closed her eyes, as if in gratitude to God. I wanted her to hold me too, but I didn’t know what to say or do. I stopped watching them and kept my gaze on the floor.
THE PEOPLE OUTSIDE FINALLY came to the veranda, but they didn’t come in. I couldn’t tell how many were there, but I knew the voices of Big Guy and Fofo Kpee. And I suspected that the third voice, a deep voice, belonged to Papa.
“Nice kids, very nice kids . . . Kpee’s children,” Big Guy said, as if he were looking at chickens in Badagry open market. “Monsieur Ahouagnivo, you go see when you go inside.”
“Beautiful,” Papa said.
“We tank God,” our uncle said.
“Unfortunately, Monsieur Ahouagnivo, as I come explain to you de oder day, Kpee no deliver completely,” Big Guy said. “Where de oders, Kpee?”
“Village,” Fofo Kpee said curtly. “I go bring dem to you.”
“When . . . quand?” Big Guy asked. “You dey make my job difficult o. De agreement na for five children. Give us de children.”
“Soon, soon,” my uncle said. “I dey go Braffe soon. My oder nephews and niece dey village.”
“Just bring dem and stop wasting our time . . .”
“You’re distracting all of us in here!” Mama screamed to the men on the veranda.
“Gentlemen, stop, stop!” Papa said. “This is neither the place nor time for this conversation! We’re here to celebrate, not to harass Kpee and these children. . . . Kpee’s other children will have their chance to come to Gabon and enjoy the good things of life there, OK? And, Big Guy, always remember, you work for us, not the other way round. Give Kpee time to organize things carefully. Things will work out.”
“Monsieur, I dey sorry, monsieur,” Big Guy said, and they stopped arguing.
The images of Ezin, Esse, and Idossou flashed through my mind. The idea that they would come with us to Gabon excited me to no end. I was sure they were preparing in Braffe to come over to the border, to go with us. It became clear to me why Big Guy was angry the day they brought home the Nanfang, and what “five” meant when he received us in front of the church that Thanksgiving Sunday. From what Fofo had said about our godparents, I knew their generosity had already extended to other members of my family, like my parents. And, though I felt that someday they might help my older siblings back home, I never knew the help would come in this form. If only Big Guy would be patient so that we could go home and get my siblings. I didn’t like the fact that he had almost turned our godparents against Fofo.
I wanted to scream into Yewa’s ear what I had just pieced together about our siblings, but I checked myself. I was jealous that she had Mama’s full attention, so I resisted sharing anything with her.
A rush of confused feelings went through my heart. Mama’s presence was everywhere, yet I couldn’t get enough of it. I was grateful to Big Guy for bringing our godparents to our house but upset with him for trying to make Fofo look bad in front of Papa.
What did we do for the Lord that He brought the goodness of this NGO to us? We weren’t the poorest of children in that border village. Yet from all the children in our school and neighborhood, I felt that God had chosen us. I remembered the conversation Fofo had with Big Guy in front of Our Redeemer Pentecostal Church that happy Sunday, which Pastor Adeyemi later confirmed during his blessing. For them the issue was simple: you’re poor because your ways aren’t straight before the Lord; if you do good, then your Heavenly Father, who is rich, will make you rich.
Yet that night, sitting there across from this wonderful woman, I didn’t see what good I had done. Worse still, Yewa had actually become more stubborn and mischievous than she had been a year and a half ago in Braffe. I began to think that maybe what we children did or didn’t do didn’t count before the Lord. So I put my faith in Fofo Kpee: he must have done something big, something marvelous, for the Lord to bring this good luck to us. Maybe Fofo was no longer smuggling at the border; maybe he no longer duped strangers for their money. Maybe he was climbing coconut trees free for people. In my heart I