Baking Cakes in Kigali (18 page)

Sophie shook her head. “That judge could
only
have been a man!”

“
Eh
, but I’ve interrupted your story now. So what did you do?”

“Well, then I thought that maybe Omar wanted to have sex with this woman, with Eugenia, because we’ve seen him coming and going with one girlfriend after the other. So I thought he was maybe insisting on sex and she was insisting on a condom and she came to me as another woman to ask for one. So if that was the case, then I couldn’t refuse.”

“You’re right, Sophie. Under those circumstances you cannot refuse. Uh-uh.”

“Mm, and all of this happened in my head within about a second, and as soon as I’d decided that I couldn’t refuse, then I was stuck with another decision. She said Omar had sent her
to ask for
some
condoms. Not
a
condom:
some
condoms. So how many was I expected to give?”
“Eh!”

“Everybody knows that when a neighbour comes and asks you for some sugar, you give a
cup
of sugar. That’s the etiquette. But what’s the etiquette for condoms? How many do you give? There are no etiquette books where you can look up something like that.”

“I can see that that is a very difficult thing to decide. Obviously when somebody has asked for
some
, you cannot just give one. But how many is some?”

“Especially with someone like Omar. Catherine’s bedroom is directly above his and she can hear how … well, how active he is, especially at weekends. His bedroom window is always open, and I’m sure nobody does it more loudly than him. So he might have been expecting or needing a huge number. But then, he has his Land Rover sitting outside in the street and it’s nothing for him to go and buy some condoms any time. That pharmacy opposite BCDR is open 24/7. But, anyway, this was Saturday morning and loads of places were open. So I could have given him just a small number to tide him over and then he could have gone to buy more.”

“So what did you decide?”

“Well, eventually I decided to give him one of those packs of Prudence that Catherine gives out at her workshops. There’s a strip of three or four in there.”

“I’m sure that was a good decision,” assured Angel, casually glancing up at the Egyptian’s balcony again to satisfy herself that he was not standing there listening to their conversation. “But I can understand why you don’t want to greet him now.”

“Mm, what’s he going to say to me:
Hello, Sophie, thanks for the condoms, I really enjoyed them?”

Angel started laughing and Sophie joined her, and soon their laughter was echoing around the compound’s yard. But
it stopped suddenly when they heard the noise of a balcony door. Angel’s eyes shot upwards and, despite herself, Sophie swung her head round to look.

Titi stepped sleepily out on to the balcony of the Tungarazas’ apartment and waved and smiled.

“There you are, Auntie!”

“Hello, Titi,” called Angel. “Is everybody okay?”

“Yes, Auntie, they’re still sleeping.”

“
Sawa
, Titi. Please make more tea and bring it for us. Thank you.”

As Titi went back into the apartment, Angel turned to Sophie and said,
“Eh
, I’m glad that Titi was not the Egyptian! Even I won’t know how to greet him now.”

“At least you’ll just have to try not to laugh. I’ll be so embarrassed and I’m sure I’ll turn scarlet, then he’ll think I’m blushing because I fancy him and he’ll be convinced I’m ready for sex with him because I have condoms ready and waiting.”

Angel laughed. “I’m sorry, Sophie, I know I shouldn’t laugh, because this could be a serious something, but I can’t help it.”

“It’s okay, Angel, you’ve made me laugh about it, too.” “Then you’ve found the answer to your question!” “What question?”

“The question about whether you should laugh or be angry about this story.”

Sophie smiled. “You’re brilliant, Angel. What would I do without you to talk to?”

“
Eh
, you have many friends to talk to,” said Angel, “and I’m happy to be one of them. But I’m sorry to be giving you tea without cake today. I made many cupcakes yesterday but there were many visitors.”

“That’s okay, Angel. Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about. You’ve fed me so much of your delicious cake this year, and now at last I’d like to place an order.”

“Eh
, Sophie, is your birthday coming?”

