Black Britain

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To Ogheneovie Whyte Eberekpe [Jnr]

A true story. Not an attempt to cast one country against the other, but the collections of peoples’ thoughts and experiences in other countries and theirs, confronted with cultural and political shocks of these countries, though some of these could be weird, perhaps.

Where is love?

Is it supposed to be in the heart?

Or it has climbed to the brain,

And it is being interpreted by the intellect

Instead of its natural source thereof?

Where is the trueness of humanity?

Is it supposed to be with us?

Or it has climbed into the assembly of men and women

And humanity is left with the pretence of reality?

Where is organism?

Is it supposed to be the finest ideal

In our minds that binds us and propels us to achieve Greater things?

Or has it walked into our legs

And we walk differently?

1

In the Great Britain where the winter was paramount and the summer was slow in coming, the memory of winter was still visible despite it was spring about to give birth to summer practically slowly. Grace did not know which to appreciate, the winter that had just gone, or the spring that was already within or the approaching summer. Alternatively, maybe she cared less whether the winter this year was not as cold with flakes of ice here and there, like it was the previous, the spring or the forecast of meteorologists that July was going to be the hottest weather ever in the history of summer.

Grace sat in her one room apartment. Indeed a small room. Confused. It was as if she was having a share in the seemingly confused weather, which she thinks immediately defines the sometimes full and sometimes disjointed ordeals of every immigrant had to go through in the country they reside. More confused she was. How she wished the confusion, if there was a way she could quantify it to be as small as this room, but no, the confusion was driving her crazy! She allowed her eyes to roam round the room as if she had just packed in and was seeing the room for the first time; maybe her mountain of confusion had made the room smaller than its normal size. Nevertheless, not small, enough not to accommodate a king size bed with its magnificent softness that makes sleep or any other function comfortable and pleasurable at one side of the room. At the other corners of the room were a fifteen-inch silver television, a refrigerator and pieces of furniture thrown almost everywhere, but neatly all covered with flowery African fabrics. The room was a delight, at least if not for all who came to the room, but for this woman. On the side of one of the walls was the picture of Jesus Christ hanging. The picture suggested two things. Either the occupant of this room was pious in actuality or, though a devoted believer, had decided to hang the picture there because she believes the picture hanging there alone was an answer to her bottled up frustrations, and would bring her succour. Deep down she knew if she was going to walk out a solution to her frustration and confusion she needs to be realistic and pragmatic, that the person in the picture, yes, no matter how powerful, was not going to give her that leap. She knew it was this kind of attitude that had made people to stop believing in the man in the picture because they expect him to do everything for them instead of them to be themselves in truth as the man in the picture was himself in truth, which saw him to the cross. Was she not afraid of the cross? She thought. This cross which Britain had become for her.

On her bed, she was sitting wearing a white linen trouser, a silky satin top apparently revealing. She was beautiful despite this beauty had been strained by her present state of mind which was unstable, those features and contours that define what beauty was all about were still visibly there; her eyes were dark, futuristic and attempting to make meaning and understanding to what where happening around her. She was talking with her friend who had just come in. She was telling her about her past and trying to convince herself unknowingly that the future was still there to hope for and believe in.

A perfectly interesting story, but punctuated every now and often by the noises and cries coming from downstairs. They were cries and noises from her five children, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. She would stop the story to go and attend to them or when one of the children did not come upstairs to her to make a report of the other.

The story stopped completely when there was a tooting of a car horn outside.

Sorry, that must be my visitor. Grace said.

You did not tell me that you were expecting a visitor.

I didn’t know she would be coming, she wasn’t certain if she would be coming. Let me get dressed. Grace replied to her friend’s accusation. Her friend, her name was Florence, like Grace, she was yet another immigrant from Africa in the United Kingdom in search of that greener pasture that had continued to be elusive. Florence had been in the United Kingdom for more than six years now and had mastered whatever shock the country was going to present to her, though her fears were still there, but many times she had told herself that a time comes in the life of those running from their fears to look at those fears in the eyes and say to them, enough was enough, let hell come down, do its worse for all I care. She had tried many times to let Grace know this, but she would not allow herself to be free from her fears.

