Ma Palagada’s son did not turn out after all to be as bad as Ojebeta had been led to expect. At least he did not treat them roughly physically. Yes, he ordered everyone about, wanting this and wanting that, even when the things he demanded were within his own reach. But that was the behaviour of people brought up in big houses where there were many servants and slaves. For, they told themselves, if they had to bother to tie their own shoelaces and cut their fingernails themselves, what were the slaves and servants for?
One evening when the girls were busy in the kitchen, they saw the Palagads seeing off a white woman. It was Ijeoma who saw them first and called to the others.
“Come, everybody, come and see Ma and Pa talking to an oyibol”
Of course they all ran out, including the big Jienuaka. He left the wood he was breaking for the fire, dropped his axe and went to the gate leading out of the backyard, where he could watch with the others unseen. They were not the only ones fascinated by the sight. Many children from up and down the narrow street came out, following the “oyibo” in a crowd a little distance from her. A few of the local people, especially those who traded with the foreigners at Otu market, had seen red-faced men, who were suppoesd to be white. Those men, however, seldom brought their wives with them. They usually made do with local girls, giving them babies and leaving them; that was why places near the sea, such as Sapele, Onitsha and Warri, were full of so many “half-castes”. But here was a white woman, a rare sight.
“I wonder how Ma understands what she says,” mused Ojebeta, as they all pressed against each other to get a better glimpse of this strange person.
“Ma does not understand, but Clifford does. Besides they say the woman oyibo speaks a kind of Ibo. You have to listen very carefully to understand it—she speaks through her nose, and pronounces her words in a funny way,” Jienuaka volunteered, breathing heavily as he was wont.
There was a gentle ripple of laughter among them, the kind of laughter that can be identified with suppressed making fun of overlords and supposed “betters”.
Encouraged by their mutual mischievous joy, Ijeoma remarked, “How starved she looks! See how her hips are flat and shapeless, as if she was a lizard lying flat on its stomach. She must be ill all the time.”
“Perhaps that is why they don’t bring their wives to these shores, and instead make our girls have children the colour of unripe palm fruits.”
They all laughed again and someone, probably Chiago, wondered if a woman as thin and ill-looking as that could ever bear children of her own.
Nobody replied to that, for now Jienuaka called them to go back to their duties. Even in this short minute of freedom, the slave mentality was still dominant in him. Jienuaka was the type who, although he could enjoy a joke, would never be disloyal to his master. It never occurred to any of them, not even the other male servants, to say “no” to Jienuaka, for he was such a formidably big person, so tall, so broad of shoulder and so strong that his nickname—“Agwuele”—meant a giant.
Within a few days they knew, or suspected, why the weak-looking white woman had paid them a visit. Her husband was the new United Africa Company chief, and she helped to run the local Church Missionary Society school. She wanted Ma Palagada to send some of her children there. However, whereas people then were still very reluctant to consign their actual children to these foreign places of learning, it was acceptable to send domestic slaves so long as their going did not tamper with their daily tasks. Ma Palagada could not spare her girls on weekdays, or on market days; but the day called Sunday came only once in seven. She did not mind that, especially as the white woman, Mrs Simpson, said that on Sundays the girls would only stay for a few hours after church.
For the girls it was a great excitement. They had new outfits made for them in plain materials, outfits that did not have separate tops and lappas but were all joined together—what Mrs Simpson called a gown and the girls called “gam”. They were quite shapeless, with puffed sleeves. The girls were also made to wear some hats, tied on to their heads with cloth round the sides. In church they were taught that women’s heads were holy and should be covered.
More market stalls were assigned to Ma Palagada as an indirect result of this, and because of her connections she could buy any import at wholesale price before her rivals had time to do so. So she became doubly rich. Seeing that conversion from nothing to Christianity brought Ma financial rewards, a number of smaller traders followed suit, and when the “nobodies” saw that the rich were all going to this new place called church, many were converted to this fashionable religion.
It was with this great enthusiasm that the first Christ Church Cathedral was built. Church-going every morning became a feature of the Palagada home, and Ma was regarded everywhere as an enviable and god-fearing woman.
“Does she not drink tea in the afternoon? Does she not wear ‘gam’ every Sunday?” her neighbours asked.
However, even under the influence and tuition of this Mrs Simpson, it was difficult for Ma Palagada and her society women contemporaries to go completely European. There was no problem about wearing the straight-shaped English dresses, even with their overfed stomachs; but then they would add the type of heavy headtie that went with native lappas, and they would also place an extra piece of material on their shoulders, regardless of whether the English lady thought it appropriate. This was because the Ibo belief was that a complete woman must have two lappas round her waist, not just one. You might sometimes put the second piece of cloth over your shoulders, but you must be seen to use both as befitted a properly married woman: so Ma Palagada and her group did not wish to be thought of with disrespect. The correctness of what they felt seemed to be confirmed for them when one day, during the regular Wednesday women’s class meeting that had been established, Mrs Simpson showed them a picture of the woman she said had ruled England. The women gasped at her size.
