Olanna watched a wasp flit around the spongy nest lodged in the wall corner. It had made sense to her, the decision not to marry, the need to preserve what they had by wrapping it in a shawl of difference. But the old framework that fit her ideals was gone now that Arize and Aunty Ifeka and Uncle Mbaezi would always be frozen faces in her album. Now that bullets were falling in Nsukka. “You have to take wine to my father, then,” she said.
“Is that a yes?”
A bat swooped down and Olanna lowered her head. “Yes. It is a yes,” she said.
In the morning, she heard the town crier walking past the house, beating a loud ogene. “There will be a meeting of all Abba tomorrow at four p.m. in Amaeze Square!” Gom-gom-gom. “There will be a meeting of all Abba tomorrow at four p.m. in Amaeze Square!” Gom-gom-gom. “Abba has said that every man and every woman must attend!” Gom-gom-gom. “If you do not attend, Abba will fine you!”
“I wonder how steep the fines are,” Olanna said, watching Odenigbo dress. He shrugged. He had only the two shirts and pairs of trousers that Ugwu had hurriedly packed, and she smiled, thinking of how she knew what he would wear each morning before he dressed.
They had sat down to have breakfast when her parents’ Land Rover drove into the compound.
“How fortuitous,” Odenigbo said. “I’ll tell your dad right away. We can have the wedding here next week.” He was smiling. There was something boyish about him since she’d said yes on the veranda, something naïvely gleeful that she wished she felt too.
“You know it’s not done that way,” she said. “You have to go to Umunnachi with your people and do it properly.”
“Of course I know. I was only joking.”
Olanna walked to the door, wondering why her parents had come. They had visited only a week ago, after all, and she was not quite ready for another monologue from her jittery mother while her father stood by and nodded his agreement: Please come and stay with us in Umunnachi; Kainene should leave Port Harcourt until we know whether this war is coming or going; that Yoruba caretaker we left in Lagos will loot the house; I am telling you, we really should have arranged to bring all the cars back.
The Land Rover parked under the kola nut tree, and her mother climbed out. She was alone. Olanna felt slight relief that her father had not come. It was easier to deal with one at a time.
“Welcome, Mom, nno,” Olanna said, hugging her. “Is it well?”
Her mother shrugged in the way that was meant to say so-so. She was wearing a red george wrapper and pink blouse and her shoes were flat, a shiny black. “It is well.” Her mother looked around, the same way she had looked around, furtively, the last time before pushing an envelope of money into Olanna’s hand. “Where is he?”
“Odenigbo? He’s inside, eating.”
Her mother led the way to the veranda and leaned against a pillar. She opened her handbag, gestured for Olanna to look inside. It was full of the glitter and twinkle of jewelry, corals and metals and precious stones.
“Ah! Ah! Mom, what is all that for?”
“I carry them everywhere I go now. My diamonds are inside my bra.” Her mother was whispering. “Nne, nobody knows what is going on. We are hearing that Umunnachi is about to fall and that the federals are very close by.”
“The vandals are not close by. Our troops are driving them back around Nsukka.”
“But how long is it taking to drive them back?”
Olanna disliked the petulant pout on her mother’s face, the way her mother lowered her voice as if doing so would exclude Odenigbo. She would not tell her mother that they had decided to get married. Not yet.
“Anyway,” her mother said, “your father and I have finalized our plans. We have paid somebody who will take us to Cameroon and get us on a flight from there to London. We will use our Nigerian passports; the Cameroonians will not give us trouble. It was not easy but it is done. We paid for four places.” Her mother patted her headgear, as if to ensure that it was still there. “Your father has gone to Port Harcourt to tell Kainene.”
Olanna felt pity at the plea in her mother’s eyes. Her mother knew she would not run away to England with them, and that Kainene would not either. But it was so like her to try, to make this doomed, grasping, well-meaning effort.
“You know I won’t go,” she said gently, wanting to reach out and touch her mother’s perfect skin. “But you and Dad should go, if it will make you feel safer. I’ll stay with Odenigbo and Baby. We’ll be fine. We are going to Umuahia in a few weeks for Odenigbo to start work at the directorate.” Olanna paused. She wanted to say that they would have their wedding in Umuahia but instead she said, “As soon as Nsukka is recovered, we’ll go back.”
“But what if Nsukka is not recovered? What if this war drags on and on?”
“It won’t.”
“How can I leave my children and run to safety?”
But Olanna knew she could and she would. “We’ll be fine, Mom.”
Her mother wiped her eyes with her palm, although there were no tears, before she brought out an airmail envelope from her handbag. “It’s a letter from Mohammed. Somebody brought it to Umunnachi. Apparently he heard Nsukka was evacuated and he thought you had come to Umunnachi. Sorry; I had to open it, to make sure there was nothing dangerous in it.”
“Nothing dangerous?” Olanna asked. “Gini? What are you talking about, Mom?”
“Who knows? Is he not the enemy now?”