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Chapter 32
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Just for two weeks Chapter 33
Eventually, on the third day, Jason found a way of walking alone with the old man. "So, what shall I tell you about my old boss, Lugard?" The old man smiled as he spoke. ""Even before the time whereby I started employment with My Boss, Lugard and his Lady, my father was in Lugard's service before me. He was the one who accompanied my Boss, Lugard Borgu, to claim it away from the French. You follow?" "Yes sir," Jason nodded, bemused by the man's obvious admiration for his old boss and wondering, as he continued recounting his stories, how much of his ways had been learnt from Lugard. "Sometimes, he would ask for my advice on international affairs."Jason nodded, finding this particularly interesting, as it was a side of Lugard not reflected in the diaries. Jason laughed, his mind now racing with questions as the man continued to talk about his time with Lugard. As he talked, Jason found himself thinking of his father. The more he listened to older people, the more he realized
Just for two weeks Chapter 34
Jason sat at the Hill Station bar, remembering the night he and Grace had gone there for drinks before going to the Chinese restaurant next door. He remembered sharing hot spring rolls, and each of them claiming to be better than the other with their chopsticks when neither of them could manage to bring food to their mouths without it falling off the sticks first. They had laughed a lot that night, like new lovers, and then went home to make love so passionately that it had given him hope. But that was then. Now Ivy and Grace had left him for a life in England. Jason sighed, pushing aside the saucer of chips and shaking his head to the offer of another beer. Music pulsated from the speakers half-hidden by fat bottles of Bacardi and scotch, and the barmen sang along to a tune that Jason recognised. "Who's this artist?" Jason asked."Michael Jackson, sir," the barman answered.Jason nodded. Yes, it was Ivy's music, although now that he was a frequent visitor to bars perhaps it was mor
Just for two weeks Chapter 35
He had come to his office early that afternoon to evaluate some documentation. After hours of glancing at papers with the help of the view, he straightened the remaining stack of papers and stood up to stretch. He glanced at his watch. It was late and his head hurt: time to go home. Not that there was anyone waiting for him there. Megan was away visiting relatives. Though he missed Megan's company. He did not miss her demands. She was bright but immature and petulant at times. He had begun to wish that she would find someone else - someone she could marry, which seemed to be the thing foremost on her mind. Jason ran his hand over the faded pictures that hung above his desk. Here was an old postcard he had brought back from Oxford with the colors of the Aureole now looking brown rather than the original bright white and yellow. Jason sighed as he put down the postcard and looked at all the other pictures pinned to the wall - the rest were Ivy creations hanging loosely on dry bits of Ce
Just for two weeks Chapter 36
"You know the first piece I read of yours was the article on Seychelles," he said as they sat down. "It was a superb article. You were critical of the organizers."She nodded. "What was the name of that Indian place we went to? Viceroys, or Raj, I think it was called. Something with a colonial ring to it." He tapped his forehead to remember."The Taj.""That's right," he laughed, longer than seemed necessary.The conversation had grown awkward again, and Lola wished the waiter had given them more time before returning to announce the choice of condiments."Mango chutney. Spicy sauce. Yogurt." The man beamed."And Emelia?" He asked."The last time I heard, she got married to Chris and was living somewhere in California. We haven't stayed in touch.""And You? Tell me more about your Businesses, especially your plans for startups," she said, searching for a neutral topic of conversation."Well, I would prefer to tell you something much more interesting.""I'm all ears," she smiled."I do
Just for two weeks Chapter 37
She had said no the first time he asked her to marry him. But when he proposed again several months later, she managed to persuade herself that her initial reservations were foolish. He was, after all, her closest friend and it seemed only natural that they should marry. Eighteen years. She had grown to love him, but those things that she had not liked in the beginning never went away and what was, for a short time, the attraction of his older age soon disappeared as well. Now he was forgetful and prone to repeating stories. In his retirement he spent hours and hours in his men's clubs with his very English friends. He smoked and drank, and talked incessantly of holiday homes in the south of France. He no longer thirsted for Africa. And then there was something else, so small and trivial that it bothered Lola that she even noticed it, yet it was worse than all the other irritations, and always there. His smell. It cloaked the house and seeped into everything they owned: clothes, curta
Just for two weeks Chapter 38
For example, I'm no longer certain about the existence of a God. There are both fundamental elements in our culture that one is not supposed to question. I also find that I tire of social interaction in a way that is deemed unacceptable to most people here, and this is where Mphahele's essay seemed particularly insightful to me now. I refer to 'The Fabric of African cultures' which is an exposé of the so-called elements that make up the 'African personality.' These characteristics are obviously generalizations, but I believe they still ring true for much of the continent. Mphahele speaks of the importance attached to the extended family, communal responsibility and reverence for ancestral spirits, but it is his last observation that particularly struck me this time around. Mphahele speaks of the cultural tendency to gravitate toward other people rather than toward things and places. This is something I was only subliminally aware of until I read the essay. In a way, 'things' (such as
Just for two weeks Chapter 39
Lola stared at her computer thinking of Jason's most recent letters. She had remembered something that her mother once told her about love, and she tried to remember when the conversation had taken place, deciding that it must have been late in the summer. They had been sitting in the garden, she with a book on her lap and Mother could have been telling any story, the mere cadence of her voice was enough to soothe, but it wasn't just any old story. In retrospect, Lola wished she had asked more questions, but at that time she could only think of how things related to her and Jason. Now she wondered what the story might have meant to Mother, and who might have told her the story. Her mother had told her that there was a saying that a person never married their first love. A person always married someone else, but later in life that person would be reunited with their first love. They apparently has a phrase for it: they call it the Pick-up-your-stick-and-standals marriage, which
Just for two weeks Chapter 40
Rain fell lightly from all directions like fine sifted flour being shaken from the heavens. This was England, Sussex to be precise, in the middle of summer. Joy, the Zimbabwean care worker, opened the front door and nodded without speaking as she let Lola in. Not for the first time did Lola wonder how a person so dour-looking could be so named. The lack of communication with joyless Joy bothered Lola. Usually others warmed to her, and especially Africans who were always delighted by the mere fact that she knew something about their continent. But then perhaps it was not fair to blame Joy. Working in such a place was bound to squeeze out every last bit of joy from a person. The Garrison Home for the Elderly had a steamed up feel - warm and stuffy, like a Second-hand clothing shop with the added lingering smells of Sunday roast, disinfectant and urine. When Lola arrived, three people sat in the lounge: her grandfather; Mrs Bailey slouched in her chair, fast asleep; and dear old Mrs
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