You’re already dressed up. Florence reminded her.

I think I’m confused. Grace said.

Always the confused Grace.

Indeed, she was confused as she was in almost everything since she had come to dwell in this place; many times her hope had been dashed, or so she thought. She had been dressed up all day since her friend came in. She went out to meet who had come to visit her leaving behind her impoverished room for the moment, which in a way had become a part of her every minute confusion. She went out. The room stayed.

It’s Heart, you. Said Grace as soon as she opened the door.

Yes, it was Heart. A Gerian residing in the UK who had spent all her times and the experiences of the Western world and with the abundant sympathy for where she had come from where her affiliation had never withered. An educated woman in the Humanities, she had learnt everything there was to learn in the human social anatomy. And Grace was one such social anatomy she was yet to deal with. To deal with it, she was prepared to put all her academic and spiritual resources together to see that her goal was successfully realised. Heart, a nice woman naturally despite her professionalism. She did not, though, fail to realise that the subject at hand was a difficult one; she was willing to try to be her very best at the end of the day. What was life after all if it was not one human complication in difficulty, which we all should try every now and again to ease off into something of glamour. This was her philosophy of life. She prayed, this was worth accomplishing! In her mind’s eye, she had not seen a Grace sitting beside her in the passenger’s seat, but a Grace who was a representative of many. Many. The many African and non-African immigrants who were running away from poverty created by bad leadership, or coming here because of the almighty powerfulness of the pounds sterling. Grace and the other African immigrants she had had to deal with fall into the first category, runners from poverty in Africa yet ending up in the UK much poorer and trying to understand what had hit them.

Were you expecting somebody different? Heart said.

Not really. Grace replied.

We’re going out. Heart said with a flourishing smile.

Oh! Out? She exclaimed. If there was anything Grace wanted to hear at this moment, it was this one from Heart. It did not take her time to learn that in a country where everybody minds his or her business, the only thing that keeps one’s sanity intact is to go outing as much as possible, and especially with the right person like Heart.

Yes, out.

I thought today was Thursday…

Yes, it is. Are you coming in? I left the car engine on.

I left a friend inside the room.

The more, the much better.

What’re you planning?

You just reminded me that today’s Thursday. Go and get your friend and let’s start going, others are waiting.

Others? She left her and went upstairs. She and her friend came down and entered the car. They were driving to Heart’s place; a stone throw from hers. They drove in silence until Heart turned the car stereo on. She inserted a gospel cassette and was playing. A present time solace for Grace.

She was not listening to the music, she was thinking. Not about anything, but the slim, chocolate colour woman that was on the driving wheel of the car. She was an angel who had come from nowhere to be her profound friend, companion and everything. She had risked everything to be with her and to help many times to clear her head of the pains she was being subjected to often. Seeing her, many times, help to re-kindle in her that there were still some reliance and possibilities within, and faith in human beings because she had been forced time without number to think that humans should be cast into the lakes of forgetful hopelessness.

What’s going through in your mind? Heart said cutting into her thought.

The reminder the music brings.

The hope it creates in us.

You’re the hope.

Don’t go there again.

But you know it’s true.

What makes you think it would have been possible without the sustenance coming from above?

How many do take into consideration the sustenance and do what ought to be done alright?

Grace’ friend at the back of the car was going through the text message that she had just received and was not too keen about their conversation or the music playing.

In silence, again they drove until Grace’s friend announced that she would like to alight.

I thought you were coming with us. Said Heart.

I thought I was. Firstly, I don’t know where we’re going, what we’re going to do and I just got this text message that wants me to be at a place this moment. She was already out of the car and saying her goodbyes to the ladies.

Who is she? Heart asked when Florence had gone.

A good friend? I really do not know where to place her.

She looks a good company.

She lively me up whenever she is around, unfortunately we do not share the same values. Grace returned sweetly.

