Titi: Biafran Maid in Geneva

By Chike Momah

The backdrop to this story is the raging Nigeria/Biafra civil war (1967-1970). Titi, a young Biafran girl, arrives in Geneva, Switzerland, in the employ of Chukwuka and Ngozi Okeke, as a maid. What Titi lacked in formal education, she
more than made up in charm and stunning beauty.
She soon leaves the Okeke household for reasons related to her love life, and is then employed as a nurse-maid by an American family. She gets seriously and emotionally involved with Eddy, the brother of the President of an East African country, and fi nds herself entangled in matters of love, war and diplomacy as Biafra struggles to achieve international recognition.
The story tells about a small community of Africans in Switzerland, the intrigues of their interactions and the dynamics of their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 12, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462850099

Chike Momah

Christian Chike Momah was born on October 20, 1930. He was educated at the St. Michael’s (C.M.S.) School, Aba; the Government College, Umuahia; and the University College, Ibadan, where he earned a Bachelor’s degree in History, English and Religious Studies in 1953. In 1959, he obtained the Associateship of the Library Association from the University College, London. He was the first Nigerian graduate Land Officer (1954-1956) in the Public Service of the Eastern Nigerian government. Then he worked as a librarian in the University College, Ibadan (1956-1962); the University of Lagos (1962-1965); and the United Nations, first in Geneva, Switzerland (1966-1978), and then in New York (from 1978 till his retirement in 1990). He has authored five other published novels: (1). FRIENDS AND DREAMS (1997); (2) TITI: Biafran Maid in Geneva (1999); (3). THE SHINING ONES: The Umuahia School days of Obinna Okoye (2003; reprinted 2010)); (4). THE STREAM NEVER DRIES UP (2008); (5) A SNAKE UNDER A THATCH (2008). He has written a few articles on Nigeria and on the USA. Chike Momah has been married to Ethel, nee Obi, since 1959. The couple has two sons (Chukwudi and Azuka) and one daughter (Adaora), and has been blessed with seven grandchildren, and counting. Among his contemporaries in high school and/or college are some of Africa’s most noted writers: Chinua Achebe (Africa’s foremost novelist, trail-blazer and essayist); Chukwuemeka Ike (acclaimed university administrator and prolific novelist); Wole Soyinka (1986 Nobel laureate in Literature); and the late Christopher Okigbo (considered to be Nigeria’s “finest ever” poet, as per the 15th edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica). He is an involved member of the Nigerian community in the U.S.A., and has been honored with awards recognizing this involvement, including the first meritorious awards given by Songhai Charities, Inc., and by the Government College Umuahia Old Boys Association, Inc., both in 2003. In 2003, he was honored with a chieftaincy (Nnabuenyi-Nnewi) by HRH Kenneth Orizu, Igwe Nnewi, Anambra State, Nigeria. In 2011, the Texas House of Representatives, and the Senate, by a Resolution in each chamber, recognized him for his contributions to the literature of his homeland. Arlington, TX 76012

Book preview

Copyright © 2011 by Chike Momah.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011905953

ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4628-5008-2

ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4628-5007-5

ISBN: Ebook 978-1-4628-5009-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

97116

DEDICATION

To Ethy and our Children:

Chidi, Adaora and Azuka; and their Children:

Brittany, Akhere, Odion, Abieyuwa, Osekhahu, Amalachi and Kyana

CONTENTS

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

XXIII

XXIV

XXV

XXVI

CHIKE MOMAH (Nnabuenyi): A Short Bio

I 

Chukwuka Okeke stood before his dressing table and looked critically at his reflection in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. He knew he was a little too broad in the beam for his height, and his pronounced paunch was shameful testimony to his insatiable appetite for food—not to mention his love for pastries and chocolates. His doctor had suggested, with more than a hint of impatience, that it was time he did something about his weight. He stood about five feet six inches in his shoes, but tipped the scale at a little over one hundred kilos, or two hundred and twenty pounds.

He turned through ninety degrees and considered his side view. It seemed even less flattering than the front view. The paunch stuck out horridly, his back arched inwards, and his buttocks jutted out like a hillock. He inhaled deeply and held his breath, drawing in his stomach as far as it could go, and studied the result. He shook his head, rubbed his stomach gingerly, and then saw his wife’s astonished face in the mirror. Ngozi stood in the doorway of the bedroom, hands on hips.

Really, Chukwuka! she said. Aren’t you ashamed to stand there, naked, with the door wide open? Suppose the children walked in as I just did?

They wouldn’t dare. And in any case why didn’t you knock?

