Chapter 49

Sita

"You have room 19, ma'am." Said the lady I was asked to speak to.

She was thick, like a South African baddie, and she was a little particular about her look because she wanted everybody to know she was the hottest and thickest in camp, if not, her clothes could have been a little more decent.

"19, isn't that very much inside than I would like?" I asked.

She looked around as though she didn't want someone to hear us from the wrong corner, as though she was hiding something from every other person around in the camp.

"You know, you don't understand this place." She whispered with a smile. "The French are so clever, they make their things look little, but when you go closer, you will realize it is rather bigger than you think."

I rolled my eyes. who doesn't know the big thing with our colonial masters, innocent on the outside and weird on the inside, in terms of buildings and infrastructures, theirs is always the funny one with a big inside, so, I knew what I should expect even before she said a thing.

"I understand, but I guess I prefer the outer rooms," I replied.

"Because you haven't seen the room I speak of." She insisted. "Come on, let's go take a look."

I nodded her yes and followed her into the hotel. It was a round, old roll of bungalows where the white man once lived. She led me to the center door, and from there, we edged through a surprisingly long walkway. Maybe they renovated the building because I expected something not that long.

We walked into a round compound within the round roll of bungalows. It was far different from what I had hoped for. It was bright, prettier than I could imagine.

There were a couple of persons in the hidden space, all sitting around their tables in ones, twos, and threes, sharing bottles of French wines and eating from plates of French meals.

"Come on, this is just the beginning of the goodness you will have when you are in the insides.

She led me to a second door, and there, we passed a guard armed with a long cane gun and dressed the French way, but not without the lady showing him a pass card.

I wonder why most of us still do ourselves the good of living the French way even after a long time of independence. They seem to live in our veins and flow in our blood even after we had them leave us in the name of independence from colonial rule.

"Even in an old hotel, believe me, we reserve rooms for classes." She said with a smile as she led me into the second compound. "You know the French were very much unlike the British who brought indirect rule to their colonies in West Africa because they were broke."

I felt the urge to laugh. Everyone knows the thing with the French and the British. The British were said to be broke in the ass from the onset, so, they couldn't help the need to be minimal with spending, so, they brought very few of their men to West Africa because they were way too broke to chest the expenses.

But unlike them, the French seemed to have what the British lacked, so, they weren't looking for people who would help them do the job of ruling the people they came to rule.

They came with a lot of men to turn African people into French people. That's funny, and that explains why they have a huge house here. A very big one at that.

The second section and space were with men dressed in suits. A lot of people come to this hotel weekly, even with the bad news of terror groups misbehaving once in a while. They were all speaking French and smoking fat cigarettes, the sought the French must have smoked in those days, but I could still remember reading that pipes were the trends of those days, not mere paper cigars.

She led me yet to a third section, and there, she stopped to let me know we were now at the realm that was meant for me, a place of honor for a politician and philanthropist.

"Here is the section befitting for you." She whispered. "Imagine lodging in the same space a lot of those sparkling white souls that made us what we are slept and made love to their mistresses."

"You mean the ones that put us in shackles and called us Mongis?" I asked. My eyes were already on the room she said was for me, room 19, and my ears weren't waiting for her response. They were on the lips of the slim lady spicing the space with her sweet voice and French songs.

"I had no idea you are one of the big activists, the sorts of Lumumba, but trust me, it's not necessary." She smiled at my harsh response and led me to the door of the room.

"This is more than a room. It's a little apartment." She opened the door with a key she took from under the foot mat. "Come on."

She led me into what was supposed to be my room, and for the third time, I was marveled again. it was a little apartment in here. The first room was the living room. It had three sofas, old fashioned sofas, a center table, old fashioned curtains, exactly the kind of things the French lived with.

"Come on, there is the room, the restroom, and the balcony backdoor from where you can watch the pool out there and a couple of some other things you should see." She passed me the key. "You also have a wine cellar in there, but if you wish to listen to something good, you can come outside and be entertained."

She turned and walked away, living behind her scent.