Where Bones Dance: An English Girlhood, An African War

Killings

59 Killings M ake that two gin and limes and a lime juice, Gabriel, please.” I sound like my mother. My father sets his briefcase down beside the long blue chair. He pulls up the back so it is upright. He sits down and stretches out his legs. His feet stick out over the end. “Darling, you look exhausted.” He shakes his head. “There’s been another massacre in the north. That’s over six thousand dead already, almost all Ibos.” There are big rings of sweat under his arms. “They’re panicking now. Hundreds of thousands are leaving. It’s chaos.” He passes my mother the West African Chronicle. On the front page is a fuzzy grey photo: a long snake of Mammy Wagons and motorcycles and bicycles and carts. Everything looks dusty. “Where are they going?” I ask. “Mostly back home to the Eastern Region. Some will come to Lagos.” “As if there aren’t enough people here already,” says my 60 mother. “How dreadful. These poor people. To lose their homes just like that. Can you imagine?” “The government’s sending in more troops. The trouble is the police force in the north is mostly Hausa and there’s a lot of resentment against the Ibos. And if the blasted Ibos really try to secede .” He shakes his head. “What does it mean, to secede?” “To call themselves another country.” I open my mouth but my mother says, “Darling, really, you look exhausted.” “I am. It was damned hot today.” He finishes his drink and gets up. “I think I’ll have a shower before dinner.” When Daniel brings in the filet of sole he looks taller and more dangerous. I wonder if secretly he hates Christine. Mostly he doesn’t talk to anyone. He sits in the kitchen and reads the newspapers when my father has finished with them. “What did the Ibos do wrong?” I ask. “They’ve done too well is what it boils down to. They’re a shrewd and cunning lot on the whole. They’ve adapted to the modern world better than most so they’ve made a lot of headway in business and industry and in the army and the civil service too and the others don’t like it. Which isn’t surprising because, like every other group in the damned country, when they’re in positions of power they favor their own people.” “At least,” my mother says, “the British have always been known for our fairness. I know there are people who wish we were still running the country.” Daniel brings in meringues with whipped cream. They look like drifts of snow. When I bite into one it is crispy outside and chewy inside. “Mmmm,” says my brother. C y c l e 1 “I’m afraid,” my father says, “this is just the beginning. I’m afraid there’s going to be a blood bath.” 61 C y c l e 1 ...