Harmattan (12 page)

It was my father who had encouraged us to address Aunt Alassane in such a formal manner. My mother never spoke about her. Once, when I had taken Fatima to the
dispensaire
to have a damaged toenail removed, I had overheard Sushie and some visiting VCI officials discussing the ‘health risks of the Big House’. I was not then certain that it was Aunt Alassane’s home to which they were referring, but I had a fairly good idea that it might be.

‘You remind your father that he promised to fix my roof, girl. Okay?’ she said, as we continued on our separate ways.

‘Toh.’

‘Tell him to come and see me soon.’ She gave us a great, toothy smile. Like a crocodile, I thought: a pretty, dangerous crocodile.

Miriam and I watched her as she continued on her way. Her broad hips swayed like those women in movies and she swung her bag, plump with onions and peppers, like a schoolgirl.

‘What age do you think she is, Miriam?’ I said.

‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Who cares? She’s a witch!’

I didn’t want to admit it, but she had said exactly what I was thinking.

At home, Fatima was watering Mother’s okio patch. She was not in good form.

‘What’s wrong with you,
Bébé Boureima
?’ I said. She did not answer. I tried again. ‘Why do you scowl so?’

‘I want to go to school too!’ she said, sulkily. ‘You get to go to school and I have to do all your work!’

‘I have to go to school
and
work,’ I said.

‘It’s not fair,’ Fatima said. ‘Can’t you ask those
anasaras
to let me go to school too?’

‘I don’t think it is quite as simple as that,’ I answered. ‘Besides, I think you are still too young.’

She kicked at the empty pail by her feet. ‘Hmmphh! Father says even Adamou is going to go to school soon – and he’s a stupid boy!’

‘Perhaps,’ I said, setting my schoolbag down. ‘And perhaps you will go to school one day also, Fatima.’

She looked at me sceptically. ‘Now I have to help Mother pound the stupid millet!’ she said.

‘I will help you.’

She allowed herself a little smile.

I put my hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on,
Bébé Boureima
,’ I said. ‘Let’s find Mother.’

‘Toh
,’ said Fatima. ‘But I’m not a baby!’

I should have noticed how silent the compound was when we entered it. Apart from the clucking of our few chickens as they scratched around in the dust, there was no sound.‘Mother?’ I called, expecting, I suppose, to see her emerge from the house.

There was no reply.

‘Azara?’ Fatima called out, cheekily, a great grin on her face. Again nothing.

‘Are you certain that she was not going to the river?’ I asked my sister.

‘She was pounding millet when I went to tend the okio,’ Fatima said. ‘She told me to hurry back to help her.’

‘Toh
.’ I stood still for a few moments, wondering where she might be.

I walked instinctively around to the back of our house, not expecting to find her there at all.

But find her there I did. She was lying, face down, in a mess of millet and sand. ‘Mother!’ I cried.

Fatima came running to my side. ‘What’s wrong with her, Haoua?’ she said.

I was already on my knees, shaking the limp body. A faint groan told me that she was alive. I turned quickly and grabbed Fatima by the shoulders. ‘Listen, Fatima,’ I said. ‘She’s going to be all right. But we need Sushie. Now! Run as fast as you can!’

Fatima nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. In a flash she was gone.

I did not know what to do. ‘What if Sushie has gone to Goteye?’ I asked myself. ‘What if… oh please don’t die, Mother!’ I thought. I wanted to turn her on to her back, but something told me that I should wait. Instead, I eased my hand under her head and cradled her face in my palm. Gently then, I brushed the dust off her other cheek with the end of my
pagne
. I squeezed my eyes closed and begged Allah to spare her, promising Him anything, if only she should live. But it was Sushie I wished for most, in truth. ‘Come on, Sushie!’ I whispered, trembling with fear.

‘Come on!’

When I opened my eyes, I saw that Mother’s were open too. ‘Mother!’ I said, overjoyed. I bent down and kissed her forehead.

‘My Haoua,’ she said, her voice a faint, dry crackle.

I gently stroked her face. ‘Sushie is coming. Be still.’

‘A little water, child.’

