another in heaving loads onto their heads, and off they went. Emma was carried in a chair for some way and then they took to canoes. Once out of the low country, Henry planned to purchase a horse. The early rainy season was underway and the increase of water swelled the vaporous lagoons. Emma dreaded to think what slimy things were in them. At one stop she watched a huge horrible insect emerge from a rotting log. Finally they reached a place with firm shore. Emma needed to relieve herself. “Where must I go?” she whispered to Henry.
“I’ll take you,” he said.
“I don’t believe I can,” she said, but she followed him down a path where he whacked down some underbrush with a cutlass and then stood with his back to her to protect her privacy.
Henry rolled a cigarette and they started again. Under the midday sun, Emma sweated until her clothes clung to her cruelly and she itched something fierce. She wore a hat with netting over her face and tucked into her collar—to keep out insects—and now she ripped it off.
At first the food seemed palatable—beans and rice. But after three days, Emma could hardly stomach it. She longed for fried chicken, lima beans, a biscuit, a mere carrot. Rather than enjoy a wholesome meal, she must watch the carriers dig into their dinner with their hands, talking with their mouths full, licking their fingers.
As they progressed, she became a great oddity. Rather than
oyinbo
, one frightened woman called her “
Eemaw!
” Monster! before running for cover, quick as a fox. Emma had thought Africans might find her attractive. It was a great disappointment to learn they found her appearance disagreeable. She retrieved the netted hat and put it back on.
All of the people everywhere were as loud as could be. No one talked but he must throw his arms up and down, side to side, and move his head as if always agreeing with himself. Emma continued to be surprised by the people’s clothing. The men wore yards of cloth for parading about town in their
agbadas
, or gowns, while the women’s outfits were hardly existent.
“I cannot,” she said one night, undressing by candlelight in what was to pass as their night’s chamber—a mud room, eight feet square, stifling hot, the roof so low she must stoop. Her petticoat was brown from trailing in the mud. When she took off her gloves, she found her wrists were dark with dirt. Her malodor was frightful. As she poured water into a bucket, something fell to the ground and scooted out the low door. She screamed, her heart hammering. Surely Henry would hear her. When he did not come, she had no choice but to pray. “Dear God, forgive me. I will fail. It is too much. If something lands in my hair, I will die. You must shield me.” Her misery was severe. She thought of her mother; her own white, plump bed at home—all she had left without a second thought, in order to sit in this hovel scared to death of whatever lizard or bug might crawl up her leg. After the merest bath, she slipped an undergarment over her head to serve as a gown. In her dreary state, she opened her writing box and pulled out Uncle Eli’s carving, so beautifully smooth and clean. She clung to it lying on the pallet, meaning to wait for Henry. A moment and she slept.
In the morning, Henry attended to a man whose foot had developed a sore. Emma had time to pull out the lap desk and her journal. She wrote down everything.
I had thought in marriage to be less alone but closeness makes distance more acute. The people are friendly but I find no point of contact. Keeping clean will take all of my strength. Henry teaches me that the emblem of peace is the palm tree.
At last they reached farm lands in the rolling plains. These seemed broader than any fields Emma had ever seen, and in the wooded glades, the variety of greens emerging with the rain was so dazzling she thought there could not be enough words for such color. She felt her first happiness in the country. Here were acacia
“I’ll take you,” he said.
“I don’t believe I can,” she said, but she followed him down a path where he whacked down some underbrush with a cutlass and then stood with his back to her to protect her privacy.
Henry rolled a cigarette and they started again. Under the midday sun, Emma sweated until her clothes clung to her cruelly and she itched something fierce. She wore a hat with netting over her face and tucked into her collar—to keep out insects—and now she ripped it off.
At first the food seemed palatable—beans and rice. But after three days, Emma could hardly stomach it. She longed for fried chicken, lima beans, a biscuit, a mere carrot. Rather than enjoy a wholesome meal, she must watch the carriers dig into their dinner with their hands, talking with their mouths full, licking their fingers.
As they progressed, she became a great oddity. Rather than
oyinbo
, one frightened woman called her “
Eemaw!
” Monster! before running for cover, quick as a fox. Emma had thought Africans might find her attractive. It was a great disappointment to learn they found her appearance disagreeable. She retrieved the netted hat and put it back on.
All of the people everywhere were as loud as could be. No one talked but he must throw his arms up and down, side to side, and move his head as if always agreeing with himself. Emma continued to be surprised by the people’s clothing. The men wore yards of cloth for parading about town in their
agbadas
, or gowns, while the women’s outfits were hardly existent.
“I cannot,” she said one night, undressing by candlelight in what was to pass as their night’s chamber—a mud room, eight feet square, stifling hot, the roof so low she must stoop. Her petticoat was brown from trailing in the mud. When she took off her gloves, she found her wrists were dark with dirt. Her malodor was frightful. As she poured water into a bucket, something fell to the ground and scooted out the low door. She screamed, her heart hammering. Surely Henry would hear her. When he did not come, she had no choice but to pray. “Dear God, forgive me. I will fail. It is too much. If something lands in my hair, I will die. You must shield me.” Her misery was severe. She thought of her mother; her own white, plump bed at home—all she had left without a second thought, in order to sit in this hovel scared to death of whatever lizard or bug might crawl up her leg. After the merest bath, she slipped an undergarment over her head to serve as a gown. In her dreary state, she opened her writing box and pulled out Uncle Eli’s carving, so beautifully smooth and clean. She clung to it lying on the pallet, meaning to wait for Henry. A moment and she slept.
In the morning, Henry attended to a man whose foot had developed a sore. Emma had time to pull out the lap desk and her journal. She wrote down everything.
I had thought in marriage to be less alone but closeness makes distance more acute. The people are friendly but I find no point of contact. Keeping clean will take all of my strength. Henry teaches me that the emblem of peace is the palm tree.
At last they reached farm lands in the rolling plains. These seemed broader than any fields Emma had ever seen, and in the wooded glades, the variety of greens emerging with the rain was so dazzling she thought there could not be enough words for such color. She felt her first happiness in the country. Here were acacia
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