Baking Cakes in Kigali (38 page)

The girl laughed. “Yes, I’m doing Management. But I’m sorry, Mrs Tungaraza, we have not introduced ourselves. I am Véronique, and my friend is Marie.”

Angel shook hands with both of them. “Are you also studying Management, Marie?”

“No, I’m doing Civil Engineering. We’ll both graduate next year, then I’m hoping to go to Johannesburg for a Master’s.”

“Well, your English is very good. I’m sure you’ll be able to study there very easily.”

“Thank you, Mrs Tungaraza. At KIST we follow the government’s policy of bilingualism.”

“Don’t underestimate yourselves, girls,” said Angel. “Actually, you’re multilingual, because you know Kinyarwanda and Swahili as well as French and English. Please, girls, let us not think as Africans that it is only European things that are important. When you two become Ministers of what-what-what in your government, you must set an example to others by saying that you are multilingual.”

“
Eh
, Mrs Tungaraza!” said Véronique, laughing. “We are not going to become Ministers of what-what-what!”

“Somebody is going to become those Ministers,” assured
Angel. “Somebody who has studied at KIST or the National University in Butare. Why not you?”

Véronique and Marie exchanged glances.

“Mrs Tungaraza, you have given us a new idea,” said Véronique. “I have only thought as far as graduating and getting a job in Kigali as an accountant. Now I will think about the possibility of bigger things.”

“That is good,” said Angel. “But the reason I came to talk to you was not to turn you into government ministers. I came to talk to you because I saw you looking at that young man.” Angel nodded her head in the direction of Elvis Khumalo, who was deep in conversation with Kwame.

Once again, Véronique and Marie exchanged glances, this time looking embarrassed.

“He looks nice,” said Marie, shyly.

“Oh, he is a very, very nice young man,” assured Angel, “and I will introduce you to him in a moment. But first I must tell you that he is not a man who likes girls.”

“Mrs Tungaraza?”

“He’s from South Africa,” explained Angel. “I have even met his boyfriend.”

“
Eh!
He has a boyfriend?” asked Véronique. She looked at Angel with big eyes.

“That is a fashion in America,” said Marie, disappointed. “I didn’t know it had come to South Africa, too.”

“South Africa is very modern,” said Angel. “But let me introduce you to him, Marie. He lives in Johannesburg and he can tell you all about studying there.”

Angel took the girls over to Elvis and introduced them, leaving them to talk. Earlier, Elvis had photographed the wedding cake from many different angles, including from a first-floor balcony, where he had lain on the ground and angled the camera through the railings, under the ropes of the massive tarpaulin that covered the yard. From above, the cake
had looked like a giant sunflower. Elvis had taken other photographs during the wedding, of course: photos of the bride and groom, the dancers, the women cooking in the street outside the compound, Angel and Leocadie in their beautiful dresses—but he had concentrated particularly on the cake because that was the part of the wedding that
True Love
had sponsored. Angel could not wait to receive a copy of the magazine with her cake featured in it. She would be sure to show it to Mrs Margaret Wanyika so that the Tanzanian Ambassador to Rwanda would know that a Tanzanian living in Kigali was famous in South Africa—and also, if the truth be told, so that Mrs Wanyika could see how beautiful a wedding cake could be when it was not white. Of course, Angel would not mention to Mrs Wanyika that the man who had taken the photographs and written the article had a boyfriend.

“Thank you for inviting me, Angel,” said Kwame, whose conversation with Elvis had been interrupted by the introduction of the girls.

“It’s my pleasure, Kwame. I hope this wedding has helped you to believe in reconciliation.”

“Oh, it will take a lot to make me believe in that, Angel.” He smiled broadly. “But I’m pretending to believe in it, just for tonight.”

Angel smiled back at him. “And how does it feel to pretend to believe?”

Kwame considered his answer before he spoke. “It feels good,” he said. “Peaceful. Perhaps that’s how people here get through each day.”

