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Sankofa(44)

Author:Chibundu Onuzo

I opened my suitcase and hung my clothes in the wardrobe. The room was scentless, like nothing alive had ever set foot inside it. When I was done, I went to the bathroom. The mirror was large; the lighting strong. The lines around my eyes and lips seemed deeper. I looked tired.

I washed my face and dried it with a fresh towel. I changed into my pajamas and lay under the sheets. Rose was an adult. Rose must take care of herself now. I was in Bamana. I had come to my father’s home.

Breakfast was a buffet with rows of warm silver trays. Water condensed when you raised a lid, dripping like sweat. I took what I recognized: sausage, mushrooms, baked beans, left-behind brown balls of akara, and a viscous white pap called ogi.

A chef fried eggs on demand. I placed an order and sat at a table. There was something French about the white-gloved waiters, dark-wood booths, and baguettes at the bread station swaddled in red checkered cloth. I wasn’t the only solo traveler.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” I said to Ken.

“May I join you?”

“Feel free.”

His appetite was controlled—one sausage, a boiled egg, and a slice of toast.

“Hotel food will make you fat,” he said, gazing at his sparse plate.

“So what brings you to Bamana?” I asked.

“I’m a consultant. My specialty is emerging markets, with a subspecialty in Africa. I started off in oil, but my brief now includes energy. At a push, I can advise on commodities: copper, gold, diamonds.”

“Bamana has diamonds. They must keep you busy,” I said. I felt mildly hostile to this Englishman who had traveled here to seek profit. It was the effect of Francis Aggrey’s diary, perhaps.

“That market has been cornered for over a century. De Witt’s and so on. I’m here because there are rumors of oil, just off the coast of Segu. In ten years, twenty years, cars will be running on hydrogen. Some lab rat in Geneva is going to make sure of it. But there’s space for one last oil boom and Bamana may be about to get a slice of it.”

“Sugar,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“Please pass the sugar.” He’d moved the bowl to his side of the table.

My omelette arrived, golden and plain, as I liked it.

“That looks good. I’ll have that tomorrow. That’s another thing with these places. The breakfast menu never changes.”

He was capable of silence. We ate without talking.

“Any plans for the day?” he asked when he was done.

“I might go to the beach.”

“Be careful. The currents can be quite strong.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I have a meeting at ten, which probably means two, but I’ll be there on time. Keep up the side and all that.”

“Which side?”

“The punctual side.” He smiled at a trap avoided. He was wearing sunscreen. There were white smudges on his chin and cheeks. “Well, I’ll leave you to the rest of your morning. I hope I’ll see you at breakfast again.”

“Perhaps,” I said.

I returned to my room. From my balcony I could see the flow of traffic and pedestrians, lives intersecting on the road. The telephone rang. It was Adrian.

“So sorry. There’s been a scheduling error. I’m teaching today so I won’t be able to come.”

“That’s fine. I’ll just rest. Still a bit tired from the flight. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Day after. My lectures are proving surprisingly popular. You could attend one.”

The irony escaped him. A white man teaching African history in Africa. It read like an entry from the pages of Francis’s journal.

“We’ll see,” I said.

“All right. Have to run.”

I looked out on the road again. The honking traveled upwards. I could go out into the city. I could walk Segu’s streets alone as Francis had once walked London on his own. And yet, leaving my hotel without a guide suddenly seemed beyond me. I was used to traveling with Robert, used to his arm steering me through foreign streets, used to him speaking to strangers when we were lost. I had spent all my daring to reach Bamana and now, on this first day, I felt cautious.

Waiting for Adrian was sensible. I switched on the television. It was tuned to BBC News. I recognized the presenter. The events she read about already seemed far away. Flooding in Yorkshire. Tube strikes in London. I dozed off. When I woke up it was past noon. Lunchtime, but I wasn’t yet hungry. The hotel had a pool, a gym, a sauna. I put on some sunscreen, picked up a novel, and went downstairs.

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