"To enter my bedroom? Is there anything my ears will not hear?"

Just then, they heard someone approaching. Without another word, Chukwuka grabbed a wrapper off the bed, and quickly covered his nakedness, and not a moment too soon. Nnunwa, finding the door open, walked without further ceremony into the bedroom. She took one look at her dad, and her face contorted with suppressed laughter.

Daddy, she said, with the easy familiarity of a favourite child, your tummy looks just like mummy’s did when she was—

Shut up! he shouted at her. Ngozi, will you please take your daughter, and yourself, and get out of here, before I teach this impudent girl to laugh at her father!

I’m sorry, Daddy. Nnunwa was very contrite, and bowed her head respectfully. She was a good and loving daughter, but the sight of her dad in her mother’s undersized wrapper had been a little too much for her.

Nne, said Ngozi to her daughter, using a fond name in their Igbo language, Come along. Let’s leave your father to admire himself in the mirror.

She took Nnunwa by the hand and was leading her out of the bedroom when Chukwuka’s voice stopped her. Not before you say what you barged in here to tell me.

But, I thought you said I should get out?

I changed my mind, said Chukwuka. What’s wrong with that? Or didn’t you come here to tell me something?

It can wait. I don’t think Nnunwa should be present.

Then just shove her out of the bedroom, said Chukwuka, and close the door.

When she had shut the door, Ngozi turned back to her husband. Something in her eyes, and the way she stood, told Chukwuka that what she had to say was not going to be good news. She was a tall, well-covered and graceful looking woman, and at thirty, six years younger than her husband. When they stood side by side, she seemed almost a head taller than he. This difference in their heights did not seem to bother him unduly, but at their wedding, an unhappy relation of his had suggested that Chukwuka stand on a stool for the wedding photograph. The suggestion was treated with contempt, and in the years since then, he had more than made up in girth what he lacked in height.

I found something in your cousin’s room, which I think you should come and see, Ngozi told him. I left it exactly where I found it.

And you didn’t touch it, I imagine, for fear of leaving fingerprints.

This is not funny, said Ngozi seriously.

Who said it’s funny? But you seem so solemn about it—whatever it is—that I couldn’t resist making that remark. What is it anyway?

Come and see for yourself. She half-turned to lead the way.

If you don’t want to tell me what it is, then please leave me alone to put on my clothes. Or do you want me to come as I am? If I do, you’ll be the first to complain that I am showing off.

Ngozi stared silently at her husband for a while. She was normally as soft-spoken as she was generous and considerate, but Chukwuka’s unpredictable sense of humor often left her guessing and irritable. She was rarely able to anticipate the twists and turns of his mood, volatile one moment, light-hearted the next. After eight years of marriage, she never seemed able to read the signs right.

She was on the point of giving vent to her feelings when suddenly Chukwuka was by her side, and, putting a strong but gentle arm around her waist, tried to draw her closer. She disengaged herself with some vehemence.

If you are hungry for something, she said, her glance riveting on his half-clad mid-section, I suggest you go and look elsewhere. Just don’t touch me. And if you’re not interested in what I wanted to show you, then don’t come. So saying, she walked out of the bedroom.

Chukwuka watched his wife’s retreating figure with affection, and smiled contentedly. His conjugal life gave him a deep and abiding satisfaction. Not for the first time, he reflected that Ngozi was the very best thing that ever happened to him. After so many years of marriage, not many men could honestly say that. He knew he was a difficult man to live with, and never ceased to marvel at Ngozi’s patience and tolerance. He sometimes wondered if, sooner or later, she might begin to change, to lose some of that quality. The same thought flashed through his mind now, as Ngozi closed the bedroom door none-too-gently. He gave an involuntary shudder, quickly put on a few things, and hurried after her. He found her in his cousin Titi’s room, the smallest of the three bedrooms in the apartment.

Ngozi smiled as he came in. I knew you would come, she said tauntingly. Then she pointed to a corner of the room. Look at this.

A few articles of feminine wear lay in disorder on the single bed which was placed against the far wall as you entered the room. The bed took up almost the entire length of the wall. An empty flower vase stood on a narrow, long-legged stool which was placed between the end of the bed and the nearest corner of the room. Half-leaning against the stool was a solid and capacious basket holding an assortment of provisions. The basket was the object of Ngozi’s interest.

Chukwuka took a few steps towards the basket and peered into it. He straightened himself, turned to Ngozi and looked blankly at her.

Don’t you see anything there? she asked.

Yah. I see a few things, he said evenly. A packet of sweet biscuits, a bottle of orange squash, some cans of Coca-cola. I must remember to speak to her about the cans—

"Is that all you see?’

