‘Because David Namme, Freddie’s papa, he tell we everythin’ before he travel. You jus’ too late to meet him. He gone to Port Harcourt. But you will meet Uncle Namme, de brodder. You just miss Freddie his papa. He lef’ here yesterday for Port Harcourt, he gone to attend Council meetin’ and dem will be dere for about fortnight. But Freddie’s Uncle, you will like him.’
Jagua shut her ears to the historical stream with which Mama Nancy was now flooding her. At every turning Mama Nancy had something new to show her. In the olden days, she said, sometime in the 19th century, Bagana was a great trading base. It used to be the centre of the oil rivers and palm oil was the chief commodity which brought British Merchantmen, German Traders, French Colonialists to Bagana. They traded gin with the ruling houses of which the Namme household was the most famous. The Portuguese came too, and it was they who left the ‘Deckin’ ’-type house. These houses, Mama Nancy said, were brought – every plank of them – direct from Spain. As a result of all this presence of Europeans all seeking the same things, there had always been fighting in Bagana, between the white men and other white men, between the ruling houses, and also between Baganans and other tribes. Mama Nancy pointed out the cannon rusting on practically every street corner they passed.
‘So you see, Freddie come from royal family, though he never one day say so.’ She paused for breath.
Nancy said, ‘Mama, we nearin’ de palace now. I think tha’s Uncle Namme standing at de entrance.’
Jagua saw a tall man wearing a silk top hat in the Victorian manner. His hands were folded across his chest and he was smiling. When Jagua began ascending the steps he stretched out his hand.
‘Ah, welcome! … My name is Namme, and Freddie calls me Uncle Namme and so I am. Welcome. It’s a pity, David – Freddie’s father – is gone to the Council Meeting at Port Harcourt. Freddie’s mother went with him. You know what those meetings are like … Sometimes they last three weeks! And accomplish nothing.’
He took Jagua’s hand graciously. She liked him instantly. She began to see in him signs of a more mature, more distinguished Freddie. How different it would have been if she could embrace Freddie here – this night – in his own hometown; by day she would like to link hands with him and be shown round by him as a kind of special privilege.
‘Me own name be Jagua.’
‘Jagua?’ He squeezed her hand warmly. ‘Freddie wrote me. He said how much you helped him in Lagos with passport and other things. God will bless you.’
Jagua was delighted. ‘I come from Lagos to know de home of Freddie Namme. He talk so much about Bagana. Now I seen de place I like to live here – with Freddie.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Freddie’s uncle. ‘Bagana is a fine place. Everyone who visits it says so.’ He chose his words carefully, giving them their full value. ‘Even now – at this very moment – we have an Englishman from Cambridge. He’s studying our customs, so as to write a book about Bagana. He’s in a little room by the water.’ He pointed over the housetops.
Jagua noted how Nancy moved about in the Namme household. Nancy appeared so confident, Jagua almost concluded she had become one with the Nammes. And so she must have, they appeared so kind. It was discouraging indeed.
Uncle Namme ordered a girl into the room with Jagua’s suitcase. He waved at a chair. ‘Sit down. I’ll bring you some of Our Home Made Stuff. That’s O.H.M.S. gin, which we distil in the creeks. The Government calls it illicit, but Governments have no imagination. You wait! When we start making our own gin, they’ll see! How long shall we depend on imported stuff? For five shillings I can get a bottle of O.H.M.S. You know what that costs in the shops? Thirty-five shillings. And it’s the same thing. The only trouble is, and I’ll tell you this in confidence … our distillers are too impatient. They don’t give the stuff a chance to mature. Gin must ripen … Too much hurry makes it harsh, like acid. A man distils out a bottle of spirit and he expects to drink it the same day. Pure fire! No wonder it kills. All O.H.M.S. in this house comes from a cellar. At least it’s five years old.’ He clapped his hands and a decanter was brought, a decanter in the most royal tradition. Indeed everything about this place struck Jagua with its quiet dignity. The sitting room, she noticed, was adorned with three portraits one of which she immediately identified as Uncle Namme. Though the print was old and faded, the high collar, bow tie, top hat and gold chain added a dash of sportingness to an Uncle Namme not unlike Freddie at his best.
Jagua wanted to know about the other two gentlemen.
‘The one in the centre – that’s David Namme. Freddie’s father. He’s in Port Harcourt as I told you, at the Council Meeting. The other man –’ he paused for a moment and Jagua saw his face flush. ‘Well, there’s a story about him. He’s one of us. He’s got Namme blood, I mean. But we disagreed and he went to Krinameh to live – that’s the island on the other side of the creeks.’ Uncle Namme pointed through the window. ‘Chief Ofubara is his name.’
Jagua looked closely at the picture. Chief Ofubara’s brow had an obstinate set and his manner was that of a dandy. His gloved hands rested on a gold-headed cane. Jagua liked him. ‘Why he lef’ Bagana to go an’ live for Krinameh?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Uncle Namme sipped his O.H.M.S. ‘It’s all about who should rule in Bagana. You know – Chieftaincy dispute. By tradition, Bagana is ruled by the Yaniba of Bagana. Now when the reigning Yaniba died thirty years ago, Freddie’s father was to succeed him. But Chief Ofubara strongly disputed his right to the throne. He took the matter to court. For five years the case dragged on. During this time I was appointed to act as Regent in the absence of a Yaniba. Later on, Chief Ofubara withdrew from the case. I believe he found it too costly. He and his supporters packed their canoes with their belongings and paddled over to the island of Krinameh. They planted their fish-traps in the swamps and cut down the trees in the fields. They tilled the ground and today they have their own village and Chief Ofubara reigns over them.
