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‘He told her that he was not married but this wife here knew what was
going on,’ the woman was saying. ‘Does anyone here know the shock
this woman is going through? No, why, because she is one of those
women who emigrated? For those who do not know, this is her house
built with her money. I am finished.’
There was clapping as she sat down and grabbed her beer. The
mourning ambiance of the funeral had now turned to the excitement of
a political rally.
‘Death came like a thief,’ a woman with a squeaky voice stood up. ‘It
did not knock to alert Kayita. The curtain blew away and what filth!’
‘If this woman had not fought hard to bring Kayita home, the British
would have burnt him. They don’t joke. They have no space to waste on
unclaimed bodies. But has anyone had the grace to thank her? No.
Instead, Kayita’s father tells her to shut up. What a peasant!’
The gang had started throwing words about haphazardly. It could turn
into throwing insults. An elder came to calm them down.
‘You have made your point, mothers of the nation, and I add it is a valid
point because let’s face it, he lied to her and as you say, there are two
innocent children involved.’
‘But first let us see the British wife,’ a woman interrupted him. ‘Her
name is Nnameya. Let the world see the woman this peasant family has
used like arse wipes.’
Nnam did not want to stand up but she did not want to seem
ungrateful to the women’s effort. She stood up head held high.
LE PORTRAIT MAGAZINE
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