When our center table was full, Big Guy brought out two fold-up stands from the car. I had never seen so much food in my life except in raw form in the open market. Yet Big Guy kept bringing more. The good smell swallowed up Mama’s perfume, and I was so overwhelmed that I was no longer hungry.
Though I didn’t sleep like my sister, I was in my own world, a foretaste of what I thought Gabon would be like. I remembered Fofo saying we were going to be rich and start eating well. Things had moved very fast for our family, and, comforted by the care of Mama that night, I had no reason to doubt that we were coming into better times. It wasn’t difficult for me to imagine that our godparents were important people, since Big Guy, an immigration officer, drove them around and served them. Thinking about Gabon as the land of opportunity now came to me naturally, and my mind began to pine for it. I imagined my sister and me being driven to school in a car. Now, even thinking about riding to school on our Nanfang felt sort of beneath me.
“SWEETIE, I’LL JUST CALL you Mary, OK?” Mama said to my sister, gently shaking her awake. “Good morning, Mary, sleepyhead . . .”
Yewa rubbed her eyes and her gaze wandered from me to Mama, before coming to rest on the assorted food. Her eyes widened slowly until they almost popped with shock.
“Would you like to be called Mary, or do you want another name, sweetie?” Mama said to her.
“Wake up, Yewa!” I said.
She didn’t say anything but scratched her head and yawned. Then she reached out to touch the Coke nearest her.
“Your brother likes Pascal, you know,” Mama tried again, winking at me. “He is now Pascal.”
Yewa looked at me, a flash of understanding touching her face.
“Pascal?” she said.
“Yes, my new name is Pascal,” I said, shrugging and smiling shyly. “It’s OK, Yewa.”
She shook her head. “My name is Yewa Mandabou!”
“When Mama gives you a name,” I said quickly, “she remembers you because she has lots of children to care for. You’re still Yewa, I’m still Kotchikpa . . .”
“Yes and no, Pascal,” Mama interjected in the softest of voices. “It’s best if we just use one name so that there’s no confusion. I’m sure your sister will understand.”
“Yes, Mama.” I nodded.
I felt I had overreached in my attempt to help matters. A pang of remorse settled in my stomach, and I shifted on the bed and held on to the bedpost to hide my embarrassment.
“Mary?” Mama said to her, testing out the name, her smile at its widest.
Yewa nodded awkwardly, still staring at me. I nodded vigorously, partly to make up for my bad explanation earlier, partly to assure Yewa it was OK. “Mary is a beautiful name,” I said. “Beautiful.”
“You’re so so cute,” Mama told her. “Oh, so obedient, respectful of your older brother. . . . I’m sorry I had to wake you up for dinner. Is that OK, Mary?”
“I don’t know,” Yewa said, and shifted her attention to the food.
“She can be stubborn,” I told Mama. “She needs a bit of time.”
“I don’t think she’s stubborn,” she said. “She’s a good girl, and we have time.”
With her forefinger, Yewa traced the Coca-Cola logo on the can. She was about to lick the finger when Mama grabbed her hand. “Oh, no, Mary!” she said, shaking her head. “You can have whatever you want . . .”
“Yes, Mama,” she said.
“Everything is for you, sweetie. OK, Mary?”
“Yes, Mama. . . . Could I have Coke, please?”
Mama opened the Coke immediately, as if Yewa would reject her new name if she wasted time, and poured it into my sister’s mouth. Yewa’s face was upturned like a suckling lamb’s. The bubbly drink filled her open mouth slowly, her throat releasing loud gulps into her stomach.
Mama stopped abruptly.
“Do you want more, Mary?” she asked.
Yewa was panting. “Yes, Mama.”
WHEN THE OTHERS FINALLY came into the room, it felt crowded, with everyone sitting on the beds. Apart from the three men, there was a boy and a girl. Mama had scooped a plateful of couscous and stew and was spooning it into Yewa’s mouth. She ate like a hungry dog, her gaze following every movement of the spoon. It was hot inside, and though Big Guy asked Fofo Kpee to open the two windows, the room still swelled with steamy appetizing smells.
“So how are you, my children?” Papa’s voice boomed out, and Mama proudly told him our new names and nudged me toward him to shake his outstretched hand. “Hello, Pascal,” he said, taking my hand.
“Welcome, sir,” I said.
“I’m Monsieur Ahouagnivo.”
“Nice to meet you, monsieur.”
Papa looked far older than Mama, as if he were her father. He was big, as tall as Big Guy, and he was very black. His skin was darker than his hair, and the lower part of his face dissolved into a thick, groomed beard. His nostrils had some gray hair. If not for his white T-shirt, which caught the glow of the lantern, it would have been difficult to see the rest of his body because of the depth of his blackness. He smiled often, staining the dimness with a set of fine teeth. He wore shorts and flip-flops, as if he were on his way to some night beach.
“Hello there, Mary!” he said, waving to Yewa, who was too busy with her food to respond.
Fofo Kpee, who was leaning by the door that led into the inner room, opened his mouth, as if to prompt Yewa. His face wore embarrassment.
“No say anyting!” Big Guy hissed to him. “Leave de gal alone.”
Fofo nodded and put his hands behind him like a servant.
I had hoped he would crack jokes and ring with laughter the whole evening, to entertain everyone. Though he was tense as we awaited our godparents’ arrival, I had hoped he would start acting the fool, the way he did during the party after the Nanfang Thanksgiving. But he didn’t. We were in his house, but he didn’t even welcome the guests or introduce them to us. Now, he stood around like a new servant who had to rely on an older one, Big Guy, to know his bearing. I didn’t like it when Fofo lost his sense of humor. But tonight, I thought maybe he was dazed by the generosity of our godparents or was afraid we might let him down by not making a good impression.
Then Papa stood up and gestured to the other children. “Oh, before we forget, Pascal and Mary, please, here are your siblings . . . Antoinette from Togo and Paul from northern Nigeria.”
I smiled and turned to Antoinette, who was closer to me. But she ignored me, stood up, and started scooping the pepper soup into a bowl. She was short and big-boned, with a round face, little flat nose, and big mouth that later on that night would gobble up everything, irrespective of the food combination. Her little eyes were restless, taking in our poor surroundings with disgust.
“Antoinette, stop and greet your brother!” Mama snapped at her.
“Mama, I don’t like this hut!” she responded, and bit into a piece of meat.
Mama glared at her. “What did you say?”
“Yes, Mama, yes, Mama,” Antoinette said, and turned toward me and gave me a peck on each cheek, the pepper in her breath fanning my eyes.
“Good girl,” Mama said, her face back in creases of smile. “That’s how we ladies greet men in Gabon!” Mama turned to me. “I’m sure she is just teasing you. Go ahead, say hello to Paul.”
“Hello, Paul,” I said, putting forward my hand.
“Hi,” he said, and gave me a limp handshake.
Paul’s eyes were red and teary. A tall frail-looking boy, he sat at the edge of Fofo Kpee’s bed and was as silent and unmoving as a statue. His skin had rashes, and the lotion he used had a pungent smell. He had a wide forehead and a sharp chin, which made his face look like a big cone. All evening, he hung his head as if it were too heavy for his neck to carry.