The triumph of the water lily
Two Ibadan: Yele, Laide and Me
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Ibadan: Yele, Laide and Me. The sound of the bedside phone ringing woke me up. I turned over
There were several sheets of paper on her lap. Sunlight was streaming in through the opened window. I looked at my wrist watch and found that it was eleven o'clock'. It seemed improbable. I felt as if I had only just closed my eyes. I turned to look at Nkem and from the snatches of conversation, I could guess she was talking to one of her employees at the shop. I got out of bed and found my way to the bathroom. Just at that moment Mama Nima came in to ask if she could bring our breakfast upstairs, as the rooms downstairs were being cleaned. I towelled my face with a face flannel and walked back to the bedroom. "I hope you slept well," Nkem asked as she looked up smiling. "I certainly did; I actually slept like a log," I replied. "I neither dreamt
"I bet you even snored," she teased. "No way! I am sure I didn't do that," I objected vehemently. "I
"I understand it's the sleeping position of the individual. If you go to sleep on your back, I hear you're more predisposed to snore," Nkem explained. "That's interesting," I said. "I would have put it down to fatigue - say a situation in which all your muscles were relaxed, especially your tongue and the muscles at the back of your throat. That I would say should predispose you to snoring." "But how do you explain the daily snoring habits of people like Mama Nima?" Nkem asked, smiling, "Your explanation fits only the occasional snorer." "I give up," I said, smiling and throwing up my hands, I strolled on to the balcony and tried to see where the sound of the lawn-mower was coming from. It appeared to be coming from the front of the house. Nkem soon joined me on the balcony and poured orange juice into two 20 glasses on the food trolley Mama Nima had just wheeled in. I sat down on one of the garden chairs and took a long drink from the glass Nkem offered me. It tasted most refreshing. "You know I don't normally eat breakfast," I said. "Neither do I," Nkem concurred. "Except on Saturdays. I never know
"Yes, how is your shop doing?" I asked, as I poured some pap into one of the bowls. "Very well I must say," she answered. "Easter is just a couple of weeks away and the cards I have in stock are almost exhausted" "I am eager to see what the place is like," I said, as I helped myself to some akara balls and added some milk and sugar to my pap. We soon finished breakfast and set out for the shop. I decided to take my belongings with me, in case I was unable to return to the house later in the day. It was already one-thirty pm when we arrived at Nkem's bookshop - 'Anwuli'. This was the name she had given to the place and it was most appropriate. Anwuli means 'Joy' in lbo and the structure was actually a joy to behold even from outside. The bookshop was strategically located in a busy shopping district. There was a 'No Parking' sign in front of the building. Nkem drove in and parked her car in a garage marked 'Proprietor'. We entered the building through a side door which opened into a carpeted corridor. The entire place was pleasantly air-conditioned and insulated from the outside world. The short passage brought us into the shop itself. The interior was most impressive. The shop was laid out in two halves. The rear half, had a wide magazine stand, with an assorted display of magazines. Next to it, was a second stand, showing a wide display of Pop-Gospel records, in beautiful jackets. A smartly dressed young man tended this half of the shop and appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, as he swayed his body to the Gospel music a stereo player was softly blaring out, somewhere in the back ground. There was also an eye-catching display of wall murals, Nkem had told me about. A soft glow of light illuminated the wares on the stands and the effect, so created, was ethereal. The second half of the shop was separated from the other by an archway This half held a vast display of cards for every conceivable type of social occasion. The range went from birthday cards to cards which expressed condolences at the loss of a loved one. You also had invitation 21 cards - the range of these went from wedding invitation cards, to cards which invited you to picnics, christenings and house warming parties. Some of the books on display were most intriguing in their titles. A few of which were: "A Christian Way to Dieting", "The Power of Positive Thinking", "The Joys of Being a Woman", and "The Art of Understanding your Mate". Lastly, there was a wide display of African and European works of fiction.. I was very much impressed by the serenity and ordered efficiency of the place. It was the sort of place you visited on a shopping afternoon just to look around and