Page 67 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #2

it about these old men and their insatiable desire for young flesh?
Oyedeji looked at the young woman and gave her a wry smile. The poor girl probably cooked for him, kept his home neat and tidy and submitted herself to his inter- mittent clumsy advances in return for the chance to live in England and send money home to her family.
“Maybe he just liked his women, just like his food, slightly spicier
He watched as Mr. Coker attacked his chicken with his
brown-stained sharp teeth. “Whatever you do ....do not like this bean cake.”
marry a white woman. They will make you look down on your culture and your people. Your children will grow up not knowing your family.” He beckoned to his wife who brought him a beer.
ing in their voices leant a sad melancholy air to what was meant to be a joyful occasion.
He remembered Sandra, the English girl whose num-
ber he had taken a few weeks ago. He still had not
called her. He had mentioned it to his flatmates who Home my home had discouraged him.
We don’t want trouble from the neighbours. You better steer clear of Oyibo girls. You know what happened to so and so.
Home my home oooh
When shall see my home?
When shall I see my native land? I will never forget my home.
Mr. Coker had not finished. “You may think I am an old fool, but listen to this old fool. I have been in this coun- try for almost forty years now and I can tell you that those kinds of marriages never work. I used to work with one chap from Ekiti in the Western part of Nige- ria. He married this white woman. One day she saw him cooking cow foot to eat and he gave some to their little son. The ignorant woman went to social services and said the man was trying to force the boy to swal- low a bone. Then when such people want to go back home, the white woman threatens to keep the children behind. When it comes to marriage, home is best.”
Suddenly bored, Oyedeji picked up a can of beer and watched a young lady walk past with a tray of akara, a delicacy that made his mouth water with longing.
At some point, the old man started to sing a song and people gathered around and sang with him. The long-
She stopped and gave him a plate. His eyes swept over her taking in the neat plaited hair, a rarity when most
“Could I have some of that please?” he smiled at her politely.
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