The nigerwife, p.2
The Nigerwife, page 2
CLAUDINE OPENED her eyes to lights on in the cabin and a flurry of activity as passengers threw off their blankets and made last dashes to the toilets. The seat belt sign came on, and the pilot announced they should prepare for landing.
Unforgiven had long since finished, but she couldn’t remember how it ended. She noticed the two little girls were gone.
“I hope you had a nice rest,” said Annie, appearing at her elbow. “Do you need help returning your seat to the upright position?”
Claudine nodded gratefully as Annie jerked her up.
“Annie, what happened to those two little girls sitting there?” She pointed to where they’d been.
“Two little girls?” asked Annie, looking around the cabin. “I didn’t see them. Were they bothering you?”
“No, not at all. They were sitting right there for most of the flight, then they just disappeared. One bigger girl, one smaller. I think they were traveling alone.”
Annie shook her head and stowed Claudine’s tray. “Those seats have been empty the whole flight. I think I would have noticed two little nuggets sitting there. And we don’t allow children under fourteen to fly alone anymore. Are you sure you didn’t mean another row?”
Claudine frowned, then smiled quickly. “Must be my mistake. Thank you, Annie.” She chastised herself for drinking the champagne and braced as the plane seemed to nose-dive toward land.
CHAPTER TWO NICOLE
Before
Lagos
TIMI LOOPED through the garden and screamed in delight, a blue-and-red Spitfire, arms stretched out, cape fluttering behind him. Nicole smiled as he zigzagged toward the lagoon, then the house, followed by his friends and three-year-old brother in a synchronized display of childish joy.
“Hey, Mummy!” Timi passed the present table, where Nicole was rearranging the stack of gifts people had brought. She watched the children crash-land on the bouncy castle in a shrieking heap. Then they were off again, wheeling across the grass.
She was thankful he either hadn’t noticed or wasn’t bothered his dad wasn’t there yet, but it bothered her. Other fathers were there. By now, most of the guests had arrived. The sun had settled down and the soothing lagoon breeze had lured the parents out from under the canopies onto the lawn where they mingled, watching their children enjoy the various attractions: a photo booth complete with a collection of oversized glasses, feather boas, and outrageous hats for guests to photograph themselves in; an entertainer dressed as Batman who knew all the moves to “Gangnam Style”; a “real” pizza parlor; a bouncy castle; a climbing frame; candy floss and ice cream stands. Tonye was all that was missing now. She hadn’t seen him all day, and he hadn’t responded to messages.
Nicole checked her phone again. Still nothing. She blinked, willing herself not to cry. If she started, she didn’t know if she could stop, and people would think she was crying because her husband was late for their son’s fifth birthday. It wasn’t that. Not really. She had texted Tonye yesterday that they needed to talk and hadn’t seen him since. She tried not to think about what she’d found in his suitcase. If he was avoiding her, she’d kill him, she really would.
By the time she woke that morning, Tonye had been gone. The sheets on his side of the bed were rumpled but cold to the touch, showing he had slept beside her at some point. She had lain listening to a distorted Muslim call to prayer carrying over from the warship moored farther up the lagoon, wondering what had been so pressing for Tonye to leave before sunrise.
There were places he sometimes went early on a Saturday: to the gym, riding while it was still cool, or running the Lekki Bridge with a friend. But he’d known she needed to speak to him that morning, before people arrived. Yesterday afternoon she had looked for him in his office on the compound, but he’d gone out riding. She’d tried again when he returned, but after showering he left immediately, declaring he was running late for General Ishaku’s lavish eightieth birthday bash in LAD. “More of a networking event,” he’d said as an explanation for not inviting her along. Before going to bed, she’d texted him to say they really needed to talk in the morning. His early disappearance was conspicuous.