escape from the bustle and heat outside. However, on this particular afternoon, there was a steady stream of customers entering and leaving the shop through the glass flush doors in front. The two girls at the check out counter were working flat out. Nkem was busy talking to her shop supervisor and so I found my way back to her office, which was situated along the corridor from which we had entered the shop. The office was a room you could easily like. It was completely cut off from the rest of the shop. I settled into one of the easy-chairs and reached for the current edition of Ebony magazine, which was on a stand, just within my reach. As I sat, I wondered just how much it had cost Nkem to set up a place like 'Awunli'. For, like everything Nkem did, 'Anwuli' had a lovely appeal. After some ten minutes, Nkem came into the room. "Sorry love" , she said, apologetically. "I'll just make a couple of
"That's perfectly alright, I'm very relaxed here," I assured her. She finished with her phone calls after some twenty minutes and then
I glanced at my wrist watch, as we set out for my parents' house on the mainland. I discovered it was already a quarter to four o'clock and that we would simply have to hurry, if I was to catch my plane to Ibadan later that day. Fortunately for us, the traffic on the fly-over bridge, leading to the National Arts Theatre was light and so we arrived at Eric Moore in just a couple of minutes. Nkem had decided to get to my parents' house through 22 Eric Moore Road, which was a more circuitous route, because she did not want to hazard the chance of getting caught up in the notorious bottle- neck jam at Western Avenue. We made our journey towards my parents' home with considerable ease until we got to the Shell-Club! What we drove into was a typical Lagos weekend sight. Apparently, there was a wedding reception taking place at the Club and the barrage of cars belonging to the guests, had spilled unto the road making it impossible for cars to move two abreast. A queue of cars had consequently built up in both directions. The motorists on either side therefore decided to take turns in meandering their way across. However, one female motorist in the other direction felt it was her turn to move across but the taxi driver on our own side thought differently. The end result was a splintered shattering of the head-lamps of the two vehicles. The woman and the taxi driver hurled abuses at each other whilst other motorists blared their horns and shouted at the two of them to move their vehicles. Nkem and I looked at each other in dismay to think that this should happen just as we were within sight of my parents' house. This was typically Lagosian and would most likely go on for hours until the police or traffic wardens came to clear the mess. We thought of how we were going to get out of the jam and, fortunately for us, the other motorists behind us were thinking along the same lines as we were. They had begun reversing and were making a right turn into Bashiru-Augosto Crescent. Nkem and I quickly followed this alternative route and in no time at all we were within sight of my parents' house. However, that weekend appeared to be one for social functions, for there was a barrage of cars parked in front of my parents' house that afternoon and I wondered what it was they were hosting. Nkem soon found a place to park her vehicle, but expressed the hope that it wouldn't be hemmed in by another vehicle by the time we were ready to leave. We entered the house through a side gate which opened to the courtyard at the back of the house. A lot of cooking was going on there. There were the usual Togolese female chefs in attendance. My mother usually hired them whenever she had an important social event to host. The women were very competent and had done the cooking for my elder sister's wedding celebrations. Alice soon caught sight of us and came hurtling down the back steps 23 of the kitchen to embrace us. She relieved Nkem and I of our bags and led us into the house. The women greeted me warmly, as I passed by I recognised the regular ones and enquired after their families. I asked Alice what it was my parents were celebrating. As we went into the house, she explained that it was my father's turn to host the meeting of the landlords on our street. A feast was often expected at the end of such meetings and my father had often come back to tell us how they had been feted at the house of such and such a person at the end of one of such meetings. When we entered the central part of the house, I asked Alice to get us some food. Just at that moment, my mother emerged from the sitting room. She gave a cry of surprised delight when she caught sight of us. "When did you come in?" she asked as she hugged Nkem and I to herself. "We've only just arrived," Nkem and I explained, as we stood in greeting. "Well, it's