With my free hand I untied my head wrap. Then, folding it into a pad, I eased it under my mother’s head. As I went to fetch the water, I continued to pray, all the while glancing at the entrance for any sign of Sushie.

‘Your water, Mother,’ I said, easing my knees under her head and putting the plastic cup to her lips.

Her eyes seemed to brighten a little as she sipped at the water. Two thin rivulets snaked their way across her still dusty cheekbone, leaving shiny streaks of skin. She gave a little nod, then brought her hand up weakly to her mouth. ‘My Haoua,’ she whispered again.

I cradled her head in my arms and put my forehead against hers. Her finger gently, rhythmically, tapped my elbow as we waited. I could not have been alone with her for very long, but to me it seemed like an eternity.

At last I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Sushie. Behind her, a small crowd had gathered. I looked for Fatima, but could not see her.

‘What have you been up to, Azara?’ Sushie said, panting a little. ‘Let’s get you onto this blanket.’ She helped me up, then quickly steered me away towards the crowd. Near the back, Adamou was standing, looking frightened and bewildered.

Beside him, I saw Fatima’s tiny frame. She clutched at the end of his tee shirt. I weaved my way through the on-lookers to join my brother and sister.

‘What happened?’ said Adamou, his voice faltering.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Will she be okay?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She has to be okay.’ I looked back just in time to catch sight of my mother being whisked away by my father and three of the other menfolk, each of whom held a corner of the large, coarse blanket. Sushie followed them out of the compound. I pushed my way through the throng of people and caught up with her.

‘May I come too?’ I said.

‘No, Little One,’ she answered. ‘You stay here and look after your brother and sister. You’re the woman of the house until your mother returns – toh?’ She put her hand to my cheek and gave a little smile.

I nodded. ‘But you’ll tell me when I can see her?’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you as soon as she’s well enough.’

When my father returned from the
dispensaire
, late that evening, he told us that Mother was fine. We were all in bed, but none of us had been able to sleep.

‘Does that mean she can come home?’ Adamou said, sitting up.

‘Not yet,’ my father replied, turning to me. ‘Sushie will tell you more tomorrow, Haoua. She wants to see you alone first.’

‘Haoua?’ my brother said. ‘Why does she want to talk to Haoua, Father? I am the eldest.’My father did not reply.

‘I want to see Mother too!’ sobbed Fatima.

‘Hush,’ my father said. ‘You will all see her. Now go to sleep.’ With that, he turned and left the room.

‘Why would Sushie want to talk to a little tick like you?’ Adamou demanded.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Perhaps because Mother has requested it, or perhaps because I am almost a woman.’

‘Aiee!’

At the far side of the room, Fatima was still sobbing. I clambered off my own bedding and crawled in beside her. Immediately she snuggled up to me.

‘Go to sleep, Little One,’ I said, stroking her forehead – much as I had stroked my mother’s, earlier that day.

20th November, 1998

Haoua Boureima
Child Ref. NER2726651832
Vision Corps International
Tera Area Development Programme
C/O BP 11504
Niamey
Republic of Niger
West Africa

Dear Haoua,

Thank you for writing to us again. It was really nice to hear from you.

This is just a very short note from me (Hope) – Katie says she will write again soon – because we have had some very bad news and are all feeling sad here.

My great grandpapa (‘Papa’) died last week. He was just a few days away from his 100th birthday! I can’t believe that he has gone. My mum says that he is with Jesus now. I hope so. Papa was a very good man, and very clever too. He was great at making and fixing things. He was a sailor during the second war against Germany. He used to tell us about the terrible things he had seen! I will miss him.

My dad says that during the war Germany took control of France and that your country had been ruled by the French before that, so Niger kind of became part of Germany for a while! How strange to think that your country and mine were on opposite sides! Have you been to France? We went camping there a few years ago. It was fun! I so liked the swimming pool at our campsite.

The rest of my family are well. We are going to go to Spain quite soon for a holiday. Katie and I are really looking forward to that.

I hope that your family are all well.