Values? Heart asked probingly, but Grace’ eyes were already closed which Heart understood to mean she did not want the issue to be discussed any further than it had gone; Heart had heard that word before and the expression that went with it, and at every of the situation, especially here where people were graced with the privilege of expressive freedom of anything, her reservation had always remain the same and her thought concerning the matter had never changed; people were entitled to their preferences, but some preferences just make her sick for the mere fact that she had to give it a thought in the first place. She had often been heard to say that nobody needs the scripture of whatever kind, though she was a believer, to live that desired life, because the scriptures were natural and humanity itself whereas humanity and its naturalness were not the scripture; and many times, she had been challenged and questioned about the overall definition and meaning of ‘preference’. She took her eyes from the narrowing road in front of her and took a quick look at Grace who still had her eyes closed, she smiled and concentrated on the road again, she thought Grace Looks like an angel specially designed as an enhancement of beauty until the eyes open.

The truth about Florence which Grace did not want to discuss with Heart or anybody was that Florence was a Lesbian and she had done everything to lure Grace into becoming her paternal. Grace in all truth and sincerity was not against her sexual preference as she was a nice and lovely person to be with, being a Lesbian was not what she prefers. Florence had done everything possible to win her into becoming her lover by buying her gifts and asking her out most of the time, which Grace had never for once honoured, not because of a dislike, but because apart from Florence’s beauty, she carries with her a persuasive niceness which she was not too certain she was not going to fall prey to; until Florence had ask her if she thought she was mentally ill. That question had caused laughter in Grace and she had asked Florence in return if she thought she was not mentally ill by preferring a man as a sexual paternal instead.

Really, according to what she told her, she was not the natural type of Lesbian who find themselves in it because there was nothing they could do about it since they were born with it, hers was as a result of many failed and disappointing relationship with men until she was approached by a Lesbian who got her introduced into it. It was a mere curiosity at first, but a curiosity that later turned out to be a reality and satisfaction for her in the long run.

They arrived at the house. A brown bricks unpainted building that still had the Victorian wonder. The building had not stopped to marvel her whenever she had had to visit this place. A very clean environment no doubt, but she felt the naturalness that was made up of naked kids playing about everywhere freely not afraid of being molested by paedophiles was missing. The naked brown soils, the free anxious faces going about their free business contemplating what the future hold for them and trying to find an outlet through which they could get out from the empty promises of men and women who toil with their destinies and offering them no hope to live for; and animals being allowed to roam the streets and roads with all the abandon in the a care-free world. She nevertheless dreamt this kind of place for where she was coming from, though without most of the bottled up unexplained laws that tend to tear the place apart and subject the natural law in confusion and in jeopardy.

Now there was sound of children. They were the children of Heart. They, all five of them, came out to meet their mother. They were an example of what children should look like in terms of healthy living and well cared for. Following them was their dog. It was the kind of dog that had experience the good side of life, well taken care of that would not allow its frustration to be meted out just for the fun of it even at criminals. It was well fed, with dreamy and romantic eyes with creamed heavily rich grey and some patches of white furs covering its whole body. It was as if it was waiting for the children to finish greeting their mother before it would take its tune to do same. It walked romantically to Heart and lay down at her feet blinking its eyes at Grace.

How do you do Jonny?

Jonny, the dog, was fine by all indication. It got up and followed them into the room. They climbed the red rugged stairs into the sitting room. There were at least up to thirty people in the room; children, couples, friend and families. The room was lit up with different coloured candles. Flowers here and there. A huge cake somewhere. Music coming from above the ceiling seemingly. It was the music of the born again Yoruba maestro, Chief Ebenezer Obey. The title was, Vanity. The place looked like a festival of joy and a lost hope re-gained and a re-establishment of faith that good things could still happen if only human would be willing to take the bold steps to make it so instead of dwelling on the most irrelevant things on the surface of the earth which was possessiveness. The gathering was still in a mellow mood waiting for the right time for the commencement of the reason they were gathered.