Oh yes, and a bottle of something that looks like a beauty oil or cream. Some packets of cashew nuts. A large—

She interrupted again. Either you are blind, or you’re deliberately trying to provoke me. That thing you describe as a bottle of beauty oil, look at it again.

Chukwuka took the bottle out of the bag. The label had been carefully ripped off. He uncorked it, and sniffed at it once, twice, rapidly. Disbelievingly, he sniffed at it a third time. When he turned back to Ngozi, the alarm and surprise on his face caused her to grunt with satisfaction.

It smells like whisky, he said.

"It is whisky," she replied shortly.

D’you think she drinks it?

If she doesn’t, what’s it doing in her room? It is more than half empty, too.

Apart from the fact that the label is torn off, Titi doesn’t seem to have made any serious attempt to hide it.

A thought struck him and he looked keenly at his wife. What were you looking for when you found this bottle? Snooping around as usual?

Ngozi covered her face with her hands, and stood silently for several moments, struggling with her anger. At last she lowered her hands, and said: Sometimes I don’t know if you are in full control of the things that dribble off your tongue. I don’t want anyone to say that I said anything untoward. But I’ll tell you this. What I was doing when I found the bottle is none of your business. What matters is that I found the whisky, and it has no business being in Titi’s room.

Okay, I’m sorry. This is serious. Chukwuka scratched his head in bewilderment. If Titi had been drinking the stuff, however discreetly, somehow her breath should have given her game away after a time. What does this tell you?

What does it tell me?

Doesn’t it tell you that nobody’s perfect? And I had thought these many months that— he let his voice trail off, as his thoughts focused on his cousin, Titi.

Right from the beginning, it had been Ngozi’s idea that they should bring over a nurse-maid from home. She had been so insistent that eventually Chukwuka had had no other option but to acquiesce to an idea that he thought, quite frankly, dumb and very ill-advised. If the experience of some African families in Europe was anything to go by, it meant trouble. More trouble apparently, than any of them seemed capable of handling.

Invariably, Europe opened their eyes, as a consequence of which the nurse-maids often claimed more personal rights and freedoms than their employers were willing to concede. Pregnancies were fairly common, and in the worst case scenarios, the master of the house came under very serious suspicion of complicity. Some simply left the families that brought them to Europe, if they could find more rewarding employment elsewhere. Few gave any thought to the possibility that they might be infringing the labour laws of the country.

But Ngozi had remained obdurate. She loved her children as much as any mother, she had said, but she wanted very much to practise her profession. If any complications arose, she was optimistic that they could deal with the situation.

So, Chukwuka had written a letter to his parents, and requested that they arrange for a suitable, young, female relation to be sent to Geneva, as a house-maid and children’s nurse. Titi filled the bill excellently and had been with the family in Geneva for about six months, during which time neither Chukwuka nor Ngozi had had any cause to reproach her for any serious breach of conduct or discipline. Her arrival in March of 1967 had freed Ngozi to take a full-time job as a Secretary-Typist.

Titi was the right age, about eighteen. She had had just enough education to get by with her broken English in francophone Geneva which,fortunately, had a large body of English-speaking international civil servants and university students. Her schooling had ended prematurely at standard five, a year short of completing her primary school education, because her parents could no longer afford her school fees. In the four or five years since leaving school, Titi had received no serious marriage proposals by any prospective husbands. Her parents therefore enthusiastically welcomed the opportunity for her to go to Geneva, not only because they liked and respected Chukwuka and Ngozi Okeke, but also because they hoped the exposure to a more sophisticated outside world would be a good thing for their daughter.

Titi turned out to be an excellent nurse-maid. The children loved her: Nnunwa, the oldest at six years; and Okolo, four years old and an only son. Titi adored little Uchenna, born within a month of her arrival in Geneva, carried her everywhere she went, showing the little one off with the pride of a mother. Titi was an especially good cook, and had practically taken over the kitchen, so that unless the family was having guests to dinner, Ngozi Okeke did progressively less and less of the routine daily cooking.

She’s been so good, so wonderful, so far, said Chukwuka, that I imagine there must be a good explanation for this half-full bottle of whisky.

I wonder— said Ngozi suddenly, then stopped.

What?

I don’t think you’ll like this, but I was thinking about your friend Cosmas.

What about him?

"He may have left the whisky bottle behind, when he left here recently, at the end of his summer vacation."

Cosmas? That’s impossible. He doesn’t drink.

