Baking Cakes in Kigali (7 page)

“Then I’m blessed twice today! But before we begin to talk business, let me make some tea for us to drink. While I’m doing that, you can look through my photo album and see some cakes that I’ve already made, and there is also one on the table over there that’s waiting to be collected.”

When Angel emerged from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of milky tea, apologising for not having a slice of cake to offer her guest, Odile was at the work table looking admiringly at the cake that waited there. Angel put the mugs down on the coffee table and went to join her.

“That cake is for a christening,” she explained. “The baby is the daughter of the sister of a neighbour’s driver.”

“It is truly perfect!” declared Odile. The oblong, one-layer cake was coated in powder-pink frosting. Around the sides of the cake the pink was decorated with white frills resembling lace. Both the top left corner and the bottom right corner of the upper surface were adorned with lilac roses and white
rosebuds tipped with strawberry pink. And across the centre of the cake, starting at the bottom corner on the left and sloping up towards the top corner on the right, was the baby’s name in lilac cursive script:
Perfect.

“That is a wonderful name for a girl,” said Odile.

“Indeed,” beamed Angel. “I helped the mother to choose it myself. But come and sit, Odile. You know, I thought of becoming a nurse myself, but then I became a mother instead. But the world is different now. Now a woman can become a nurse
and
a mother.”

The two women sat and took a sip of their tea.

“Are you perhaps a nurse
and
a mother, Odile?”

“Oh, no, no.” Odile shook her head, putting her mug down on the table. “No, Angel, I’m just a nurse.” Her voice had become quieter, and a little sad. Angel watched as Odile’s eyes stared through and beyond her mug of tea, and saw a vertical furrow beginning to deepen just above where the young woman’s glasses met across her nose. It was clear that thinking about not being a nurse
and
a mother was making her guest feel uncomfortable.

“And tell me, Odile,” she said, her voice as cheerful as she could make it, “where is it that you are a nurse?”

To Angel’s relief, Odile’s smile returned. “I work at the
Centre Medico-Social
in Biryogo. Do you know it?”

“No, I don’t know that place. But my husband and I have driven through Biryogo.
Eh!
The people in that part of town are too poor!” The tiny makeshift dwellings of wood, corrugated iron, cardboard and plastic sheeting that the people of Biryogo called home were not a new sight to Angel. Such places clung to the outskirts of most cities on the continent, providing shelter for those with nothing who had come to the city in the hope of something, only to find themselves contending instead with a different kind of nothing.

“It’s not a beautiful place to work,” agreed Odile. “But it’s
where God needs me. The centre is for people who are infected. We do testing and counselling, and we educate people, especially women. For example, we’re training sex workers to do sewing, then they can earn money from sewing instead of from sex.”

“
Eh!
That is very good work,” said Angel, and her thoughts went to Jeanne d’Arc, the sex worker who did occasional business in the compound. She was a nice enough girl, but really, that was not a good job to have.

“This disease is a very bad thing,” said Odile.

“Eh! Uh-uh,” agreed Angel, shaking her head.

“Uh-uh,” echoed Odile, and she shook her head, too.

“One of the girls you met here today, Odile, the one you were talking with in French, Grace. She has two brothers who are also with me here. The disease you are talking about took their mother, and it would have taken their father, too. It’s only that robbers shot him instead.”

“Eh! Grace mentioned her
frères
, she showed me the family photos,” Odile indicated the four framed pictures mounted on the wall, “but I thought they were all your children. I didn’t know that you had adopted orphans.”

“In fact they’re my grandchildren. It’s my son who got shot.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry, Angel, I didn’t know.”

“Thank you, Odile. In fact there are five grandchildren who are now my children.
Five!
Because my daughter is late, too.”

“Oh, that is very sad.” Odile shook her head. “May I ask … forgive me, Angel, as a nurse I’m curious about the late. May I ask about what took your daughter?”

“Of course you can ask, Odile, and to tell the truth I don’t mind at all to talk about such a thing with somebody who is a nurse. It was stress that took her.”

“Stress?”

“Blood pressure. She drove herself too hard after her husband left her. Worked herself to death. Everybody knows that such a thing is possible.”

