said.
“And dans la Nouvelle Testament,” he continued with renewed fervor, “make you no forget how de tree wise men come trick Herod to save de Baby Jesus in Matthew two, tree to sixteen. So like dese Bible people, we must protect our fortune. We must say dat your godparents be our relatives; oderwise, people go start to bring deir own children to dem or start being jealous. . . . Vous comprenez un peu, oui?”
“Yes, we understand,” we said.
“In any case, your godparents want it like dat. You two go understand well well when you grow up. My children, dis world est dangereux. Make you no trust anybody o. No tell anybody about our blessings, d’accord? Or you want make armed robbers come visit us from Lagos? You want make dem spoil am for us?”
“No, no, Fofo.”
We shook our heads.
“Very good, den, my children. . . . Because of dis family meeting, I quick come from work. I want tell una de whole trud about everyting, d’accord?”
“OK.”
“Your godparents are NGO people.”
“NGO?” I asked.
“Yes, NGO people,” he repeated. “Nongovermental organization . . . repeat after me . . .”
“Nongovernmental organization,” we said.
“Encore?”
“Nongovernmental organization.”
“Bon! Très bien! C’est une groupe of people who dey help poor children all over de world. NGO are good people and travel partout.”
He smiled at us and looked as relieved as one who has broken a piece of difficult news. He stood up and took off his clothes, beginning with his cowboy boots, then his blue suit. He put on his shorts.
He was the best-dressed Nanfang motorcyclist I had ever met. Since we had become richer, he went to work in okrika suits and shoes from Europe, which he bought in the open market that surrounded the no-man’s-land. There was an unkempt look to him because the clothes were rumpled, and we had no iron or electricity yet. We had new school uniforms, and when he rode us to school in the morning, we looked smart and well fed. And our classmates wanted to hear about our “abroad” parents.
“Is that why you said during the party our parents sent you Nanfang?” I asked.
“Yes, my boy . . . ça c’est très correcte!”
“Now I understand.”
“You dey trop intelligent for ton âge. A no˙ flin nú ganji. You remember well. Ah non, you cannot just tell everybody about your plans, you know. De book of Jeremiah, chapter nine, verse four, say, No trust your friend o . . . every friend na slanderer. So make una no tell your schoolmates or your friends for church about dis, d’accord?”
“OK.”
I nodded alone.
“Yewa?” he asked.
“I know how to keep quiet,” she said.
He came and sat down, reached under his bed for his payó bottle, and poured himself a drink. He tossed the full content of the shot into his mouth, as if he were pouring it into a bucket. He had two more shots, cleared his throat, and stretched out on his bed. “Come, you know what to call your godparents?”
“No,” my sister said.
“Godpapa? Godmama?” I said, guessing.
“No,” he said. “Godmama, Godpapa, dey sound too okrika! Make you try again.”
“Mom . . . Dad?” I said.
“No, juste Papa and Mama . . . efó!”
“Papa? Mama? No!” Yewa protested.
“Hén,” Fofo said, dragging out the word yes.
“My papa and mama are in Braffe,” Yewa said.
“We know dat,” he said.
“Let’s call them Mom and Dad, then, to avoid confusion,” I suggested.
“No, it’s better to address dem exactly as you dey address your parents. Ils sont your godparents. Godparents. Godparents, you know?”
I shrugged and gave up and looked at Yewa, who was staring down stubbornly.
“Does Big Guy know our godparents?” I asked.
“Absolutement,” Fofo said.
“But you said we should not tell our friends,” I said. “Did you tell Big Guy?”
Yewa looked up sharply, sensing the contradiction. Fofo didn’t reply immediately. Instead, his face split into a long mischievous smile as he nodded and sipped his payó.
“Kotchikpa,” he said finally, “you be bright, bright garçon.”
“Thank you, Fofo,” I said.
“But we must make sure your intelligence no dey lead you in de wrong direction o. Remember, na only de fly witout direction dat go follow de corpse enter grave. You understand?”
“No, Fofo,” I said.
“Use your head well. . . . Big Guy done become my trusted friend—de only person I invite sit wid us for our Tanksgiving, remember?”
Now he laughed a short laugh and winked at us, as if to say, “I have defeated you finally.” I laughed with him because he was funny and because I thought I should