The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu (51 page)

But one of the older men, toothless and early to bed,
religiously listened to the news on a portable shortwave radio
every night at 9:00 a.m. Usually, there was little he understood
and less of interest. But this was a special night. This night was
different. Enoch’s luck had just run out.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

I
t was nearly 6:00
a.m. when Kubu got home, and he approached the gate in an
ambivalent mood. Should he have called? But he did not want to be
physically separated from Joy if the news was bad. He had meant to
be home early, but the issue with Beardy had made him late. Wasted
time, he thought bitterly. They weren’t taking the Zimbabwe plot
idea seriously. Anyway, he had done his best.

As usual, Ilia was at the gate making a huge fuss of her
returning master. There was nothing for it but to put her in the
car so that Kubu could drive in without worrying about where she
was. It calmed her down, too. He parked the car and went up to the
house. It was still light, but Joy was not on the veranda. Kubu
swallowed hard and opened the front door.

“My darling! I’m here!”

“I’m in the lounge, Kubu.”

Joy was relaxing in an armchair, reading a magazine. She was
wearing one of his favorite dresses, one she had bought for a fancy
reception to which they had been invited the previous year. It
traced and hugged every curve, and with subtle makeup, Joy had been
the most beautiful woman there. For a moment Kubu wondered if he
had forgotten that they were going out, but then he saw the dining
table set for two. The special dinner service was in use, and two
tall candles waited to be lit. A delicious aroma of oxtail stew
wafted from the kitchen. I’ve forgotten some special anniversary
again, Kubu thought, worried. He stood gaping at Joy, still holding
his briefcase.

“Do you want a steelworks, or will you open some wine?” Joy
asked, putting down the magazine. Kubu played for time. “A
steelworks will be wonderful to start. You look ravishing. My
favorite dress! I’m very spoiled.” He dropped the briefcase, lifted
her in his arms, and gave her a long kiss, which left them both a
little breathless.

“I love this dress. I thought I’d wear it for you tonight. I may
not be able to wear it for a while.”

Kubu just nodded. “What did Dr. Diklekeng say?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me get the steelworks first.”
She was already busy with it. “Why don’t you choose a wine? We’re
having the oxtail stew you like so much.”

“We need something heavy with that. What do you feel like? A
shiraz or a Bordeaux blend?”

“Whatever you prefer. I’ll just have a sip to taste.”

Ah ha, Kubu thought. He busied himself opening a rich shiraz
from Stellenbosch, which could breathe while they had the soft
drinks.

“So,” he said complacently when they were settled. “We are going
to have a baby!”

Joy’s jaw dropped. “Yes, that’s what Dr. Diklekeng told me. I
was shocked! But how on earth did you know? You didn’t phone him,
did you?” There was an edge to the last question.

Kubu laughed. He swallowed the steelworks, jumped to his feet,
and lifted Joy into the air, against token protest. “My darling,
you are the most wonderful woman in the whole world – and that’s
counting all the ones in China, too – and I love you desperately.
You’ve made me happy since the day we met. Now you give me this
wonderful gift we no longer dared hope for. I love you
forever!”

“Kubu, put me down! You’re making me dizzy. Now, how did you
know?” Kubu put her down, but squeezed into the armchair with her.
This forced her onto his lap, which was fine with both of them. He
put his arm around her shoulder.

“My darling, you must remember that I’m one of Botswana’s ace
detectives. It’s my business to sift clues, always be alert,
integrate data. Even today I discovered a dastardly plot against a
head of state. Now let me explain to you how a great detective
deduces the truth from a few scattered clues.” Joy rolled her eyes
in mock despair.

“First, I know you went to the doctor today. Clearly the news
was good, but not being seriously ill isn’t cause for major
celebration. The best dining service, your husband’s favorite meal,
candles, a dress which even now, despite the wonderful aromas
wafting from the stove, may force dinner to be delayed.” He kissed
her deeply again. “So clearly something’s up. But what? A forgotten
anniversary? A hippo never forgets! It must be the news from the
doctor. And the ace detective picks up little clues. Why only a sip
of wine? You usually have a glass or two. Why would you not wear
this dress for a while? Could it be that your figure will change?
Even though we were told that it was very unlikely indeed that we’d
have children, the ace detective deduces the correct
conclusion!”