Nicole faced away from the party, pretending to stack presents and tidy the goody bags on the end of the table. In Tonye’s defense, men often came late to their children’s parties. They left the women to it. No one else seemed to have noticed his absence. They were distracted by the views, the house. She watched guests strolling under the palm trees by the waterfront, craning to look at the gray warship on the horizon. Farther along the coastline, the first few finished skyscrapers of the LAD—Lagos Atlantic Dream project—were visible. Beyond, the ocean shimmered into golden sky. She saw a couple pointing up at the vastness of the tiered-wedding-cake mansion, the classical Roman columns, the decorative stucco on the balconies. She imagined their conversation. Does it have to be Versailles every time? Why are we like this when we get money? Naturally, they would change everything. Get rid of the columns and all those pretentious swirls, put glass everywhere, like in Los Angeles. And of course, the end result would be infinitely more tasteful. It’s not how much you can spend; it’s a question of class.
She allowed a laugh and told herself to relax. She was worrying about nothing.
Imani, a fellow Nigerwife, approached with a warm hello, her twin girls and nanny in tow. The girls, who looked like miniature versions of their mother in their summer dresses, hair in a twist-out, the same confidence and poise, presented Nicole with a gift, which she accepted with a smile and set on the table.
“This view is insane,” Imani said in her amped American accent, hands on hips. The girls rushed off, their nanny running to keep up. “I would never expect this in the middle of Victoria Island.”
Nicole had heard that a lot today. First-time visitors always seemed shocked to find this pocket of serenity and sky just off Ahmadu Bello Way, one of Victoria Island’s most gridlocked streets. In the dusty, pockmarked back roads behind the shopping mall, there was no hint of the palatial waterfront compounds just meters away. It was only when you entered the house or walked around the side that you suddenly saw the silvery-blue lagoon and deserted islands, not a soul in sight. The view was the star attraction of this property, the thing that made people wonder how much money Chief was worth.
Imani seemed to make a big show of inhaling everything like a bouquet: the calm water, the agreeable sun, the graceful palms. Nicole wished she also could take a long, slow breath, but her chest was too tight. She straightened the row of goody bags, then began checking the contents of each, even though she’d filled them herself earlier.
“And look at you,” Imani said. “Gorgeous. You really snapped back after number two.”
Nicole laughed. Too thin, Chief had said recently, wagging his finger. Our wife, people will say you are not happy.
Imani looked around the party, shading her eyes from the sun that was now almost eye level across the water.
“Everything looks amazing. You’ve gone all out. Pizza parlor, candy floss, and an ice cream stall!”
Nicole smiled. “I know, it’s a lot. Probably too much.” But it still didn’t feel like enough. She could imagine the Nigerwives saying on the way home that the party was nothing special—only one bouncy castle, no Ferris wheel, no railway train, no roller-skating rink, not even proper champagne. That they expected more from the Oruwaris.
“Where is everyone?” Imani asked, meaning the other Nigerwives. Nicole gestured to the huddle of women at the far end of the lawn, easily identifiable by their foreignness—not just their differing phenotypes but their short summer dresses, espadrilles, sun hats, and H&M tops. The open invite had been posted in their WhatsApp group, but she was surprised so many had come. She’d drifted away from meetings after her friend Christina abruptly left Nigeria, not being close to anyone else. But quite a few had shown up regardless and on time, even a few she hadn’t met before. The Nigerwives were close, despite their frequent arguments. What was their saying again? “Sisters All”? They looked out for each other. Besides, who didn’t like a party in Lagos?
“Come back to meetings,” said Imani. “We miss you.”
“I will,” Nicole promised. “It’s just been…” She faltered. “You know how it is.”
“And where’s Tonye?”
Nicole dropped the goody bag in her hand, its contents scattering on the ground. She scrambled after them. A pack of colored pencils, a ruler, a sticker pad, sweets, a stupid pocket arcade game that probably wouldn’t even work. Imani bent down to help, passing items back to her. “Is everything okay?” she asked gently.
“Yes, yes.” Nicole was quick to smile. She dared not go into how she really felt. She didn’t want Imani running off to the other Nigerwives full of questions about her. Imani was head of the welfare committee. She’d heard Imani had “files” on all the Nigerwives, a running joke, maybe. She shoved everything back into the paper bag and clambered to her feet.
