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10
Impetuous Son
Africa tell me Africa
Is this you this back that is bent
This back that breaks under the weight of humiliation
This back trembling with red scars
And saying yes to the whip under the midday sun
But a grave voice answers me
Impetuous son, that tree young and strong
That tree there
In splendid loneliness amidst white and faded flowers
That is Africa your Africa
That grows again patiently obstinately
And its fruit gradually acquire
The bitter taste of liberty
DAVID DIOP, “Africa”
THEY WERE JUST ABOUT LEAVING his flat for MM’s place when the doorbell rang and two strange men smiling from ear to ear faced him at the landing. Ikem stood his ground at the doorway the apprehension that would certainly have been in order relieved only by those vast smiles.
“Can I help you?”
“We just come salute you.”
“Me? Who are you? I don’t seem to remember.”
“We be taxi-drivers.”
“I see.”
Elewa had now joined him at the door. The visitors were still smiling bravely in spite of the cold welcome. As soon as Elewa came into view one of the visitors said:
“Ah, madam, you de here.”
“Ah, no be you carry me go home from here that night?”
“Na me, madam. You remember me. Very good. I no think say you fit remember.”
“So wetin you come do here again? Abi, you just discover I no pay you complete? Or perhaps na counterfeit I give you.”
“No madam. We just come salute this oga.”
At this point the normal courtesies which the prevalence of armed robberies had virtually banished from Bassa could no longer be denied, Ikem and Elewa moved back into the room and the visitors followed them in.
“Ah, madam I no know say I go find you here, self.”
