“Come in here,” he said. I took my time to get up and walk over. A bottle of whisky and another of soda stood on a tray on the small round table in the middle of the room. Chief Nanga’s glass was half full; my father’s empty, as usual.
“Sit down,” he said to me; “we don’t eat people.” The joviality in his tone and manner put me on guard right away.
I sat down ostentatiously ignoring to look in Nanga’s direction. My father didn’t waste his words.
“When a mad man walks naked it is his kinsmen who feel shame not himself. So I have been begging Chief Nanga for forgiveness, on your behalf. How could you go to his house asking for his help and eating his food and then spitting in his face? . . . Let me finish. You did not tell me any of these things—that you abused him in public and left his house to plot his downfall. . . . I said let me finish! It does not surprise me that you slunk back and said nothing about it to me. Not that you ever say anything to me. Why should you? Do I know book? Am I not of the Old Testament? . . . Let me finish. In spite of your behaviour Chief Nanga has continued to struggle for you and has now brought you the scholarship to your house. His kindness surprises me; I couldn’t do it myself. On top of that he has brought you two hundred and fifty pounds if you will sign this paper. . . .” He held up a piece of paper.
“Don’t say I am interrupting you, sir,” said Chief Nanga. “I don’t want Odili to misunderstand me.” He turned squarely to me. “I am not afraid of you. Every goat and every fowl in this country knows that you will fail woefully. You will lose your deposit and disgrace yourself. I am only giving you this money because I feel that after all my years of service to my people I deserve to be elected unopposed so that my detractors in Bori will know that I have my people solidly behind me.
“That is the only reason I am giving you this money. Otherwise I should leave you alone to learn your bitter lesson so that when you hear of election again you will run. . . . I know those irresponsible boys have given you money. If you have any sense keep the money and train your father’s children with it or do something useful. . . .”
I stayed miraculously unruffled. Actually I was thinking about Edna all along. But I noticed also how my father had raised his nose in the air in proud rejection of the offer I hadn’t made—nor intended to make—to train his children.
“We know where that money is coming from,” continued Nanga. “Don’t think we don’t know. We will deal with them after the election. They think they can come here and give money to irresponsible people to overthrow a duly constituted government. We will show them. As for you my brother you can eat what has entered your hand. . . . Your good friend Maxwell Kulamo has more sense than you. He has already taken his money and agreed to step down for Chief Koko.”
“Impossible!”
“Look at him. He doesn’t even know what is happening; our great politician! You stay in the bush here wasting your time and your friends are busy putting their money in the bank in Bori. Anyway you are not a small boy. I have done my best and, God so good, your father is my living witness. Take your money and take your scholarship to go and learn more book; the country needs experts like you. And leave the dirty game of politics to us who know how to play it . . .”
“Do you want an answer? It is NO in capital letters! You think everyone can be bought with a few dirty pounds. You’re making a sad mistake. I will fight you along the road and in the bush, even if you buy the entire C.P.C. I can see you are trying to cover your fear. I see the fear in your eyes. If you know you are not afraid why do you send thugs to molest me; why do your hired cowards carry placards with my name. I am sorry, Mr Man, you can take your filthy money away and clear out of here . . . Bush man!”
“Odili!”
It was I who had to clear out there and then. As I passed by the Cadillac I noticed four or five thugs in it, one of whom looked familiar although I did not get close enough to see them well.
I knew it was a lie about Max agreeing to step down but I began to wonder why he hadn’t arrived yet to mount our campaign in my constituency.
12
“A mad man may sometimes speak a true word,” said my father, “but, you watch him, he will soon add something to it that will tell you his mind is still spoilt. My son, you have again shown your true self. When you came home with a car I thought to myself: good, some sense is entering his belly at last . . . But I should have known. So you really want to fight Chief Nanga! My son, why don’t you fall where your pieces could be gathered? If the money he was offering was too small why did you not say so? Why did you not ask for three or four hundred? But then your name would not be Odili if you did that. No, you have to insult the man who came to you as a friend and—let me ask you something: Do you think he will return tomorrow to beg you again with two-fifty pounds? No, my son. You have lost the sky and you have lost the ground. . . .”
“Why do you worry yourself and get lean over a loss that is mine and not yours at all? You are in P.O.P. and I am in C.P.C. . . .”
“You have to listen to my irritating voice until the day comes when you stop answering Odili Samalu or else until you look for me and don’t see me any more.”
This softened me a lot. I am always sentimental when it comes to people not being seen when they are looked for. I said nothing immediately but when I did it was in a more conciliatory tone.
“So your party gives ministers authority to take bribes, eh?”
“What?” he said, waking up. I hadn’t been looking at him and so didn’t notice when he had dropped off.
“Chief Nanga said that the ten per cent he receives on contracts is for your party. Is that true?”
“If Alligator comes out of the water one morning and tells you that Crocodile is sick can you doubt his story?”
“I see.” This time I watched him drop off almost immediately and smiled in spite of myself.
The next day Max and our campaign team arrived from Bori. There were a dozen other people with him, only two of whom I knew already—Eunice his fiancée and the trade-unionist, Joe. They had a car, a minibus and two brand-new Land-Rovers with loudspeakers fitted on the roof. Seeing them so confident and so well-equipped was for me the most morale-boosting event of the past so many weeks. I envied Max his beautiful, dedicated girl; some people are simply lucky. I wished I could bring Edna there to see them.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming today,” I said to Max; “not that it matters.”
“Didn’t you get my telegram?”
“No.”
“I sent you a telegram on Monday.”
“Monday of this week? Oh well, today is only Thursday; it should get here on Saturday . . .”