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‘Kayita is . . . was married. He has the two older children he told you
about, but in the few times he returned, he has had two other children
with his wife.’
Nnam did not react. Something stringy was stuck between her lower
front teeth. Her tongue, irritated, kept poking at it. Now she picked at it
with her thumbnail.
‘We only found out when he died but father said we wait to tell you
until you are home with family.’
In the car were three of her brothers, all older than her. Her sisters
were in another car behind. Her father and the boys were in another;
uncles and aunts were yet in another. Nnam was silent.
‘We need to stop them and ask how far we are going in case we need
to fill the tank,’ another brother pointed at the van with the coffin.
Still Nnam remained silent. She was a kiwuduwudu, a dismembered
torso – no feelings.
They came to Ndeeba roundabout and the coffin van veered into
Masaka Road. In Ndeeba town, near the timber shacks, they overtook
the van and flagged it down. Nnam’s brothers jumped out of the car
and went to Kayita’s family. Nnam still picked at the irritating
something in her teeth. Ndeeba was recognisable by its mouldy smell of
half-dry timber and sawdust.
Heavy planks fell on each other and rumbled. Planks being cut sounded
like a lawnmower. She looked across the road at the petrol station with
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