Cup Man and Other Stories

4. Lost In London City

42 4 Lost In London City he sharp shutting of the door mail flap woke Martha. At once she knew it was the postman. She got up quickly and looked out of the window of the bedroom that overlooked the main road. She and caught a glimpse of him removing some more mail from the side bags of his bicycle and going towards her neighbour’s house. The sharp closure of the flap had been immediately followed by the thud of postal deliveries being dropped on the carpet inside of the front door. As Martha went downstairs, many thoughts came to her mind. Was it one letter or two? Was there any junk mail included? Oh! These bastards of firms who think they know too much. They “steal” people’s postal addresses from whatever source and then pester them with letters offering all kinds of products or services. The problem is that even when you do not want them it is not easy to get them off your back. Martha also wondered whether she would find any letters from home, from her family. Was all well at home? She wondered. She found five letters on the floor. Two were precisely junk mail, one was her telephone bill, and another electricity bill and the fifth, from her parent back in Baligham written by her mother. Martha decided to open the letter from home last, because she was sure that whether was the case, it would throw her off balance. Either someone was in desperate need of money, or was seriously ill or had even died. There were times when the same letter announced up to three deaths. Oh, these letters from home! She did not even bother to open the junk mail. She put it straight in the dustbin. Her telephone bill was high, so disconcerting that she went to the sitting room before analysing it. She could not take the blow standing. Eight hundred and fifty pounds! Well, she was expecting a high bill, T 43 but not that high. The fact is that being a very careful and responsible girl, she was not really the one who ran up such a huge bill. Four months ago, an uncle of hers (a junior brother to her father) who was in London from Cameroon for business, spent two weeks with her in her Finsbury Park flat. She had authorised him to make some calls but never expected such a bill. Unfortunately, her uncle left saying as soon as he got back to Douala, he would send her the money. It was now four months and she had not heard a word from him neither had he sent the money. British Telecom gave Martha two weeks within which if she did not settle her bill, she would be cut off. Her electricity bill was not unduly high, but still, it was a bill to be paid, because it still meant money going out. For that one, she also had a two-week deadline. “Oh what a life!” she said to herself. Yet, back at home, everyone seems to think that here in the Whiteman’s country, we all swim ion money. By the time she got to the letter from her mother, her head felt like it was swelling inside. She plucked courage and tore open the envelope. After glancing at the letter, she leapt up stung. “What! I don’t believe this! Can my mother really say this to me about me? That I neglect her? I don’t send her money? O my God! O my God! I don’t believe this!” In her grief, she perhaps unconsciously clasped the letter and ran upstairs crying. In the bedroom, she flung herself on the bed and wept bitterly. She was too overcome by distress to continue reading the letter. In fact, she did not want to see it any more. So, she opened her bedside drawer, stuffed it inside and keyed the drawer. All of a sudden, she remembered she had to iron her boyfriend’s clothes quickly and prepare herself for college. For all of that the time at her disposal was only 45 minutes. She forced herself to stop crying. What made Martha feel so bad was not only that her mother had unexpectedly made a U-turn and accused her of 44 neglect. It was also the fact that life in Britain was exceedingly difficult, very...