Cosmas Nwafor was an old university friend of Chukwuka’s. Now a lecturer in the Northwestern Polytechnic, London, Cosmas had spent two weeks of the 1967 summer vacation with the Okekes. Titi had vacated her room for him, and had moved in with the children. When Cosmas left, Titi returned to her room.

Maybe he didn’t drink in the university. But you haven’t seen much of each other since then, have you? It was, after all, only our chance meeting with him in London last year that led to his coming here this summer. He drinks. I know because I saw him.

They heard the front door of the apartment open, and then shut.

That must be Titi, said Ngozi, leading the way out of the room.

They met Titi in the entrance hall, lugging in a heavy paper bag of provisions from the Migros supermarket, and panting with the effort. A girl of average height, Titi had a fluid, beautifully proportioned body, with a small waist, and lush breasts and hips. She had a pretty round face, large luminous eyes, full lips, and a perpetual pout. The mini-dress she wore clung to her body like a second skin, and exposed fully six inches of well-rounded thighs.

Titi stood still for a moment to recover her breath. She felt very warm all over her body, and little beads of perspiration stood like pimples on her forehead. She bent her head forward and blew two or three times between her half-exposed breasts, holding the top of her dress a little away from her body.

It’s just like home, she said. It is so hot.

Why don’t you go out naked? asked Chukwuka, his eyes fixed disapprovingly on Titi’s breasts, and then traveling down to her thighs. I’ve told you several times that if you continue to dress like this, one of these days you’ll bring trouble on yourself and on us. Ngozi, why don’t you do something about this?

What d’you want me to do? This is what every young woman wears these days. Anyway, can’t we discuss that some other time? She turned to Titi: When you’ve put that bag away in the kitchen, we want to talk to you—in the sitting room.

Yes, sister. Titi’s eyes anxiously searched Ngozi’s face for a clue as to what was afoot, for she had immediately sensed that there was trouble. Ngozi’s voice told her that much.

A few seconds later, her hands clasped behind her back, she stood meekly before her employers.

Close the door, please, Chukwuka said. We don’t want the children butting in on this.

Nnunwa and Okolo went out to play while we were in Titi’s room, said Ngozi, as Titi moved rapidly to close the door.

I’ll come straight to the point, Chukwuka said. Titi, there’s something we found in your room, and we’d like you to explain how it got there.

What?

Behind you there, on the dining table, said Chukwuka, pointing.

Titi swiveled round, and for the first time saw the bottle of whisky standing on the table. Her hand flew to her mouth, but was too late to suppress a startled Oh! that escaped her. She stared at it, as if it hypnotized her. When at last she turned slowly round, her face had taken on an expression of acute misery.

How d’you explain that? Chukwuka’s voice sounded alarmingly gentle.

Titi said nothing, looking hopelessly from Chukwuka to Ngozi.

Didn’t I ask you a question?

Titi’s lips worked as if she was trying to say something, but the words did not come. She began to tremble, and her hands clasped and unclasped themselves behind her back. Her eyes darted from Chukwuka to Ngozi, and finally came to rest on the latter with a meek and unspoken supplication. In the six months that she had lived with them, Titi had come to fear her cousin Chukwuka’s temper which, when roused, was altogether unpredictable. So far, she had had no serious personal experience of it, but she feared its eruption just the same.

You’ve lost your voice? Chukwuka asked, his anger rising. He was a very confused man. Titi’s silence suggested guilt, but what was she guilty of? What possible link could there be between her and his friend Cosmas—if indeed the bottle of whisky originally belonged to Cosmas?

It was with a new interest that Chukwuka now looked at Titi. He had always been aware of her prettiness, but now, for perhaps the first time, the full extent of her comeliness struck him. And not just her comeliness, but her voluptuousness. With her mini-dress wickedly clinging to her body, she had the type of looks that any normal, warm-blooded man like Cosmas would be attracted to. At university, Cosmas had been a clumsy Tarzan-like figure, not renowned for any amorous adventures. He had mostly kept to himself, and had been the butt of jokes about the speed with which he disappeared from the scene whenever any of the women undergraduates showed more than normal interest in him. However, Chukwuka reminded himself, that was more than a decade ago. The intervening years had quite possibly changed Cosmas. If so, then anything was possible between him and a pretty servant-girl, whose life in Geneva was perhaps at best dull and lonely. Cosmas was a good-looking, impressively built hunk of a man, and had been on a carefree, two-week vacation, far from his family six hundred miles away in London.

Chukwuka looked helplessly at Ngozi. Why don’t you try to talk to her? he asked. Resignedly, he slumped back in his chair, and gazed up at the ceiling.

