Reading the Ceiling by Dayo Forster Page B

for a formal dinner to welcome a visiting American dignitary, or a choice paragraph that will appeal to his hosts on a tour of France. The elegant deliveries get noticed by other ministers, but I am shielded by my boss, who knows he cannot spread my skills too thinly. I am the only one for miles prepared to spend an entire Sunday tidying up words ready for the Minister on Monday morning.
    The seasons pass. Storm drains carry away tumbling weights of water towards the sea. The sun burns more ebony into my skin. I let the weather do to me what it likes.
    When my fame spreads to the manager of a local consulting firm skilled in marketing weak skills to non-governmental organisations and UN agencies at inflated prices, he finds in me a bargain. I gain additional employment to supplement my government income. I clean up badly written documents at high speed. I impose structure and give them contents pages, and neat headers. I add footnotes and insert diagrams when required. My income grows. I move out of the mud-and-wattle rooms. I buy a car that spends three days each month in the garage.
    Taiwo comes home when she finishes her degree in accounting. I’m not surprised that she is the first to fulfil my mother’s heart wish. She chooses Reuben, who has by now become a fixture in my mother’s household. Reuben laps up the extra attention Taiwo turns on him.
    The day Taiwo extracts a promise of marriage from him, Reuben comes to my mother’s house to formally request Taiwo’s hand. My mother immediately phones me at home. ‘There’s some terribly exciting news to tell you. Come now, they’re still here.’ Her voice is sparkling. When I get home, her gaiety is gambolling around the house.
    Reuben contrives a moment alone with me when I say goodnight and head for my car: ‘I hope you don’t mind.’ His stutter is mild.
    There isn’t much to say in reply. ‘No, not at all. After all, we are grownups now,’ I reply politely and firmly.
    Taiwo and my mother appear at the door. My mother gives her a delighted hug. ‘Oh do go and celebrate together. I can’t wait to tell everyone else the news.’
    My mother’s delight continues unabated through the long months planning the wedding. Only one small thing mars the day itself for her – on Taiwo’s wedding day, my sister’s waistline is stout.
    *
    Remi’s mother falls ill with renal failure and is to go to Dakar for treatment. Remi asks me to move into her guest room and help look after her daughter. Everyone else she can trust is married and busy with family. She does not want to leave hubby Kojo alone in charge of Joy with the househelp as aide.
    She complains to me as we work the details out, ‘You employ the older women and they’re no brighter than a kirinting  lamp. You employ the younger ones and soon they’re leaning over while doing the housework, showing off their pert young breasts.’
    She’s filling out a ruled exercise book with household details. The page is headed: Food . 
    â€˜Kojo won’t eat the same kind of meat two days in a row, so I have to vary it. Here are some suggestions.’ She writes: Monday – chicken curry, Tuesday – fish benachin , Wednesday – roast pork, Thursday – chicken yassa ,  Friday – catfish stew, Saturday – krein krein and okra.
    Her commentary: ‘But leave out cowfoot with the Satiday soup, Kojo cannot stand the sight of it in the kitchen so he won’t let me cook it. Sunday can get a bit complicated because he likes his buffet, so I tend to get several extra things made on Saturday, and finish them off on Sunday morning.’
    She sucks the end of her pen. ‘So, for example, if you get Ida to make the base for the chereh , and to clean the fish and everything, all you’d have to do on Sunday is to heat up the sauce, steam the chereh  and mix them together. Ida can also make some