After that, she began to tweet about Nigeria: excitement at the things she’d missed, the changes borne over time until frustration found its way in, and her followers began to ask if she still lived in the UK.
Ego looked at me. ‘But it’s true! What’s the point of paying taxes? Can we even blame this on global warming? Tomorrow, we’ll call ourselves the Giant of Africa.’
My smile returned. ‘You’re always talking about global warming and making the earth safe again but tomorrow you’ll complain when I call you Britico or Janded. Anyways, we can’t blame this solely on global warming. The government keeps giving licences to all these real estate developers to push the ocean back and build houses and luxury apartments – you’re going to be living in one soon – and our garbage system is an absolute waste.’
She sniffed, ruffled. ‘I’m still the same – global warming is just important.’
I giggled slowly at first, then it turned hysterical. ‘Just look at your face! Are you sure you’re still Nigerian?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Serious? Me?’
I shook her shoulders playfully. ‘You’ve forgotten that the first rule of being Nigerian is to laugh at the state of Nigeria ehn? You have to enjoy the little things, the catfish and pepper soup incidents or you’ll run mad in this place. What were you expecting? I told you this is how it was. Or do you want to go back? Your passport is still red, you know.’
She exhaled and pushed herself deeper into the settee. ‘No, I don’t, I was running mad over there. I just expected things to improve, how can we still be dealing with the same problems from ten, fifteen years ago?’
‘Isn’t almost every country like that? Dealing with the same issues from ten, twenty years ago?’ I couldn’t believe I’d said that.
‘True, most governments are inefficient.’
‘It’s just that our system in particular is set up to fail. I mean how much has really changed since we inherited it from our colonial masters? Many of our laws go as far back as before independence or before we became a republic. Let’s start there.’
When the rains subsided, Ego and I visited Aunty Chinelo. Eriife was busy – with what, I wasn’t sure. The bouquets occupied the back seat: blush pink camellias and fragrant lilies. Nwakaego had found a list online that said camellias symbolised love and devotion and lilies were for purity and beauty; she’d chosen the camellias and I’d wanted the lilies and so we found a florist who could deliver both.
‘My fellow yellow’ was what she’d called me, because we’d both been yellow pawpaws, me and Aunty Chinelo, but her yellow had a red undertone that coloured her cheeks when she laughed too much, which she did often, and one time, I overhead her telling my mother that a white man must have snuck into her ancestral line along the way. Then she’d laughed and laughed, in a way my mother would have called unladylike if I did it.
Almost twenty years had passed since her death, but the memory remained unblurred in my mind, like a tape on unrelenting repeat: my mother running out of the house in a blouse and wrapper and the first shoes she could find; my mother returning, her wrapper limping at her waist, her hair scrambled and untidy. ‘Chinelo! My Chinelo!’ she’d screamed, and I knew the worst had happened.
‘Did you remember to carry the broom and rags?’ Ego asked as we buckled into our seats.
‘Yes, I did. We have everything. You worry too much,’ I said, starting the car and pulling out of the gate. Edikan, the gateman on duty, waved excitedly as we passed.
‘I promised my mother I’ll call her when we get there. Nkechi said she’ll see us there. She has a meeting at work.’
‘What about Nwamaka, her twin? Have you spoken with her yet?’ I asked, turning a corner.
Ego shifted in her seat and stared out of the glass, as though searching for something. Was her sister passing by? ‘We’ve spoken,’ she said finally. ‘If you call that speaking,’ she added.
‘What happened?’
‘I got her address from Nkechi and went to visit her. She lives in one of those mansions in Ikoyi now.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘I don’t think she’s happy. Her eyes look just like my mother’s used to. Something or several things are not right but she wouldn’t talk to me. I know it’s been many years but we’re still sisters.’
‘Does she talk to Nkechi at least?’ The twins were so identical and yet so unalike, and I’d always wondered how it was to see your face mirrored in another but not your person. Was that how my mother felt whenever she looked at me?
Ego sighed. ‘She stopped speaking to all of us when she got married, and it was only last year she reached out to Nkechi. And even she doesn’t know what’s going on. I feel like it’s all my fault. Maybe I should have married him instead, you know. I was older and tougher; I could have handled it.’
My brows furrowed. ‘Nwakaego, please don’t speak like that. Blaming yourself is not going to change anything. Give her time.’
She wiped at a corner of her eye. ‘But may—’
‘No buts. Take a tissue from my bag,’ I ordered. ‘Have you heard anything about your place yet?’ I asked, changing the subject.
She cleared her throat, as she dabbed tissue against her face. ‘They’re still making final touches to the apartment.’
‘Still? After how many months? Didn’t they know you were coming? They should give you the contractor’s number so I can call them and show them small madness. In this Lagos, you have to make sure people know they don’t have the monopoly of madness, you can’t be using British gentleness for them.’
Ego laughed, and I was relieved to hear the sound. ‘To be fair, the company has offered a luxury furnished apartment in the meantime but I told them I’m okay where I am.’
I slapped my steering wheel, deliberately dramatic. ‘Hay, this woman! So you want to be eating my free food. Are you not a thief like this?’
Ego laughed even harder and I smiled. ‘But jokes aside, you’re lucky that your office is handling this house matter for you. You even have a driver that comes to pick you up every day.’
‘How so?’
‘Ah! I didn’t tell you what I suffered house hunting in this Lagos when I first moved back from Onitsha? One landlord said he doesn’t rent to single women, another said how is he sure I’m not into ashewo business, that he doesn’t trust women that are into acting. The real estate agent that was taking me around was telling me that I should try to understand, that my car is too big, that even he had had his sister’s car towed so she could walk around a little and meet a man? Can you imagine the nonsense?’
Ego’s guffaw rang through the car’s interior. I didn’t add that eventually, I’d given in and taken the agent’s car around until we’d finally found a place I could rent.
The headstone was clean when we arrived, devoid of dirt and moss and the weeds sprouting around it had been cut and cleared. My mother had visited; she was the only one who never dropped flowers.
Ego video-called her mother and I stood aside awkwardly as she turned the camera to the gravestone so Aunty Uju could see its condition; we’d wiped it again and arranged the flowers. Lilies, pure and beautiful, like Aunty Chinelo, too good for this world.