Though a gathering of mostly Christians from the same cell groups, they nevertheless had their individual careers though their faith must come first while using the opportunity of this gathering to talk about those things they would not discuss in public amongst themselves… Amongst the gathering was the famous politician, Falade and his ageless light-skinned wife who had been advocating, with the support of her ever-reliable husband, the need for women to come out en masse, to be supportive of one another and take over the political scene because the men folk, according to them, have been politically irresponsible. And in their political and economic irresponsibilities, they strive in the strength of carrying the women who have jettisoned virtue along.

One of the guests, Jonathan, walked up to the politician, Falade, with a glass of summer fruit crush in his right hand. A smile was playing on his face. It was an opportunity to meet with the politician after a long time to get to him to discuss some political issues. Either the politician was always too busy to be reached or was being dodgy of any political discourse. Was there going to be that same possibility this time? Certainly not because the lanky bearded Jonathan, a University Lecturer of Political Science was already towering in his direction like a captor who had finally caught up with his captive.

The politician wore a smile as he recognised who it was that was approaching him. He knew instantly he was in trouble and there was no way he was going to escape it this time. The Lecturer, a radical to the core, was one political gentleman, if he should be addressed as such, who he admired and respected a lot. His political thoughts and postulations were everywhere on political journals and daily newspapers in the country where he was wont to

lambaste all the politicians because according to him, none of them had the political will and interest to take the country out of its political doom into an everlasting political freedom. He had given his all-political ideas to the country and politicians free which they were not willing to take or implement. True, the politician believes everything the radical lecturer has said and written, but at the end of the day, he was just one out of the lots.

Now, you’ll remove that devil call a smile from your face. Falade said to the lecturer as he finally got to him and stretched out his hand for a handshake, which the politician accepted, without his own smile disappearing.

God, what are you doing here? Falade said.

The same reason why you’re here. Replied Jonathan.

Here’s a gathering of those who still believe in God and the precepts He laid down. Politicians are Christians, don’t forget. Continued Falade.

Their scripture is the antics of deceits. Jonathan said with a radical disdain and sipped from his drink.

Some of them are still Christians and Christians.

Which only exist one minute and disappears the next.

The politicians are not alone in this. Mind you.

They become because they are thought to have the will of establishment.

Shall we just enjoy this moment and pretend your anger at the political hypocrisy that exists is not actually there? I’m here to free myself of it.

But it’s there.

Yes. It’s, you and I can’t do anything about it, can we?

I don’t advocate perfection anywhere…

I thought that was your aspirations with your many write-ups and TV appearances.

It doesn’t exist anywhere, but the paradise of you the politicians should be made to bare on everything and everybody so that nobody will have the reason for a wholesale complaint when they dwell in their own definition of a paradise.

What can I do?

If there’s nothing you can do, have the guts to resign.

And my family?

What are you telling me?

Politics is either a career or a vocation.

I do not want to laugh. Jonathan said laughing.

You do still have time for laughter? I’m deliberately astonished!

The political comedy always is arousing. Jonathan still laughing.

It’s really precious to see you laugh; atimes your radical stance on issues betray any possibility of such emotional enjoyment. I thought you lacked it. Let us enjoy the creator and the reason why we are here.

He recovers from his state of laughter. His face straight as if he had not laughed. Indeed, it was as if he had not really laughed. His face had concocted in preparation for what actually had brought him to the politician.

I was waiting for it. Falade said.

Waiting for what?

It’s become a topic for everybody; I don’t expect you not be part of the debate.

And you’re in support of it? Questioned Jonathan.

I really don’t know if I’m in support of it or should be in support of it or not to be in support of it; the truth is, I think it’s the responsibility of the lawmakers to deliberate on the decision whether he should continue or leave.

The constitution is quite defined as regards that.

Both of us are saying the same thing; the constitution’s responsibility.

How trustworthy is the constitution?

You mean the interpreters?

Those men and women…

Don’t allow my wife hear the last word, she believes women are saints and they do no wrong.

Aren’t they?

Ask my wife.

