Free A Man of the People by Chinua Achebe

Africa,' I said with peevish defiance. She obviously thought I was being sarcastic and laughed again. But what I had said was another way of telling her to go to hell. Now I guessed I knew why she took so much delight in driving through our slums. She must have taken hundreds of photographs already to send home to her relations. And, come to think of it, would she---lover of Africa that she was---would she be found near a black man in her own country? 'When do you expect John back?' I asked, burning with anger. 'Wednesday. Why?' 'I was wondering whether I could see you again.' 'Do you want to?' 'Sure.' 'Why not? Let me call you tomorrow?'
    CHAPTER SIX
    Anyone who has followed this story at all carefully may well be wondering what had become of the Elsie whom I said was one of my chief reasons for going to Bori. Well, that chief reason had not altered in the least. I had in fact written to her as soon as I had arrived and then paid her a visit at the hospital on the following Saturday morning. But she was still on night-duty and had been woken up from sleep---against the rules of her hospital---to see me. So that first visit had had to be very short. Actually the reason I went at all was to confirm that she was coming to the house to spend the two free days she would earn after the night-shift and that she was bringing a friend of hers along for Chief Nanga, although we did not spell it out so crudely. In our country a long American car driven by a white- uniformed chauffeur and flying a ministerial flag could pass through the eye of a needle. The hospital gateman had promptly levered up the iron barrier and saluted. The elderly male nurse I beckoned to had sprinted forward with an agility that you would think had left him at least a decade ago. And as I said earlier, although it was against all the laws of the hospital they had let me into the female nurses' quarters and woken up Elsie to see me. Although she was obviously very drowsy her unconcealed pleasure tempted me very strongly to stay longer than was reasonable or fair. Her sleeping head-tie hooded her face almost down to the eyebrows and completely covered both ears. But despite this and the sleep swollen eyes she was as desirable as ever. And she was ready---it was just like her---to start rushing around looking for a soft drink and biscuits for me. I refused quite firmly. In fact I was already on my feet when the other girl came in to greet me. She obviously did not feel as confident as Elsie about her looks and had taken time to touch up. I tried very hard but could not recollect her face at all, even though Elsie said she had introduced us at a university party. She was reasonably good-looking but in that pointed mandibular way that made me think of the talkative weaver bird. Yet she hardly said a word; and when I finally rose to go she did not even go with us to the car outside. Strangely uncurious for one of our women, I thought. As Elsie and I walked to the car I said humorously: 'I hope Chief Nanga won't ask for a swop.' 'For what?' she asked with a puzzled look. Then it occurred to me that she might never have heard that word and so I explained, and we laughed. 'I thought you meant the cotton-wool we use in the theatre,' she said, and we laughed again. Then she remembered to add graciously that a swop would not be necessary as her friend was the more beautiful of the two. 'If you are looking for flattery from me this afternoon you won't get it,' I said, stooping at the door which the chauffeur had been holding open since I first emerged from the night nurses' dormitory. 'By the way,' I said backing out and straightening up again, 'I met an American lady called Elsie at a party the other night.... Whenever her name was called---my mind went to you.' 'Who tell am say na Elsie be im name? When you see am again make you tell am say im own Elsie na counterfeit. But Odili, you self na waa! How you no even reach Bori finish you done de begin meet another Elsie for