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He did not reply.
‘When was rent last paid?’
‘Three weeks ago. Where are you?’
‘Don’t touch it, father,’ she said. ‘We’re in Ndeeba. We’re not spending
any more money on this funeral. His family will bury him: I don’t care
whether they stuff him into a hole. They are taking him to Nsangi.’
‘Nsangi? It does not make sense.’
‘Neither to us.’
When Nnam switched off the phone she said to her brothers, ‘The
house is safe,’ as if they had not heard. ‘Now they can hold the vigil in a
cave if they please.’
The brothers did not respond.
‘When we get there,’ there was life in Nnam’s voice now, ‘You shall find
out what is going on; I’ll be in the car. Then you shall take me back to
town: I need to go to a good salon and pamper myself. Then I’ll get a
good busuuti and dress up. I am not a widow anymore.’
‘There is no need . . .’ Meya began.
‘I said I am going to a salon to do my hair, my nails and my face. But
first I’ll have a bath and a good meal. We’ll see about the vigil later.’
Then she laughed as if she was demented.
‘I’ve just remembered,’ she coughed and hit her chest to ease it. ‘When
we were young,’ she swallowed hard, ‘remember how people used to
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