“No, no. Actually, the cake I’d like to order is only part of what I’d like to ask of you. Perhaps I should tell you everything before I presume to place my order. You might not agree, and then I won’t need the cake.”

Angel looked confused. “Sophie?”

“Okay, let me put it all into context for you. All this year I’ve been trying to encourage the girls at my school to think about their futures. They don’t know how lucky they are to be attending secondary school—most girls in Rwanda never go beyond primary level.”

“Yes, and not just in Rwanda. Ask anyone you meet from any African country and they’ll tell you it can be like that at home, too.”

“Mm, a girl’s only a temporary member of the family; she’s going to grow up and marry into somebody else’s family, so educating her is seen as a waste of money. So these girls are very lucky to be getting a secondary education—especially in a school for girls only, where they aren’t going to be harassed by boys. But there are very few jobs available in Rwanda, especially for the girls who aren’t academic enough to go on to university, so I want them to think about
creating
jobs for themselves.”

“You mean they must become entrepreneurs?”

“Mm!”

“Do you know that professor who teaches entrepreneur-ship at KIST, Professor Pillay?”

“Mm, he’s coming to speak to the girls this week.” “Oh, here’s Titi with our tea.”

Titi was edging sideways down the steps into the yard, trying simultaneously to watch where she was putting her feet and to keep an eye on the mugs of tea that she was balancing on a tray. Sophie jumped up from the ground and went
to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. Taking the tray from her, she said,
“Asante
, Titi. Thank you.” It was one of the few things Sophie knew how to say in Swahili.

Titi beamed at her and then went back up the stairs as Sophie carried the tray over to Angel.

“So, anyway, some of the girls have at last understood what I’m on about, and they’ve formed their own club, and to flatter me as their English teacher they’ve given it an English name. It’s called Girls Who Mean Business.”

Angel clapped her hands together.
“Eh
, that’s a very good name for that club! And that club is a very good idea.”

“Mm, and once every two weeks they’re going to invite someone to come and talk to them after school. Professor Pillay will be the first, and he’ll give them some background on the whole idea of entrepreneurship. Then after him they want to ask women who run their own businesses to come and tell them their own stories.”

“To give them some steps that they can follow themselves?”

“Mm, and to inspire them generally.” “That’s a very good idea.”

“So, Angel, will you come and inspire them a fortnight after the professor?”

Angel had been about to take a sip of tea. She put her mug back down on the tray and looked at Sophie. “Me?” Then she clapped her right hand over her chest and asked again,
“Me?”

“Of course you, Angel! You’re a woman! You run your own successful business! You’re ideal!”

“But what would I say to them?”

“Just tell them how you started your business; maybe tell them about any mistakes you made or any important lessons you learned along the way.”

“Eh! I remember at first I didn’t know how to calculate how
much I must charge for a cake. I only thought about what the customer would think was a good price to pay. I didn’t know about counting the number of eggs in a cake and calculating how much I had paid for each egg and what-what-what. It was a while before I learned how to make a profit!”

“You see? That’s
exactly
what the girls need to hear! And you can tell them about your successes as well, and show them your photo album of all the beautiful cakes that you’ve made.”

Angel was warming to the idea. “And I can speak to them about what it means to be a professional somebody.” “That will be wonderful, Angel.”

Then suddenly Angel stopped smiling and looked at Sophie with a disappointed expression. “But, Sophie, how will I be able to tell them anything? I don’t know Kinyarwanda! I don’t know French!”

“No problem,” assured Sophie. “Their English is okay; not great, but okay. I speak enough French to help out if there’s anything they can’t follow, and I’m sure some of them will understand if you want to use a few words of Swahili. We’ll all translate for one another and everyone will understand.”

“Are you sure it’ll work?”

“Listen, if people want to understand something, they find a way to understand it. I know those girls. I’m sure they’ll all be very interested in what you have to say.”