Things are getting from bad to worse Falade.

I’m still in office, and you know I can’t comment on such issues.

We can’t continue; our best brains are leaving the country…

And being subjected to the worst embarrassments there; I’m aware of all these, but you and I are alone and what can we do, do you think I enjoy the dwelling of this comfort I find myself while others can’t afford it? I feel guilty seeing my children going to the best schools yet other children can’t; I can’t wish away my opportunities though I dearestly feel their pains.

To think this people aren’t asking for too much.

And to be confronted with the reality that the little they ask for isn’t being given to them is a more painful reality.

And somebody is canvassing for an elongation!

Who knows the elongation would create the desired platform to attend to all unattended issues.

You’re being rhetorical.

Maybe as a politician.

Some four boys were deported yesterday. Reason? They were working. What job? Cleaning! Because they were working illegally. Ridiculous, isn’t? Amongst them were a graduate in Information Technology and the other a qualified Medical doctor.

Why would a qualified Medical Doctor or an Information Technologist want to travel out of his country to another country to be a cleaner and be subjected to the embarrassments of being deported because he has no work permit?

Because there’s still the selfish political will at negation.

Perhaps true, but a part of the truth could be these people wouldn’t mind being a cleaner or engage themselves in any of those menial jobs to earn some foreign currency which when converted could go a long way to set them up in whatever they’ve chosen to engage themselves.

You’re not telling the truth.

It’s austere. Here comes Heart.

A part of their discussion had centred on the present democratic government which had spent two terms of eight years in office and was lobbying the lawmakers both at the upper and lower houses of the National Assembly to doctor the constitution to fit in its third term agenda of another four years in the affairs of governance which had attracted the criticisms of the public and radicals like Jonathan.

Heart had since changed from what she wore when she went to pick Grace. She was wearing a red flowing long dress that immediately established her as a beauty and a fashion conscious interest.

A Political Scientist and a Politician; I know the subject wouldn’t be far from politics. That is not the reason why I’ve invited you here. You’re here to relax and take your minds off all the political tricks that brought us all here… Heart was telling the two men, they were all member of the same church who had flown in, though separately, from the Gerian branch of the church to attend a Christian Convention in the UK.

This stubborn lecturer would never give peace a chance. Said Falade.

The political tricks that continue to define our slavery… Jonathan put in.

You’ll keep quiet Jonathan, both of you and have some more drinks.

Enough of the sugar, I don’t want to be diabetic.

Shall we join the others? Heart was already leading he way.

As they walked to join the other guests, two more guests came to join them making them four. The third person was Yoboa, from Gold Coast, who had leaved all his life in the United Kingdom until recently when he started visiting his country of birth when time permits. He was ready to tell anybody who cared to listen how it was very rough with him when he first arrived Great Britain.

A successful Property business man with more than two hundred and fifty property scattered all over the country which he either rents out or waits until a property appreciate in value and then sell making unimaginable profit.

Yoboa was telling the two men how twenty years ago he wanted to travel to Britain for the first time, not knowing or having anybody to put up with there, had gone to relation whose daughter resided in Britain. The woman had given him the assurance that he should not entertain any fears that once he got to Britain that her daughter would accommodate him and make him as comfortable as possible until he found his feet.

He had arrived Great Britain during winter and immediately called the woman. Her voice was kind on the phone and accommodating. His hope was further lifted. She had described to him on the phone how he could get to her place at Thamesmead.

He got there late in the evening and rang the bell. It was the woman who came to open the door for him. There was an exchange of greeting in their native dialect. He had had a hot bath, treated to a good meal he ate with the woman’s husband and their children.

His stay was tolerated for one week. The second week, the woman had called him that he was no longer welcomed in their home. The reason she had given for her decision was that he went out and came back late. But he discovered that the true reason why he had been asked to leave was that her husband was no longer comfortable with his presence around, he was beginning to see him as a threat for whatever reason.

