It felt odd to have appeared here, three minutes away from the road. And it wasn’t just the filtered gloom and coolness. Each time he stepped into this swamp, Ajie felt that it claimed him, glazed and held him apart from the world outside.
They heard a rustle. Ahead of them was a man in a brown loincloth, climbing down a palm tree. He held on to a harness with one hand, and with the other he held a blue keg foaming with palm wine freshly tapped from the tree. They greeted him when they got to the foot of the palm wine tree, and he grunted back at them and continued his business.
The two boys came into a clearing where wild jewel orchids were pushing out their last flowers. They stripped and bunched their clothes together on top of a shrub by the pond. Ossai first gave his shorts a quick wash, rubbing and kneading the cloth as it squished out lather, then a final rinse. Ajie sat at the edge of the pond, dipped his toe in it, and flicked the water. He cleared the water lilies to a corner and squatted beside the pond, looking into the opaque green water. A warm crack of sunlight fell through the trees and touched his back. He dived. The splash was as loud as his dive was clumsy, and then a hush fell over the space. The water bubbled and rippled. It was as if the swamp held its breath for a few seconds and then let go in a rowdy babble that rose sharply among the startled birds in the trees.
“It’s dangerous to dive in like that,” Ossai said, easing into the water. “There are usually sticks at that end of the pond. People set their nets there sometimes, so you need to check first.”
Ossai rubbed his head and body with a green soap that smelled clean and rubbery, like an eraser. Ajie climbed out of the pond and searched in his bag on the side. The green Palmolive soap was too big to hold in one hand, so he held it with both. He smeared it on his head and all over his body, then let himself back into the pond.
They dried themselves, and Ossai moved his drying clothes to a spot where the sun had gained ground. He shivered a little in the sunlight, then picked up a stone and flung it across the pond. It startled a little bird by the bank.
“Do you know the name?” Ajie asked as they watched the bird fly away.
“Kpamboy,” Ossai replied.
Ajie thought it might be a gray hornbill. “I wonder what it’s called in English…not too sure,” he said under his breath. The gray hornbill had yellow feet, but this one’s feet were black. Ma’s Encyclopaedia of Tropical Birds covered a wide range of species and had colored pictures. Ajie and Paul used to play Spot and Name and often had unresolved arguments over shades of plumage, length of tail, and birdcall. Ma, who was expected to have the last say in these matters, said that some of the species they found in Ogibah may not have been named in English. This response was unsatisfactory in the competitive atmosphere. “The rain forest,” Ma would continue importantly, “supports the highest diversity of all living organisms the world over.” She would transform into the schoolmistress before her classroom, a biology teacher dressed in calf-length georgette skirt and chiffon blouse, with a chalk in one hand and an efficient duster in the other.
Ahead, on top of a rotting palm trunk, a squirrel in its perfect camouflage coat stretched out, calm, disregarding. Ajie picked up a stone and aimed.
“The head is mine if you hit.”
“I’ll have to knock it dead first.”
“The head is mine if you hit, like I said.” Ossai waited for the shot. “And you’ll need a bigger stone if you intend to harm it at all.”
A siren went off that startled both Ajie and the squirrel. “Oh no!” Ajie shouted.
“It’s ten o’clock,” Ossai said.
“Where is it coming from?” Ajie asked.
Ossai felt the clothes to see if they were dry. The khaki shorts had a starched stiffness to them. He folded the washed clothes into the cellophane bag, hopped into the fresh shorts he’d brought along, put his shirt on, and left the button undone. “Base Camp,” he replied.
“When did they start blowing this siren? I don’t think I heard it when we came last year.”
“Not sure when it started, but it’s every Tuesday morning now, by ten. My father said it’s a signal for the engineers to rest their drilling machines.”
“Really?” Ajie said. “I’ll ask Bendic when we get home.”
“He will know better,” Ossai said. “My father is just a night watchman at the Location.”
“That doesn’t mean he can’t know why,” Ajie said softly. “I just want to hear what Bendic will say.”
They came out of the bush, and the sun bore down on them as they walked toward the school. The sun had baked everything it could reach, and the ground ahead of them shifted like steaming fluid.
“I’m sure by now they’ll be looking for you.”
“They won’t. It’s our holiday, and I can go anywhere I want,” Ajie said. He wasn’t some soft city boy who couldn’t be away for a minute without being missed.
“Okay, then. Will you follow me to my house so I can check something for my mother?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll come back with you to your house.”
“Okay.”
—
Loud voices were already coming from Bendic’s parlor as Ajie and Ossai came up the stairs. Ajie knew the parlor would be packed full of people. Bicycles were parked beside the door downstairs, and they both went upstairs and Ajie opened the door a bit, put his face through the screen door and scanned the crowd of men sitting.
Paul was with the young men who stood at the back. His bright blue T-shirt stood out among the tired old ones the others wore. Still, standing there with his face set and attentive, he was very much part of the group. When Ajie asked Paul later that evening what the meeting was about, Paul explained. “Company wants to give Ogibah one million naira for the new yam festival celebration.” Ajie was in bed listening to Paul, who was in his own bed across the room.
“They want to build gas pipelines, too, and some people’s farms and houses would be affected. They want to pay compensation. Mark thinks they should be made to wait. That if they give them an easy way, they would take us for granted, like they did in the past. He said, ‘Why is it okay for them to take all the resources in our land, destroy our homes, and leave us with nothing?’ But people think they are going about trying to buy off individuals rather than dealing with the whole community as one. People suspect Nwokwe is Company’s inside man, although he denies it.
“Others suggested we accept the money and buy cows with it and share among everyone for the festival. Whether we accept their terms is another matter. Someone cautioned them to bear in mind that it is the devil we are dining with here; we should therefore use a long spoon. These people have government on their side. They look like they are asking us, but they are not; they prefer to indulge us, at least. If any commotions come out here, then you will see who will come to battle. Everyone here knows you cannot fight government. No medicine can kill government. They will burn a holy shrine and go scot-free: something an ordinary person would do and not last the hour without falling down dead.
“Are you asleep?” Paul asked.
“No,” Ajie replied, “I’m listening.”
There was a faint distant drumming from the night. It could have been coming from another village, although as Ajie slid toward sleep, the drumming advanced and retreated, as if emanating from the farthest quarters of Ogibah or close to his window or the room next door, where Bibi was asleep.
Ajie had barely set eyes on Bibi throughout the day. They separated each time they came to Ogibah: They became boys and girls, each doing his or her own thing. Bibi had come in sometime that afternoon to ask Ma for a George wrapper and scarf for a dance practice she was taking part in. She had beads around her left ankle and on her wrists, and she had applied talcum powder all around the length of her neck and on the top of her chest and back. She would have looked really idiotic had they not been in Ogibah.