“
Eh
, Kwame! You just concentrate on feeling good and peaceful. Don’t worry yourself tonight about whether people believe in reconciliation in their hearts or just pretend in their heads to believe in it. Tonight you’re going to be happy! By the way, have you seen what Leocadie and I did with Akosua’s fabric?” Angel gestured at her dress.

“It’s beautiful. Elvis has promised to send me copies of his photos so that I can send them to Akosua. She’ll show them to the ladies who printed the fabric and I’m sure they’ll be very excited.”

“Make sure that Elvis writes down in his notebook the name of that group of ladies. That must be in his article for the magazine.
Eh
, this is a truly pan-African celebration today! A wedding in Central Africa, organised by somebody from East Africa, cloth from West Africa, a magazine from South Africa.
Eh!”

“Ah, pan-Africanism!” said the CIA, who had appeared silently at Angel’s elbow. “That sounds like an interesting conversation.”

Angel introduced Kwame and the CIA, and left them to talk while she steered Véronique away from Elvis and Marie, who were discussing Johannesburg’s nightlife.

“I’d like to introduce you to a very nice young man, Véronique. He is like a son to me.”

“Does
he
like girls?” asked Véronique.

Angel laughed. “Very much! Now, where is he? I saw him dancing just a moment ago.” Angel scanned the dancers. There was Modeste, dancing with Leocadie, and Catherine’s boyfriend with Sophie. Gaspard was with one of the Girls Who Mean Business, and Ken Akimoto was with another. The drummer from the dancing troupe had attached himself to Linda, who was wearing something very small and very tight. Omar was dancing with Jenna, and Pius was doing his best with Grace. At last Angel spotted the young man she was looking for and, as the song faded, she grabbed him away from Catherine.

“Bosco, I want you to meet Véronique. Véronique, this is my dear friend Bosco.”

The two shook hands, assessing each other shyly with fleeting glances from downcast eyes.

“Véronique will graduate from KIST next year,” said Angel. “She is not one of those girls who want to study overseas. She is going to work in Kigali as an accountant.”

“That is very, very good,” said Bosco.

“Bosco works for the United Nations,” continued Angel. “He has a very good job there as a driver.”

“Eh, the United Nations?” Véronique sounded impressed: it was well known that a driver for the UN earned more than she could hope to earn as an accountant for any Rwandan business.

Angel left the two alone and moved off to where she recognised two men standing at the edge of the party, sipping sodas.

“Mr Mukherjee! Dr Manavendra! Welcome! Are your wives not with you?”

“Hello, Mrs Tungaraza,” replied Mr Mukherjee. “No, my wife is at home with Rajesh and Kamal. There is no one to look after them.”

“Ah, yes,” said Angel. “Miremba is working here tonight. And where is Mrs Manavendra?”

“At home, too,” said Dr Manavendra. “She is fearing germs.”

“Too many germs from shaking hands,” explained Mr Mukherjee. “Very dangerous habit in Rwanda.”

“Very dangerous habit,” agreed Dr Manavendra. “But we came to greet the couple. They look very happy.”

“Very happy,” agreed Mr Mukherjee. “It’s a lovely party, Mrs Tungaraza.”

“Lovely,” agreed Dr Manavendra.

As Angel listened to the two men echoing each other, a voice behind her caught her attention. The words poured a bucket of iced water down her spine.

“I think it’s time you and I had a talk. We’ve been sharing the attentions of the same man, and everybody knows it.”

The voice was Linda’s.

Angel wanted to turn around, but she knew that she could not bear to see the pain on Jenna’s face as she learned about her husband’s infidelity with Linda. Yet she had to turn around, because she had to support her friend.
Eh!
Why did this have to happen now? It was going to spoil Leocadie’s wedding!

She turned around. Facing Linda was not Jenna, but Sophie.

“Ah, yes,” Sophie said. “But everybody knows that Captain Calixte only came to you because I didn’t want him. I was the one he really wanted.”

“That’s a lie,” declared Linda. “He only asked you to marry him because I was already married! The minute my divorce came through he was knocking on my door.”

Linda and Sophie collapsed into fits of laughter.

Relieved, Angel excused herself from the two Indians and went to look for Jenna. She found her chatting to Ken, who was rather full of Primus.

