Books
Two Anglo-Nigerian women learn of a friends traumatic incident in an excerpt from MaysWahala.
Fifi opened the door.
Sister Ronke, you are welcome.
Ronke pushed Boo through the open door.
Hello, ma, you are welcome, ma.
kindly come and sit, ma.
Rivulets of oil had escaped and dribbled down her face and neck.
Boo picked at a tub of jollof rice.
Fifi had finished cornrowing Boos hair step one in the weave process.
Did I tell you what happened to Aunty K last weekend?
She knew she hadnt, but she wanted to start this story casually.
Boo turned to face Ronke.
Keep your head straight, ma!
I am holding big needle,ehn.
yo dont call me ma, said Boo for the fourth time.
Im sorry, ma, said Fifi.
Its going to be one big fro, said Ronke.
Boos hair was now a spiral of cornrows snaking round her head.
Fifi was stitching on hair extensions, wefts of frizzy brown and blond hair.
I look like a mollusk, said Boo.
The braids should be tighter,ehn, said Fifi.
This is not lasting a long time, ma.
Boo peered in the mirror.
I look like Ive had a facelift.
I think it might be too long, I dont want to be Chaka Khan.
Im cutting it after, ma.
Fifi muted the sound on the TV.
Sister Ronke, you are telling us about your aunty.
She pronounced it anti.
It made Ronke feel homesick.
In Nigeria everyone older than you was anantior anuncoo.
Shed only been home for two weeks when it happened, said Ronke.
She ate the last piece ofkeleweleand wiped her hands on a napkin.
And shed told it three times.
To Rafa, Kayode and Kayodes sister, Yetty.
It got more exaggerated with each retelling.
She spun her chair round so she was more central, then decided standing would be more dramatic.
This was proper Naija gist it had to be told the right way.
In a loud voice and with lavish gestures.
It was a regular Sunday, Ronke began.
Aunty K had been to Lagos for the weekend.
After church, she set off for home an easy two- hour drive.
Aunty K is always careful, she never uses the expressway at night, doesnt venture out after dark.
She keeps the doors locked and windows wound up.
And all her valuables even her wedding ring were stashed in her handbag, hidden in the footwell.
Shed even put her dummy bag on the passenger seat.
Whats a dummy bag?
A cheap bag to fool the robbers, standard practice in Lagos.
Aunty K has a set of keys, a broken phone and some old makeup in hers.
Its a decoy if you get carjacked, the thieves snatch it and run.
By the time they find out, fingers crossed, youre miles away.
Bloody hell, said Boo.
Lord, in your mercy, protect us.
Fifi touched her hand to her forehead, chest and shoulders.
Ronke paused, worried Fifi would stab herself with the big needle.
Once Fifi was safe from puncture wounds, she resumed.
Now, Aunty K isnt rich and her car isnt flashy.
Were talking dusty five-year-old Toyota Sienna.
No leather seats, no air-con, no central locking.
Boo stumbled over the word.
A used car you know, secondhand.
It means from across the sea an import.
By this point, Fifi had stopped working on Boos hair, the comb and needle abandoned.
She held one hand up to her face, a stricken but eager expression on it.
Even Boo looked spellbound, if a little odd with a quarter of an Afro.
Ronke turned her voice up a notch.
So, Aunty Ks on the expressway, singing along to her church program, thinking about supper.
She was pretty sure she had someedikaikongsoup in the freezer.
This is Nigeria, Boo, so the hard shoulder is not a safe haven.
Its pot-holed and full of crap old burst tires, burned-out cars.
You dont know whats lurking there.
Oh, my sweet Jesus.
Fifi crossed herself again.
Bloody hell, whispered Boo.
Aunty K is trembling like a leaf, cursing the idiot who ran her off the road.
The church music is still blaring out on the radio, shes taking deep breaths.
Ronke clapped her hands together.
Fifi and Boo jumped gratifyingly.
The drivers-side window explodes, Ronke continued.
A shower of tiny shards of glass rains down.
Aunty K thinks its a bomb.
Rough hands yank her out of the car.
Someone is shouting but she has no idea what hes saying.
Shes thrown down onto the hot filthy tarmac.
Three men are leaning over her; they have machetes in their hands.
Her wrapper is pulled open.
She knows this is the end.
Shes going to be raped and murdered.
Pray God, save our aunty, breathed Fifi.
Then God speaks to Aunty K. He tells her to sing.
To sing for her life.
Ronke realized shed gone a bit RuPaul on the last line Rafas influence.
The God-speaking hadnt actually happened.
Ronke had added that bit for Fifis benefit.
She considered lying on the floor, doing a full arms-crossed impression, but the salon was dirty.
She sang, aiming for soprano, improvising as she didnt know the tune.
Save me, Jesus, Save me, Jesus, From this godforsaken place.
Ronke paused to ramp up the tension.
Sweet holy Jesus, said Fifi.
Turns out the thieves were scared of God and they scarpered.
A passing car had seen it all and rushed to help.
The driver of that car was the angel a nurse in uniform.
Onyame ye!God is truly wonderful.
He works in mysterious ways, said Fifi.
I am never going to Nigeria, said Boo.
Shit happens everywhere, said Ronke.
From the bookWAHALAby Nikki May.