Ngozi suppressed the retort that sprang spontaneously to her lips. There was no reason for her to think she would be more successful than Chukwuka to get the truth—or indeed any sort of an answer—from Titi. But it was vitally important to find out what Titi was up to.

You are spoiling a very good thing, she said to the young girl, if you persist in hiding the truth from us. Can’t you see that? Since you came here last March, everything has been fine between us and you. We’ve had no cause for complaint. You’ve looked after the kids well, and shown us all the respect in the world. If you don’t tell us how this bottle came into your possession, then we’ll be unable to help you with your problem. I never imagined for one moment that you would have a drinking problem, but—

I don’t, said Titi, apparently finding her voice at last.

You don’t? Chukwuka had jumped out of his chair and advanced threateningly on Titi. If you don’t, what is this bottle doing in your room?

Titi cringed from him. Involuntarily retreating a step or two, she held up her arms as if in readiness to ward off a blow. With difficulty, Chukwuka restrained himself from hitting her, and instead stood and glowered at her.

One of two things must have happened, said Ngozi. Either Cosmas forgot the drink in your room when he left, or he gave it to you. If he forgot it, why didn’t you tell us about it when you found it? If he gave it to you—and that’s what we are most afraid of—why did he do so? It must be because he knew you liked whisky.

Sister, I don’t drink. I swear—

It was then that Chukwuka, unable to contain his anger any longer, lashed out at Titi, striking her with the back of his right hand sharply across her face. The force of the blow threw her backwards and she would probably have fallen had Ngozi not moved swiftly to catch her. Ngozi was familiar with her husband’s temper, but had been taken completely unawares by the suddenness of the attack. She had scarcely dreamt that he was capable of such lightning movement. This was the first time she had seen him strike Titi, or anybody else for that matter, since they came to Geneva.

Chukwuka! she cried. What’s this? You shouldn’t have done that, you know.

Shouldn’t have? he asked. Who says I shouldn’t have? Can’t you see the stupid girl is a terrible liar?

Titi sobbed quietly in Ngozi’s arms. She had feared just this kind of explosion, but had not seen the blow coming. In a daze she raised her eyes to Ngozi’s and was much comforted by the expression of kindliness in the latter’s eyes as they looked down with compassion on her. Chukwuka stared at the two women angrily.

I don’t understand you sometimes, he said to his wife. As for this one, I’ll have the truth from her, one way or another. I promise you that! He walked out of the sitting room.

II 

Two weeks later, in the final week of September 1967, Fred Nnaji arrived in Geneva. Nnunwa, who answered the doorbell, was swept into his arms before she had a chance to recognize him. When she did, she shouted his name, and Chukwuka and Ngozi came running to the entrance hall. They could not believe their eyes, as he stood there, with Nnunwa in his arms, a magnificent six foot three inches in height, trim yet powerfully built, with wide shoulders, and looking very debonair. He wore a beige-coloured, long sleeved safari suit, and carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who knew how good he looked even in the simplest clothes.

When she recovered from her surprise, Ngozi threw herself into Fred’s arms with a cry of joy. The two men shook hands and hugged each other.

I’ve never seen you this speechless before, Fred commented, with a smile.

I’ve every reason to be speechless with surprise, replied Chukwuka. How on earth did you—

Get out of Biafra? Fred smiled a dimpled smile. He stooped and picked up Nnunwa once more, carrying her easily. Nnunwa gladly wrapped her arms around his neck. Then taking Ngozi by the hand, Fred led the way into the living room.

Fred was Ngozi’s favourite cousin. But although she knew they were closely related, she had never been clear about the exact lines of their relationship. There was a time when she fancied she was in love with him, and he with her. It may only have been immature love, but her parents were so scared about it that they went to a lot a trouble to nip it in the bud. It was explained to her that even the ritual slaughter of a white chicken could not have cleared the way to a marriage between them.

They shared the settee, with Nnunwa between them, and still with her little arms around Fred’s neck. She would not let go of him, in spite of the admonitions of her mother. Fred came to her defence.

Please let her strangle me if she wants, he said. I’ m not complaining. I feel so happy she remembered me after such a long time. Let me see, that must be at least 18 months since you people left home. How you’ve grown, my little girl. Quite a young lady now, and getting prettier too.

I’m still very curious about how you got out of Biafra, said Chukwuka. You must tell us how people are faring at home. How are all our relations?

Which question shall I answer first?

Tell us about your own family, suggested Ngozi. "How’s your wife Mary? Nnunwa, instead of choking Uncle Fred, why don’t you ask him about your cousin Emeka? You remember