The Other Side of Truth Page 8

  “Our uncle…he’s in London,” Sade began, “but…but we don’t know where he is.”

  Stumbling a little at first, she told how they had gone to the College of Art only to find that Uncle Dele was missing. She gave his name, Dr. Solaja, but let Mama Appiah think that he was Mama’s brother. When Mama Appiah asked how they had entered the country, Sade simply replied that they had come with “a lady.” Mama Appiah didn’t press any further.

  Three days later, Mama Appiah escorted the children by bus from Mrs. Graham’s flat to the office of Mr. Nathan, a refugee lawyer. Sade flicked over the pages of a magazine in the small waiting room, trying to hide her nervousness. If this Mr. Nathan was anything like Uncle Tunde, they could be in trouble. Papa used to joke that Uncle Tunde should have been a detective rather than a lawyer because he was so good at getting to the truth.

  “Of course lawyers have to be good detectives! And if they are anything like your Uncle Tunde, they are also brain surgeons—looking inside their clients’ heads!”

  Did that mean this Mr. Nathan would know when they weren’t telling the truth? Sade had tried to talk with Femi about what they should say, but he refused to show any interest. All he seemed to do was watch television and play on his own with the twins’ Legos. For the last few days, he had hardly even spoken to her.

  The man who came out to shake hands with Mama Appiah limped across the room, one foot sweeping the carpet. He was short with a small wind-beaten face that made Sade think of an old sailor rather than a lawyer. A tuft of graying hair hung over his forehead down to his spectacles like a clutch of dried grass. He greeted Mama Appiah like an old friend before turning to the children and inviting them to follow him into his office. When he smiled, his gray-green eyes seemed to ripple and light up his face.

  Leaning across a wooden desk that looked even more worn than himself, Mr. Nathan began by explaining what they would have to do to get permission to stay in England. Sade soon lost track. Asylum, immigration officers, forms, questionnaires, interviews…it all sounded strange and difficult. The desk was as untidy as Papa’s, scattered with papers. A forest of books surrounded them, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, while files stacked on the carpet rose up like a thick undergrowth. But instead of the scented pink magnolias outside the window of Papa’s study, the rain-stained glass revealed a dense cluster of dull brick and concrete buildings under a drab sky.

  It was only a short interview. Mama Appiah briefly told Mr. Nathan what Sade had already told her, including the information about Uncle Dele. She had already made enquiries at the Art College herself and there was no further news of him. Mr. Nathan wrote down the children’s full names with Sade spelling out Folasade and Olufemi Adewale. Sade was relieved that Femi let her speak for him. In his don’t-care mood he might easily give away their real names. Mr. Nathan also asked for their dates and place of birth.

  “So you are Nigerian,” he said. “And is that where you have come from? Nigeria?”

  Sade nodded.

  “Well that’s all we need at this stage to get you Temporary Admission. But later you will have to explain more about why your family thought you were in danger—and why they sent you here without proper passports. The immigration officers will also want to know how you came into the country.”

  Although Mr. Nathan spoke without any threat in his voice, his words triggered something in Femi, setting him off like a firecracker.

  “We came with a lady but we don’t know her name!” he blurted.

  Sade stared at her brother.

  “Did the lady tell you her name but you have forgotten it?” asked Mr. Nathan. He scanned both children as Mrs. Bankole’s words rang in Sade’s ears.

  “If you tell anyone my name, my friend in Lagos will never help your father.”

  Sade hesitated. Keeping quiet was easier than lying.

  “She didn’t tell us,” Femi mumbled.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that,” said Mr. Nathan.

  “Didn’t tell us,” Femi repeated more loudly. He kept his eyes fixed on his new sneakers, which were busy scuffing the carpet.

  “You know it will be very important that you tell us everything but this will do for now.” Mr. Nathan spoke patiently. Sade felt her cheeks were burning. Surely even Mama would have understood why they dare not tell the whole truth?

