Roy smiled. “Amy,” he said.
“Amy?”
“Amy. I’m going to marry her.”
“What? How long has it been since you last saw her?”
“Two years. Three. What does it matter?”
“You haven’t had much time to think about it.”
“She’s an African woman. I know that! She understands me. Not like these European women, always arguing with
their men.” Roy nodded emphatically, and then, as if he were being yanked by an invisible string, he jumped out of his
seat and headed toward the kitchen. Taking Amy in one arm, he lifted his bottle of beer toward the ceiling.
“Listen, everybody! Now that we are all here, we must have a toast! To those who are not with us! And to a happy
ending!” With solemn deliberation, he started to pour his beer onto the floor. At least half of the beer splashed on
Auma’s shoes.
“Aggh!” Auma shouted, jumping back. “What are you doing?”
“The ancestors must drink,” Roy said cheerfully. “It is the African way.”
Auma grabbed a napkin to wipe the beer off her legs. “That’s outdoors, Roy! Not in somebody’s house! I swear,
sometimes you’re so careless! Who will clean this up now? You?”
Roy was about to answer when Jane rushed up with a rag in her hand. “Don’t worry, don’t worry!” she said, wiping
up the floor. “We are just happy to have this one home.”
It had been decided that after dinner we would all go out dancing at a nearby club. As Auma and I headed down the
stairs ahead of the others, I heard her muttering to herself in the darkness.
“You Obama men!” she said to me. “You get away with anything! Have you noticed how they treat him? As far as
they are concerned, he can do no wrong. Like this thing with Amy. This is just an idea that has popped into his head
because he’s lonely. I have nothing against Amy, but she’s as irresponsible as he is. When they’re together, they make
each other worse. My mum, Jane, Zeituni-they all know this. But will they say anything to him? No. Because they’re so
afraid to offend him, even if it’s for his own good.”
Auma opened the car door and looked back at the rest of the family. They had just emerged from the shadows of the
apartment building, Roy’s figure towering over the others like a tree, his arms spread out like branches over the
shoulders of his aunts. The sight of him softened Auma’s face just a bit.
“Yah, it’s not really his fault, I suppose,” she said, starting up the car. “You see how he is with them. He’s always
been more of a family person than me. They don’t feel judged with him.”
The club, Garden Square, turned out to be a low-roofed, dimly lit place. It was already packed when we arrived, the
air thick with cigarette smoke. The clientele was almost all African, an older, after work crowd of clerks, secretaries,
government workers, all gathered around wobbly Formica tables. We pushed together two empty tables away from the
small stage, and the waiter took our orders. Auma sat down next to Amy.
“So, Amy. Roy tells me you two are thinking about getting married.”
“Yes, isn’t it wonderful! He’s so much fun! When he settles down, he says I can come to stay with him in America.”