“When this party’s finished, you must come to my apartment for karaoke,” he said to Angel, rather more loudly than was necessary.

“Thank you, Ken, but I think I’ll be too tired. It’s been a very long day for me!”

“Everything’s been beautiful, Angel,” Jenna assured her. “Ken, I hope you’re going to invite that young man who’s been doing the music to come for karaoke. He’s been singing along, and his voice is great.”

“Good idea,” declared Ken. “Maybe we can use his mikes so that more people can sing.” He moved off rather unsteadily towards Idi-Amini.

“I’m glad I have a moment alone with you, Angel,” said Jenna. “I want to tell you that I’ve made a very big decision.” She looked around her before leaning closer to Angel. “I’m going to leave my husband.”

Angel was surprised—and she was also confused by her own reaction: the end of a marriage was sad, but this news made her feel happy.

“When we go home for the holidays at the end of the year, I’m not going to come back.”

“Eh, Jenna, I’ll miss you! And what about your students?”

“They can read now—enough to carry on without me, anyway. I’ve kept in touch with Akosua by email, and she’s been encouraging me to go back to college and train in adult literacy. When I’m qualified, I’ll definitely come back to Africa—but I’ll come back alone. Don’t tell a soul, Angel. I’m not going to say anything to Rob until we’re back in the States.”

“Of course I won’t tell.”

“Oh, look,” said Jenna, pointing towards the high table. “It looks like Leocadie and Modeste are preparing to leave.”

Angel made her way towards them.

“Thank you so much, Mama-Grace,” said Leocadie, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “I never believed that somebody like me could have such a beautiful wedding.”

Modeste pumped Angel’s hand vigorously.
“Eh, Madame!”
he said.
“Murakoze cyane! Asante sana! Merci beaucoup!”

Angel fetched Bosco—who was no longer talking to Véronique, but assured Angel that he had got her cell-phone number—and organised the guests into a line for the couple to greet them all on their way to the Pajero, where Bosco waited to drive them to the house in Remera where Modeste rented a room.

Most of the guests left soon after that, and the stragglers took up Ken Akimoto’s invitation to end the party in his apartment with the karaoke machine. Angel did not even think about clearing up the yard; there was the whole of Sunday to do that, and several women had volunteered to come and help. With the gate at the end of the compound’s
driveway firmly shut, and with Patrice and Kalisa on duty in the street—and Prosper still asleep in his office—everything would still be there in the morning.

She checked on the children and Titi in their bedroom and then slipped out of her smart wedding clothes, wrapping a
kanga
around her waist and pulling a T-shirt over her head. She made two mugs of sweet, milky tea in the kitchen. Covering one with a plate, she carried both of them out through the entrance to the building and sat down on one of the large rocks next to the bush that bloomed in the dark, filling the night with its perfume. She placed the mug with the plate on the ground and took a few sips from the other.

A group of women’s voices blared from Ken’s windows. Angel caught some of the words:
for sure … that’s what friends are for …

Next week she would go with Pius and a group of students on an outing to the Akagera National Park, a game reserve in the eastern part of Rwanda where it bordered with Tanzania. At the end of the following week the entire family would go in the red microbus to Bukoba, where they would spend Christmas with various members of Angel’s and Pius’s families. From there, Titi would go by ferry across Lake Victoria to Mwanza, to visit a cousin and some friends. After that, in the new year, who knew where they would go? Angel thought that she could feel at home wherever they went.

A few minutes later, the lights of a vehicle shone into Angel’s eyes, and the red microbus pulled up outside the building. Pius was back from giving some of the wedding guests a ride home. As the sound of the engine died, she heard a new song in the air:
ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive …

She shifted to the edge of the large rock and patted at the space beside her. “Sit with me here,” she said to her husband. “I made you some tea.”

“Oh, that is exactly what I need,” said Pius, settling down on the rock next to Angel and picking up the mug of tea that had been kept warm by the plate.

Sitting in the cool Rwandan night, the quiet of the city interrupted by song and laughter, they sipped their tea together.