Daughter in Exile by Bisi Adjapon

Author:Bisi Adjapon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2023-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

Part Two

Bese Saka

Sack of Kola Nuts

Celestine seemed to be waiting for something from me beyond my initial hello. Here was this Filipina deaconess from church whom I had longed to know, and yet, now that I was alone with her, I couldn’t say a word. All I could think of was how long before I’d have to move. I had rented a room from a woman who tended a bar, who spent days lying around drinking and smoking while her kids howled, whose husband was in jail for trying to sell cocaine to an undercover policeman, who kicked me out after one month when I couldn’t make the rent. Then I showed up for church and Celestine offered me her basement. Apparently, Molly had discussed my situation with her.

“Let me show you around,” she said with an energetic smile.

I followed her, Dele holding my hand. Celestine’s hardwood floors and well-used furniture reminded me of my mother’s childhood home in Bonsu, a small, leafy town. When I saw the basement, which included two bedrooms, a living room furnished with a flowered green couch with matching love seat, and a small television, I broke into a big smile.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “I think we’ll need just one bedroom. I don’t want Dele to wake up scared in a new house.”

“That’s okay.”

In the morning, we breakfasted in the dining room upstairs overlooking a huge backyard with lush grass. The only sounds came from birds chirping in the trees beyond the lawn and the rustle of wind through the leaves. The large windows made me feel as if I were one with the butterflies. Dele and I would love throwing stones into the small stream that snaked under shrubs.

I liked everything about Celestine, from her small face, slanted eyes, round nose, and short, fringed hair to her cinnamon skin. Everything about her was doll-like. She sat at the head of the table, sipping coffee from her steaming mug, telling me how cute Dele was, when I wanted to tell her how cute she was. Dele was strapped in his high chair, making a mess of his oatmeal because he’d slapped my hand away from his spoon. Thank God for the newspaper Celestine had thought to spread under his high chair.

“I know you’ve had a lot of trials, but don’t lose hope,” she said.

“It’s the moving which troubles me,” I whispered in a cracked voice.

“You can live here until you get a job and can support yourself.” I studied her face and realized she meant every word. “And call me Ate Celestine. That is how it’s done in the Philippines. I’m old enough to be your mother, so you call me Ate, a mark of respect. This way, it establishes a relationship between us, like you are my niece, family.” In America, I had become accustomed to calling older people by their first names, but Celestine showed me that there were elements in our native cultures we needed to keep.

I tried it out, rolling it around my tongue like toffee.

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