Free The Other Side of Truth by Beverley Naidoo Page B

the police in Nigeria? Then they would know that Folarin Solaja’s children hadescaped to England and the Brass Button officers at the airport would be on alert for Papa himself.
    Iyawo-Jenny tried again.
    “You do speak English, don’t you?”
    She asked the question so gently that it seemed terribly rude not to reply. Sade gave a very slight nod.
    “Good. Robert said he thought you understood him. There’s no need to be frightened because we only want to help you,” Iyawo-Jenny reassured. “Have you run away from home?”
    Both children kept their heads lowered.
    “Look, if you’ve run away, and think your parents will be angry, then we shall try to help you sort things out.”
    The more the social worker spoke, the more Sade’s mind spun. Femi’s feet nervously tapped the carpet. They couldn’t keep silent forever, thought Sade. They needed help to find Uncle Dele. But what could they say that was safe?
    “Would you rather write your names for me?” asked Iyawo-Jenny, offering her pad and a pencil. Reluctantly Sade placed the pad on her lap. She hesitated, looking to Femi for a response. But Femi had kept his eyes averted from her and everyone else all morning. He seemed to be sunk into the oversize tracksuit and himself. Surely they could not avoid giving their names? Sooner or later they would be forced to say them and Iyawo-Jenny certainly seemed less frightening than Miss Police Business or Cool Gaze. Aware of the social worker’s eyes on her, Sade carefully printed SADE and FEMI.
    Iyawo-Jenny stretched over to read.
    “What lovely names,” she said. “Can you write your surname too?”
    Head still down and the blood rushing to her cheeks, Sade printed ADEWALE. Femi’s feet stopped jiggling. It was their mother’s family name.
    “Where do you live?” asked Iyawo-Jenny softly.
    Slowly Sade printed IBADAN. The city close to their home village. She prayed that Femi wouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t a complete lie. They often spent time with Grandma there in the holidays. But it wasn’t really the truth.
    “That’s in Nigeria, isn’t it?” said Iyawo-Jenny. “Is that where you’ve come from?”
    Sade gave a tiny nod.
    “Ahh! That’s interesting. When did you arrive?” asked Iyawo-Jenny quietly.
    Sade did not reply. Iyawo-Jenny changed the question.
    “Did you arrive yesterday?”
    Another small nod.
    “Did you come by yourselves?”
    Sade shook her head.
    “Did you come with your parents—and somehow get lost?”
    Femi stiffened beside her, pushing his feet against the carpet. Before Sade was able to wipe it away, a large tear dropped on to the pad on her lap.

CHAPTER 16
REFUGEES?
    IYAWO-JENNY PUT HER ARM gently around Sade’s shoulder, trying to comfort her. Femi shifted out of reach, farther along the sofa. Iyawo-Jenny tried a few more yes/no questions, which Sade answered in small nods and shakes. But the social worker did not learn much more. Only that the children had come without their parents and that something unexpected had happened in Nigeria. Something dangerous enough for the children to be sent to London. But she learned nothing about what had actually happened to Mama and Papa. And also nothing about Mrs. Bankole or Uncle Dele.
    “It sounds as if we shall have to apply for asylum for you,” Iyawo-Jenny said finally. “That means asking if you can stay here for reasons of safety. You know, to be treated as refugees. Nigeria has been in the news a lot because of what happened to Ken Saro-Wiwa.”
    The surprise must have shown in Sade’s face. Mr. Saro-Wiwa had been at university with Uncle Tunde in Ibadan. Papa had been writing about him and the other Ogoni leaders locked up in jail. Papa’s newspaper had been protesting for months that the Brass Buttons weren’t going to give them a fair trial.
    “Aahh, that poor man! Terrible what they did to him, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Graham had come in from the kitchen. “So are these two from that same country, all the way