“That’s what Chika was hoping when he sent him,” replied Kavita, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. The other Nigerwives knew the whole story—she’d vented to them about it years ago when Chika first made the decision, despite Kavita’s objection that the boy was too young to live so far away from them.

To her surprise, the Nigerwives had supported Chika. “You have to allow him to raise his son the way he wants to,” they said. “We’re overprotective because this isn’t our country, but Chika knows what he’s doing. You trusted him enough to stay here instead of going back home, so trust him with your son.” So Kavita did; yet every holiday she waited with a tight chest until her son was back in her arms, safe and browned from the harsh sun.

“I hear it’s so hot there you can use the water from the tap to make garri?” she’d asked him, during one of his first holidays back home.

Vivek had laughed. “Yes, Amma. It’s Jos. You can grow strawberries up there.”

She had been worried that he’d be targeted for being Igbo, but her neighbor Osinachi had laughed when she heard that. “He looks Hausa,” she said. “Or even Fulani. He will be fine there. The boy doesn’t even hear Igbo like that.” Osinachi was an architect whose husband worked in Kuwait. She had lost her oldest child in a car accident years ago, and their surviving son, Tobechukwu, had grown up to be—as Osinachi put it—a bit of a tout, a troublemaker.

“Kavita?” Her mind had been drifting, but Rhatha’s voice drew her back.

“Sorry,” she said.

“I was saying that maybe the military school idea wasn’t the best. He might have had to repress his natural sensitivity, so it’s breaking out now.”

Kavita barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “How are your girls?” she asked instead, and Rhatha preened. The only thing she loved more than prying into other people’s lives was talking about her two darlings. She went off on a glowing monologue about how wonderfully the girls were doing with this time off, how they were exploring their artistic sides, how Somto’s swimming was bordering on extraordinary. Kavita smiled and nodded, tuning out most of Rhatha’s words. They had some tea and biscuits, and after an hour or two the girls came out of Vivek’s room carrying a tray still full of cupcakes.

“We should have baked something else,” Olunne said. “I forgot he doesn’t like these.”

“Isn’t he coming out?” asked Kavita, making to stand up.

“No, Aunty,” said Somto. “He got very tired and he said he’s going to sleep for a while. But we had a nice time. Thank you.” She put the cupcakes on a side table. The mothers were expecting them to say more about Vivek, but it was as if somewhere within the walls of Vivek’s room, allegiances had shifted, unseen pacts had been made, and Somto and Olunne had stepped out carrying Vivek’s secrets in the elastic of their ponytails. It was clear they had no intention of sharing what had happened, so everyone sat awkwardly in the parlor for a bit until Rhatha took the girls home.

Later that night, when Vivek came out for dinner, the table was tense. Chika was chewing his cowtail with aggressive crunches and Kavita could hear her cutlery ringing against her plate.

“How was it having some friends over?” she asked Vivek.

He looked up from his food and his face was calmer than it had been since he returned home. “It was nice,” he said. “Thank you for inviting them.” His voice was level and polite, and Chika glanced at him in surprise. After dinner, Vivek excused himself, washed the plates, then went to bed.

“What happened to that one?” asked Chika.

“I think he just needed some friends,” Kavita said. “He can’t be isolated all the time; it’s not good for him.”

“Aren’t those girls much younger than him?”

“Only by three or four years, Chika, come on. They played together all the time as children.”

“They’re not really children anymore,” he noted, unfolding a newspaper, and Kavita swatted him on the arm.

“Shut up,” she said. “He’s a good boy.” She didn’t ask Chika about Eloise’s visit to the factory. She didn’t care.

“I still think we should take him to the village this weekend,” Chika said. “I talked to Mary about it. Osita will be there.”

“Oh, good! I haven’t seen that boy in so long.”

So that was how they came to take Vivek to the village house. Kavita combed his hair, and when they returned to Ngwa, Vivek started going out to visit Somto and Olunne more and more. If he stayed out past curfew, he just ended up spending the night at Rhatha’s house. His parents didn’t mind; they knew he was safe there, and the boy seemed to be doing better, so they were happy.

One day, Kavita called Rhatha’s house to check on Vivek. “The boy isn’t here,” Rhatha said in her high and lilting voice. A spike of panic shot through Kavita’s chest.

“What do you mean, he’s not there? He hasn’t come home yet.”

“Oh, no, he’s fine. They’re over at Maja’s house.”

Kavita frowned. “Really? Why?”

Rhatha paused. “She does have a daughter their age, darling.”

“Oh my God, yes, of course. I just . . . I didn’t know the children were friends.”

“I don’t think they liked the girl very much when they were younger—Juju, that’s her name, yes? Well. They’re all as thick as thieves now.” Kavita could almost hear Rhatha shrug over the phone. “Children and their politics. Who can understand it?”

Kavita laughed and got off the phone as quickly as possible, so she could call her friend.

Maja picked up almost immediately. “Yes, the children have been coming here,” she told Kavita, holding her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she rolled white stockings off her legs. “Rhatha’s girls, Vivek, even Ruby’s girl, Elizabeth. They all go to Juju’s room to watch movies and play music and whatever else they get up to.”

“It’s strange that they’re suddenly so close,” Kavita said, and Maja laughed.

“It’s cute,” she said. “It’s just like when they were little.”

“You don’t think they’re . . . you know, up to something in there?”

Maja paused as she unhooked the clasp of her uniform skirt. “Really, Kavita? Like what?”

“I don’t know! Smoking or something. Drinking?”

Maja exhaled. She tried to be patient with Kavita, she really did, considering the fact that Vivek was clearly having some kind of breakdown, but there were lines. “So you think they’d just be doing all that in our houses and none of us would notice? Because we’re what, that negligent with the children?”

“Ah, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Kavita, stop being so neurotic, for goodness’ sake. The children are fine. They’re on holiday, and they’re staying indoors instead of being out there with all this wahala going on. Did you hear about the attack down on Ezekiel Street?”

“What? There was an attack?”

“Yes, the day before yesterday. The clinic there—armed robbers, they’re saying.”

“During that riot?”

“Mm-hmm. They broke the electric signboard, someone threw a stone at it, and later that night those robbers came back and attacked the clinic.”

“Jesus. What’s there to steal from a clinic?”

“Ask me. They think all these barren women overpay because they’re so desperate for children. I don’t know why they think there’d be any money there. Most of these patients just end up owing the doctors anyway.” She paused, then, more quietly: “I heard they raped some of the nurses.”

“My God, Maja.”

“Ruby was telling me about it. I’m tired of this country, Kavita. Brutality everywhere. I’m thinking of taking Juju and going.”

“I thought you said Charles hid your passports.”

Maja shrugged, even though Kavita couldn’t see her, and started unbuttoning her shirt. “And so? I will find them somehow. Or go to the embassy and make a complaint. What am I staying here for, after the way Charles has treated me? Let me swallow my pride and ask my parents for help.”

“Will you go back to the Philippines?”

“I don’t even know.” Maja leaned against the wall, her shirt falling open. She was alone in her and Charles’s bedroom. They had told Juju he was away on a business trip, and he was, handling it all from a hotel in Onitsha. Maja wasn’t sure if he had taken his other family along with him. “Where else would we go?” Her voice was deflated.

“I’m so sorry, Maja,” said Kavita. She knew that Maja wouldn’t leave Charles, not really. She was too afraid of him, too in love with him, too stubborn to admit that her marriage wasn’t what she kept telling her parents it was. Charles knew it, too. He’d spent years whispering into Maja’s ear that she would never make it on her own, just her and Juju, that they needed him, that her daughter needed a father.