“Tonye had some last-minute business.” She shrugged nonchalantly. “You know these men. They leave the parties to us.” She laughed.
“I sure do know these men,” said Imani dryly. Her tone and stare made Nicole acutely uncomfortable. Did Imani know something about Tonye? She was almost tempted to ask.
“I should go find him,” Nicole said after a moment. “He’s probably at his desk working. Work, work, work.” She squeezed the brightness out of herself. “That’s all they do, isn’t it? I’ll be back shortly.”
Nicole walked toward the house, feeling Imani’s eyes still on her. She looked back just as Imani reached the Nigerwives, saw how they absorbed her into their mass, and it pierced her heart, remembering how much she was a part of things until she wasn’t.
It was a relief to finally enter the cool, dark central atrium, quiet as a church, away from the heat and noise of the party, all those eyes. And thank God there were no staff around. She leaned against a pillar. It had been a long day.
The house had looked so large when she’d first arrived in Lagos with Timi, not yet walking, in her arms. She had to bend her head back to look up at the roof. Three floors, a fifty-foot-high foyer, and a view straight down to the lagoon. Enormous chandeliers and supersized sofas. Giant family portraits hung on the walls, like in an English great house. It was so large everyone had their “quarters,” their own sitting room and bathroom. Chief and Mother-in-Law had obviously been inspired by their visits to Italy, since much of the original furniture was brightly colored, buttery Italian leather. The central ceiling had even been painted with a nod to the Sistine Chapel, the heavens opening up to reveal fat white cherubs blowing trumpets. And everywhere was bling, bling, bling: gold rosette medallions on the balustrades, gilded floral appliqué on the door casings and entrance tiles, countless expensive objets d’art like imitation Fabergé eggs, ornate candles, crystal vases, that sort of thing. But the luster had come off her life there. Perhaps the luster had come off her, and that was why Tonye was barely home. He hardly seemed to notice her these days.
Nicole approached Chief’s office, where Tonye’s and his father’s voices floated through the dark corridor. “Now is a great time to invest,” Tonye was saying with what sounded like veiled frustration. She paused outside. “An apartment for just over a million dollars now will hold its value, even if they never finish the city.”
“After the subsidence from their constant dredging, ruining this coastline, this is how you want to reward them—with my money?” Chief said, sounding testy. Nicole suppressed a laugh, knowing how much the random rumbling from the ground beneath them had unsettled him. It bothered her too, the strangest sensation, like the house was levitating. Though it lasted only seconds at a time, it was long enough to make her dizzy and stay up until 3 a.m. googling earthquakes in Lagos.
“LAD is here now, Dad. They’re clearing out the squatters from Bar Beach. The Dubai of Africa is happening.”
“What is here? What is happening? Property speculation will ruin everyone.”
“The oil price is up. We have a new president. It’s a good time. We are the sleeping giant of Africa, soon to awake like Sleeping Beauty.”
Chief’s laugh became a groan. “Sleeping Beauty. What prince will kiss us and wake us from this coma?” Another bellow of laughter, then the sound of Tonye joining in halfheartedly.
“Can I just look into it? There’s a lot of optimism. I was talking with the Khourys last night, and—”
“Stay away from those boys.” Chief’s tone shifted. “Their father is in bed with that Northerner, that crooked former general Ishaku. If your dealings with such people go bad, I can’t protect you. A lot can still go wrong with that project, and they are beyond ordinary justice.”
“But, Dad—” Nicole heard the high note of frustration in Tonye’s voice and felt briefly sorry for him. He had such great ideas, but Chief didn’t want to loosen the reins.
“Be patient, Tonye. You’re handling things well. The farm in Epe is yielding strong catfish. The hotel in Bayelsa is doing as well as can be expected. Focus on your house now. Your boys. Give me more grandchildren. Have I not provided? The time to strike out on your own will come one day. Keep up the good work.”