‘I still have great respect for Chief Ofubara; after all, he’s a cousin of ours. But we have no dealings here in Bagana, with the people of Krinameh. They are enemies. When they catch our people, they kill them and put the body in a canoe for us to see. And we also, we retaliate when we get the chance.’ He laughed harshly. ‘It happens to this day, as I stand here. We are always very careful when we go to the stream to draw water or to bathe. That’s where they get us, you see. We never cross the line into the Krinameh creek-side. Some have tried it, and the crocodiles ate them and their spirits went to the promised land. That was better than being captured by Krinameh men. They will take you to Chief Ofubara and there you will be tortured. All men from Bagana who come into his hands are tortured, unless they promise to become his supporters and to live there. I tell you all this, Jagua, because it is good that you should know. Not that you will go swimming there, but if you do – know where is safe for you.’
Jagua poured herself some more O.H.M.S. She sipped it allowing the slow fire to glow in her chest. ‘But how ah will know which part of de water belong to Krinameh?’
‘That’s easy. A guide will show you.’
‘Tell me one thin’, Uncle Namme! How de Government allow Chief Ofubara to do all dis without checkin’ him?’
Uncle Namme smiled. ‘What can the Government do? Our islands are so small and far away from Headquarters. They can’t spare the police force required. We Baganans always have been peace-loving. Of course, sometimes the police come down. They make some arrests. There is quiet for a while. But it soon flares up again. It never ends, this hatred. Any small thing can start it. You see, we in Bagana still hold that Namme was the original founder of the Bagana nation, no matter where they may be scattered. Chief Ofubara claims, however, that there is no Royal House of Namme, but a Royal House of Ofubara … But the fact is that we have evidence that Namme did found Bagana. It is commemorated in the bronze carvings. Our Namme was a brave fighter who learnt how to use cannon which the Portuguese presented to him.’
Jagua said, ‘Dis be big palaver! So because of dis, de two cousins lavish all dem money in de court.’
‘Oh yes … But don’t you get depressed over the matter. It is always with us; I only mention it to a stranger like you. It has ceased to worry us in Bagana. When David Namme goes to P.H. for the Council Meetings, he consults lawyers, you see. Because once his status has
been recognized as Yaniba of Bagana by the Government, Bagana will be a happier place. At the moment we are without a ruler of our people; I mean a ruler officially recognized. Don’t you see how they build houses, haphazardly? How can anyone settle here, with all the trouble? So while you’re my guest, for your own sake, Jagua, keep on this side of Bagana. Have no dealings with Chief Ofubara, or any Krinameh man. I have already told Nancy and Ma Nancy. Now, I’ve done my duty.’ He rose. ‘I’m sure you want to go and wash and change. Then I shall give you a guide who will take you round Bagana – unless you prefer to rest.’
The maid appeared and took Jagua to an outhouse, where a room had been swept and polished for her. The linen on the bed smelt clean and sweet. She began to take off her blouse. ‘Freddie come sleep wit’ me on dis bed,’ she whispered. ‘Come we sleep togedder in you own fadder house.’
Next evening Jagua, Uncle Namme and Ma Nancy made for the courtyard where the drummers had already assembled for a performance. The guest-of-honour seats had been laid out: locally woven from the coconut, facing the half-moon of dancers. Uncle Namme went over and stood near one of the three men with torsos hewn out of tree trunks. Jagua counted nine drums in all. The King drum stood high above one drummer. The second drummer held the medium-size drum between his knees and flourished the two hooked sticks that created the rhythms. The third man was a wonder. He alone sat facing the remaining seven drums of varying size, presiding over them with the tense air of an expert.
As Uncle Namme appeared the drummer with the seven drums welcomed him with an intricate patter. The King drum nodded, the medium-size punctuated. Jagua’s blood glowed. Uncle Namme raised his hand. He turned to his visitors. ‘This is what the war-drum said: it said, when I talk like that all the villagers assemble together and I tell them why I summoned them.’
Uncle Namme was a tall man but the nine-foot drum dwarfed him. He was stroking it as he spoke. ‘You see, our fathers came here to settle long ago. They settled here, and founded the island of Bagana. The Namme family is the ruling house. Never mind what Chief Ofubara may be saying. He can remain there in Krinameh. But the Namme family is the ruling house in Bagana.’
The drumming resumed. Jagua felt the urge to take off all her clothes and shake to the rhythm. She sat near Uncle Namme who offered her a bottle of O.H.M.S. Jagua filled her glass and watched the women pouring into the compound from the palace gate. Mama Nancy was sitting on Jagua’s left, but neither of them spoke to the other. Nancy was nowhere to be seen. So much noise was being made that to speak to Uncle Namme, Jagua had to shout. She saw the dancing group at the far end, coming to the centre of the stage. When they performed, their movements were acrobatic, rhythmic, demanding muscular contortions fit for real athletes. Watching them in their yellows and reds, the men in shirt sleeves and georgette lappas, Jagua thought of the girlhood days in Ogabu when she used to dance in the moonlight; she and a dozen other girls with virgin breasts.