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The day the secession was a
"Happy independence," he told her.
" Independence," she said, before she added, "Happy independence."
He wanted to ask her to marry him. This was a new start, a new country, their new country. It was not only because secession was just, considering all that the Igbo had endured, but because of the possibility Biafra held for him. He would be Biafran in a way he could never have been Nigerian-he was here at the begi
Richard liked Phyllis Okafor. He liked the verve of her bouffant wigs, the drawl of her native Mississippi, as well as the severe eyeglass frames that belied the warmth in her eyes. Since he had stopped going to Odenigbo's house, he often spent evenings with her and her husband, Nnanyelugo. It was as if she knew he had lost a social life, and she insistently invited him to the arts theater, to public lectures, to play squash. So when she asked him to come to the "In Case of War" seminar that the university women's association was organizing, he accepted. It was a good idea to be prepared, of course, but there would be no war. The Nigerians would let Biafra be; they would never fight a people already battered by the massacres. They would be pleased to be rid of the Igbo anyway. Richard was certain about this. He was less certain about what he would do if he ran into Ola
He stood near Phyllis at the entrance of the lecture hall and sca
More people spoke. Then it was over. People were mingling, laughing and talking and exchanging more "in case of war" tips. Richard knew that Ola
"Hello, Richard. Kedu?"
"I'm well," he said. The skin of his face felt tight. "And you?"
"We are fine," Ola
"Baby, have you greeted?" Ola
"Good afternoon," Baby said, in a high voice.
Richard bent and touched her cheek. There was a calmness about her that made her seem older and wiser than her four years. "Hello, Baby."
"How is Kainene?" Ola
Richard evaded her eyes, not sure what his expression should be. "She is well."
"And your book is going well?"
"Yes. Thank you."
"Is it still called The Basket of Hands?"
It pleased him that she had not forgotten. "No." He paused and tried not to think about what had happened to that manuscript, about the flames that must have charred it quickly. "It's called In the Time of Roped Pots"
"Interesting title," Ola
"Yes."
Phyllis came over, said hello to Ola
"Ojukwu?" Richard asked.
"Yes, yes!" Phyllis was walking toward the door. "You know he dropped into Enugu campus for a surprise visit some days ago? It looks like it's our turn!"
Richard followed her outside. They joined the cluster of lecturers standing by the statue of a lion; Ola
"He's at the library now," somebody said.
"No, he's in the senate building."
"No, he wants to address the students. He's at the admin block."
Some people were already walking quickly toward the administration block, and Phyllis and Richard went along. They were close to the umbrella trees that lined the driveway when Richard saw the bearded man, in a severely smart, belted army uniform, striding across the corridor. A few reporters scrambled after him, holding out tape recorders like offerings. Students, so many that Richard wondered how they had congregated so quickly, began to chant. "Power! Power!" Ojukwu came downstairs and stood on top of some cement blocks on the grassy lawn. He raised his hands. Everything about him sparkled, his groomed beard, his watch, his wide shoulders.
"I came to ask you a question," he said. His Oxford-accented voice was surprisingly soft; it did not have the timbre that it did over the radio and it was a little theatrical, a little too measured. "What shall we do? Shall we keep silent and let them force us back into Nigeria? Shall we ignore the thousands of our brothers and sisters killed in the North?"
"No! No!" The students were filling the wide yard, spilling onto the lawn and the driveway. Many lecturers had parked their cars on the road and joined the crowd. "Power! Power!"
Ojukwu raised his hands again and the chanting stopped. "If they declare war," he said. "I want to tell you now that it may become a long-drawn-out war. A long-drawn-out war. Are you prepared? Are we prepared?"
"Yes! Yes! Ojukwu, nye anyi egbe! Give us guns! Iwe di anyi n'obi! There is anger in our hearts!"
The chanting was constant now-give us guns, there is anger in our hearts, give us guns. The rhythm was heady. Richard glanced across at Phyllis, thrusting a fist in the air as she shouted, and he looked around for a little while at everyone else, intense and intent in the moment, before he too began to wave and chant. "Ojukwu, give us guns! Ojukwu, nye anyi egbe!"
Ojukwu lit a cigarette and threw it down on the lawn. It flared for a while, before he reached out and squashed it underneath a gleaming black boot. "Even the grass will fight for Biafra," he said.
Richard told Kainene how charmed he had been by Ojukwu even though the man showed signs of early balding and was vaguely histrionic and wore a gaudy ring. He told her about the seminar. Then he wondered whether to tell her that he had run into Ola
"I saw Ola
"Did you?"
"At the seminar. We said hello and she asked about you."
"I see." The orange slipped from her hand, or perhaps she dropped it, because she left it there on the terrazzo floor of the veranda.
"I'm sorry," Richard said. "I thought I should mention that I saw her."
He picked up the orange and held it out to her but she did not take it. She got up and walked to the railing.
"War is coming," she said. " Port Harcourt is going crazy."