The Other Side of Truth by Beverley Naidoo

from Africa then? And there’s me thinking you’d just had a little spot of bother at home down the road!”
    Iyawo-Jenny’s midnight-calm eyes were solemn as she turned to the children. “Try not to worry too much. Whatever it was, you have obviously had a frightening experience. You can tell us more when you’re feeling a little better.”
    She explained that Mrs. Graham would take them to buy some winter clothes and that they would stay with her for a few days until other arrangements could be made. If possible, Iyawo-Jenny said she wanted to find a Nigerian family to take care of them.
    Sade returned to the bedroom. She curled up on the camp bed under the quilt to think about what Iyawo-Jenny had said. Refugees? They were those winding lines of starving people, with stick-thin children. People who carried their few possessions in dusty cotton bundles, struggling across deserts and mountains. Refugees were people trying to escape famine and war. You saw them on television. Were she and Femi really refugees? She wondered if she had done the right thing, not giving their true surname. It was so difficult to know what was right and wrong anymore. And doing the right thing could lead to awful things happening. Mama knew that. She had tried to warn Papa. They had heard the shocking news about Mr. Saro-Wiwa on Papa’s World Service, sitting together at the dining table.
    “It has been confirmed that this morning the Nigerianauthorities executed the political activist and writer Ken Saro-Wiwa and eight other Ogonis…”
    Papa’s head is bowed in his hands. Mama prays. Sade and Femi join her. Even Papa joins in the “Amen.” Afterward Mama implores in her tender way .
    “ Please, Folarin, please take care. If they can do this to Ken, they will do anything. These people don’t care even what the whole world thinks .”
    “ I shall be careful, don’t worry.” Papa’s face is somber. “But I have to be able to face myself in the mirror. And our children need to know that bad men succeed when the rest of us look the other away .”
    Papa had spent the whole weekend working furiously on an article about the executions. That’s why he had been eager to get to the office early that morning. On the day the gunmen came…
     
    Mrs. Graham put her head around the door. Her next-door neighbor had a daughter Sade’s age and might be able to lend Sade a few warm clothes. Did Sade want to come with her? When Sade shook her head, Mrs. Graham didn’t try to force her.
    “Will you be all right on your own? I’m only next door. Expect you just want to get used to things, don’t you? Jenny says she’ll sort out the money and we’ll go and buy some new clothes tomorrow, yeah?”
    After she heard the front door close, Sade slipped back to Femi in front of the television. Single-handed, Superman was knocking out a bunch of mean-looking guards. The peoplewho had been rescued were gasping, then smiling with relief. There was a lot of shaking hands and congratulations before Superman flew up and away into the sky. The program that followed was much less exciting. Four people sitting behind a long table, talking.
    “Too boring!” said Femi, turning off the button.
    Sade wanted to talk.
    “Femi, was it all right, giving Mama’s name—to the lady this morning?” Sade was anxious to know what he thought. Ignoring the question, Femi wandered over to the sideboard. Sade followed.
    A telephone and a thick directory lay beside a silver-framed photograph of a little boy with a maroon bow tie, dark twinkling eyes and a head full of black curls. It looked like Kevin when he was younger. Another photograph showed him in the same outfit laughing as he sat on Mrs. Graham’s lap. There was no picture of Mr. Graham. Femi began flicking through the pages of the book.
    “See if Uncle Dele is there!” Sade felt a wave of hope. Of course, why hadn’t they thought of looking in a directory yesterday? The excitement didn’t last long. There