I said. “Auntie Cecile cried for two days. Grandma Martha refused to talk to anyone. . . .”
“Excellent, boy, excellent,” he said. “Now I go teach you nouvelles leçons?”
He paused and looked expectantly at us.
“Yes, monsieur,” we said.
“We dey almost ready for de voyage,” he said, “and Fofo done prepare you well well. Pour example, I dey sweat like hell here, but you done adjust to de heat finish. Na only God know why your yeye uncle come fear and want abscond.” He brought out a piece of paper from his pocket and studied the content carefully and said, “No wahala . . . repetez après moi: ‘We were rescued from the water by a caring crew. . . . ’”
“We were rescued from the water by a caring crew,” we said.
“ ‘We were more than these, but some are dead.’”
“We were more than these, but some are dead.”
“ ‘We were tossed into the sea, and many of us died.’”
“We were tossed into the sea, and many of us died.”
“ ‘We had been at sea for three days before the sailors told us we were at risk.’”
“We had been at sea for three days before the sailors told us we were at risk.”
“ ‘We were heading for Côte d’Ivoire before the mishap.’”
“We were heading for Côte d’Ivoire before the mishap.”
Satisfied, he asked me to stand up and go get him two cups. I went over to the cutlery basket and pulled two out.
“Make we do someting interesting,” he said. “Dis na just some water and salt. Don’t be afraid. Ready?”
“Yes,” we said.
He carefully poured the water from the jug into the cups. He took a sip from each cup and licked his lips with his tongue as if it were a tasty drink. He offered the cups to us and we drank the salty thing.
“At-sea Orientation be de name. . . . Dis in case drinking water come finish for vessel . . . at least you go survive for one day.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Also in case dem dey toss you overboard . . .”
“Overboard?” I said, surprised.
“Just for short time . . . but maybe dem go give you life jacket or big plank which many of you go hold for inside water. We dey do dat sometimes if navy—bad-bad government people—come harass us for sea at night, OK? Dem dey tie de plank to ship, so no fear. Just to hide you for water while dem dey search our ship. You no go sink. . . . We no want risk anyting.”
“It’s good to be prepared,” I said.
“For de few days we get here, you go take de salt water twice a day. I go bring de water wid de manger et fresh water, OK?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
He started to leave the room but stopped and said, “Ah, one more ting—new plan. In three days, we dey bring oder children to live here wid you. We go take everyting out of dis room. We need space. You go show dem how to be good children.”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Any question? Ou bien, wetin you need?”
Yewa and I exchanged glances.
“Please, do you know Antoinette and Paul?” I said. “Are they coming to stay with us?”
“Are dese de children Fofo promised Big Guy?” he said excitedly, searching our faces. “Tell me de trud.”
“No,” I said, happy that our uncle changed his mind before he brought my other siblings into this evil plot.
“So who be dese?” he said.
“Big Guy knows them,” Yewa said. “Mama and Papa brought them to our place a long time ago.”
The man sighed, and his body settled into the ease of disappointment. “Well, if Big Guy know dem, trust me, dem done reach Gabon déjà. . . . No, you no know dis group qui arrive ici . . . but ils sont des bon kids . . . eager to travel.”
“So when are we traveling?” I asked.
“Immediately de children arrive. Dis na your batch.”
“What about Fofo Kpee?” my sister asked.
“Fofo Kpee?” the man said ruefully, as if he didn’t know whom we were talking about. “What about him?”
“We will see him before we go?” I said.
“Ah, I go tell you about Fofo tomorrow,” he said, and quickly switched off his flashlight before I could see his face. He left the room.
Late into that night, I didn’t sleep. Everything was quiet outside. I kept thinking about what the guard would tell us the following day. I wanted to know how Fofo was doing in the hospital, and, if he was feeling bad about our