‘Hah, I don’t know. But listen, my young Master, this place was not like this when I first came here. There was only one block to this main house with two rooms, A and B. With this front room here where we are sitting now. It was later, the first year or two after we had the freedom that they built C and D, and the other kitchen. It has never been used – I mean the other kitchen. If it had been built in the days of the white people, someone might have brought his own cook here with him some time to use it. But our people do not care about that kind of thing. And there has always been me. When they decided to build the other block, they gave notice that for about six months, people should not come and stay. At the same time, they decided the boys’ quarters looked too bad and that it should be renovated. So Setu and I thought that we would go home for a while, leaving the children to stay here with some sisters of Setu’s. We did not want their schooling to be interrupted. Yes, they said they were going to make the boys’ quarters new. The place has always been sufficient for me. Not only because there is an extra room for the children to sleep in, but there is also that land with it. Every year, I have cultivated the plots and harvested good cassava, millet, okra and even yams. My young Master, much of the time, the four of us live on what we earn from this earth. And then we keep what Setu and I make from other work for more important things. Like buying the children’s books, their uniforms and paying their fees. In the years the children were going to school free, we put by the money from those things for other necessary expenses. Because, my Master, for people like us, money is never, never idle. Sometimes Setu and I wonder how God created the other people who have so much money that they can put some in a bank. And yet, we also know that even we are better off than so many of our friends and relatives. But I should not burden you with the troubles of my whole clan. What I was saying is that this place seemed sufficient for us. But still, when they said they were going to do something about it I hoped they would put in a good lavatory, like the water-closet, and give us good lights. Electric lights. Yes, my Master, the lavatory in the boys’ quarters is the old pail and have you not noticed we use kerosene lamps? So I thought, “Zirigu, now you can really become something. When the white people were here, and they were our masters, it was only understandable that they should have electric lights and water-closets and give us, the boys, latrine pails and kerosene lamps. But now we are independent they are going to make this house new. My own people will give me a closet and an electric light.” I did not tell my thoughts to Setu because I was afraid she would say that I wanted to have the same things as my betters. And this is not good since Allah wants us to be satisfied with our lot. She is a Moslem but I am not a Moslem. You people think all of us from the north are Moslems. It is because you do not know anything about the north. Later, I knew from Setu herself that in spite of Allah’s wishes, she too had hoped for a water-closet and electric lights. But she had been afraid to discuss it with me because she thought I would have laughed at her. I asked the man who first told me about the work whether we could have a water-closet and electric lights. He said he was in charge of buying supplies and finding the people to come and do the work. “Yes,” he said, “that should not be difficult.” He didn’t think it would add much to the cost of the work, especially as they had already counted in the boys’ quarters. But he would have to discuss it with the real big men under whom he was working. He was sure they would consider it a small matter and even scold him for not going ahead with it without asking them before. But still . . . And when we came, what did we find? They had put fresh paint on the walls. They had repaired the steps leading to the rooms and they had made us a little verandah. But there were no electric lights and in the lavatory, no water-closet. I discovered they had taken away the old pail and given me a new one. Ah, my Master, I did not know I wanted these things so much until I knew I was not going to get them. They had taken the old pail and given me a new one. My own people who are big men do not think I should use these good things they use. Something went out of me then which has not returned since. I do not understand why I was so pained and angry, but I was. Setu told me that we deserved it for wanting to be like our betters. Allah had punished us. But I do not agree with her. I do want not to be like them . . . or like you. For over ten years, I had kept this place well. I know I had, otherwise why did they still keep me here? Being a keeper, cook-steward here is not a bad job. It is a good job, the type of small job which some big man would want to take and give to a poor and distant relative. And neither Setu nor I know any big men. So they have let us stay all these years because we kept the place well. I serve them well too. I do what they want. My hair is going grey. Is one or two electric bulbs too much to expect? At least, that would have meant not spending sixpences and shillings on kerosene. I have thought and thought and thought about it. I have never understood why. For a long time, I was drinking. I wanted to go away. I wanted to kill somebody. Any time I went to the office in town to get my pay and give my reports about the place, I felt like spitting into their eyes. Those scholars. But Setu talked to me. She said I was behaving like a child. That it is nothing. We should never forget who we are, that’s all. Now the anger is gone, and I stay here. My young Master, what does “Independence” mean?’