Read Online Say You’re One Of Them by Uwem Akpan - Free Book Online Page B

during the party our parents sent you Nanfang?” I asked.
    “Yes, my boy . . . [{_c,}a c’est très correcte!_]”
    “Now I understand.”
    “You
dey trop
intelligent for
ton âge
.
A no˙
flin nú ganji
. You remember well. Ah
non,
you cannot just tell everybody about your plans, you know. De book of Jeremiah, chapter nine, verse four, say, No trust your friend
o
. . . every friend
na
slanderer. So make
una
no tell your schoolmates or your friends for church about dis,
d’accord?
”
    “OK.”
    I nodded alone.
    “Yewa?” he asked.
    “I know how to keep quiet,” she said.
    He came and sat down, reached under his bed for his
payó
bottle, and poured himself a drink. He tossed the full content of the shot into his mouth, as if he were pouring it into a bucket. He had two more shots, cleared his throat, and stretched out on his bed. “Come, you know what to call your godparents?”
    “No,” my sister said.
    “Godpapa? Godmama?” I said, guessing.
    “No,” he said. “Godmama, Godpapa,
dey
sound too
okrika!
Make you try again.”
    “Mom . . . Dad?” I said.
    “No,
juste
Papa and Mama . . .
efó!
”
    “Papa? Mama? No!” Yewa protested.
    “
Hén,
” Fofo said, dragging out the word
yes.
    “My papa and mama are in Braffe,” Yewa said.
    “We know dat,” he said.
    “Let’s call them Mom and Dad, then, to avoid confusion,” I suggested.
    “No, it’s better to address dem exactly as you
dey
address your parents.
Ils sont
your godparents. Godparents. Godparents, you know?”
    I shrugged and gave up and looked at Yewa, who was staring down stubbornly.
    “Does Big Guy know our godparents?” I asked.
    “
Absolutement,
” Fofo said.
    “But you said we should not tell our friends,” I said. “Did you tell Big Guy?”
    Yewa looked up sharply, sensing the contradiction. Fofo didn’t reply immediately. Instead, his face split into a long mischievous smile as he nodded and sipped his
payó
.
    “Kotchikpa,” he said finally, “you be bright, bright
garçon.
”
    “Thank you, Fofo,” I said.
    “But we must make sure your intelligence no
dey
lead you in de wrong direction
o.
Remember,
na
only de fly witout direction dat go follow de corpse enter grave. You understand?”
    “No, Fofo,” I said.
    “Use your head well. . . . Big Guy done become my trusted friend—de only person I invite sit wid us for our Tanksgiving, remember?”
    Now he laughed a short laugh and winked at us, as if to say, “I have defeated you finally.” I laughed with him because he was funny and because I thought I should have figured this out myself. Then Yewa laughed too.
    When we stopped laughing, he tickled us. We laughed even more, but he laughed the hardest, as if some invisible hands were tickling him. Yewa started throwing her pillow at me, and we got into a pillow fight. Fofo, who normally wouldn’t let us fight, didn’t stop us. It seemed to amuse him. He sat there cheering us on, moving his hands, ducking each time one of us hit the other with a pillow. He coached Yewa to climb on the bed to get an advantage over me. Yewa was excited, the springs of the bed squeaking with each blow she landed. I wanted to climb on the bed too, but Fofo said no. He even asked me to allow my kid sister to win the pillow fight. Suddenly, like a crazy man, he stood up and started playing with the lantern wick. The flame fluttered. We became very excited, giggling hard, trying to figure out what he wanted to do.
    He lowered the wick, and we fought in darkness. When one of us fell, he increased the flame to be sure nobody was hurt. When one of us screamed in the darkness, he laughed before giving us light. We were having fun and played until we scattered everything. The two mattresses were on the floor; most of Fofo’s clothes fell from his wardrobe. The bed frame stood at awkward angles. Our cartons of clothes were out from under the beds, their contents all over the place. What finally exhausted us wasn’t the energy we used playing