‘I know, young Massa. I say, this man look small but him too, ’e be big man. . . . But you go chop, tuo?’

‘Yes.’

‘As for you self!’

.  .  .  .  .

‘S-e-t-u! S-e-t-u! S-e-t-u-e-e-e! Where is that woman? S-e-t-u!’

‘What is it, Zirigu? I was in the bath. Did I not tell you I was getting ready to go and see the doctor?’

‘Listen, my wife. I never heard a story like this before.’

‘Well, I haven’t either. But how can I know for sure when you are not telling it?’

‘Hmm . . . S-e-t-u . . . how shall I begin?’

‘Perhaps we better wait until this evening, since I have no time to . . .”

‘No . . . no . . . no! Hmm Setu, the young Master says he does not want to eat this evening.’

‘And is that a story?’

‘But that is not all.’

‘Well, just tell me the rest.’

‘He says he will eat some of your food this evening!’

‘H-e-e-eh! Allah. Zirigu, it is not true.’

‘He is in there, sitting by the table eating his orange. Go and ask him.’

‘E-e-e Allah. Zirigu, do you think this boy is right in his head?’

‘Setu, I am not sure. Setu, really, I am not sure. But his eyes do not rove so even if he is ill, it is not serious yet. He talks funny sometimes though. But I don’t know. Yes, he says he will eat tuo and that I can charge it to his general bill. Lord, in all the twenty or so years I’ve been general keeper and cook for this Rest House, I have not encountered a thing like this, eh Setu, have we?’

‘No, my husband. But times do change.’

‘Yes, you are right, my wife. So after you’ve been to see the doctor, go straight to the market, buy some very good vegetables, fresh greens, okro . . .’

‘Zirigu, now you better shut up your mouth before you annoy me. Since when did you start teaching me how to do my marketing? This is my job. A woman’s job.’

‘Yes, Setu.’

.  .  .  .  .

‘Massa . . .’

‘Zirigu, how often should I tell you not to call me that?’

‘But you are my massa!’

‘I am nothing of the sort. I was born not six years when you were going away to fight. How can I be your massa? And this is a Government Rest House, not mine, I am not even your employer. So how can I be your Master?’

‘But all the other Massas, they don’t say make I no call them so?’

‘Hell they don’t. That is their business. Not mine. My name is Kobina, not Master.’

‘Kob-i-n-a . . . K-o . . . Massa, I beg, I no fit call you that. I simple no fit.’

‘Too bad. That means I’ll have to leave here too, earlier than I had hoped.’

‘I dey go for town buy eggs, soap and some more yama-yama for the house. Make I buy you something?’

‘Oranges, more fruit.’

‘No drink?’

‘Christ, no. Ah, yes, perhaps pito?’