is that different from Muzunguland,” she replied, taking care not to sound as if she wanted to pick a quarrel on the rampant attitude (often informed by assumptions of superiority, she was convinced) of ‘Africa is not like your Muzunguland’ that she encountered almost every day.
“That’s exactly what she would say, has always said. It must be something Muzungulander … how you are brought up, perhaps,” observed Bobinga Iroko.
“What do you mean? Is Dr Wiseman Lovemore’s wife a Muzungulander?”
“What did you think? He hasn’t told you that his wife is half white, half black? Only half as white as you, but Muzungu all the same?”
“No, he’s told me very little about his family situation, like I said.” Lilly Loveless was still to come to terms with what she had just heard. Dr Wiseman Lovemore, married to a Muzungu? He didn’t come across that way. How interesting… “When did they marry? How did they meet?”
“That, you’d have to ask him.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be discussing his private life in his absence.”
“As I was saying,” Bobinga Iroko went on, “if and when she speaks to him, her words are harsh. They burn his heart like vomit from the belly of the mountain.”
“Instead of just listening to her words, he should listen to her actions. If she didn’t care, would she still be sharing the same house with him? I bet she buys all the groceries and does all the cooking. You talked about words. What soft words does he say with her? What has he done to lure her back some nights? Why should we take those acts for granted?” Lilly Loveless was all too conscious of springing to the defence of a sister without any real knowledge of the facts of the case.
This, Bobinga Iroko picked up on. “You talk as if you’ve been there and know who does what, and who says or doesn’t say what. You may have some wise words, but you don’t really know what it’s like.”
“Maybe so,” she conceded. “All I know is that it seems God gives us this funny thing we call love, then he seems to sit back and enjoy watching what we’ll do next …”
“He also gives us investigative journalists to document what we do next, and with whom,” he laughed, and screamed for the waiter to replenish the drinks.
They drank and chatted deep into the night. Lilly Loveless learnt a lot.
Bobinga Iroko told her more about Dr Mukala-Satannie, how he came to write his column for The Talking Drum, and how he got offered part-time lectureship at the university. Dr Mukala-Satannie was unemployed back home in Muzunguland. He had completed a PhD on Karl Marx at a time when everyone was saying farewell to Marx. He used to give free public lectures to interested students and the clientele of a pub next to the university that awarded him a degree that could not be listed on the stock exchange.
It was at those lectures that he met a young, beautiful woman who had a soft spot for philosophy. She had just completed a Masters programme on Sustainable Philosophies of Environmental Management, and had been offered a very good job in Mimboland, with the Mimbo Forest Conservation Project, funded and managed entirely by Muzungulanders. The unmarried young woman feared being lonely in Africa.
When Dr Mukala-Satannie heard of her prospective fat expatriate salary, and especially of the fact that her husband could earn an unemployment allowance as well as live prosperously above the infectious misery of Africans, he said to her jokingly: “Why not marry me? If it works, fine, if it doesn’t, you could always repatriate me.”
She took him seriously. Tall, huge, imposing and instinctively aggressive, he was just what she needed to feel safe in Mimboland, where men were rumoured to have an aggressive desire for unattended women.
She was flattered when he discouraged her from wearing makeup, saying: “There’s no need seeking to enhance what is already perfect.”
They hastily married, and left for Africa.
Three things he remembered to bring along: The writings of Karl Marx which he hoped to invest in every African he met; Cuban cigars which he had accumulated over the years, stolen off his stepfather’s impressive collection of the finest Habana without him noticing; and different whiskies, brandies and wines to keep him going. He once described himself as a man who had reconciled capitalism with communism in his personal life, the only place where such reconciliation was possible, by making his “determined communist mind pregnant with material ambitions”. His mastery of Karl Marx struck an instant chord with the provocative and recalcitrant head of Political Science at the University of Mimbo. With an understaffed department and plethoric student numbers, the head of Political Science had little difficulty making a case for Dr Mukala-Satannie to be recruited as a part-time lecturer… The conversation was no doubt interesting, but Lilly Loveless was dying to go to bed.
“I should be heading home,” she told Bobinga Iroko, yawning. “Could you point out where to get a taxi to where I live?”
“I’m not too drunk to drop you off,” he replied, standing up, his half finished bottle ignored. “Let’s go.”
It was difficult to say whether Bobinga Iroko’s sobriety was literal or figurative, but Lilly Loveless was trusting enough to entrust herself to him.
“Just a moment,” she said and went over to the two students of Dr Wiseman Lovemore, who were still there with the men. She introduced herself as a friend of Dr Lovemore’s, and as a researcher, although she stayed deliberately vague on what she was researching. She gave them each her complimentary card, at the same time as she complimented their beautiful hairdo and lovely outfits. Then said she would very much love to meet and discuss with them at their convenience. They exchanged phone numbers. Against the first Lilly Loveless wrote “Fancy”, and against the other “Goodness” – the names the girls gave her.
“I’ll call you,” she told Fancy and Goodness with a giggle.
“Enjoy the rest of your night,” they giggled back, sizing her up. Something about the way they exchanged looks told her what exactly they meant.
She looked at Bobinga Iroko who was watching the starry skies and smiled, broadly.
As Lilly Loveless drove home with Bobinga Iroko, her thoughts were much less of the rest of the night than of the mysterious Mrs Lovemore.
She determined to meet her by hook or by crook.
Lilly Loveless is sitting at the CNN New Look, having a conversation with Britney, the receptionist of Mountain View Hotel, who impressed her the very first day they met. Britney has accepted to serve as her research assistant on weekends, and to conduct interviews on her days off and especially during the strike period, as she would not have that much time once courses resume at the university where she is a student as well. Lilly Loveless has already sensed that to tap Britney and her connections is to tap a wealth of information and experience as a participant observer. They’ve agreed on an allowance that pleases them both.
Today Britney is presenting the results of her first interviews, for feedback. Lilly Loveless’ digital recorder is switched on, and Britney is keen to impress. The money is good and badly needed.
Drinks – a Mimbo-Wanda for the one, a Pamplemouse for the other – and soya are served to them in the back room where they are
