americans and the embassies (but particularly the Americans) who threw their money around and enticed the few remaining servants away from Africans. This began when she learnt later that her gardener had not gone to school at all but to a Ford Foundation man who had offered him seven pounds, and bought him a bicycle and a Singer sewing-machine for his wife.

“Why do they do it?” she asked. She didn’t really want or need an answer but her husband gave one all the same.

“Because,” said he, “back home in America they couldn’t possibly afford a servant. So when they come out here and find them so cheap they go crazy. That’s why.”

Three months later free primary ended and school
fees were brought back. The government was persuaded by then that its “piece of hare-brained socialism” as the
New Age
called it was unworkable in African conditions. This was a jibe at the Minister of Education who was notorious for his leftist sympathies and was perpetually at war with the formidable Minister of Finance.

“We cannot go through with this scheme unless we are prepared to impose new taxes,” said the Finance Minister at a Cabinet meeting.

“Well then, let’s impose the taxes,” said the Minister of Education, which provoked derisive laughter from all his colleagues and even from Permanent Secretaries like Mr. Emenike who were in attendance and who in strict protocol should not participate in debate or laughter.

“We can’t,” said the Finance Minister indulgently with laughter still in his mouth. “I know my right honourable friend here doesn’t worry whether or not this government lasts its full term, but some of us others do. At least I want to be here long enough to retire my election debts …”

This was greeted with hilarious laughter and cries of “Hear! Hear!” In debating skill Education was no match for Finance. In fact Finance had no equal in the entire Cabinet, the Prime Minister included.

“Let us make no mistake about it,” he continued with a face and tone now serious, “if anyone is so foolish as to impose new taxes now on our longsuffering masses …”

“I thought we didn’t have masses in Africa,” interrupted the Minister of Education starting a meagre laughter that was taken up in good sport by one or two others.

*   *   *

“I am sorry to trespass in my right honourable friend’s territory; communist slogans are so infectious. But as I was saying we should not talk lightly about new taxes unless we are prepared to bring the Army out to quell tax riots. One simple fact of life which we have come to learn rather painfully and reluctantly—and I’m not so sure even now that we have all learnt it—is that people do riot against taxes but not against school fees. The reason is simple. Everybody, even a motor-park tout, knows what school fees are for. He can see his child going to school in the morning and coming back in the afternoon. But you go and tell him about general taxation and he immediately thinks that government is stealing his money from him. One other point, if a man doesn’t want to pay school fees he doesn’t have to, after all this is a democratic society. The worst that can happen is that his child stays at home which he probably doesn’t mind at all. But taxes are different; everybody must pay whether they want to or not. The difference is pretty sharp. That’s why mobs riot.” A few people said “Hear! Hear!” Others just let out exhalations of relief or agreement. Mr. Emenike who had an unrestrainable admiration for the Finance Minister and had been nodding like a lizard through his speech shouted his “Hear! Hear!” too loud and got a scorching look from the Prime Minister.

A few desultory speeches followed and the government took its decision not to abolish free primary education but to suspend it until all the relevant factors had been thoroughly examined.

One little girl of ten, named Veronica, was brokenhearted. She had come to love school as an escape
from the drabness and arduous demands of home. Her mother, a near-destitute widow who spent all hours of the day in the farm and, on market days, in the market left Vero to carry the burden of caring for the younger children. Actually only the youngest, aged one, needed much looking after. The other two, aged seven and four, being old enough to fend for themselves, picking palm-kernels and catching grasshoppers to eat, were no problem at all to Vero. But Mary was different. She cried a lot even after she had been fed her midmorning foo-foo and soup saved for her (with a little addition of water to the soup) from breakfast which was itself a diluted left-over from last night’s supper. Mary could not manage palm-kernels on her own account yet so Vero half-chewed them first before passing them on to her. But even after the food and the kernels and grasshoppers and the bowls of water Mary was rarely satisfied, even though her belly would be big and tight like a drum and shine like a mirror.