CHAPTER ONE

One could begin with the dust, the heat and the purple bougainvillea. But Sonia did not notice these - instead she walked in silence, oblivious to her surroundings. With a smile on her face, she thought of the night before, when she had dared to run a hand beneath Charles's trousers. Miraculously, without her asking, Charles had loosened his belt and let down his trouser. Of course they'd kissed many times before, usually in the Lebanese cinema when all was dark, but that was nothing compared to last night. And while Sonia was lost in her thoughts, her father, who walked alongside, noticed the smile and read it as happiness for the forthcoming trip.

They had set off that morning to visit relatives, as it was the tradition when someone is about to embark on a long journey. They would begin with Uncle James in the hope of finding him sober. By midday, he would certainly be drinking and this was not a good day to meet uncle James under the influence.

"An old man should be contemplating his mortality rather than dreaming of women," Sonia's father said, alluding to his brother's raunchy tales, which Sonia knew her father secretly enjoyed.

Uncle J liked to joke that he was still young enough to make babies and thanked the Lord God Almighty. And he did make babies - dozens of them. As for thanking God - well, that was simply a manner of speaking. Uncle James believed only in beautiful women - not Allah or Christ. In turn, women loved him, inspite of what he lacked by way of schooling, height and teeth. Sonia had long since concluded that uncle James held the secret to a woman's heart. But on this particular morning, uncle James didn't seem himself. Upon seeing them, he became quite weepy, so weepy in fact he forgot about his atheism and offered prayers to Allah and Jesus on behalf of his favorite niece. With tears still in his eye, uncle James gave Sonia his best wrist watch as a going-away present, and then insisted they stayed longer to dine with him.

"Here is some money when you arrive," Uncle James whispered, stuffing the newly-minted pound note in Sonia's right hand before waving a final goodbye.

Sonia had hoped to stay even longer, enjoying the company of her sentimental uncle, but there were many more relatives to be visited and several more launches to eat. Everyone insisted on feeding them and then, just when Sonia thought it was all over, they returned home to find more relatives gathered to wish her well. Several of father's friends were sprawled across the courtyard drinking beer while the children chased each other in a dirt path by the side of the house.

The women sat in one corner, roasting corn on an open fire, with sleeping babies on their backs.

"Sonia! Sonia!" The older children chanted as she made her way through the throng, stopping to pick up the youngest. Sonia expected her father to usher people away, but after the day's copious consumption of beer, he had apparently forgotten time, preferring instead to continue boasting about his eldest daughter.

"Have they made a special scholarship for the girl?" Somebody asked.

"Oh yes." Sonia's father beamed.

In fact, the scholarship was not created just for Sonia, but because she was the first Nigerian to win it (such things having been reserved, in the past, for whites), Sonia's father decided that he might as well claim it solely for his daughter. Sonia closed her eyes while her father boasted, and thought ahead to the day after next, imagining how she would move swiftly through the crowds at Lagos port to the ship and sail over the seas to England.

"And then to Balliol College, Oxford", Sonia whispered, thinking how grand it sounded.

At dawn the following day, the entire Ajayi family said prayers before gathering around Father's silver Morris Minor, washed and polished by brothers Alex and Andrew so that it glistened like a fresh river fish. Everybody was dressed in his or her Sunday best, ready for the photographs, and only when the cameraman ran out of film did five of them clamber into the car. Father sounded the horn and all the doors slammed shut. The key turned and turned again, but the motor wouldn't start, so everyone stumbled out again to push. Even father helped, with one foot pumping the pedals and the other pushing back against the ground. They rolled it down the path, out of the compound and onto the road, until the engine jerked into action. Then, hurriedly, they all piled back in. The children followed the car down the dirt road, running and waving, not caring about the dust being blown into their faces, but jogging along until they could no longer keep up. Sister Kaitlyn ran the fastest, thumping decisively on the car boot before they sped away, out of Ibadan and onto the main road that would take them to uncle Timi's place in Lagos. In the car, mother and father sat in the front, and Sonia and her two aunts in the back. Father forbade talking in the car, claiming that it distracted him, and for once Sonia was happy with his edict, knowing that otherwise her aunts would lecture her on how to behave in England. It didn't matter that her aunts had never travelled outside Nigeria: it was their right and duty to instruct. Sonia closed her eyes and thought again about her sweetheart and final goodbye. She remembered the peom she had composed for the occasion and the lines that did not quite rhyme. Thankfully, in the end, there had been no need for sonnets.

