‘Good afternoon, Mr Mbamalu,’ she began.

‘Welcome,’ he said, and offered her a seat.

The white woman sat and stared right into his eyes.

‘I hear you’re not allowing Ozoemena to attend secondary school.’

Ugorji, Augustina’s elder brother, who had been assigned as interpreter for the day, repeated the woman’s words in Igbo. It was not as if their father did not understand English, but when he received word that the headmistress was coming, he had panicked, fearing that his feeble grasp of the foreign language would not withstand the turbulence of the white woman’s nasal accent and fast talking.

‘I want her to learn how to cook and take care of a home,’ Augustina’s father replied. ‘She has gone to primary school. She can read and write. That is enough.’

The white woman smiled and shook her head.

‘I’m sorry to disagree with you, but I don’t think it’s enough. Ozoemena is such a smart girl. She can go a very long way.’

Ugorji did his thing. The white woman sped on.

‘I’ve been living in Africa since the thirties. In all my over twenty years of missionary work here, I’ve come across very few young women as smart as your daughter.’

Sister Xavier sat upright, hands clasped as if she was in a constant state of preparedness for prayer.

‘All over the world,’ she continued, ‘women are achieving great things. Some are doctors who treat all types of diseases, others have big positions with the government. You might be surprised to hear this, but in some countries, the person who rules over them is a woman.’

From her position behind the door, Augustina noticed that her brother did not give the correct interpretation for the word ‘rules’. It was little things like this that made her the smart one.

‘Mr Mbamalu, I would like you to reconsider your stand on this matter,’ Sister Xavier concluded.