Baking Cakes in Kigali (22 page)

Angel took advantage of a brief silence as Thérèse paused to reload. “That is a good dream for your girls. How are you earning money, Thérèse?”

“That has been a problem because I don’t have a job. But, Angel, I have an oven! It belonged to my husband’s mother and it came to me after she was late and I never used it because it needed a tank of gas and that is too expensive. We were using the oven as a cupboard, but then I heard about you and I got the idea that maybe I can use it to bake some cakes and sell them.”

“That is a very good idea!”

“Yes. I’ve been buying boxes of tomatoes at the market and then selling them in small bags on the street, and from that I’ve managed to save money. Now I have enough to buy a tank of gas, and I’ve cleaned the oven and it’s ready to use for baking cakes.”

“
Eh
, you’ve worked hard.”

“Yes. But I don’t know how to bake cakes.”

“
Eh?”

“No. So I’m asking you, Angel, will you teach me how?” Angel had explained to Thérèse that it was not every oven
that could bake a cake: some were too slow, some became too hot and some became hotter on one side than the other. First they would have to test Thérèse’s oven, and if it was a good oven for cakes, then Angel would be very happy to teach her. The following week Angel had visited Thérèse, taking with her a small baking tin—already greased and floured—and a plastic container that had once held Blue Band margarine, in which the mixed ingredients for a two-egg cake were sealed.

The gas oven had stood gleaming in the corner of the cramped one-room home, with the tank of gas standing next to it. Angel could see at once that the oven was tilting slightly backwards on the uneven surface of the bare soil on which it stood. She had sent Thérèse’s daughters to ask around amongst the neighbours for the loan of a bottle of Fanta, and when the girls had returned, she had laid the bottle on its side on the top of the oven. Together with Thérèse, she had pushed bits of cardboard under the two back feet of the oven until the girls, standing on a crate to see, had declared that the bubble of air was now in the middle of the bright orange liquid in the bottle. The oven was now level.

Anxiously, they had waited for the oven to heat up to number three on the dial, and then they had put the cake inside and waited anxiously again while it baked. Angel had found herself regretting that she had brought the batter from home already mixed: perhaps Thérèse’s girls would have enjoyed—as Vinas always had—scraping their small fingers around the sides of the mixing bowl and licking them clean. Neighbours had joined them in their vigil. When Angel had at last declared the cake done and withdrawn it from the oven to reveal an evenly browned, level surface, the neighbours had erupted in applause and Thérèse had shed a few tears. Somehow, that two-egg cake had stretched far enough to allow every onlooker a taste.

Now the time had arrived for Thérèse to learn how to bake her own cakes, and her first efforts were cooling in Angel’s apartment as the two women sat in the yard drinking their tea.

Angel was about to speak when Prosper came down the stairs into the yard, stamping his feet down hard on each step and muttering to himself angrily. Ignoring Angel’s greeting, he marched to the door of his office, unlocked it and went inside, slamming it shut behind him.

“
Eh!
Why is that man angry?” asked Thérèse.

“I don’t know,” replied Angel. “Maybe he went to drink Primus at the bar nearby and he found it closed.”

“
Eh
, my husband was like that,” said Thérèse. “When there was no beer in his belly, it was like two armies were fighting each other inside his head.”

“
Eh
, and with others it’s the beer itself that invites those armies into their heads and then lines them up against each other.”

Both women shook their heads and tutted for a while, then Angel said, “When we’ve finished our tea, I’ll teach you how to make two kinds of icing, one with Blue Band and one with water.” She shifted slightly on her
kanga
to move her bare feet out of the encroaching sunlight. “It’s enough to know how to make those two kinds. There are other kinds, but they’re expensive because they need chocolate or eggs.”

“No, I don’t want to know about expensive icing. I’m not going to be a person who makes expensive cakes, and I don’t think that I’ll take orders for beautiful colours and shapes like in your photo album. I think I’ll mostly make cupcakes, because those will be easy to sell on the street, and then I can make a big cake when there’s a big event like soccer or basketball, and I can sell slices there.”

“That’s a good plan.”

“I think I’ll make more money from cakes than from tomatoes.”