Odile hesitated for a moment before saying, “It’s certainly not impossible, Angel. Was it her heart?”

“No, no. Her head.” Angel pressed the palm of her right hand to her temple.

“Her head?” Odile mirrored the gesture. “Something like a stroke?”

“A very bad headache. That’s how her friend explained it to us. And really, Odile, that was not unexpected, because even as a child Vinas would get headaches sometimes, especially at the time of school exams and so on. Her friend said she’d been having a lot of headaches from working too hard, and also from her blood pressure.”

“I see …” said Odile.

“And of course everybody knows that stress and blood pressure go together with headaches.”

“Yes. What exactly did the doctor say, Angel?”

“Well, no, we didn’t speak to a doctor. By the time Pius and I got to Mount Meru Hospital, Vinas was already late.”

“Mount Meru? In Arusha?”

“Yes. Vinas fell in love with Winston in Dar es Salaam while she was studying to be a teacher, then when she qualified she went to live in Arusha with him because his family was there.
Eh!
She loved him so much, Odile! When he left her, we begged her to come back to us in Dar, but by then she was deputy to the
Mwalimu Mkuu
at her school, next in line to be Head herself, and she preferred to stay there. But she pushed herself too hard. Eh!” Angel closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wasn’t by her side, Odile. I didn’t see what she was doing to herself.”

“That is very sad.”

“I failed to recognise the signs of stress. The last few times I saw her I noticed that she was reducing nicely,” Angel patted the sides of her ample thighs, “but I didn’t know it was dangerous to be so stressed. I just hoped for myself that one day my business could grow big and keep me so busy that I could reduce like that.”

Odile mirrored Angel’s sad smile, and they sipped their tea in silence for a while before Odile spoke again. “Angel, may I ask you another question? As a nurse?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m wondering … bearing in mind … are all of your grandchildren well?”

Angel knew at once what she meant and nodded her head. “When my son and his wife found out that they were positive, their doctor in Mwanza said the children should be tested, just to be sure. We were worried about Benedict,” she gestured towards the door of the children’s room where the boy lay, “because he sometimes doesn’t seem as strong as other boys, but all three are negative.”

“That’s good. I’m sure that five grandchildren make a heavy enough load, even when they’re well.”

“Actually, there could have been six.
Six!
My daughter had a third baby, but he never thrived and he was late within just a few months. There are babies like that, Odile.”

“There are.”

Angel forced a smile.
“Eh
, but five keep me busy enough! The two girls that you met are the oldest, and I must confess to you as a nurse that recently I’ve started to become afraid for them. They’ll start to become young women soon and boys will start to notice them. I think my heart will stop beating if the virus gets to one of them.”

“Angel, that’s not going to happen,” assured Odile. “Obviously you’ve spoken to them about it?”

“Eh! It’s difficult for somebody who is my age, Odile. We
are the ones who did not talk to our own children about sex. That is how our own parents raised us. Now, how can we talk to our grandchildren about sex?”

Odile was quiet for a while as she drank the last of her tea. Then she said, “Perhaps I can help you, Angel. At the centre we have a small restaurant. It provides jobs for women who are positive. They’re not sick, but they cannot find other jobs because some employers discriminate when they know that a person is positive. So they cook and serve in our restaurant, and that teaches the community that the food cooked by a positive somebody is safe to eat. It also brings in a little bit of money for the centre. Now, I’m thinking this: perhaps the girls can come and have lunch with me at our restaurant one day. I can tell them about the work of the centre and even show them the things that we do there. We can talk about the disease and about sex, and I can answer their questions. Do you think that is perhaps a good idea?”

Angel’s eyes began to fill with tears, and she reached into her brassiere for a tissue. Odile’s idea was a very good one indeed. “Would it be okay with your boss?”

“Yes, of course. It would be during my lunch break, so it wouldn’t take me from my duties. You can just tell me what day you’ll bring them. I’ve been on leave this week, but I’ll be back there from Monday.”

“I’m very grateful, Odile! You’re lifting a big burden from my shoulders. But how can I repay you?”

Odile smiled. “You can give me a good price for my cake.”