  CHAPTER 18

  HAWK LADY AND HAWK MAN

  THEIR FIRST MEETING WITH MR. NATHAN had taken less than an hour, but their visit to the Immigration Office took the whole day. Sade had overheard the lawyer say to Mama Appiah that he would come with them himself, in case there was trouble. Waiting at London Bridge Station for Mr. Nathan to join them, the children had their photographs taken inside a small self-service booth. Mama Appiah explained that they would need them for their forms. The two strips of faces that were finally tossed out looked nothing like the cheerful fair-haired boy and smiling lady pictured on the front of the booth.

  The train journey took them overground across south London. There were stretches when they were high up and could see mile after mile of houses and buildings. Everything seemed to have absorbed the dreary grayness from the sky. Sade closed her eyes.

  Standing on the steps of Grandma’s church in Ibadan, near the top of the hill, you can also see for miles. Thousands upon thousands of rust-colored roofs, all the same dry red as the dust beneath your feet. Voices travel from the street below the church. A mingling of Yoruba, Queen’s English, Pidgin English. Sounds as warm and rich as the sunshine colors worn by passersby.

  The cold crept under Sade’s navy-blue anorak as they trudged from the station a little behind Mr. Nathan. Despite his limp, he set a vigorous pace. They kept their heads down, trying to protect their faces from the wind. But as they emerged from a subway and craned their necks to look up at the immigration building, they couldn’t avoid the freezing blast. The gray concrete and glass soared upward like a cannon aimed at the clouds. At the base of the building, a small throng of figures huddled between two rows of bars outside a large revolving door underneath the words IMMIGRATION AND NATIONALITY DEPARTMENT. A man in a yellow coat guarded the door. With one hand, he held a mobile telephone up to his ear. With the other, he controlled the queue. He allowed one or two people to pass, then thrust out his arm like a barricade.

  “We always have to wait, wait, wait.” Mama Appiah sighed as they joined the end of the queue. “My grandmother said you can throw pebbles at an elephant and he’ll still ignore you! I always feel like that here.”

  Wedging herself next to Mama Appiah, Sade watched Mr. Nathan approach Mr. Mobile. Mr. Mobile shook his head and Mr. Nathan frowned. When he joined them, he was still frowning.

  “This place only gets worse! All this—twenty floors of office space—and not a decent waiting room!” He jerked his head upward. “It really is a disgrace! No other government department makes people wait outside like this!”

  It really is a disgrace!

  Sade could hear Papa saying the selfsame words. However, even inside her head, Papa sounded more explosive. Mr. Nathan must be trained in keeping cool like Uncle Tunde. But she could tell he was angry. They were lucky to have him on their side. But what would happen when he asked them to tell him everything? Would he not get angry with them when they still kept quiet?

  Mr. Nathan’s words to the guard seemed to have had some effect. The queue began to move a little more quickly until after quarter of an hour or so it was their turn to escape the biting wind and enter the building. Inside, it was like at the airport. Officers in black-and-white uniforms checked Mr. Nathan’s briefcase and Mama Appiah’s handbag before directing them through a metal-detector doorway. Uniformed officers stood at the base of the stairs and on the landings. They seemed to be everywhere. The children traipsed behind Mr. Nathan up a couple of flights and through a door marked ASYLUM SCREENING UNIT. There they joined another queue under the sign RECEPTION. Sade studied the long crowded room to her right. Most of the seats were occupi
ed and the room hummed with a variety of voices, accents and languages. She tried to listen to those nearest to her but, apart from English, she didn’t recognize any of the languages. Once again she was reminded of her encyclopedia and its picture of people from around the world. But the faces here looked much more tense and troubled than the people on the train to Victoria Station. Were all these people trying to escape because of dangers in their own countries? A counter ran along the front length of the room. It was divided into small cubicles, each with a glass panel and a number. Although there was a whole line of cubicles, only four of them were in use. From time to time, a high-pitched buzzer would shriek, a number would light up in red on the board at the front, and another small group of people would make their way up to the immigration officer behind the glass.

  From Reception, however, they were sent to the opposite side of the room. Here they joined the back row of a cluster of people sitting much more quietly than those on the right. Mr. Nathan explained that this was where they had to wait to be fingerprinted. Femi, who had been silent for most of the journey, now broke his silence.

