had scooped a plateful of couscous and stew and was spooning it into Yewa’s mouth. She ate like a hungry dog, her gaze following every movement of the spoon. It was hot inside, and though Big Guy asked Fofo Kpee to open the two windows, the room still swelled with steamy appetizing smells.
“So how are you, my children?” Papa’s voice boomed out, and Mama proudly told him our new names and nudged me toward him to shake his outstretched hand. “Hello, Pascal,” he said, taking my hand.
“Welcome, sir,” I said.
“I’m Monsieur Ahouagnivo.”
“Nice to meet you, monsieur.”
Papa looked far older than Mama, as if he were her father. He was big, as tall as Big Guy, and he was very black. His skin was darker than his hair, and the lower part of his face dissolved into a thick, groomed beard. His nostrils had some gray hair. If not for his white T-shirt, which caught the glow of the lantern, it would have been difficult to see the rest of his body because of the depth of his blackness. He smiled often, staining the dimness with a set of fine teeth. He wore shorts and flip-flops, as if he were on his way to some night beach.
“Hello there, Mary!” he said, waving to Yewa, who was too busy with her food to respond.
Fofo Kpee, who was leaning by the door that led into the inner room, opened his mouth, as if to prompt Yewa. His face wore embarrassment.
“No say anyting!” Big Guy hissed to him. “Leave de gal alone.”
Fofo nodded and put his hands behind him like a servant.
I had hoped he would crack jokes and ring with laughter the whole evening, to entertain everyone. Though he was tense as we awaited our godparents’ arrival, I had hoped he would start acting the fool, the way he did during the party after the Nanfang Thanksgiving. But he didn’t. We were in his house, but he didn’t even welcome the guests or introduce them to us. Now, he stood around like a new servant who had to rely on an older one, Big Guy, to know his bearing. I didn’t like it when Fofo lost his sense of humor. But tonight, I thought maybe he was dazed by the generosity of our godparents or was afraid we might let him down by not making a good impression.
Then Papa stood up and gestured to the other children. “Oh, before we forget, Pascal and Mary, please, here are your siblings . . . Antoinette from Togo and Paul from northern Nigeria.”
I smiled and turned to Antoinette, who was closer to me. But she ignored me, stood up, and started scooping the pepper soup into a bowl. She was short and big-boned, with a round face, little flat nose, and big mouth that later on that night would gobble up everything, irrespective of the food combination. Her little eyes were restless, taking in our poor surroundings with disgust.
“Antoinette, stop and greet your brother!” Mama snapped at her.
“Mama, I don’t like this hut!” she responded, and bit into a piece of meat.
Mama glared at her. “What did you say?”
“Yes, Mama, yes, Mama,” Antoinette said, and turned toward me and gave me a peck on each cheek, the pepper in her breath fanning my eyes.
“Good girl,” Mama said, her face back in creases of smile. “That’s how we ladies greet men in Gabon!” Mama turned to me. “I’m sure she is just teasing you. Go ahead, say hello to Paul.”
“Hello, Paul,” I said, putting forward my hand.
“Hi,” he said, and gave me a limp handshake.
Paul’s eyes were red and teary. A tall frail-looking boy, he sat at the edge of Fofo Kpee’s bed and was as silent and unmoving as a statue. His skin had rashes, and the lotion he used had a pungent smell. He had a wide forehead and a sharp chin, which made his face look like a big cone. All evening, he hung his head as if it were too heavy for his neck to carry.
“And what would you like to eat, Paul?” Papa asked.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Nothing? Nothing at all?” Papa begged.
“I want to go home,” Paul said.
“My son, it’s OK to miss home,” Papa said. “You’ll get used to the coast. All our children miss home for a while. But this is for your good. We’ll do everything to help you.”
“Hey, honey, you must eat something,” Mama said, handing Mary over to Papa and moving to Paul’s side. “You need the energy,