Laha spoke quickly, but firmly. He explained who she was and what she was doing there. He reached in his pocket and, as subtly as possible, took out some money, slipping it into a handshake with one officer. “You don’t want the rector of the university to find out how we treat his guests, do you?”
Before Clarence could open her mouth to express her shock and thanks, Laha gently but firmly pushed her in the direction of a car.
The police looked to be satisfied, even giving a friendly wave to her savior, who at that moment seemed to the most attractive and marvelous man in the world. That morning he had put on a light-colored suit. He probably dressed like that to go to work.
“Thank you very much, Laha,” she said. “I was under a little stress.”
“I’m sorry, Clarence. It’s what I detest about my country. Well, that and more, but anyway, you’ll have time to find out yourself . . .”
“Don’t you have to be at work?” she asked.
“That’s where I’m coming from. The good thing about American engineers is that nobody tells us what to do.” He laughed. “At least not me. The majority prefer to stay in their bungalows in Pleasantville. That’s what we call the fairy-tale district with its air-conditioning, supermarkets, and creature comforts. They live away from everything. Although I know more than one who has been deported from here for criticizing the regime. So it’s better not to take risks. You know what they say, what the eye doesn’t see . . .”
Laha accompanied his words with infectious laughter. She studied his profile. There was something in his proportioned features that seemed familiar. She had the vague sensation of having seen it before. Probably his natural friendliness made her feel as if she had known him all her life.
“By the way,” he continued, “the day before yesterday, I wanted to ask you something, and in the end, I didn’t. Did you know that Malabo was once called Clarence? Isn’t it a strange name for a Spaniard?”
“Yes, I know,” she answered, shaking her head in resignation. “For years I thought it was the name of some heroine from an English novel. Later I discovered that the island had been given that name when it was declared an English colony, in honor of King George, Duke of Clarence.”
She briefly explained to him that several men from her family had lived here during the colonial period. After meeting Iniko, she gathered that not everyone had fond memories of the colonization. And she was very aware that she knew only stories from the white side, which made her cautious when talking about Spain. Yet Laha did not seem to mind that a descendant of those colonists showed interest in the past.
“That’s why you went to Sampaka!” he exclaimed. “Iniko told me that you were looking for old documents, from when your father worked there. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then! I imagine that you see things very differently from what you have been told.”
“Well, yes, quite differently.” She nodded. “For the moment, I haven’t seen any pith helmets or machetes or sacks of cocoa.”
Laha laughed and Clarence smiled.
“I don’t know if you’re aware,” he said, “that Malabo was called Ripotò, or “place of foreigners,” in Bubi. Just as well your father chose one and not the other! If your father gave you the name of this place, it’s because he really felt something toward it.”
“I’m going to tell you something, Laha. Everyone I’ve met who lived on this island admits to still dreaming of her.” She paused before continuing. “And then their eyes fill with tears.”
Laha nodded as if he understood from the bottom of his heart what she meant. “And they weren’t even born here . . .” He interrupted her with a sad look.
Something that she had read about the whites came to mind, something that nobody talked about. Those who had been born on the island felt that it was a part of them, and yet they had been forced to leave what they considered the country of their childhood. But it was unlikely that Laha was referring to them.
“Imagine how those who are living in exile feel!” Laha interrupted her again after a short sigh. “Well, here we are. I hope you find what you are looking for, but don’t get your hopes up. In countries with huge shortages, education is at the bottom of the list.”
She nodded, pensively. They walked in silence toward the white-walled buildings with arches under red roofs finished off with narrow green eaves that made up the university area, full of bright grassed areas dotted with palm trees and bordered with red-earth paths. When they got to the door of the main building, Clarence said, “Tell me something, Laha. I can guess the answer, but to be sure. You and your brother, are you Bubi or Fang?”
“We’re Bubis. Just as well you asked me and not Iniko!” Laha laughed. “He would have answered you in an offended tone, ‘Isn’t it obvious?’”
Over the next few days, Laha was the perfect host. In the mornings, each worked on what he or she had to do. While he reviewed the oil installations, Clarence looked for old documents on the history of Guinea—not only in the university library but also in others in the city, especially the Spanish-Guinean Cultural Center and the Spanish College in the Ela Nguema district—with the faint hope of finding something useful on the period that interested her, be it censuses, photos, or testimonies. In the afternoons, Laha took her around to see different corners of the city, and they finished up by having a relaxed chat in one or another terrace on the seafront. At night, he wanted to take her to restaurants with local food and cooking, but after two days it was clear to Laha that Clarence tended to lean more toward the fish and seafood of Club Nautico and Italian food from Pizza Place than toward the enormous snails in many establishments.
Yes, Clarence was really enjoying a true vacation, but she was also conscious that the days were quickly passing by and she had not advanced one bit in her research.
She did not know where to go looking either.