“That is true,” agreed Angel. “There are many tomatoes in Kigali, and anybody can sell a tomato. A tomato is not a special thing. But a cake is a very special thing.”

“Very special,” agreed Thérèse. “It is only a person who has an oven who can bake a cake.”

Smiling, they drank their tea quietly for a few moments as Angel prepared herself to raise a subject that, when she allowed herself to focus on it, troubled her deeply.

“Tell me, Thérèse, may I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course, Angel.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“My mother? No, unfortunately she’s late.”

“And did you … Did you ever tell her that you were sick?”

Thérèse took a sip of her tea before answering. “Yes, I did. It was only when my baby boy died that they advised me to have the test. I was shocked when they told me I was positive—”

Angel interrupted. “Odile told me that that is the way, the time, that many mothers discover that they’re positive. When a baby is late.”

“It’s true, Angel.”

“And, Thérèse, how was it when you told your mother?”

“
Eh
, it’s a very hard thing to tell a mother! And I regret so much that I told mine. It upset her too much. Truly, Angel, I think it was my news that made her late so soon.”

“
Eh?”

“It shocked her too much, and I think she preferred to die before she had to watch me die. We didn’t know then about the medication. If I could go back in time and untell her, she could be alive today and not worrying about me being sick—because I’m well.”

“That is not an easy thought for you to have, Thérèse. I’m
sorry.” Angel swallowed a sip of tea. “Now … say you met a girl who was sick. Would you advise her not to tell her mother?”

“Eh! That is a very difficult question to answer. Each and every case is different, and only the girl herself will know what to do.” She drained her mug. “Although, in my case I thought I knew what to do but I did the wrong thing. I wish I hadn’t told the truth, Angel. A lie would have been so much kinder to my mother. Sometimes a lie can hold more love in its heart than the truth.”

Angel was contemplating this when a shout began in the street, distant at first and then brought nearer by voices closer to the compound:
“Amazi!
Water.”

“
Eh
, the water has come back,” said Angel, scrambling to her feet. “Let us wash the mixing bowls so that we can make the icing.”

LATER
, as they had arranged, Angel and Thérèse knocked on the door of Jenna’s apartment. It was exactly eleven-thirty.

“Perfect timing, Angel,” said Jenna, opening the door. “We’ve just finished today’s lesson.”

“That’s good,” said Angel. “Jenna, this is Thérèse, my student.”

“Delighted to meet you, Thérèse,” said Jenna in French, shaking Thérèse’s hand. “Let me introduce you to
my
students. That’s Leocadie, and next to her is Agathe, and on the other side of the table there’s Eugenia and Inés.”

Thérèse worked her way around the table, greeting the women in Kinyarwanda and shaking each of them by the hand.

“Good morning, ladies,” said Angel in English. “I’m sorry that I don’t know French, and if I speak Swahili then Jenna and Agathe will not understand me, and if I speak the small
bit of Kinyarwanda that I know, Jenna won’t understand me. So I’m going to speak in English and Jenna will repeat after me in French.”

As Jenna translated, Angel put down the plate that she had been holding.

“Ladies, you are honoured to be the first people in Kigali to taste cakes baked by our sister Thérèse.” As Jenna translated, everyone looked at Thérèse, who beamed and dipped her head. “It’s a new business for her; a new way of supporting her two girls. Our job today is to taste these cakes and to help Thérèse with our opinions and advice.”

Nestled together on the plate were a number of cupcakes: half of them decorated with pale yellow butter icing—made with margarine—and half with white glacé icing. Not wanting to spoil her first cakes in any way, Thérèse had been too nervous to add colour to her own icing, but she had observed and taken notes as Angel had coloured the icing for her own batch of cupcakes. She had been amazed by the number of colours it was possible to make from just three: red, blue and yellow.

Jenna and her students applied themselves earnestly to their task. The cakes were unanimously declared to be extremely delicious, and there was discussion about which type of icing would be more popular. Finally, agreement was reached that, while some adults might prefer the glacé icing, children would probably prefer the butter icing—and that Thérèse could probably charge more for a cake with butter icing on it because it made the cake look a bit bigger.