He had gone out as usual in the freezing winter in search of a job because the money he brought with him was almost running out as a chunk of it had been spent on bus pass. He got home, rang the bell without getting any response. He continued to ring for another one hour still with the same coldness. He could hear that the entire family was in the sitting room laughing to God knows what.

He had had to shout and plead that the door should be opened for him that he was not coming in to stay but to take his belonging and leave for good. He heard footsteps descending the stairs, the door was opened, without saying a word to the woman, he went straight to where his portable bag was, unzipped it and took out five shirts and a trouser and wore all of them on what he had on, put on his winter coat and went out into the icy winter night emotional bruised.

For one week, he slept on one bus after the other flashing his expired bus pass at the drivers. He wanted to board bus 177 from Peckham going to Woolwich, he boarded the bus, flashed his expired pass at the driver and was about going to take his seat when the driver called him back and asked him to display his pass again.

Politely, the driver asked him to step out. He did with all the confusion in his head wanting to cause an explosion. He stood at a spot not knowing what to do. Despite the coldness, his body was itching him. He remembered he had not taken his bath for two weeks.

He raised his head up to find a man coming in his direction. Not thinking, he went to him.

I’m stranded. He had said to the man. Help your blood brother please. You’re Gold Coastian?

No, Gerian.

We’re the same. Please help me. I have not slept for two weeks now, no bath, and I am hungry. Help please.

The Gerian stood there for a long time probably deciding what to do. He understood perfectly well what this man was going through because he had been there before.

I want to help you, but my hands are tied.

Help your brother please. He had cried.

There’s nothing I think of now than to help you, but the problem is I can not make this decision alone, I have to talk to my wife about it.

I can go with you to your place, wait outside while you talk to your wife please.

You don’t have to, she will soon be here, and she is just finishing from the saloon where she works.

The wife was approaching. He went to her. They had a discussion for some minutes and both of them came to him. They boarded the bus after buying him a one-way pass.

He had his first bath in two weeks, ate a Gerian delicacy prepared by the man’s wife and slept the sleep he would have slept for two weeks.

The following morning when the woman’s wife had gone to work, the man called him to the dining room.

Are you ok? The man had asked.

God bless you…

There’s no need for that, I was in a position to help and I tried my best. You see, The man was about saying. He detected at once that this was going to be his last day here; he was familiar with those two words now that they carry a devil with them. He was quiet and waited to hear what he had to say. You see, I wish you could stay here permanently until you get a job and find your feet. I am a security man, I work in the night and come back in the morning and that leaves you with my wife…

Don’t worry my brother; I will not give her any reason to be angry…

Not you, but the weather and the frustration of immigration.

That was how he left the house into a wilderness of hardship until he secured an eighty pounds per week job with an agency having encouraged himself that there was no need going to give up himself to immigration for deportation.

The good Gerian thought I was going to be sleeping with his wife when he had gone to work. He was telling the two men as they rejoined the other guests.

The fourth guest was Russell. He was from Zimbabwe. He was enjoying his drink and did not consider the Gold Coastian’s story as funny as others did. For him, laughter was rare and no longer affordable; he had laughed what he regarded as real and true laughter when he was in Zimbabwe before the unidealistic and outdated Mugabe seized the lands from white farmers and forced them out of the country, leaving the country poorer than poor and making Mugabe an uncircumcised political and economic Ape. As the children of his country continue to die of Kwashiorkor because of lack of vitamins, and yet many dying of AIDS and the economy being battered left and centre, he would not stop wondering who an African is.

One of the reasons put forward by Mugabe for taking the lands from the white farmers was to take what belongs to Africans to Africans, that the time of imperialism was over and it was time for African to take their destiny into their hands; if this was how the Africans in Zimbabwe could take their destinies into their hands, he would not help, but continue to wonder.

Who is an African? He asked the men who were caught unawares since they were not part of his thought.

Russell? One of the men responded.

Did any of you watch the report on BBC yesterday about my country?

I did.

I think we all did. The others said.

Do you think Africans are a Robert? As far as he was concerned, ‘Robert’ had become a political and economic institution of evil leaders like Robert Mugabe who thrive in idealistic naivety of moving the continent forward. Are true Africans Robert, white farmers or human beings?

