“We were rescued from the water by a caring crew,” we said.
“ ‘We were more than these, but some are dead.’”
“We were more than these, but some are dead.”
“ ‘We were tossed into the sea, and many of us died.’”
“We were tossed into the sea, and many of us died.”
“ ‘We had been at sea for three days before the sailors told us we were at risk.’”
“We had been at sea for three days before the sailors told us we were at risk.”
“ ‘We were heading for Côte d’Ivoire before the mishap.’”
“We were heading for Côte d’Ivoire before the mishap.”
Satisfied, he asked me to stand up and go get him two cups. I went over to the cutlery basket and pulled two out.
“Make we do someting interesting,” he said. “Dis na just some water and salt. Don’t be afraid. Ready?”
“Yes,” we said.
He carefully poured the water from the jug into the cups. He took a sip from each cup and licked his lips with his tongue as if it were a tasty drink. He offered the cups to us and we drank the salty thing.
“At-sea Orientation be de name. . . . Dis in case drinking water come finish for vessel . . . at least you go survive for one day.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Also in case dem dey toss you overboard . . .”
“Overboard?” I said, surprised.
“Just for short time . . . but maybe dem go give you life jacket or big plank which many of you go hold for inside water. We dey do dat sometimes if navy—bad-bad government people—come harass us for sea at night, OK? Dem dey tie de plank to ship, so no fear. Just to hide you for water while dem dey search our ship. You no go sink. . . . We no want risk anyting.”
“It’s good to be prepared,” I said.
“For de few days we get here, you go take de salt water twice a day. I go bring de water wid de manger et fresh water, OK?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
He started to leave the room but stopped and said, “Ah, one more ting—new plan. In three days, we dey bring oder children to live here wid you. We go take everyting out of dis room. We need space. You go show dem how to be good children.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Any question? Ou bien, wetin you need?”
Yewa and I exchanged glances.
“Please, do you know Antoinette and Paul?” I said. “Are they coming to stay with us?”
“Are dese de children Fofo promised Big Guy?” he said excitedly, searching our faces. “Tell me de trud.”
“No,” I said, happy that our uncle changed his mind before he brought my other siblings into this evil plot.
“So who be dese?” he said.
“Big Guy knows them,” Yewa said. “Mama and Papa brought them to our place a long time ago.”
The man sighed, and his body settled into the ease of disappointment. “Well, if Big Guy know dem, trust me, dem done reach Gabon déjà. . . . No, you no know dis group qui arrive ici . . . but ils sont des bon kids . . . eager to travel.”
“So when are we traveling?” I asked.
“Immediately de children arrive. Dis na your batch.”
“What about Fofo Kpee?” my sister asked.
“Fofo Kpee?” the man said ruefully, as if he didn’t know whom we were talking about. “What about him?”
“We will see him before we go?” I said.
“Ah, I go tell you about Fofo tomorrow,” he said, and quickly switched off his flashlight before I could see his face. He left the room.
Late into that night, I didn’t sleep. Everything was quiet outside. I kept thinking about what the guard would tell us the following day. I wanted to know how Fofo was doing in the hospital, and, if he was feeling bad about our trip, to tell him it was OK. It was clear to me now that he had sealed the inner room to house children until they could be shipped to Gabon. I remembered how Big Guy looked at our house when they brought the Nanfang and said it was OK for the meantime. Now I understood that Fofo and Big Guy were planning to build some bigger depot with the roofing sheets and cement.
I woke up with a start that night to the sound of a bike riding into our compound. Another one rode in and stopped, and there were brisk footsteps that got louder as they came around the house, toward the back. Slowly I stood up and looked into the darkness, then went and put my ear to the window. My breath quickened as I imagined them surrounding the house. I thought they were going to ship us to Gabon that night, and I resigned myself to my fate.
When they went past the window, I stole across the room to the back door. They went to work immediately. I heard thuds hitting the ground; I suspected they were digging. The rhythm was uneven and faster than what one man could have managed alone, so I guessed there were at least two diggers. They worked fast and hard in silence. Their tools sometimes crashed into hard objects. It sounded like they were digging beyond where we normally cooked outside, beside the bathroom. The spray of sand hitting the grass and leaves was unmistakable.
“Deep enough?” someone said after a while.
“Too shallow,” Big Guy said. “Bring your spade; continue.”
I bit my lip when I recognized his voice, knowing we were in for it. I didn’t want to meet him again in this life, but there he was, so close to me. It was as if he were already in the room with me, hiding under the bed or the sheets, waiting for the right time to hurt us. I could only think of the last time Big Guy came into our house, when Fofo told him the Gabon deal was dead.
“MAIS, YOU NO WANT pay us?” said the first speaker, and someone stopped working. I knew because now I heard just one spade hitting the ground and spraying the sand in a neat, measured fall.
“Finish first,” Big Guy said.
“I done tire,” the man whined again.
I pressed my ear harder into the back door until it hurt.
“Tire? You kidding,” Big Guy said.
“I dey go o! I no want work for you anymore.”
“No, no, here na safe place.”
“Dis no be de plan before,” the man bargained with Big Guy. “We gree say we go dig one—not two—remember?”
“We had to abandon de oder place and run. No be ma faute. I no know people go surprise us for dat hour on dat road. . . . I go pay well.”
“Combien? How much?”
“Hey, no shout,” Big Guy said, laughing. “People dey sleep in dis house.”
“Oh yeah?” the other man said, and stopped digging too. “If dem catch us nko? You no tell us de risk big like dis o.”
“Oh, just children,” Big Guy assured them. “Dem dey sleep.”
“I say I no want work again,” said the first.
“We must finish before daybreak. . . . D’accord, how much you want?”
He managed another short laugh, that short soothing laugh that told you everything was all right when it wasn’t. I remembered him laughing that way when Fofo introduced him to the party crowd after the Nanfang Thanksgiving. I could imagine his sinister eyes now, cool and quick in the dark, as he tried to renegotiate with these men.
“Plus argent,” one of the men said.