“I should go,” I said.
“Now I’m the one who has spoken out of turn.”
“No, really. I’ve kept you too long.”
“Your father came here once in a motorcade of three black Benzes. Just after he was elected. His bodyguards stood in the hallway with their guns or whatever was under those big coats and we sat here, three of us in this room.” She pointed at the spaces her husband and my father had occupied.
“He ate. One of his men insisted on tasting the food first, as if my sadza could be poisoned,” she said with a small smile. “For months, the neighbors were talking about the African prince that came to see us. It left Thomas feeling small. My husband wouldn’t have been president if he’d gone back to Zimbabwe, wouldn’t have been a cabinet minister, probably wouldn’t even have been a school principal. But seeing Francis made him feel like we should have gone home. That was the last time we saw him.”
She stood. The interview was at an end.
“Are you sure I can’t offer you a cup of tea?”
I dialed Adrian once I got home.
“Blessing said you were a spy,” I said, bypassing a greeting.
“Did she?”
“I was expecting a more straightforward denial.”
“I wasn’t a spy, but I was invited in by the Home Office once or twice because of my friendship with some members of the black left.”
“And you went?” I asked.
“I was curious. It was all a little James Bond. I didn’t tell them anything of use. I didn’t know anything of use. I certainly didn’t know about Menelik’s guns.”
“You should have told me.”
“And you should have told me you were Francis’s daughter before spending a night in my home,” he said. “I spoke to the Bamanaian high commissioner today. He was my chaperone in Segu when I was researching the book. He wasn’t a diplomat then, just one of Kofi’s numerous lackeys. I told him I was thinking of returning to Bamana one last time and that I’d like to meet Kofi again if it were possible. He gave me a contact.”
“You have my father’s number?”
“Hold on. I have a contact for his personal assistant. There might be another six people between this assistant and Kofi, but it’s a start.”
“I want to meet him.”
“I know. I hope you’re ready. Have you told your family?” he asked.
“Do you think I should?”
“It’s up to you. Nothing has come of it yet, but I’m sure they’d like to know.”
“Well, I told my daughter that I’ve found my father, but I haven’t said much about who he is.”
“That may be best. Until we’ve fixed a concrete meeting.”
“I agree,” I said.
When the call ended, I put my keys in my pocket and left the house. It was dark outside and I was the only person on the street.
Was I ready to meet my father? In the documentary, just before the black children met their white birth mothers, they would have a moment alone with the camera. Their insecurities would surface. Sometimes they would cry from the anticipation. Will she recognize me? Will she like me?
I wanted Francis to like me, but Francis was gone. It was Kofi I would meet. The former president. The alleged murderer who was now a philanthropist in his old age. The Internet had recorded his good deeds too—orphanages, scholarships. He smiled in his recent photographs. His eyes twinkled at the viewer.
I walked past my neighbor and his dog, a small brown terrier, kept close on a leash. We had been neighbors for years but I didn’t know his name. Robert would know.
“Evening,” we mumbled at each other.
In some houses, the blinds were drawn and the front rooms were arranged, it seemed, for actors to weave around the furniture. You could stage a domestic drama in one of them, a daughter looking for a father who was not looking for her. Sometimes, someone would come on set, peer out into the night, and close the curtains.
13
My answering machine was blinking when I got home. I put down my shopping bags and pressed play.
“Hi, Anna. It’s Shola here. Good news. We’ve got an offer for the flat. The couple had another seller pull out at the last minute. They’re ready with all their paperwork, down payment, everything’s ready. We can expect to close in about a month’s time. Congratulations. Call me when you get this.”
I braced myself against the wall. I was going to Bamana. I was going to meet my father. I called Shola back.