Drink Russell, drink, while we continue to believe that the spirits of the dead will not stop taunting him. Another guest said.

He drank, just a sip, his mind still not a distant far from the present happening into the BBC report. It was a true story and picture of a degenerated Zimbabwe under another Robert; yet, he could see the mockery the pictures and story tried to depict, a picturesque story ridiculing the intelligence and political as well as economic integrity of Mugabe and the likes who think the way forward for Africa was by sending away the ‘colonial masters’ or the ‘white farmers’ when they themselves still enjoy the confusion as to the blueprint to adopt to move the continent forward.

And when they do have this blueprint, it was overshadowed by a theatretical corruption and a lack of will power. There was something that was brewing in his mind, which he did not want to attach relevance to; was it possible that what Zimbabwe was going through, regardless of the Robertic stupidity, was masterminded by the political and economic superiority of the former master as a way of punishment?

He drank his drink in a sip again and began to think he needed to relax, after all that was the main reason why he decided to honour the invitation to be here in the first place.

While the four men walked in the direction where others were already seated, Heart went to meet Grace who was still trying to get an explanation, maybe for the reason why she had been invited to this gathering which constituted those she knew from the Christian House Fellowship and those like the politician and his wife and others she had no intention of knowing. She too had changed into something different. Something that made her even tempting, helped to hide her flesh, and defined her beauty the way she had not thought of when she saw herself in the mirror. She was wearing a blouse and skirt sawn into one with flowery designs. It had been bought for her by Heart on this special occasion.

The music had changed and had been replaced by a cool R&B gospel. The politicians and the other guests had put behind their various arguments and reminiscences behind them and allowed themselves to be taken over by the moment and the occasion of the day which was still oblivious to Grace.

Thanks for everything. Grace said.

Thank you for accepting everything. Heart replied.

The dress, my taste. Grace said poetically.

One day with you is enough to know your taste. Heart responded.

I’m grateful.

Do you have to say it a million times?

A million times wouldn’t be enough.

Then continue to say it until I’m not bored sick. While you’re still at it, would you like to give me a hand with the drinks?

They both went to the drink apartment of the house and started sorting out the drinks.

There’re lots of unmarried men present you know. Heart injected.

I’ve not noticed any. Grace said not knowing where she was headed. She could not place the link between this gathering and now with ‘the many unmarried men present.’ It was a matter she did not want to pursue, but not with Heart, she continued with it.

You don’t want to bother about them. She stressed.

Not with five children.

You’re still attractive enough not to make any serious minded man want to ask whether you have five children or not.

In this part of the world?

Miracle still happens.

Miracles? Yes, I believe; but not in this dog eat dog situation. I’m afraid of another relationship.

We don’t conquer our fears if we don’t try.

The first marriage, the man died in an accident, the second marriage, the man died in the same process. Will the third not go the same way?

Try the third and he might decide to stay, can you tell? He just might decide to die in his sleep at the age of hundred when you no longer need a man. Heart said with a smile allowing Grace to enjoy the joke.

Both could not help but laugh to the last statement. Who wants to live till hundred anyway. What experiences were there to learn from when a world was already tilting to a dimension where it was not given a thought?

Let’s take the drinks to them. Grace suggested.

You don’t appreciate the subject. Let us take the drinks to them then. I was only thinking, you know, the person over there, his name is Bill; he has been asking me to find a good-looking woman for him. Just a thought.

The day’s beautiful. Grace said off-mindedly.

Yea. For a beautiful person.

Indeed for a beautiful person, because this place and what exists this moment is certainly designed for a beautiful a person who nobody is telling me about. Who is this lucky person?

Do you want to guess?

There was a knock on the door.

We’re not expecting anybody, are we? Said Grace.

Maybe they’ve ran out of drinks. Who is it? Asked Heart.

I. It was a male voice.

Who’s ‘I’?

I thought this was an open house, do I come in? Said the male voice.

