The Woman at the Gate

Young expatriate moves into new home and encounters someone else's past

The Woman at the Gate

Now he heard it more clearly, that incessant metallic clank. Someone was banging at the corrugated iron gate. He realized it was late; he must have dozed off after his solitary dinner.

With a grunt, Enzo rose from his lounge chair, the one piece of furniture that had found its designated place - right next to the bay window overlooking the lush tropical garden. He had just moved into the house, barely a month after arriving in West Africa, on his first overseas assignment.

He hit his foot against one of the moving boxes scattered in the living room and let out a yelp.

"Got to deal with that tomorrow," he mumbled, as he was taking in that odd collection of half-emptied boxes and mismatched pieces of furniture.

"Amadou, where are you?" he called out again, louder this time.

The old man was probably fast asleep in his quarters at the back of the yard. Enzo smiled to himself as he recalled the long-winded discussion he had earlier with his wily helper, and Amadou's insistence that he needed double the salary if he was to work as both a gardener and a guard.

"Well, that argument is not settled yet," he hissed said under his breath.

Tightening the belt of his bathrobe, he opened the front door and walked towards the gate, his flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the concrete. There was still no sign of Amadou.

As he pulled open the gate, he saw a young lady - in her mid-thirties, he thought, though he was never very good at guessing the age of people older than him. She was tall, with a proud and erect posture, dressed in a colorful traditional cloth with a matching headpiece. A fine-looking woman indeed, Enzo resolved in his mind, believing himself to be a fair judge of femininity.

"Yes? What can I do for you?" he asked politely.

It was as if a torrent had been unleashed. In heavy Creole, she accosted him without drawing a breath. Enzo tried his best, but he was unable to follow what she said. He noticed with growing concern that her features became contorted with fury. Amidst all this, he now picked out the soft whimpering of a baby and realized that she had an infant strapped on her back.

"Please. I do not understand you. Tell me what is wrong, and I will try to help." He was pleading now, wanting to sound reasonable, his eyes wide open.

It was to no avail; the woman continued to berate him, shouting now at the top of her voice. Suddenly, in one fell swoop, she untied the baby from her back, thrust it into his arms, and turned around to walk off.

Enzo was shell-shocked, his mind operating in slow motion. The baby started to cry - a high-pitched wail. He was holding it clumsily in his outstretched arms, worried he might drop it.

"What do you want from me?" She continued to walk.

"Wait. Madam, what are you doing? Why are you giving me your baby?"

Enzo was following her down the street. The woman stopped and became agitated once more, her Creole vernacular sounding like a string of accusations directed at him.

Just then, Amadou appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, strolling casually towards them. The gaping holes in his mouth were showing as he smiled a servant's smile.

"Where have you been?" Enzo screamed out in exasperation. "This woman just handed me her baby and then she was walking off. I have no idea what's going on. You talk to her."

With a sideways glance at the infant in Enzo's arms, Amadou turned towards the woman and started to converse in a low, soothing voice.

Enzo was struck by the absurdity of it all. He was out on the street at night, wearing a bathrobe with two locals whose conversation he did not understand, while holding a baby that was clearly not his.

Or was it? Slowly, he pulled back the blanket to better see the infant's face. It looked like any other baby to him, but then he noticed the caramel-brown skin. He gasped. But no, it was impossible.

"Bossman, let me take the woman inside the house. Doh worry, it will be alright," he heard Amadou say, with an unexpected air of authority.

Enzo was in a bind - he was desperate to get off the street, fearful that their loud voices and the crying baby would draw out the neighbours. But what if all this was an elaborate ruse to gain entry to his home? He had only just moved in and had no idea if Amadou could be trusted.

Before he could make up his mind, Amadou and the woman had already set off towards the open gate of his house. Enzo had no choice but to follow, stepping carefully across the potholes in the road.

Later, he would remember that he was gently rocking the baby in his arms.

In the living room, Amadou continued to talk to the woman, his speech slow and measured, as if he was addressing a grudging child, while frequently pointing at the boxes from the moving company strewn across the hallway. Then he stopped and looked at her expectantly.

She appeared calmer now. Slowly, she turned around to take in every detail of his jumbled living room, scrutinizing Enzo's face as if she hoped for a sign of recognition. At last, she let off a deep sigh, took a step towards Enzo and grabbed her baby from his arms. He heard her mumbling as she stomped out the front door, leaving in her wake an air of utter indignation.

Enzo sank into his chair, his mind unable to comprehend. And yet, there was that one thought that came back unbidden once again: Could it be? Was it possible that he was the father of this child? Had he forgotten? Yes, there were some dalliances in his past that he only remembered in a haze, but surely not here, in this country. After all, he had only been here for a month.

Amadou stood in the doorway. "I lock de gate, boss. She gone."

"What the hell happened, Amadou?" Enzo's voice was shaking, his body still tense.

"Boss, before you come, there was a Frenchman living in dis house, but now he gone away. He make nice with the woman and she come to visit some time. Now she have baby and she swear is you who is de father. And is true, boss, you look like him. But I tell her is not you because you only jus' come."

Enzo did not sleep much that night. But when he got up, it was with a sense of purpose. He set about unpacking all the remaining boxes, placing each item exactly where he wanted it.

When it was all done, he looked around approvingly. It was his house now.