She could not have been better advised. That Saturday, people saw her at her bath quite early. My little girl had caught a fever and I myself had not gone to the farm. When eleven o’clock struck, I met Mansa in the market-place, looking like a festive dish. I asked her if what we had heard was true, that our lord and master was coming on the market-day lorry that afternoon. She said I had heard right.

‘Maybe she was very eager to see him and could not wait in the house.’

Could you have waited quietly if you had been her?

‘Oh, women. We are to be pitied.’

Tell me, my sister. I had wanted to put a stick under the story and clear it all for you. But we are already in town.

‘Yes, look at that crowd. Is Auntie Araba’s family house near the mouth of this road?’

Oh yes. Until the town grew to the big thing it is, the Twidan Abusia house was right on the road but now it is behind about four or so other houses. Why?

‘I think I can hear singing.’

Yes, you are right.

‘She is going to get a good funeral.’

That, my sister, is an answer to a question no one will ask.

‘So finish me the story.’

Hmm, kinsman, when the market lorry arrived, there was no Scholar-Teacher-Ato on it.

‘No?’

No.

‘What did Auntie Araba and Mansa do?’

What could they do? Everyone said that the road always has stories to tell. Perhaps he had only missed the lorry. Perhaps he had fallen ill just on that day or a day or so before. They would wait for a while. Perhaps he would arrive that evening if he thought he could get another lorry, it being a market day. But he did not come any time that Saturday or the next morning. And no one saw him on Monday or Tuesday.

‘Ohhh . . .’

They don’t say, ohhh. . . . We heard about the middle of the next week – I have forgotten now whether it was the Wednesday or Thursday – that he had come.

‘Eheh?’

Nyo. But he brought some news with him. He could not marry Mansa.

‘Oh, why? After spoiling her . . .’

If you don’t shut up, I will stop.

‘Forgive me and go on, my sister.’

Let us stand in this alley here – that is the funeral parlour over there. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.

‘You are right.’

Chicha Ato said he could not marry Mansa because he had got another girl into trouble.

‘Whopei!’

She had been in the college too. Her mother is a big lady and her father is a big man. They said if he did not marry their daughter, they would finish him. . . .

‘Whopei!’

His lawyer-father thought it advisable for him to wed that girl soon because they were afraid of what the girl’s father would do.

‘Whopei!’

So he could not marry our Mansa.