We’re coming with the drinks.

The door opened. The male voice showed up himself. It was Bill. He came in. He was tall, slim, and muscular. His clean-shaven and healthy looking skin appeared especially majestic in his artfully sewn two-piece African attire, which was made from prints from Holland.

Why are both of you looking at me as if I just descended from space?

You did. You’re not supposed to be here.

Fortunately or unfortunately I’m here.

So?

Who’s your friend?

Is she the reason why you’re here?

I knew you to be married, and to my friend.

Get out.

Until you introduced me to her.

Shall we go to the sitting room now?

Without an invitation, he walked up to Grace who had been wondering the special god who created this gorgeous man who was about taking her hand into his. He at once was showing a flexible and endearing character and attitude.

I’m Bill. Everything about me is Bill. And I don’t need anybody to tell me that you’re beautiful. Who knows if you’re not meant for Bill? It was a voice that was so sure that what was in front of him was his and he had every right to possess it.

She felt she wanted to laugh.

Thanks. Grace said flatly, not spitefully, but for the fact that she did not know what to say. She thought he had that aura around him that tends to silence every other thing that comes his way. Moreover, they were just meeting for the first time. I hope I shan’t have to add a‘s’ to the Bill because that has been a constant and nagging problem.

Would I mind? You seem to have a protective mother around you, when she is no longer there, then both of us would have all the opportunity in the world to ride the world. Don’t forget, I’m still Bill. He said heading towards the door.

I’ll not forget you’re Bill and everything about you is Bill, Bill. She thought there was some relief inside of her for the first time for a long while.

What do you think? Heart said, both of them alone now that Bill had gone to join the other guests.

Doesn’t he sound like somebody about town? Grace replied, and Heart did not fail to notice that particular smile on an appreciative face.

You don’t know him; he has the heart of a bird.

Maybe I’d prefer the heart of a bull.

You like him? heart insisted.

Could you prevent yourself from liking him? He seems likeable.

He’s beyond that, he has a good heart.

And he’s still single?

He was once married…

Oh! Exclaimed Grace. The wife is dead or divorced?

Neither of both. They got married when he was a financial nothing. He struggled for five years without any success of a financial breakthrough. The woman, who I thought was a patient beautiful angel then, wasn’t patient enough and left and got married to a wealthy Military dictator who was a Head of State.

The story he told you?

No, the story I know. Because the woman is my cousin.

Oh.

So?

You were very protective. Grace queried.

Even in life you make easy things look difficult so that the importance can be felt.

Why are we discussing this?

Maybe there’s an unconscious interest.

From who?

He does not live here, Heart said avoiding Grace’ question. He lives in Switzerland, his business brings him to Great Britain often. Grace was pleased with this piece of information which she could not request herself.

Both of them laughed. Grace placed the tray of glasses and drinks she was carrying on the table and put her hand on Heart’s right shoulder. Heart stopped on her strides..

What’s happening? Heart asked astonished. Grace did not say a word. She took her tray from her and placed it on the table. She put her hands round her and gave her a strong hug that almost rocked her off her feet. It was a long hug.

What’s come over you Grace?

Love. You’re wonderful. She said still not freeing her from the hug. I’ve laboured for this kind of love for a long time, where I’m regarded as a human being and not some piece of shit that should be used and dumped immediately. Our friends are always from yonder. Thanks for your care. Thanks for your understanding. Thanks for your provisions.

Am I free to be released from your prison of hug?

She released her. Smile was on her face and tears at the same time.

Hey, I thought you were going to eat me up!

Sorry.

It’s time we went to the sitting room, they’ll be out and dry completely by now.

You’ve still not told me what is going on there.

It’s what they call a birthday celebration for somebody.

I shouldn’t know?

You said it’s day for a beautiful person.

Yes. She said going in the direction of the door. Let’s attend to the guests, please?

Not until you tell me. Grace held her back.

I wanted it to be a surprise, but since you’re insisting…

Who?

You. Grace looked around her to be certain if there was