New life
Ears, idle ears
Zenga Longmore
Whenever we hear Boko's voice over the intercom, Olumba and I frantically tidy up. There are ten flights of stairs to climb between the intercom and my flat, so I know that at least one room will look in reasonable shape by the time Boko arrives. My clearing-up method is ingeniously sim- ple, and I recommend all mothers to try it when elder sisters pay social calls. All the stray mess is piled in a corner, then a cloth is thrown over the top. The final effect is that of a large, bumpy animal crouching beneath a sheet, but no one has as yet dared ask what it could be.
Last Wednesday, Boko was accompa- nied by a somewhat saggy woman with pebble glasses and long yellow teeth all pointing in different directions. In strange, trilling tones, she piped, 'Hi-yah. How are you?' `This', explained Boko, Is my friend Amanda. She's a social worker.' Olumba's gulp could be heard from the kitchen. Glancing nervously at the cloth, I saw that the only course of action was to sit them down with hot drinks. For a while the conversation flowed like glue. Then Amanda's career was mentioned, and things began to hot up. With a great deal of eye-rolling and pauses for dramatic effect, Amanda revealed that one of her clients, a mother of three, is in some trouble with the social services because her house is in constant disarray.
`H-how tidy does your house have to be before a social worker deems you fit to be a good mother?' I asked, clutching Omalara to my bosom.
`Ha ha ha. I think you've over-simplified the situation. Our policy is to judge clients by the state of their homes. Domestic disorder can be an obstruction to basic parenting skills. Do you hear what I'm saying?' She then shot a look at the cloth, which very nearly caused me to drop Omalara. Boko briskly ordered her to 'shut up, and soon the flow of chit-chat changed course. We discussed, if 1 remember right- ly, whether Amanda's bathroom should be in blue or white. This went on for some time, there being much to be said on both sides, but for some reason I was unable to enter into the spirit of things.
When a social worker enters the life of a family, for whatever reason, there should be 101 things to take into consideration, and a tidy house ought to be bottom of the list. A pristinely clean house filled with children should arouse far more sinister feelings than a room awash with cheery mess.
What sort of childhood can you have if you are constantly being told to tidy up, or to sit still whilst manic adults clear up around you? If more social workers came round to my way of thinking, fewer clients would pretend to be out as soon as they saw the ominous red Citroen parking outside the door.
Omalara is too busy being admired at present to bother about cleanliness. On Olumba's insistence, she has just had her ears pierced, and the two gold studs have evoked widespread acclaim. So far, only my posh friend Tinuke, who lives on the borders of Kensington, has complained.
`How could you have done something so barbaric to a seven-and-a-half-month-old baby?"0h, it's all right, it hardly hurt at all.' That's not the point. See how com- mon it makes her look!'
Olumba, who had spent the morning showing her off to his cousins, sucked his teeth loudly. `Omalara could never look common o. Na uncommonly handsome pikine, dis.'
Fortunately, Tinuke had the good sense to be dumbfounded.
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