Jumping Monkey Hill

Ujunwa woke up to the crashing sound of the sea, to a nervous clutch in her belly. She did not want to read her story tonight. She did not want to go to breakfast, either, but she went anyway. She said a general 'Good morning' with a general smile. She sat next to the Kenyan and he leaned towards her and whispered that Edward had just told the Senegalese that he had dreamed of her naked navel. Naked navel. Ujunwa watched the Senegalese delicately raising her teacup to her lips, sanguine, looking out at the sea. Ujunwa envied her calm. She felt piqued, too, to hear that Edward was making suggestive remarks to someone else and she wondered what her pique meant. Had she come to see his ogling as her due? She was uncomfortable thinking about this, about reading tonight, and so that afternoon, lingering over lunch, she asked the Senegalese what she had said when Edward spoke of her naked navel.

The Senegalese shrugged and said no matter how many dreams the old man had, she would still remain a lesbian.

'But why do we say nothing?' Ujunwa asked. She raised her voice and looked at the others. 'Why do we always say nothing?'

They looked at each other. The Kenyan told the waiter that the water was getting warm and could he please get some more ice. The Tanzanian asked the waiter where in Malawi he was from. Finally the Zimbabwean said the food at Jumping Monkey Hill was sickening, all that meat and cream. Other words tumbled out and Ujunwa was not sure who said what. Imagine an African gathering with no rice and why should beer be banned at the dinner table just because Edward thought wine was proper and breakfast at eight was too early, never mind that Edward said it was the 'right' time and the smell of his pipe was nauseating and he had to decide which he liked to smoke, anyway, and stop rolling cigarettes halfway through a pipe.

Only the black South African remained silent. He looked bereft, hands clasped in his lap, before he said that Edward was just an old man and meant no harm. Ujunwa shouted to him, 'This kind of attitude is why they could kill you and herd you into townships and require passes from you before you could walk on your own land!' Then she stopped herself and apologized. She should not have said that. She did not mean to raise her voice. The black South African shrugged, as if he understood that the devil would always do his work. The Kenyan was watching Ujunwa. He looked both speculative and surprised. He told her, in a low voice, that she was angry about more than just Edward and she looked away and wondered if 'angry' was the right word.

Later, she went to the souvenir shop with the Kenyan and the Senegalese and tried on jewellery made of faux-ivory. They teased the Kenyan about his interest in jewellery and perhaps he was gay, too? He laughed and said his possibilities were limitless. Then he said, more seriously, that Edward was connected and could find them a London agent; there was no need to antagonize the man, no need to close doors to opportunity. He, for one, didn't want to end at that teacher's job in Nairobi. He was speaking as though to everyone but his eyes were on Ujunwa.

Ujunwa bought a necklace and put it on and liked the look of the white, teeth-shaped pendant against her throat. That evening, Hillary smiled when she saw it. 'I wish people would see how faux- ivory looks real and leave the animals alone,' she said. Ujunwa beamed and said that it was in fact real ivory and wondered whether to add that she had killed the elephant herself during a royal hunt. Hillary looked startled, then pained. Ujunwa fingered the plastic. The cool smoothness was relaxing. She needed to be relaxed, and she said this to herself over and over, as she started to read from her story. Afterward, the Tanzanian said she captured Lagos well, the smells and sounds, and it was incredible how similar Third World cities were. The white South African said she hated that term Third World but had loved the realistic portrayal of what women were going through in Nigeria. Edward leaned back and said, 'It's never quite like that in real life, is it? Women are never victims in that sort of crude way and certainly not in Nigeria. Nigeria has women in high positions. The most powerful cabinet minister is a woman.'

The Kenyan cut in and said he liked the story, but didn't believe Chioma would give up the job. This was after all a woman with no other choices, and so he thought the ending was implausible.

'The whole thing is implausible,' Edward said. 'This is agenda writing, it isn't a real story of real people.'

Inside Ujunwa, something shrank. Edward was still speaking. Of course one had to admire the writing itself, which was quite mah-ve-lous. He was watching her, and it was the quiet victory in his eyes that made her stand up and start to laugh. The participants stared at her. She laughed and laughed and they watched her and then she picked up her papers. 'The only thing I didn't add in the story,' she said with her eyes on Edward's face, 'is that after I left the Alhaji's house, I got into the jeep and insisted that the driver take me home because I knew it was the last time I would be riding in that car.'

There were other things Ujunwa wanted to say but she did not say them. There were tears crowding up in her eyes but she did not let them out. She was looking forward to calling her mother, and as she walked back to her cabin, she wondered whether this ending, in a story, would be considered plausible.