Lots of love,

from Hope Boyd

***

True to her word, Sushie sent for me the following afternoon. Richard came to the house to fetch me. Fortunately, Adamou was working with my father and Fatima had gone to play with Amina and their other little friends, so there was no fuss.

‘Ready?’ Richard said.

‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Will my mother be coming home today?’

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. ‘You’ll need to talk to Mademoiselle Sushie about that, Haoua.’

We were halfway to the dispensaire when we met Aunt Alassane and her sister Flo at the corner near Monsieur Letouye’s shop. I did not want to stop, or talk to anyone just then – least of all Aunt Alassane – but I knew that it was necessary to do so.

‘How is your poor mother, dear?’ Flo asked me. For the first time I noticed that her face was more weathered than Aunt Alassane’s.

‘I don’t know, Mademoiselle,’ I said, ‘I haven’t seen her yet today.’

‘Toh
. You must be so worried, you poor child,’ said Aunt Alassane.

‘Excuse us, Mademoiselles,’ Richard said, politely but firmly. ‘We are on our way to see the good lady now.’

‘D’accord
. Do give her our regards.’

‘Of course.’

I was glad that Richard had intervened. As we walked on, he patted me gently on the shoulder and then looked down at me and winked.

As we approached the dispensaire compound, I could see that there were several people sitting on beer crates outside a rattan screen, waiting to see Sushie or one of her colleagues.

‘If you’ll wait here just a moment please, Haoua,’ Richard said, giving my shoulder a little squeeze. He greeted the patients at the entrance to the small consultation room and then went inside.

I too nodded politely at the patients.

‘Your mother is a good woman,’ said Madame Hacheme, who was leaning against the door frame and breathing heavily. ‘God will watch over her,’ she panted. She looked like she might give birth at any moment.

Madame Dekougbonto, her neighbour, nodded in agreement. She clucked her tongue, loudly, as if to say, ‘What a shame.’

I did not want small talk. It was as if everyone else in the village knew something that I did not, and it both irked and frightened me.

I did not have to wait long before Sushie appeared at the door and beckoned me in. The dispensaire consisted of an extra room which had been added to a two room dwelling.

The house was unusual for Wadata in that one entered it through a hallway rather than directly into a room. This arrangement meant that a level of privacy, at least, could be maintained by Sushie. Living and working in the same place ensured that she got very little peace, but we never heard her complain.

Instead of leading me to the door at the end of the hall, she drew back a striped curtain and entered her living quarters. ‘Come through here first, please, Haoua,’ she said. ‘I want to talk to you before we go through to your mother.’

I had been in this room before. Its dimensions and general appearance were similar to the living area of my parents’ house, but still I was intrigued by its unfamiliarity. There were only a few objects in the room that might not have been found in any other house in Wadata, and yet, as my eyes became accustomed to the muted light, the space both excited and unsettled me. The little chest of drawers that Sushie had painted the colour of newly emerging shoots, the wind-up radio standing on a plastic chair by the side of her raised bed, the framed photograph of her parents with their smooth, silvery hair and ivory white teeth, the large, orange backpack leaning against the wall and the little shelf with its array of expensive toothpaste, water purification tablets, mosquito repellent creams and other potions – all of these things had a mesmerising effect on me.

As I followed Sushie into the room, something brushed against my cheek. I clawed at the air, fearing that it might be a spider or scorpion, or a preying mantis dropping down from the rafters of the house.

Sushie turned in time to see me flinch. ‘It’s a wallet,’ she said, a great grin on her face. She reached up and unhooked the object from a nail, then shook its tassels in my face. ‘The Chief of Tahoua gave it to me last year! I was his guest of honour,’ she continued, rolling her eyes. ‘He gave me some sandals too, but they fell apart long ago.’ She handed it to me and I studied it carefully. With its pouches, heavy decoration and neck string, it was, indeed, a very beautiful thing.

‘It is very fine,’ I said.

‘Hmm. We ate couscous together with some of the other village elders. My Hausa isn’t so good, but I’m fairly sure he wanted to bed me!’

We laughed together. Then her face became serious.

‘Have a seat, Haoua,’ she said.