“Look, no wonder she had many children like us. She was well fed,” Ma Palagada remarked in an aside to her friend Ma Mee.
“And look, she has her ntukwasi over her shoulder.”
“Why then does this one Mrs Simpson wear so few clothes, when she ought to dress to look respectable?”
Ma Mee in her newly converted attitude knew that it was a sin to backbite—did not the Bible say it was like killing your neighbour?—so she asked the Englishwoman direct: “Why do you not dress like your queen?”
Mrs Simpson, who in her heart of hearts regarded these women as having the brains of children, said patiently. “Because it is too hot for me here. The queen wore more clothes and in darker colours because in my country it can be so cold that dew and rain form themselves into snow. Also her husband had died when this picture was taken.” Then she had to go into a great lengthy explanation to describe what “snow” meant, for none of these women in their wildest imagination could think of what it might be. Nonetheless she managed to convey to them the fact that snow was white, and that it was formed from water; it would be essential that they understood when they came across the simile “as white as snow” in their Ibo-translated Bibles.
As far as Ma Palagada’s girls were concerned, this new religion they learned once a week was the greatest thing to happen to them—getting ready for church and then, later in the day, the Sunday school they called “Akwukwo-Uka”. Ojebeta would never forget the first church harvest festival she experienced. Weeks before Ma had bought them all new material, and in order that they would learn how to sew she made them make their own clothes. Chiago was now an expert in sewing. Before they started going to Akwukwo-Uka, she would simply look at you and guess your measurements, and would then proceed to make the blouse or whatever it was you wanted. But she had since learned to count and use her tape rule. Ojebeta and the others could not make a “gam” or full dresses yet, though after Chiago had done the cutting they would have to stitch them all over again.
Intrigued, Ojebeta had one day asked Chiago: “Why is it that first you get a nice piece of material—a perfect piece, which you ought to just throw over your body exactly as it is—and what you do then is to tear it into pieces. But then you start sewing the pieces back together again. It doesn’t make sense.”
Chiago had to think for some time before she answered, for she saw Ojebeta’s point of view. “If you don’t cut the cloth into pieces and then stitch them together, the dress would have no shape, and we would have no work to do in the market. We would just be sitting about doing nothing, and that would be no good to anybody, especially us. You see, we make things for outsiders and they pay our Ma, and that helps her to feed and clothe us.”
On the latter point Chiago was quite wrong; for the amount of money the girls made for Ma from sewing alone was enough to keep the household going. In allowing her girls to go to Mrs Simpson’s classes, she had allowed them to become élite slaves. They soon learned to read in Ibo from a green book called Azu-Ndu, and what they found out from the printed word gave them endless amusement; they read and re-read the stories, the sayings, until they knew most of the little book off by heart. So it was to Ma’s stalls that people brought their material to be made into the type of gown that the white woman wore, because there you were properly measured and the girls who sewed could read from books. It was because of this attitude of customers that Ma’s son Clifford, who was becoming very interested in his mother’s business, advised her to increase her charges. She did this, and their profit and prestige went up even higher, for the people of Otu Onitsha, true to human nature, valued more what they paid dearly for. It seemed that every woman wanted to be able to say. “I am not a pagan, I go to church, and my church ‘gam’ was made for me at the Palagada stalls in Otu Onitsha.”
The girls were busier than ever as the first church harvest approached. Many of the successful people who had made a great deal of money from selling palm kernels instead of slaves were converted to some form of Christianity, which meant that they all wanted to wear some new outfit for the harvest festival. The girls were encouraged to work even harder by the expectation that they too would have something new to wear, for they knew that Ma Palagada liked to plan little surprises even for her lowliest servant.
It happened on one market day. Ma, after settling them all to their different jobs, called casually:
“Ojebeta. Ijeoma, come with me to the shore; a big steamer is coming in from the port.”
“Yessima.” (This was one of the first lessons you learned as a servant or slave, that when you were called by any lady, you did not answer “Eh!” as you would do in your village; you were meant to reply. “Ma’am”—which usually came out sounding more like a goat crying for food. To men you said “Sa!” So in privileged houses the refrain was Ma. Sa. Sa. Ma. all day.)
The girls left the work they were supposed to be doing and stood almost to attention, ready for Ma’s next orders. That they were going to the shore was in itself an excitement; Ojebeta loved watching those steamers and launches and canoes coming to the bank of the river. Having given Chiago some final instructions and warned her to tie every penny she made securely in her waist belt. Ma said to the two impatiently waiting girls. “Let us go.”