  “Do they think we are thieves?” he muttered fiercely.

  “Many people say that children should not be fingerprinted,” said Mr. Nathan quietly. “But I’m afraid the rules allow it.”

  A lady in a white coat and white vinyl gloves stood by a door calling some people in and letting others out. She was dressed like a nurse or a doctor but Sade had the feeling that she was not really a medical person. The way she inspected everyone reminded Sade of a hawk and made her feel even more nervous. When, at last, it was their turn to go into the fingerprint room, Femi refused to move.

  “They won’t give us our papers, Femi! We have to do it,” Sade whispered. She was aware of people looking at them.

  “Does he speak English?” Hawk Lady asked loudly. “Tell him it won’t hurt.”

  “Mrs. Appiah and I will come in with you,” said Mr. Nathan. “It won’t take long.”

  Femi dragged himself from his chair, glaring at Hawk Lady. Inside the room, two more people in white coats and gloves were waiting. The man was pushing a roller back and forth on a large inkpad while the lady was preparing sheets of paper. Sade watched as their full names were carefully written out, each on to a separate sheet below a printed grid of ten blank squares. Mama Appiah and Mr. Nathan stood behind them, close enough for Sade to hear Mama Appiah sigh. Picking up Sade’s left hand, Hawk Lady led her to the counter with the inkpad.

  “This won’t hurt.” Her lips curved into a smile.

  Hawk Lady pressed each of Sade’s fingers first onto the pad and then on to an empty square on the paper. A pattern of twirls and hillocks filled up the row of squares. If she and Femi had just been experimenting, it could have been fun. But with Hawk Lady clutching her fingers in this awful place, the dark stains of purple on her fingertips made her feel dirty all over. Releasing her grip, Hawk Lady pointed to taps and a sink.

  Hawk Man now began with Femi.

  “You must relax,” he ordered.

  But Femi held his arm so stiffly that the man had to struggle to raise her brother’s hand up to the pad.

  “This isn’t going to work unless you relax,” he repeated. He appealed to Mama Appiah. “Can you tell him in his own language that I’m not going to hurt him?”

  Mama Appiah moved quickly to put a hand on Femi’s shoulder.

  “He understands your English perfectly,” she said calmly. “He is tense because he thinks that fingerprinting is what they do to criminals.”

  With a sharp tug, Femi pulled his hand away. He folded his arms tightly around him.

  “This is ridiculous,” declared Mr. Nathan, addressing Hawk Lady. “You are causing the child unnecessary distress. These children are in the care of Social Services and Mrs. Appiah from the Refugee Council is also working with them. They are not going to run away. I cannot see the point of putting him through this.”

  “We’re following the regulations, sir. What other proof do you have of their identity?”

  “It is only a week since they arrived and—”

  “But you still have no other proof,” Hawk Lady interrupted, stretching her neck as if to mark a victory. Obviously they would not force the boy to have his fingerprints taken, she continued, beginning to sound impatient. But without them he was unlikely to be given his Temporary Admission papers. He should decide quickly because he was now holding up the queue. Femi must have been following it all because suddenly he thrust up his arm toward the inkpad, allowing Hawk Man to take hold of his hand. The set of his jaw showed that his teeth were clenched. They remained clenched even when he was washing the ink off his fingers.

  On the other side of the room, they had to wait yet again. While Mama Appiah and Mr. Nathan spoke to some of the people around them, Sade began to play a little guessing game with herself. Which countries did all these people come from? Her only clues were clothes and faces, and those weren’t very reliable. But she liked testing her memory. What different countries were there in Asia, in South America, in Europe? Then she tried to remember names from the map of Africa above Papa’s desk. Cameroon and Chad were next to Nigeria, but what was to the east of Chad? Sudan, Somalia? She puzzled over a woman in a lime green robe with purple flowers, her head covered with a scarf and her arms cradling a baby. A tiny wrinkled hand escaped from the hibiscus pink blanket, its fingers curled like little tendrils. The mother’s face reminded Sade of sunken dunes in the desert. She sat so still, staring almost blankly, while her baby’s fingers explored the empty air. Where was the baby’s father, she wondered? Sade wanted Femi to join her quiz. They used to make up quizzes for each other, especially on long journeys in the car. Because she was older and had learned more at school, Femi used to get his own back by asking questions about sport. Sometimes they used to work in teams, one with Mama and the other with Papa. But when Sade asked Femi to make up a quiz with her now while they waited, he shrugged her off irritably. Instead he buried himself in the comic that Mama Appiah had bought him. Couldn’t she see that he was busy?