“
Eh!
Nobody will get a better price than you! But forgive me, Odile, you came to me simply to order a cake, meanwhile I’ve bothered you as a nurse. That is not a professional way for me to behave towards a customer!”

“Oh, no, Angel, there’s nothing to forgive. In any case, I’m not simply your customer, am I? You’ve already said that you and I are friends because we’re both friends of Dr Rejoice.”

“That is true.” Angel slipped her tissue back into her brassiere, smiling at Odile. “So tell me about this cake that I’m going to make for my friend.”

“Actually, the cake is for a celebration party for my brother. The Belgian Embassy has awarded him a scholarship for further studies in Belgium.” Odile was radiant with pride.

“Eh! Congratulations! What will he study there?”

“Thank you, Angel. He’ll study for a Master’s in Public Health. He qualified as a doctor at the National University in Butare.”

“
Eh!
He is a very clever somebody!”

“Yes, but he will deny that. He says it’s only hard work and the help of God that have taken him so far.”

“And you, Odile? Are you not also a clever somebody to be a nurse?”

“Oh, no, Angel! For me also it was hard work and the help of God.” Then Odile was quiet for a moment before she said, “Actually, my brother and I are both survivors.”

Angel knew what that meant: unlike the many Rwandans who had grown up outside the country and had come back home after the recent genocide was over, Odile and her brother had lived through it. They might have lost loved ones, they might have witnessed terrible things, they might have experienced terrible things themselves. But they had survived.

“I’m sorry, Odile,” said Angel, knowing that this was not enough to say but also not knowing the words that could say enough. She shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, not knowing quite what to say next. Perhaps the best—the most professional—thing for her to do was to bring the conversation back to the much easier topic of the cake.

But before Angel could say anything, Odile spoke again.

“I feel I can tell you about it, Angel, because you’ve already told me something of your own pain and loss, and because we’re already friends through Dr Rejoice.” Angel gave her a
small nod of confirmation. “Actually, we were lucky. They killed me, Angel, but I did not die. My brother saved me, even though he wasn’t yet fully qualified. And when they saw that he could be useful to them as a doctor they spared him and he protected me.” Odile was quiet for a few seconds before she continued. “After … Afterwards, I got a job with
Médecins Sans Frontières
, translating for them between Kinyarwanda and French. They saw that I worked well with patients. They encouraged me to train as a nurse, and they even found sponsorship for me.”

Angel shook her head and clicked her tongue against the back of her teeth. “You are strong, Odile. And your brother is strong, too.”

“It’s God who made us strong, Angel.” Odile gave a big smile. “And my brother will be even stronger when he gets his Master’s degree. Really, I’m too, too proud of him! But as for his cake, I should tell you that I need it on Sunday. Is it possible for you to make it by then?”

“No problem. We can even deliver it to your house on Sunday morning on our way to church.”

“That will be very fine. Thank you.”

“Is there already a picture of this cake in your mind?”

“Actually, I’ve seen it in your photo album,” said Odile, picking up the album and turning a few pages. “Perhaps something simple, like this. We’ll not be many: maybe five or six friends, and of course my brother and his wife and their two small children. Can you write
‘Félicitations, Emmanuel
’ on it?”

“No problem,” said Angel, making notes on a Cake Order Form. “Will Emmanuel’s wife and children go with him to Belgium?”

“Unfortunately, the scholarship isn’t enough for that, so they’ll stay here. Actually, I live at their house, so while Emmanuel is away his wife isn’t going to be alone with the children.”

“You are not married yourself?”

“Not yet.” Odile gave a small, shy smile. “But perhaps one day soon, God will give me a husband.”

“Has He given you a fiancé at least?”

“Actually, not even a boyfriend! I like a man at my church, but it seems he doesn’t like me.”

“He’s a very foolish somebody not to like you!” declared Angel. Really, Odile was very pretty and she had such a good heart.

The front door flew open suddenly and Daniel and Moses, the two youngest boys, clattered noisily into the apartment, followed by Titi. Angel made introductions, during which Benedict appeared in the doorway of the children’s room with the thin and drawn look of a child who has at last stopped sweating and shivering in turn and will very soon—and very suddenly—demand a great deal of food.