Blessing

Chapter 16

165 16 atti and Peace sat on the dining table, each engrossed in the fantasy world of the book in front of her. Feet balanced on a footstool, Polyandrew Niba was lounging on the sofa, listening to the eight o’clock radio news. Angela Niba, who had just finished darning, sat crocheting on the armchair. But for the voice of the journalist blasting out from the receiver and the sound of the ceiling fan blades cutting through the humid November air, the house was an echo of silence. The sound of approaching footsteps brought all four heads up. The bold rapping on the main door got Fatti to her feet. She opened the door and let in two strangers: an older man whose head almost collided with the doorpost and a much younger one who would certainly have looked better had he cleared a path in the middle of his face by chopping off some of his merged, bushy eyebrows. ‘Good evening, Madam; good evening, Sir,’ they muttered to Angela and Polyandrew Niba. ‘Good evening. Welcome. Have a seat.’ Angela put aside her crocheting, got up from the armchair and parked herself into the sofa, next to her husband’s. As she did she threw a probing glance at the two strangers and then at her husband. Anyone who could read her knew she was inquiring if he knew who they were. ‘I know you are wondering who we are and what we are doing in your house at this hour of the night,’ the older man spoke out from one of the armchairs. ‘I am James Chi from Santa and this is my nephew, Joseph Tepo. He is from Nchumuluh.’ At the mention of Nchumuluh Fatti, who had returned to the dining table, twitched and almost dropped out of her seat. Angela reacted in the same impulsive manner, though supplementing her action with words: ‘I too am from Nchumuluh. My husband is from Bafut. What can we do for you, Mr. Chi?’ ‘Let me go straight to the point since it is quite late.’ Mr. Chi cleared his throat. ‘You know that a young man who does not make friends with the old is like a tree without roots. Therefore, I have F 166 accompanied this young man here because he has seen a bunch of ripe plantains in your yard which he would like to harvest, which we would like to harvest.’ He paused briefly as though waiting for an intervention. When none was forthcoming, he continued: ‘I shouldn’t tell you that if a bunch of ripe plantains is not immediately harvested, they might rot and become useless and rejected, or roaming birds might dip their long beaks past the rind to savour and consequently mess up their soft and sweet interiors.’ ‘The Prime Minister of West Cameroon, His Excellency Augustine Ngom Jua, today received in audience ...’ The journalist took advantage of the very audible silence which followed the remark. Fatti slowly lifted her head from her book and fixed her gaze on the two strangers. For one second she thought she was back in Nchumuluh, for only there did she ever hear people refer to girls as plantains. The older man was bold. Only a very bold man could talk about plantains rotting and being rejected in front of strangers he was trying to impress. But which of Aunty Angela’s daughters could they have in mind. Would Aunty Angela allow any of her girls to get married before they had finished school? She pitied the two men who would have to return without the promise they came for. Polyandrew Niba was the first to regain use of his lips, but not before toning down the volume of the radio. On second thought he switched it off completely. ‘I don’t know how far you have travelled—’ ‘We are based here in Yaoundé,’ Mr. Chi butted in. ‘If it is late we can come back tomorrow or the day after. The important point was that we make our intention known today.’ ‘Mr. Chi, it is good you have not come from far, because I am sure you entered the wrong compound. Yes, I have plantain stalks growing in my compound, but none of the crops are ready for harvesting.’ ‘You are a true son of our soil.’ Mr. Chi smiled. ‘I know most people preserve the best to serve to someone they know. But since you cannot be certain that such a person would show up...