“
Eh
, that is very good advice,” said Thérèse. “Thank you. Now I’m going to ask my teacher to try one of my cakes, and then I’m going to eat one myself.”

Silently, six pairs of eyes watched Angel as she peeled away the paper case and took a bite. She chewed slowly, savouring her mouthful, then swallowed.

“Thérèse,” she said, with a serious and solemn expression befitting a teacher, “this is a very fine cake indeed.”

Five pairs of eyes swung towards Jenna, who mimicked Angel’s expression as she translated. The women erupted into laughter and applause, and finally Thérèse felt that she could relax and eat a cake herself. As she took her first mouthful, a broad grin spread across her face.

“Okay, ladies,” said Jenna, clapping her hands together with an air of authority, “time to go. You all need to get back to your jobs, and I need to make this place look like you were never here before my husband even thinks about coming home for lunch.”

“
Eh
, Inés,” said Angel as the women walked down the stairs, “I think you should fetch Prosper from his office before you go and open up the bar. I think he wanted to have a beer there earlier when you were closed for your lesson.”

“Eh, that Prosper!” said Inés, shaking her head. “I’ve told him many times that the bar is shut from half-past ten to half-past eleven on weekdays now.”

“I’m sure that he doesn’t want to accept that,” said Eugenia. “When there’s something that a man wants, it is
now
that he wants that something. Waiting is something that is very difficult for a man to do.”

Angel thought of Eugenia being sent to get condoms for the Egyptian.

“Eh, men?” said Leocadie, shaking her head. “Uh-uh.” “Men? Uh-uh-uh,” agreed Inés.

“And my shop was shut, too,” said Leocadie. “Prosper couldn’t buy beer there, either.”

“Exactly,” said Angel. “Now he’s sitting inside his office with the door shut, and you know there’s no window there, and no light. He’s sitting in the dark.”

The women laughed. They had reached ground level now.

“Okay,” said Inés with a sigh. “I’ll go and get him.” She headed towards the stairs leading down into the yard.

“
Eh
, and make sure he takes his Bible with him,” Angel called after her, still laughing. “Ask him to show you the verses that talk about the virtue of patience.”

EARLY
that afternoon, just after Titi had finished washing up after lunch and had settled for her afternoon nap, Angel received a surprise visitor.

“Gasana! Welcome!” she said, ushering the translator into the apartment. “Children, you remember Mr Gasana, who works with
Baba?
We went to Cyangugu with him.”

Gasana stretched across the coffee table around which the children sat on the floor, and on which their homework books vied for space, shaking each of the children by the hand.

“I can’t stay long, Mrs T; the driver has just dropped me here while he goes for fuel, and then he’s taking me to a meeting. But I need to discuss some business with you very quickly.”

“Then let us sit at my work table,” said Angel, indicating an upright wooden chair next to the table and sitting on another herself. “Do you want to make changes to your order?”

“In a way, Mrs T. I know from your Cake Order Form that I signed that it’s not possible for my deposit to be refunded, so I’m not actually
cancelling
my order. But I was wondering, Mrs T, could I
postpone
it?”

Angel considered this. “So you want to change the delivery date?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure yet what date I’ll need the cake.”

“But is it not for the first meeting of your new book club? Are the people not able to come?”

“
Eh
, Mrs T, it’s me who is unable to come! The others are still very excited. Everybody has managed to read
Things Fall
Apart
, even though we have only one copy, and we’re all ready to discuss it. But I’ve just received news that my brother in Byumba is late.”

“
Eh
, Gasana! I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Mrs T. So now I’ll have to go and arrange for burial, and of course I can’t be here for the book club this weekend. I’ve spoken to some of the others, and they say they don’t want to have the meeting without me because the club was my idea, and it’s my book.”

“Of course.”

“And I don’t know yet when everybody will be free again, so I can’t set the date yet.”

“No, I understand. You can just tell me when you’re going to be ready for the cake. I’m sure it will be soon.”

“I hope so,” said Gasana, but he shook his head.
“Eh
, Mrs T, I’m obliged to inherit my brother’s wife and his four children. Obviously we cannot all fit in my small house. I don’t know how I’m going to afford to have a wife and children. Marriage was not in my immediate three-year plan.”