Joy, who had gazed appreciatively into his eyes during the first
part of this recitation, was no longer looking at him. She had
spotted the magazine that she had been reading lying on the
floor.

“Kubu! You saw my magazine, didn’t you?”

Kubu nodded, gravely. “That, too. Another clue!” The magazine
had a smiling cherub on the cover and
My Baby
in block
letters across the top. Joy picked it up and gave Kubu a playful
clout with it. “You pig!” she said. “How could you pretend? Ace
detective indeed.” But she was laughing so much she could hardly
get the words out. Kubu used the moment to start caressing her. The
stove had to be switched off, lest the stew burn.

♦

Half an hour later, the stew was even better. Kubu wolfed it
with lashings of vegetables and copious glasses of shiraz. Joy ate
little and drank less. There was a dreaminess about her.

“Kubu, you are really happy about this, aren’t you? Our lives
will change, you know.”

“My darling, I’m happy beyond my wildest dreams. How can you
doubt it? But how come you didn’t know? I thought women always knew
these things.” He sounded a touch embarrassed.

“But Kubu, you know I’m very irregular anyway, and I’d given up
hope after those visits to the specialist and everything. But Dr.
Diklekeng said it was all your doing. Trust a man to say that!” She
laughed. Kubu was so happy that he almost turned down a third
helping. But it was a special occasion so he indulged himself. “I
wonder if he’ll be interested in cricket?” he mused, as he helped
himself.

“Kubu, it may not be a boy, you know. You won’t mind if it’s a
girl, will you?”

Kubu laughed. “A girl will be excellent. Think of all the wine
we can buy when we get the
lobola
!”

“Oh, Kubu, you’re quite impossible! You’ll be a terrible father,
getting your children involved with ridiculous sports that no one
else understands, and pretending to be ace detectives, and
encouraging underage drinking, and I’ve no idea what else, but I’m
sure I’ll find out. But I am so glad that you are you.”

Kubu winked. “Is there any dessert?” he asked.

∨
The Second Death of Goodluck Tinubu
∧

K
ubu and Joy couldn’t
wait to tell his parents. It took restraint not to phone them first
thing on Sunday morning, but they decided to wait until they got to
Mochudi. Kubu wanted to celebrate at the best restaurant in
Gaborone, but Joy cautioned him that his parents would be
uncomfortable with both the surroundings and the extravagance. If
anything, Wilmon would say, they should cut back on their spending
to prepare for the arrival of his first grandchild.

After much discussion, Kubu and Joy decided to do what they
often did – take lunch and eat it on the veranda of his parents’
house. That would be more in keeping with the way his parents
thought. The only deviation from the norm was that Kubu stopped at
a supermarket on the way out of Gaborone to buy a bottle of
sparkling grape juice, nonalcoholic of course. Kubu loved
celebrations and couldn’t resist something different, albeit not
what he would have offered wine-loving friends. For them it would
have been real champagne, and had Wilmon known the cost, he would
have been scandalized.

The trip north seemed interminable. Even Ilia sensed something
was different. She kept trying to climb over the back of Joy’s seat
into her lap. Even when pushed back, she would put her paws on the
back of the seat and lick Joy’s ears. Neither Kubu nor Joy had the
heart to stop her.

When they opened the car doors in front of Kubu’s parents’
house, Ilia streaked up the steps into Wilmon’s waiting arms. It’s
sad, Kubu thought, that the old man is able to display more emotion
to the dog than to his wife. It’s a generational thing, he thought.
People didn’t express feelings openly in the old days.

After ritual greetings, Amantle brought out a tray of tea,
adorned with a gift of mixed biscuits from Joy, rather than the
usual Marie biscuits. The time had finally arrived to break the
news. Joy glanced at Kubu and nodded.

“Mother, Father,” Kubu said with a straight face, “I’ve told you
that Joy hasn’t been feeling well since they tried to kidnap her.
She’s a stubborn woman, so it was only yesterday that she went to
the doctor…”

Amantle put one hand anxiously to her mouth. Wilmon’s impassive
face showed the trace of a frown.

