New life

Small whirlwind in Brixton

Zenga Longmore

Mention the word 'half-term' to Olumba, and witness a man shudder like a faulty washing-machine on rinse. The reason for this startling reaction is that every half-term holiday Charlene, a Brix- ton working mother, brings her seven- and five-year-old to my flat.

'They're no trouble at all,' she inevitably says, pushing her big-eyed offspring through the door. 'After all, looking after two children is only half the bother of looking after one.'

During this little speech, Collette and Geeroy stand meekly sucking on various fingers, but as soon as the goodbye kisses are over and their mother leaves, a wild screaming resounds throughout South London. A cloud of dust whirls from hallway to living-room and from living- room to kitchen. Every now and then an arm, a leg and some unspecified blunt instrument flails from the cloud and smashes on to some valuable object, mak- ing it horribly plain that the whirlwind of terror is none other than Collette and Geeroy.

'Stop that at once! Can't you sit quietly with an improving book or something?' 'She hit me first, I was only getting my own back!' He started it. Shame!' O000ph!' `Aaagh!' Before my modest flat becomes too humble for words. I whip Omalara into her buggy, yank the children through the door, and leg it down the ten flights of stairs. Once in the street I take them somewhere far away in the vain hope of tiring them out.

Last Monday I headed for East Street market. All the way there, I desperately tried to get Geeroy to hold one side of the pushchair and Collette the other; a hope- less mission. Geeroy swung great kicks at Collette from behind my back, whilst Collette waved wild punches at her brother over Omalara's head. 'Got you!' No you didn't.' Wham! 'Yes I did!' At the market Collette and Geeroy's shrieks were drowned out by the skipping songs of East End children who played by the roadside. One merry ditty went as follows:

Kid one: How's your father?

Rest of kids: All right.

Kid one: Died in the chip shop.

Rest of kids: Last night.

Kid one: What was he eating?

Rest of kids: Raw fish.

Kid one: How did he die, then?

Rest of kids: Like this.

And all the children fell clutching their throats in gruesome but entertaining death agonies. Hopefully I asked them if they would mind playing with `these two sweet children', but Collette and Geeroy sneered quite openly at a pastime that did not involve causing one another multiple in- juries.

Back at the flat, Olumba tried to interest Collette and Geeroy in an Ibo folk tale or two, but gave up after being walloped over the head with a bag of Maxi Pampers. 'Sorry, that wasn't meant for you, it was meant for Geeroy.'

Only Omalara, who found the display of unbridled brutality uproariously funny, was sorry when Charlene called to collect the children.

'Thanks,' she said as she helped coats on to the little angels who were once again chewing sweetly on their thumbs, 'I'm working late tomorrow so you won't mind them staying till eight, will you?'

'Of course not.' This was easy to say, because Olumba had promised to take them to the Science Museum the next day.

When Olumba returned from the Scien- ce Museum, he was in too fraught a state to speak. It's been three days now, and he still hasn't been able to tell me why he came back with only one shoe.