The name of the game

The pot was on the cooker, the water was boiling but Etta took no notice. She sat on the stool in the kitchen, lost in thought, staring at the book she held. At first glance she looked like she always did, tired and wrung out. Her head was bent downwards, her shoulders sagged. Her brown plaits were messy, the hands clutching the book were callused with short jagged nails. Her blue checked uniform was rumpled and stained. Today’s stain was courtesy of the palm oil splashes from cooking that morning’s breakfast. But if you looked closely you could see there was something different about her. She seemed to be glowing. Her skin was flushed and her brown eyes were sparkling as she sat remembering that morning’s events.

Early that morning, she had rushed from the parlour where she had been dusting to quickly answer the door as Uncle got annoyed if the doorbell rang for too long. She opened the door, greeted and curtsied like she usually did, her eyes cast downwards, not really taking any notice of who was standing there, waiting to hear whoever it was enquire after whomever they had come to see. But there was no response, so she looked up. It was him and he was staring at her again, looking at her as if he could see her, see Etta. But he didn’t see her she thought resignedly, they never do, so she waited for him to speak. He asked for Uncle so she took him to Uncle’s study to wait but as she turned away to go and resume her duties he called out to her.

‘I have something for you,’ he said opening the bag he was carrying.

He brought out a book, Wole Soyinka’s ‘The Trials of Brother Jero’, the book Aunty had seized from her the other day. She stood still, bewildered, staring at the hand holding the book out to her not quite sure what was happening or what to do.

‘Here,’ he said ‘Take it, I got it for you, I know how much you loved the other one.’

She took it, nodded towards him shyly and ran out of the room.

The water in the pot was hissing loudly, but Etta sat, very still, staring at the book in her hand; a smile playing on her face, wanting to settle but not knowing how. She let her fingers flip through the pages, seeing the words inside race by. She closed it and held it to her chest, her first ever gift, she thought to herself. She didn’t know how he knew about the book or why he had decided to get it for her. All she cared about was that someone had given her something, he had given her something. It was something for her, a gift for her. Someone had noticed her; someone had seen her, seen Etta!


Title - ABBA