“Well,” Kubu continued, “the doctor told Joy that she wouldn’t
be well for several months and ordered her to change her diet. He
also ordered her to stop drinking alcohol.”

Wilmon nodded in agreement. He would certainly give similar
advice.

“What is wrong with her?” Amantle asked. “It is nothing serious,
is it, Joy?”

Playing along with Kubu’s game, Joy hung her head. “Kubu must
tell you,” she said demurely.

“Kubu, tell us. You know we will do what we can to help.”
Amantle was becoming impatient.

“We’ll need both of you to help,” Kubu said. “It’s something
we’re not prepared for.” Kubu paused for effect. “Mother, Father,
before Christmas you will become grandparents. We are having a
baby!”

Amantle jumped to her feet and hugged Joy. “The Lord has blessed
us!” she said with a huge smile. “That is the best news in the
world, is it not, Wilmon?”

Wilmon, who was struggling to his feet, had a rare full smile.
“I knew my son was a man,” he said, “and my daughter-in-law has
brought us great happiness. We have prayed for this day ever since
you were married. Even this morning I asked God to bless you with
children.” He shook Kubu’s hand and uncharacteristically patted him
on the shoulder. He would have shaken Joy’s hand too, but she was
having none of it. She hugged him tightly and gave him a big kiss.
A little flustered, he extricated himself, took a step back, and
stood grinning.

“We must celebrate!” Kubu said. “I have brought something to
drink. Joy, get some glasses while I open the bottle.” Kubu opened
a cooler bag and took out the sparkling grape juice. “It’s
nonalcoholic, Father. I know that you’d disapprove of drinking
alcohol on the Sabbath, even on such an occasion.”

“Thank you, my son,” Wilmon said. “I know you would prefer
something different.”

A few minutes later the four drank a toast to the couple and the
unborn baby. Joy and Amantle could not stop talking, so when they
had emptied their glasses, Wilmon suggested a walk. Kubu knew
Wilmon wanted to share the good news with the neighborhood as
quickly as possible.

To some he would say, “You know my son, the senior detective in
the police? His wife is pregnant, and he is going to be a father!”
To others, “My son has just told Amantle and me that we will be
grandparents by the end of the year. Is that not wonderful?”

It took an hour for Wilmon and Kubu to do the rounds. Kubu was
touched by how respectfully his father was treated, how happy
people were for him. There’s more to this man than I know, Kubu
thought. Why can’t children know their fathers and mothers as
friends as well as parents?

When the four were again seated on the veranda, some of the
women’s excitement had dissipated. Now there was a comfortable
warmth among the four. Kubu was absentmindedly humming Moremi’s
melody.

“Oh, Kubu,” Amantle exclaimed. “You remember that song! I used
to sing it to you when you were a child.”

“What is it? I’ve been trying to remember.”

“It’s called
Sola Senile
. It is very beautiful.”

Memories flooded Kubu’s mind. Memories of a happy childhood. Now
he remembered the Tswana farewell song. He wondered if it had some
special meaning to Moremi.

“Are you going to give up work?” Amantle asked Joy.

Joy had anticipated this question from her mother-in-law, but
had not yet discussed it with Kubu.

“I will keep working for now. But I’ll stop work later in the
year to get ready. After the baby’s born, I’ll stay at home for a
while.”

“I was always at home,” Amantle said. “It is important for a
child to have a parent who is at home.”

“I agree,” Joy said, “but I enjoy my work a lot also. I’ll wait
and see. I can’t predict how I’ll feel.”

“Mother,” Kubu interjected, “Joy and I haven’t discussed this
yet. I’m sure you know that we’ll do what is best. You and Father
gave me the greatest gift of all, and Joy’s parents did the same
for her – a loving home with lots of good common sense. We’ll do
the same for our child.”

“Oh, Kubu!” Amantle started to cry. “I am so proud of you both.
We are so lucky, are we not, Wilmon?”

Wilmon nodded agreement.

A loud bark interrupted the proceedings. In all the excitement,
they had forgotten about Ilia, who was feeling neglected. What
about me, she seemed to say. I’m still here. Wilmon patted his lap,
and Ilia jumped up immediately. Kubu leaned over to give her half a
wafer biscuit that he had been saving. He was sorry to part with
it, but Ilia deserved a treat.