Nicole took a moment to straighten her dress, wicking away the sweat beads that had sprung up on her face, then entered the office to see Tonye seated on a chair opposite his father’s gold and mahogany desk. Tonye’s defeated expression turned into a smile when he saw her. He looked guilty too, slapping his forehead as if only now remembering the party. At least he was dressed for it, in the white trad she’d picked out to match her dress.
Chief wore his usual Ijaw attire, a collarless knee-length white tunic shirt buttoned up to the neck, a decorative diamantée fob chain looping down his chest and across his breast pocket, and black trousers underneath. A black felt gambler hat lay on the desk beside a ceremonial gold-topped cane that leaned against his chair. He smiled at Nicole, sharp eyes assessing her.
“Our wife,” he said, waving her in. “How is the party going?”
Nicole smiled. “It is going well, Dad. How are you?” She approached him and leaned over the desk to kiss his cheek.
Chief nodded.
“Tonye, our guests are asking for you,” she said. “I asked Bilal to fetch you.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Give me a minute. I was just telling Dad about an urgent business opportunity. This LAD project, you know. Gotta get in there quick.” He turned back to his father, who looked at his gold watch.
“Don’t worry, we can resume later.”
“But what do you—”
“Tonye, let us focus on your first son today. I’ll join you outside later.”
Cut off, Tonye hesitated before closing his laptop. At least he didn’t seem suspicious or worried about anything she might say. As he made some parting comments to his father, she looked around at the family portraits on the wall. There was a framed group photo of Tonye and his sisters with their parents. They all looked so young. It must have been taken about twenty years ago. Chief was slimmer with more hair, seated in the middle on an ornate chair. His children stood directly behind him in traditional gold fabrics. One sister was on either side of Tonye, both wearing geles on their heads. On one side, Mother-in-Law leaned over Chief as if cradling him fondly. It might have been for his sixtieth, years before Nicole started dating Tonye. Directly opposite Chief’s desk was the painting of Tonye’s older brother, who’d died young in a swimming accident, standing amid the heavens with an enigmatic smile and a halo of light shining around him. The portrait imagined the tall and handsome young man he might have become, not unlike Tonye. This family. There were photos of her and Tonye and the grandchildren in the hallway, near the front door. But this wall she always felt was more for Chief’s memories. His idea of who the Oruwaris were. The way he liked to think of them, of himself.
“Okay, let’s go.” Tonye ushered Nicole out of the room. As they walked through the corridor, he said, “What’s the hurry anyway that you needed Bilal to ‘fetch’ me, like a small boy?”
“We started at three.”
“I thought it was four.” He sounded genuinely surprised, and she was about to list all the reminders she’d given him until he chuckled and patted her shoulder. “You mustn’t get so stressed about these things. It’s mostly your Nigerwives anyway, isn’t it? More time for you all to complain about how terrible Nigeria is.” She heard a rattle of laughter in his throat and ignored him. They reached the door and paused, taking each other in. “Nice dress,” he said. “My pretty wife.” He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “You wanted to speak to me?”
He was acting so normal now, as if nothing was amiss, and perhaps nothing was, she thought. There could be a reasonable explanation for what she had found, and she could forgive anything if he just explained.
“Later,” she said. He shrugged and headed out onto the patio. When they arrived at the lawn, the adults under the canopy applauded him without irony. It put him in a good mood; she could tell by the way he posed laughing, as if it were his birthday. The emcee hailed him, and Tonye gamely hoisted Timi onto his back and galloped up and down the lawn while the photographer snapped away. Then there was the dads’ gele-tying competition: the fathers sitting on a row of plastic chairs, haplessly trying to fasten the shiny women’s head wraps around their own heads in sixty seconds, something that could take twenty minutes. It had everyone laughing and clapping for Tonye once more.
He joined the men sitting together by the tables under the white canopies. Most wore starched trad, like him, and were dark-skinned, the thicker side of athletic now with square shoulders and similar expansive laughs. The sons of big men, traditional providers. The laughter was part of this world, an identifier that said, I’m here.
He sat with his back to the water. He always sat facing away. But the men wouldn’t know that. They went to the same schools and were forever telling stories about their adventures. They seemed to know so much about each other. But not the important things.
