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Authors: Nina Darnton
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Five hundred. I give you good line.” He gestured toward his friend. “He come too. You pay both or no good.”
“Yes. Yes. I’ll pay both,” she answered. “But when?”
The two men consulted in the low tones of Yoruba. Then the first asked her where she lived. She told him and the men resumed their discussion. Finally the first man spoke to her.
“You go for get dollars. Dollars, no naira, den we go give you line.”
With a tilt of his head, he indicated that the line would come from the Ghanaian embassy.
She went home and retrieved the money from her bedroom safe. On her way out, she ran into Martin, who asked her where she was rushing off to. Proudly, she told him about her negotiations.
Martin nodded thoughtfully. “Madam, maybe you make a mistake. Don’t give them all the money now. Maybe you give them half and tell them you pay more each month the line keeps working,” he suggested.
“Martin, you are a genius.”
When she returned to the repairmen, she explained that she would pay them a retainer that they could come each month to collect. The men agreed, but demanded the full $500 up front. She nodded and handed over the money. She watched as they climbed the pole again, searching for the wire that connected the working line in the embassy to the central system. She saw them pulling several strands from the tangle of wires and connecting them to a pole near her house.
As soon as she got home, she tried the phone, but it was still dead.
She was concerned. Her encounter with them could have been anything from a government setup aimed at bugging her phone to a con job, but Martin counseled her to be patient and served a strong cup of coffee and some muffins he had baked. She collapsed in the living room, glancing at the Nigerian newspapers. She remembered she had promised Martin she would read to Eduke. Playing with the three-year-old always distracted her, so she roused herself and fetched The Very Hungry Caterpillar , which she had asked her mother to send from New York.
As soon as she sat down, he climbed onto her lap. He could identify all the colors in the butterfly and proudly recited them in English. He made himself comfortable, cuddling into her and, when the story ended, put his head sweetly on her chest. He was a special child, she thought, brighter, more sensitive than most. His father had high hopes for him. “He is the one I set my mind on,” Martin had told her. She determined she would help Martin with Eduke’s school fees when the time came, even when her tour in Nigeria ended.
As it was getting dark, she walked back into the house. Over dinner Lindsay told Maureen about her attempt to bribe the telephone workers. Maureen was skeptical but impressed nonetheless as Lindsay picked up the receiver, willing a dial tone. It was still dead.
As she started upstairs for bed, Lindsay said, “I’m having lunch tomorrow with that guy you introduced me to.”
“James?”
“Yeah. How come I never heard about him before?”
“He’s really more Mark’s friend than mine. He met James freshman year at Yale. When James transferred to Michigan, they kind of lost touch for a while but connected again in London. I don’t think they talk too intimately. You know that male thing.” She leaned heavily on the banister as she climbed the stairs.
“Are you feeling okay?” Lindsay asked.
“I don’t know. I feel a little weird—super exhausted and queasy. I hope I’m not coming down with anything.”
“It’s probably just the weather and the change in food. And you’re probably still jet-lagged. Go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Before turning in herself, Lindsay picked up the phone again, but it was still dead.
In the morning, she was awakened by ringing. She reached to quiet her alarm, but it hadn’t gone off yet. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was the phone. She picked up the receiver.
“You go have phone now,” a voice said.
Then the caller
“Yes. Yes. I’ll pay both,” she answered. “But when?”
The two men consulted in the low tones of Yoruba. Then the first asked her where she lived. She told him and the men resumed their discussion. Finally the first man spoke to her.
“You go for get dollars. Dollars, no naira, den we go give you line.”
With a tilt of his head, he indicated that the line would come from the Ghanaian embassy.
She went home and retrieved the money from her bedroom safe. On her way out, she ran into Martin, who asked her where she was rushing off to. Proudly, she told him about her negotiations.
Martin nodded thoughtfully. “Madam, maybe you make a mistake. Don’t give them all the money now. Maybe you give them half and tell them you pay more each month the line keeps working,” he suggested.
“Martin, you are a genius.”
When she returned to the repairmen, she explained that she would pay them a retainer that they could come each month to collect. The men agreed, but demanded the full $500 up front. She nodded and handed over the money. She watched as they climbed the pole again, searching for the wire that connected the working line in the embassy to the central system. She saw them pulling several strands from the tangle of wires and connecting them to a pole near her house.
As soon as she got home, she tried the phone, but it was still dead.
She was concerned. Her encounter with them could have been anything from a government setup aimed at bugging her phone to a con job, but Martin counseled her to be patient and served a strong cup of coffee and some muffins he had baked. She collapsed in the living room, glancing at the Nigerian newspapers. She remembered she had promised Martin she would read to Eduke. Playing with the three-year-old always distracted her, so she roused herself and fetched The Very Hungry Caterpillar , which she had asked her mother to send from New York.
As soon as she sat down, he climbed onto her lap. He could identify all the colors in the butterfly and proudly recited them in English. He made himself comfortable, cuddling into her and, when the story ended, put his head sweetly on her chest. He was a special child, she thought, brighter, more sensitive than most. His father had high hopes for him. “He is the one I set my mind on,” Martin had told her. She determined she would help Martin with Eduke’s school fees when the time came, even when her tour in Nigeria ended.
As it was getting dark, she walked back into the house. Over dinner Lindsay told Maureen about her attempt to bribe the telephone workers. Maureen was skeptical but impressed nonetheless as Lindsay picked up the receiver, willing a dial tone. It was still dead.
As she started upstairs for bed, Lindsay said, “I’m having lunch tomorrow with that guy you introduced me to.”
“James?”
“Yeah. How come I never heard about him before?”
“He’s really more Mark’s friend than mine. He met James freshman year at Yale. When James transferred to Michigan, they kind of lost touch for a while but connected again in London. I don’t think they talk too intimately. You know that male thing.” She leaned heavily on the banister as she climbed the stairs.
“Are you feeling okay?” Lindsay asked.
“I don’t know. I feel a little weird—super exhausted and queasy. I hope I’m not coming down with anything.”
“It’s probably just the weather and the change in food. And you’re probably still jet-lagged. Go to bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Before turning in herself, Lindsay picked up the phone again, but it was still dead.
In the morning, she was awakened by ringing. She reached to quiet her alarm, but it hadn’t gone off yet. It took her a few seconds to realize that it was the phone. She picked up the receiver.
“You go have phone now,” a voice said.
Then the caller
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