In less than an hour she had made herself really Jagwa. The effect pleased her. It was like bringing the Tropicana chorus girls in a helicopter and dropping them among the mud-skippers, the stilt roots of the mangrove, the paper-light canoes that skidded on the salt water. They would be objects of wonder and speculation. Jagua felt like a hunter who has smelt out the lion in a forest, wounded but concealed. All her wits must be about her, for there was no knowing when the enemy would strike and what his latent powers were.
When she appeared before Uncle Namme the look in his eye was a reward. All men looked at her like that when she was really Jagwa. It compensated for all the polishing, scrubbing and brushing that resulted in the Jagwa gloss, characteristic of racing steeds.
‘De canoeman ready, Your Highness?’
‘He’s been waitin’ some time now.’
She walked down to the beach with them gazing about Bagana in her sunshade and caring little for the looks which she received. She had chosen the brightest lipstick in her bag, her blouse was sleeveless and cut so low that only the tips of her breasts were covered. The skirt was so tight she could not take a stride of more than six inches at a time. It was a grey skirt with three big buttons down the front and a big split down the back. Her olive-skinned calves were fully on show and her feet were barely kissed by openwork wedge-heeled shoes. She carried a plastic handbag and wore a wig which almost succeeded in altering her into a Malayan or an Indian lovely.
On the beach, two men were glad to lift her into the canoe. Although Krinameh was clearly visible from Bagana in the afternoon, the journey took over an hour. The canoeman sang as he paddled but maintained his distance. Jagua sat stern and stately, a Tropicana princess in the mangrove creeks of Krinameh.
On Kr
inameh beach the youths treated her with the deference she had seen reserved for royal persons like Uncle Namme. She was surprised to find that they took it for granted she had come to see Chief Ofubara. They showed her into his lounge where she sat looking at the identical portrait which she had seen in the Namme lounge at Bagana. When he appeared in person, Chief Ofubara was not quite so young as in the picture. His eyes had grown fairly puffy and his manner less debonair. He wore a silk shirt, tied a georgette lappa about his waist and carried a fly whisk. An attendant – a boy of about fourteen – stood beside him.
‘You from where?’
‘From Lagos, Your Highness. I come to spen’ my leave in Bagana, an’ das where I see your picture in de house of Uncle Namme.’
Chief Ofubara smiled. ‘Welcome! You are very fair, my lady.’
Jagua smiled and acted shy. ‘I like dis Krinameh very much.’
Chief Ofubara beamed. ‘It’s a fine place. We’re still trying to build. We’ve had our troubles, you know …’ He talked about the rift between him and the Nammes, about the prospects of education in the island of Krinameh, and about trade. ‘All the agencies are in the hands of the Nammes. But we shall make a headway. We are working slowly …’ He clapped his hands in the Namme manner. A decanter arrived, and he offered Jagua some O.H.M.S. ‘Is what we drink here, to forget the world … Tell me about Lagos. Are they still dividing themselves into smaller and smaller political parties? … We shall never progress that way, you know! We need to unite!’
‘You believe in unity? Den why you separate from de Namme family. Why you don’ work with dem?’
He fixed his eyes on her. But she was certain he was not looking at her, but beyond her. ‘You got it wrong, my dear. You’re a stranger. You only go by what you hear; and you’ve heard only one side.’
He poured out the story of Bagana, and when he had finished Jagua saw Chief Ofubara in a new light. She saw that he was not a man who wanted strife. It was he who had withdrawn from the case, because he felt that too much money was being wasted while the people suffered. He still valued the love and friendship which had always existed in the family. He wanted education, trade, development for Krinameh and for Bagana. But as things were, no one would make the move. There was suspicion between the two families and unless an outside force united them, they could never come together. Instead of coming together they kept on circulating tales and these tales became distorted and served only to widen the gap.
‘We are all Africans, and we must come together. There is no time for petty squabbles. As for me, I never go anywhere. I remain here in Krinameh and help my people. But if anyone seeks me out and puts his finger into my eye, then I must fight.’ He talked loftily, and Jagua was impressed. He had been described to her as wicked, but she found him sober and of progressive views.
Not once had she mentioned her mission. She let him talk, and as he talked an idea began forming in her mind. It would be a very daring thing to accomplish, but she would try.
‘I got somethin’ to tell you,’ Jagua said.
‘Plenty of time.’ He went on talking about the future of Krinameh, Bagana, and the Bagana people who were split and scattered by petty strife and as a result were living in exile. ‘I like talking to you. We agree on many things.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve never met so intelligent a lady.’
Jagua remembered the twenty-four-hour limit which Uncle Namme had given her so as to produce results. She remembered also that rushing Chief Ofubara might produce the wrong kind of result. And in the meantime, Nancy must be languishing in the hands of her captors.
To fill in the time before lunch Chief Ofubara suggested he showed her round the palace. He took her to the museum, the oracle house, the office, the dining room with chairs which he said were presented to his grandfather by the Portuguese. Finally they came to a special room. It was lined with silk and smelt strongly of rich forest woods. Spanning the middle of the room was a huge four-poster with enormous spring mattresses and a velvet bedspread with decorative patterns.
‘Very fine room,’ Jagua said.
‘The bedroom,’ Chief Ofubara told her. ‘Fit for a queen, eh? My wives come to me here. I have only three wives and they each got their own place. My wives come to me here when I send for them.’
Jagua took out a fan and waved it in front of her bosom. A sigh escaped from her parted lips. Impulsively she flopped into a chair. ‘Oh, am tired.’
Chief Ofubara leaned over her. ‘Is my own fault. Come and rest here.’ He took her by the hand and led her across to a sofa.
‘Thank you,’ Jagua said. She was carelessly sprawled on the sofa, and one of the buttons on her skirt had come off, showing her thigh. She tried to inject into the look she gave the Chief, a feeling of intense desire for him.
‘May I sit down too? Am also tired.’ He shifted her and sat down. It was very silent. A curious light glowed in the room and wild incenses haunted her blood. He was a very big man, and though she was by no means small, he made her feel small. ‘You must sleep in this room … We got a lot of fine women in Krinameh. But they’re not like you. You’re fine too, and you got refinement … You’ve seen the world …’ She felt his breath on her ears, alcoholic, stirring the blood.
‘I don’ come here to sleep, Your Highness … I come to beg you some favour.’
‘You are very fair, my lady.’