At the riverside that day Ojebeta had never seen so many white men together. They had red faces and were dressed alike, with small white hats on their heads. They all seemed to walk with a swagger. They were very noisy and happy, and flirted with some of the girls who had come with their owners to collect goods from the big boats. One white man even slapped Ojebeta on the back, and when she turned to look at him he winked at her, which made his red face under his yellow hair look quite comical.
Ma was allowed inside one of the big boats, while they stood at the waterside. After they had waited for what seemed ages, a young sailor came out of the boat carrying a huge bale of light blue material on his shoulder. Ma was carrying a square case of something, and the girls rushed forward eagerly to relieve her of it. Ijeoma was asked to take the bale of cloth from the sailor, and as the heavy bale was placed on her head Ijeoma’s neck shrank a little under the weight.
On their way back to the stall they hardly stopped at all. After they had arrived, and Ma had been given a bowl of the day’s palm wine, she asked Chiago:
“Do you still have a large number of dresses to cut and sew?”
“Yessima—because of the harvest festival. I don’t know whether we shall be able to finish them all in time, for there are only three market days left. Maybe some of the people will let me take the work home, then we can finish them for the next market.”
Ma thought about this, knowing that their household duties would suffer if the girls were to take market sewing home. She knew also that her husband, who she had long suspected had an eye for the big girl Chiago, would be furious. He liked the girls to be free to attend to his every needs whenever he called them. On the other hand, Ma knew that it would be a good plan if in the future Chiago and one or two of the other girls could stay at home to sew. And if there was too much work, she would have to look around and see if she could buy or employ another girl. She preferred to buy one, though, for then you owned the complete person.
“That will have to be something for the future, because you are all going to be very busy now, making your own harvest gowns.”
The hush and expectancy that followed this statement was almost tangible. Amanna opened her mouth wide, and Nwayinuzo stopped what she was doing and gazed attentively at her mistress.
“Yes, you will be using that bale of blue muslin for your dresses. You will make them in the latest fashion, not the ordinary styles you have been making for other people. Make them special, like those of the European ladies. They should be long, with frills on the bottom and lace on the sleeves. We shall see that you all look very nice….”
The girls’ eyes were now as round as ripe red palm fruits. Amanna had to cover her mouth to prevent herself from shouting out with joy. They were really going to look like real ladies! As for Ojebeta, she felt like dancing round this remarkable fat lady in appreciation of her kindness—it was at times like this that she felt grateful for having been bought by her.
Of course she still longed constantly to go home, for Ibuza was like something permanently in your bloodstream. She had felt a little strange that very morning when she had seen some of her people arriving from their villages in cheap canoes, shouting instead of talking, and badly dressed, struggling with their tins of palm oil. They did not know her: Ibuza as a whole was quite a large place; but the marks on her face would have identified her to them as coming from one of the Western Ibo towns, even if they could not be sure which one. She knew that the issue would be further complicated when she spoke. Gone was her abrasive Ibuza accent; she now spoke like a girl born in Onitsha, with rounded “Rs” and a slowness of delivery, each word drawn out.
But at times like these, it was as if she hardly even cared whether she ever went back or not. Her small, square, white basket—Ma had bought one for each of them—was almost full of clothes. She had enough to eat, and she went to Sunday School. The harsher aspects of being a Palagada slave girl receded temporarily. Waking up from her musings, she joined the others in their gratitude.
“Thank you, Ma, for being so kind to us. May God make you prosper the more.”
Chiago hesitantly went forward to feel the material.
“It’s very soft, like a baby’s skin, and shiny, too,” she remarked. “I like it very much.”
The others crowded round, in turn touching and admiring, with broad smiles on their faces. On closer inspection they saw that some careless person had spilt a yellowish liquid on part of the beautiful cloth; but they all agreed with Chiago that it was the best material they had seen produced by the Europeans.
“It is called ‘Mossulu’, that is why,” Amanna explained.
Once more the others agreed. Then Ma said, in a voice that signalled it was time to return to their work:
“There will be enough for everybody, even when you cut off the soiled part.”
“Yessima, there will be more than enough.”
Ma Palagada felt quite pleased with herself. She had ordered the muslin to cover some straight-backed chairs she and her husband had bought from the U.A.C. people some time before. But some of the sailors had poured some drink on the bale and it had soaked through. They had promised to bring her a perfect, unsoiled one on their next trip. Meanwhile she had offered to take this one off their hands, since it was of no use to them. She knew it would make nice church outfits for her girls.
The night before the harvest festival the Palagada girls, with girls from other houses, went to the church to polish the new pews and shine the floors.