By the time they arrives at Uncle Timi's house, the car was caked in dust and it's weary passengers covered in sweat and grime, but all would soon be forgotten. Uncle Timi had a luxurious home. He was a rich man in Lagos, recently returned from abroad as a senior army officer. Maids cooked for him, and large fans hung from the ceilings, whirling at hight speed to keep the house cool. Sonia had never seen anything like it before.

"When you arrive in England, my child," Uncle Timi was saying, "You must make sure to contact the British Council and don't forget to write to cousin Benita and cousin Philip."

Sonia listened carefully, hoping not to forget any valuable advice, but by the time she went to bed she couldn't remember half of what she had been told. Annoyed at herself, she tossed restlessly on her mattress. For weeks she had been looking forward to travelling away from home - to having her freedom - but now she thought only of what she would miss and how frightening it would be to travel alone. She took Charles's photograph from her bag, quietly, so not to wake her uncle, and kissed it. Reasssured by his smile and remembering the events of Friday night, she rolled over and eventually fell asleep.

The next day, Sonia stood at the port, holding her bag tightly. She dared not ask her uncle another question (she had asked so many already), but she still wasn't clear about what to do when she disembarked. What if the arrival halls in England were just as chaotic as the confusion she was seeing now, with everyone shouting and gesticulating and no-one bothering to queue? Exasperated by the late-afternoon heat, men took off their their cloth caps and flicked away beads of perspiration. Meanwhile, women herded children and straightened little dresses, trousers, and shirts, while hastily tightening their own wrappers and head ties, continually unravelled by heat and bustle. Sonia, like everyone else, had been standing in the crowd for hours. She smiled, but not as broadly as the day before. Her parents, uncle, aunties, and several Lagos-based relatives were with her, as well as her head teacher Faircliff and some other teachers from school: Mrs, Burton (Latin), Mr. Clark (Maths), and Mr. Blackburn (British Empire History), but none of her brothers or sisters had come and she missed them, especially Kaitlyn.

Sonia shook her head wistfully, staring at the liner, the Aureol, which towered high above them like a vast white giant with hundreds of porthole eyes. 

"Eat well, my child. Pay attention to your studies, and don't be distracted by men." Mother whispered, tugging at her shirt.

"Yes, Ma," she nodded, turning to face as she hugged her tightly so that her head tie brushed against her chin, and the weight of stone and coral necklaces clinked against her blazer buttons. It took her back to her childhood days, when she was afraid of thunder and lightning and would rush to her mother's arm to bury herself in the reassuring scent of her rose perfume, twinged with the smell of starched cotton. She squeezed her again before her father called her away.

"So long, my daughter," Father spoke in English, which was his custom when in the presence of expatriates. 

Sonia held out her hands and was surprised when her father pulled her into his arms and held her there for some time. Father then started sniffing and fiddling with his handkerchief behind Sonia's neck, which compelled Sonia to cough and break Father's hold so that they stood for some moments, disentangled but silent, each searching for something to say.

"Now, Sonia," Headteacher Faircliff interrupted. "You're off to be a Balliol woman."

"Yes Sir." Sonia nodded.

"You ought to be jolly proud of yourself, Sonia, and soon you'll return to be among the leaders of your country and make our school proud." He grasped Sonia's hand and threw a friendly slap across her shoulder.

Sonia nodded again, feeling strangely irritated by the man whom she normally admired and felt indebted to for the scholarship.

"Right then, off you go," Mr Faircliff ordered, releasing Sonia, and pointing to the gangway.

Sonia turned to leave, holding tightly to the large canvas bag that hung from her shoulder. Mother had assured her that in it was all that she needed for the voyage - a few changes of clothes, a bar of Palmolive soap, some dried meats, a map of England, chewing sticks, and uncle Timi's old winter coat.

"Write to me as soon as you arrive," Father called.

"Yes Sir." Sonia glanced back at her father to shout one last instruction, but it never came.