‘No!’ came the angry reply.
Jagua paused and drew in some breath, looking aggressively round at the three thousand head-ties. They were all still, but in the distance she saw a small boy in white, throwing a football at his mother who wore a red scarf.
‘Uncle Taiwo is your man, my sisters! He is a businessman, so he understands business – like yourselves. He knows your problems, even before you bring them to him. He will press your case in the Council, give you a decent market, block off that stinking drain, a shameful smelly thing. Go to Onitsha and see what a market should be like. I’ve been there myself, and I can tell you this: Uncle Taiwo will plan for you a bigger and cleaner market where you can sleep, if you like. Vote for him! Vote for Long Life and Happiness. And Freedom. F r e e d o m ! …’
The drums began to beat and the specially hired orchestra sang with rhythm. Jagua slipped back and left the microphone to Uncle Taiwo. She was exhausted and thirsty. The orchestra had crowded round the microphone, twelve men in a uniform robe. One man at the microphone rapidly improvised a new song based on the goodness of Uncle Taiwo and the honesty of O.P. 2. The others handled a variety of percussion instruments and chanted the rhythmic apala music that transformed the women into wiggling maniacs. They jutted out their buttocks and leaned low, wiggling from side to side and hissing for man-contact. The men held on to those hips and shook in rhythm with them. The campaign had become a carnival, but Jagua felt they had listened.
Vote for Uncle Taiwo!
‘Jagua – who teach you politics?’ Uncle Taiwo asked, when he had finished making his own speech (to which no one had listened).
‘Is you,’ said Jagua. ‘An’ again – everythin’ I say is how I feel. Oh, I tire. Make we go home – or Tropicana, any one.’
Uncle Taiwo led the way. ‘Now I sure I goin’ to win. Le’s go celebrate in de Tropicana!’
They pressed in on Jagua from all sides, wanting to shake her hand, to detain her, to chair her. She felt truly proud. She had struck the first nail. Freddie would soon be buried.
21
When Nancy stepped across the Tropicana floor, all the men fixed their eyes on her for she did not look the Tropicana type. Jagua swivelled round. She saw not the Nancy Oll of old, young and lithe, but an even more superb Nancy with a brilliant touch of sophistication to her. She had learnt in England how to use make-up that heightened her personal charm. Lipstick that blended with her natural complexion, nail varnish that did not convert the nails into blood-stained claws, foundation garments that yet left the body free. Jagua had to admit that Nancy was stunning.
‘You seen Freddie?’ she was looking steadily at Jagua.
‘Why you ask me, Nancy? First of all, welcome from Englan’! Since I lef’ you for Bagana we never seen. I don’ know say you and Freddie done return from England.’
‘You tellin’ lie, Jagua! I awready hear everythin’ about you and him.’
Jagua was startled by Nancy’s manner. She tried to keep her voice down. ‘Ah swear to God. Why I will tell you lie?’
‘Don’ call God in this matter, you devil-woman!’
‘I swear to God! I got nothin’ to do with your man since he return. I wantin’ nothin’ from ’im. And he awready pos’ de money he owe me. What more?’
‘I say you lyin’, Jagua!’ The words were slapped out in anger. ‘Since we return, Freddie’s been strayin’ from de home; and he strayin’ to your place!’
Jagua could endure the taunting no longer. ‘Excuse me, Nancy! Who you callin’ liar? Me? I beg you not to call me liar again. Or you done forget your experience in Bagana Creek, how I save your life? I’m not your rank. I don’ care whedder you from England come. You be only small pickin’ to me. I fit born you from my belly. I got nothin’ to do with small pickin’ like you who don’ respect her senior. Go call you Mama an’ I kin talk wit’ her, not you. You’re only small pickin’ to me. I awready dismiss Freddie from me mind because I don’ love him no more. If he runnin’ after some woman, is your own fault, das all! You don’ fit to hold you man!’
The man seated beside Jagua folded his robes and glared at Nancy Oll. ‘Who’s this lady?’
‘She’s de wife of dat man, Freddie Namme who jus’ return –’
‘Jagua, but I warn you already about … not to—’
‘Shut up, Uncle Taiwo. I don’ know anythin’ about Freddie, das all I say!’
Men began to crowd round Jagua and Nancy. They formed a ring and their girls enlarged the ring. Jagua turned to them. ‘I jus’ sitting here, drinking with me Master.’ She nodded at Uncle Taiwo. ‘All ’pon sudden, dis small pickin’ of yesterday come to see me to accuse me, where’s her man? I tell her I don’ know who’s Freddie. And she begin curse me—’
‘You’re a liar,’ Nancy insisted. ‘You know Freddie – too much! I come here to warn you! Leave my man for me? He see you harlot woman before he marry me. You miss your chance.’
‘You bastard!’
‘Harlot, you got no shame! So you use to run after man who you can born. I don’ blame you, your womb done dried up. You old hag! You kin never born any more.’
The words slashed deep into Jagua’s pride. She could forgive anything but that taunt about childlessness. She leapt at Nancy, straight from the stool. Nancy clenched her fist to strike a blow, but it never landed. Someone seized her from behind. Jagua found herself entangled in Uncle Taiwo’s robes and he was taking her forcibly out of the Tropicana.
Uncle Taiwo was shaking his fist at Nancy. ‘You call yourself a lady who been to England. What d’you learn dere, I wonder? You call my missis harlot woman! Wait till I face your man. He goin’ to run out of dis Lagos.’
Jagua felt his protective hands on her as he took her towards the Pontiac. It was a new feeling to her.