Many farmers from neighbouring villages had brought their fattest yams and hens and goats and bananas and plantains, and everything they had which was eatable, and had sold them to the rich who could then give them as harvest offerings to God. Ma Palagada was not one to be left behind that harvest year. On the night before the big day, her compound was filled with all kinds of vegetables, all kinds of animals—from sheep to pigeons, all making their different animal sounds, so that anyone entering the compound could be forgiven for believing they were in another “Noah’s Ark” like the one written about in the Christian Bible.
The hurry and bustle of that Sunday morning was unprecedented. Ma Palagada was adorned in pure velvet, all lustrous and blue, with rows and rows of coral beads laced with gold around her neck. Pa was dressed in a white popo cloth, a dazzling white European shirt, and a felt cap with embroidery worked all over it and a feather—the mark of his newly acquired title—sticking out of it. He too had rows of long coral beads round his neck. He wore a pair of hand-made slippers, sewn in the Gold Coast, which were shaped like fishes, with golden thread running through them and pieces of gold stitched in between the toes. He carried a mighty fan that was made in the same way as the slippers. He looked really magnificent and he knew it, for he held himself upright and was even sober, a rare state for him those days.
When there was only about an hour to go, and the church bells were pealing their bell songs, Ma in her velvet costume came to where the girls were busy admiring themselves and told them to tie the legs of the hens and the cocks, arrange the yams and plantains, put a rope round the goats, and then go round the neighbourhood singing “Kai sua ani…”—“We plant the field and scatter….”
“So that the pagans will know how blessed we are,” she said. She thought to herself that this might even convert some to their brand of Christianity.
“Yessima,” the girls chorused, delighted.
They quickly collected the harvest offerings together and arranged them in big enamel bowls, the type of bowls basically made to serve as baths but which many people then found useful for carrying heavy foodstuff. The fowls the girls carried on their heads, lifting their muslin dresses clear of the ground with one hand; the male servants and slaves led the bigger animals by ropes, and they all went round the streets singing Ibo versions of harvest songs.
It was an impressive sight that they made. People ran out of their huts and houses to watch, to marvel at how beautiful, how rich these people were. Why, the servants were even dressed in silk!
Ojebeta and Amanna were in front, carrying two hens each (the hens in Amanna’s bowl protested throughout the procession, flapping their wings in anger, and making their bearer sing out of tune many a time). They were followed by the bigger girls, and then the men. One of the most striking sights was Jienuaka. He was dressed in close-fitting trousers given to him by Clifford, trousers that were so tight that they clung everywhere to the shape of his anatomy. His shirt, which Chiago had made, had ruffles like those on the girls’ dresses; and he sported a broad-brimmed hat made of straw, and old cloth shoes which in their better days Pa had used as bedroom slippers. And Jienuaka was leading the fattest and the strongest goat. He could not, however, join in the songs, for he did not know them and they sounded to him very strange. He still found it difficult to master the Ibo alphabet; but his master did not very much need that ability in him so no one minded.
After they had gone round their neighbourhood twice, and the final church bell was pealing, they returned to the front of their house and waited for the Palagadas. And they soon came out in style, all the members of the family. Pa and Ma walked with dignity and Clifford with a youthful swagger. Those who watched them envied and admired them, the “Church Missionary Society” Christians.
No one actually knew whether this type of display managed to bring many pagans to Christ; what was apparent was that in many Ibo towns the wealthy and successful people were usually members of the Church of England. The masses, on the other hand, tended to become Roman Catholics.
By the time Ojebeta and her fellow slaves and servants had taken their places at the back of the church, they were already tired. She did not much listen to the sermons and the readings, but she sang joyfully to all the new church tunes she had learned from the white woman at Sunday School. Though they had been provided with some Ibo hymn books, they did not need them for they knew all the words by heart.
Amid loud singing and jubilant music, the white man who was wearing a black robe and was known as the Bishop called: “The Palagadas!”
At first none of the household realised that it was them he was calling; the way he said the P instead of kP as it should be pronounced made it sound strange. After he had repeated the name several times Ma recognised that he was referring to them. She stood up in all her majesty, walked down the aisle to the back seats where her household was sitting—amidst the admiring glances which she was very aware were following her progress—and made frantic signs for them to come up. It took quite a while to wake Jienuaka, but at last, with all the hens, goats and everything else, they went up to the front of the altar. The Bishop took the gifts from them, blessed the labour of their hands, and told them to obey their masters and work diligently in all they were employed to do. And he begged God to accept the offerings of his subjects.
The whole church, having stopped singing, said “Amen”, in voices deep with reverence.
The slaves and servants, happy to have been blessed, walked back to their designated places at the back of the church, away from their superiors, and sang more songs.