  When their number was finally called, the interview took hardly any time. The man behind the glass did not wear a uniform and looked young enough to be a student. His cropped brown hair stuck up straight like a brush. He asked exactly the same questions that Mr. Nathan had already asked them and Mr. Nathan did most of the talking. When Brush Head asked about their parents and how they had entered the country, Mr. Nathan replied that the children were still very frightened. They had come by air to London with a lady and they needed time to tell their full story. Sade clasped her hands together below the counter as Brush Head studied her and Femi before beginning to write. There was a form for each of them with their photographs pasted on the right-hand side. From upside down, Sade read the words “TEMPORARY ADMISSION.” The forms were passed under the glass for them to sign. It was only then that Sade saw that above “Family Name: ADEWALE,” Brush Head had written in bold large letters “CLAIMS TO BE.” Did that mean he didn’t believe them?

  “Well, we got what we needed in the end,” Mr. Nathan commented as they entered the subway. “Now that this is sorted”—he held up the folded papers—“you can start school.”

  Femi, who was ahead of them, whirled around in his tracks. Sade’s mind somersaulted. School? She had been at her own school—Presentation High—just over a week ago. Already it seemed in another lifetime. She had been so happy in her class with all her friends. Her teacher, Miss Okoya, was very strict but really liked her. She had never imagined going to another school. Both Mama and Mama Buki had been boarders there when they were young. Presentation High was the only high school to which she had ever wanted to go. Now, overnight, all these people were forcing her to do all these things she didn’t want to do, to go to places she didn’t want to be. Suddenly she knew just how angry Femi felt.

  “I don’t want to go to school here,” she wanted to cry out. “We won’t be staying here forever! Papa only sent us he
re to be safe with Uncle Dele!”

  But her voice remained trapped.

  CHAPTER 19

  WELCOME

  ANOTHER SHOCK AWAITED THE CHILDREN when Mama Appiah took them back to the flat. The first face Sade saw behind Mrs. Graham was Kevin’s. He grinned as soon as he saw them and it wasn’t a friendly grin. The twins looked up, then continued playing with their Legos. Stepping into the room, Sade realized that Iyawo-Jenny was there too.

  “I was hoping you’d be back before I left. How did it go?” she asked.

  “Aahh! I can see you’re all washed out! Kevin, go and put on the kettle, there’s a good boy.” Mrs. Graham put her arms around Sade and Femi.

  “When are you going to tell them then?” Kevin almost crowed. He didn’t move from where he was leaning on the television, leering at them.

  “Don’t you be so nosy, my boy! Go and do as I say!”

  Kevin sloped away, his tongue click-clocking to sound like a horse trotting off.

  Iyawo-Jenny led the children to the sofa.

  “I came round to tell you that we’ve managed to find you another foster family.” The words floated in Sade’s head for a few seconds, not making sense. Why another foster family? They were just getting used to being with Mrs. Graham, even if Kevin didn’t like them.

  “You remember I explained that Mrs. Graham was only able to take you on a temporary basis? It was an emergency to start with and that’s why Mrs. Graham helped us out.”

  “They’ve been lovely children, no trouble at all,” said Mrs. Graham.

  “Mum!” Kevin yelled from the kitchen. “Your kettle’s boiled.”

  “I’m going to take you to Mr. and Mrs. King tomorrow. Their children are grown-up, so you’ll each be able to have a room to yourselves.” Iyawo-Jenny looked earnestly from Sade to Femi. “I’m sure you’ll like them too.”