The Other Side of Truth Read Free Page A

from the forest behind Family House in their village near Ibadan. Both Mama and Papa had been born there into neighboring families although only Mama’s mother was still alive. Grandma presided over the samehouse where Mama had been a girl and Papa the boy next door. Sade loved the desk’s gleaming dark wood and the curves within the perfectly planed surfaces. They reminded her of the winding paths that led deep into the forest. All that was to be left behind. Could she at least take her favorite ornament—the head of a young woman with beautifully patterned hair? Her very own young Iyawo who seemed to hold some special secret as she watched Sade do her homework. Sade picked up the ebony head. She needed both hands. It was far too heavy. She put her down, next to her partner. The head of a young man, Oko, with heavy-lidded, rather sorrowful eyes above fine narrow cheeks. Let them at least stay together. On her desk.
    “What about this, Sade?”
    Mama Buki held up the aso-oke that Sade had worn to the last family wedding. Mama had made splendid new clothes for all four of them from the same deep-blue material woven with golden thread. Sade felt her eyes pricking again.
    “I don’t know, Auntie,” she said quickly.
    “Let me roll them up small anyway. You need one good outfit, wherever you are.”
    How could she ever wear it again? thought Sade. The last time they had all been so happy. Mama had sat up late every night for a month sewing the wedding clothes. Sade remembered saying that the blue shone like the sea at Leki Beach at sunrise and Femi had joked that Mama was sewing up the sea. At least the outfit would help her keep that memory. From the bottom drawer of the chest, she lifted out a small bag in the same material. Mama had made it specially for her,lining the inside with shimmering blue satin. Blinking back new tears, Sade slipped it down the side of the holdall.
    Mama Buki packed for Femi, asking Sade to fetch what she needed. Femi sat listlessly on the chair by Sade’s desk. When Sade asked if he wanted to take his cards and his game of Ayo, he shrugged his shoulders. She put the pebbles and the board into his rucksack all the same.
    Their father came to say good-bye. He sat uneasily on the edge of the bed.
    “Don’t worry, I shall be with you soon. Your Uncle Dele is going to take good care of you. We shall speak to him tonight when he gets back from work.”
    Uncle Tunde had already tried to get Uncle Dele at his flat in London, but no one had answered the telephone.
    “If he can’t get to the airport, Mrs. Bankole will take you to the college where he teaches.” Papa handed Sade a piece of paper with his neat handwriting. At the top was written LONDON COLLEGE OF ART with an address.
    “When you get there, ask for Doctor Solaja. But before that, take care. Until you are safely there, your surname is Bankole and you must only use the names in the passport.” He paused grimly.
    “You know how much I hate lying, but right now we have no choice.”
    The children listened to their father in silence. Outside, the compound lay drowsy in the still, dry heat of the sun. It was harmattan season, when winds from the Sahara blew south, shrouding everything in fine misty dust. This was the time in the afternoon when Sade liked to seek refuge in herfather’s study. The large revolving fan made waves of cool air dance throughout the room. Often Papa was away at the office, but even when he was at home he would let her clear aside the books on the small side table. Although he would be absorbed in his writing, she loved it when he was there. Mama would bring them each a drink at five o’clock, sometimes joking about “beans from the same pod.” Then, as the sun began to go down, Femi would pester Papa to play football with him between the pawpaw and flaming forest trees.
    Papa was waiting for them to respond. Femi flinched as Mama Buki placed her hands on his shoulders.
    “Your father is doing what is best