“Okay. And I can show them my Cake Order Form, the one you typed for me. That speaks many languages.”

“Good idea. Practical stuff is what they need, not just theory. I suspect Professor Pillay is going to be a bit too theoretical, so they’ll need loads of practical stuff after that. And that’s why I want to order a cake from you; I want them to experience your product!”

“That’s a very good idea! Of course they must taste my
cake! And of course I’ll give you a very good price because you’re a volunteer.”

“Thank you, Angel. And thank you for agreeing to come and inspire the girls.”

“I’m happy that you invited me, Sophie. And I’ll be happy to meet your Girls Who Mean Business. Now, what is their cake going to look like?”

“Oh, I’ll leave that to you, Angel, I’m sure you’ll have much better ideas than me. There’s still two weeks to go, so there’s plenty of time for you to think about it. When you’ve made a decision and calculated a price, just let me know and we can fill in a Cake Order Form and I’ll give you the deposit.” Movement on the stairs into the yard caught Sophie’s attention. “Grace! Faith! Hello!”

“Hello, Auntie Sophie,” said the girls as they took turns to bend down and give her a hug.

“Grace,” said Angel, “before you sit, please run up to the apartment and bring
Mama’s
diary and a pen.” As Grace turned and dashed towards the stairs Angel said to Sophie, “I must write this in my diary now.
Eh
, imagine if I forgot to come and talk to your girls! That would not be a good example of a professional somebody!”

Sophie laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t let you forget. Now, Faith, would you and Grace like to come and play on my laptop upstairs for a while?”

“Ooh, Auntie, yes, please!”

“Are you sure, Sophie? They won’t be in your way?”

“Of course not. You know I love them; they remind me of my nieces back home. And Catherine’s out with her boyfriend, so they won’t be disturbing her.”

“Okay, let’s all go upstairs, then. There’s no need for Grace to come down here with my diary. Go and tell her, Faith.”

Faith shot off up the stairs as Angel and Sophie gathered
their four empty mugs on to the tray, shook the red soil from the
kangas
that they had been sitting on, and headed back up towards Angel’s apartment.

“Eh, Sophie, by the way!” said Angel, stopping a quarter of the way up the flight of stairs. “I know another woman who runs her own business. Perhaps you can invite her to come and inspire your girls as well.”

“Great! Who is she?”

Angel paused for a moment, then looked at Sophie and said, “Jeanne d’Arc.”

The two women laughed all the way up the stairs.

ANGEL FELT THE
perspiration collect into a droplet and begin to trickle slowly downwards from her temple, but she was unable to move either of her arms to extract a tissue from her brassiere. Her left arm was pinned to her side by a very old man who was sitting half on her lap and half beside her, while her right arm was immobilised by the thigh and left buttock of the young man who stood next to her, bending right over her. Her eldest grandson pressed himself on to her lap, snivel-ling miserably. Really, this was not a convenient time for the Change to be asserting itself.

Unable to see ahead clearly, she hoped that it was safe to assume that she would not be the only passenger wanting to alight from the minibus-taxi at her stop, which should be coming up very soon. She was right: two or three other passengers began to hand their fares forward to the conductor who stood over her, signalling their intention to disembark at the next stop. She clutched the money for their fares in her right hand, but recognised that she would be unable to give it
to the conductor without either squeezing her fist up between the metal of the minibus’s door and the man’s buttocks or pushing it up in front of him between Benedict’s back and the man’s private parts. She decided to risk neither.

As the driver brought the taxi to a halt, the conductor skilfully slid the door open with his right hand behind his back and stepped out backwards. Angel handed him her money and he assisted her by lifting the child from her lap and placing him on the ground so that she could step out herself, clearing a space through which others could disembark and new passengers could board. The taxi drove off, and Angel led Benedict to the shade of a flamboyant tree, where she delved into her brassiere for a tissue with which to dab at her face and another for Benedict to use to wipe his eyes and blow his nose.