really good to see you two again," she said. "Sit down, I'll be back in a minute," she said, as she hurried off to the back of the house. Just at that moment, my father emerged at the doorway of the sitting room calling after her urgently. He stopped in mid-sentence as he spotted Nkem and I and gave a grin of obvious pleasure as he came towards us. Nkem and I both greeted him, but he shook his head in mock disapproval, as he came towards us, saying to Nkem in mild accusation: "You are a very bad friend. So if Effua is not in town, we would not have the pleasure of seeing you ?" Of all my friends, Nkem was my father's favourite and he jovially referred to her as his second wife. Nkem, who was overwhelmed with amusement tried to defend herself by explaining that she had been very busy in the preceding months. "But now that your friend is back you have re-emerged," my father pointed out, as he continued teasing her. "That is not entirely true Sir," Nkem protested. "I did call on one occasion a couple of months ago, but I was told you were out." "I don't believe you," my father replied. "You're only saying that to excuse yourself." "But you've got to believe me. I actually did come," Nkem persisted. "Yes, she did call," my mother, who was just joining us, said in Nkems defence. "Don't you remember she brought you that basket 24 of sweet pineapples you wanted to eat, all in one day?" my mother reminded him, smiling. "Oh! Yes! Yes!" my father exclaimed. "Indeed I now remember. Please forgive me my dear child. I completely forgot, that was very generous of you." Nkem simply grinned in response "Yes, the time you called was a particularly busy one. If I remember
"He is very fine, thank you Sir," Nkem responded. I had finished sorting out the books I wanted from the carton I had
"And you young lady, how are you? You keep growing thinner each time I set eyes on you. I do hope you are fine?" He asked, as he turned to me. "Yes, I am alright Papa," I answered, smiling. "It's just that I am working too hard." At that moment my mother interjected by saying, "Alice was supposed to be bringing you some food wasn't she?" "Yes, she was, but I don't think we can stop to eat it now. I've got a plane to catch at six forty-five," I said, as I glanced at my wrist watch. "And it's almost six o'clock now." "You don't mean you are leaving for Ibadan today?" my parents asked, in surprised dismay. "Yes, I am. But I'll be back tomorrow. The seminar at the FRCN, which I spoke to you about, begins tomorrow. I am simply going down to Ibadan to contact my Editor-in-Chief and drive down with my belongings in my vehicle. I hope you still remember the seminar I told you I would be attending as soon as I got back from Ethiopia." "Yes, now that you've mentioned it, I clearly remember that you said something about attending a seminar, just before you travelled" my father said. "So, we'll be seeing more of you then?" my mother said, in obvious relief. But you should still take some food," she persisted, as she hurried off to the back of the house. "I'll wrap it up so you can take it away." 25 "Papa, I'll be back tomorrow evening," I said, in an attempt to reassure my father "It's alright then," he answered, as he prepared to go back to his guests. "Nkem give my regards to your husband," he added, as he went towards the sitting room. "Yes, I will," she responded politely, My mum soon came back with two parcels of roasted chicken. "One is for you, Nkem," she said. 'And the other for you, Effua." "My! This is great! Thank you Mama," Nkem and I greeted with
"Would you like some fried goat meat as well?" she asked, smiling as she already knew the answer "Ah! we certainly would not mind," Nkem and I said, laughing. She returned to the kitchen and a moment later sent Alice to us with a cellophane paper bag, full of large chunks of goat meat. I went down to the kitchen to hug my mother good-bye. I found her dishing out a bowl of jollof rice and moi-moi, which she also wanted us to take away with us. My mother simply delighted in fussing over me. She and my father loved me dearly and I knew it. However, deep within them, they still regarded me as the little baby girl they had had in their middle-age. I loved them too and appreciated their fondness of me; but had found it necessary to impress it on them gently, but firmly, that at twenty eight I was not a baby anymore and was adult enough to make my own decisions about my life. Fortunately, they had respected this and the result had been the unfolding of a deep trust and friendship, which I had come to cherish over the years. My mother responded to my embrace and appealed to me to drive carefully on my way back the next day. Alice stacked away the bowls of food in Nkem's car and then quickly reminded me that I had not given her what I said I had brought her from Ethiopia. I laughed and reached into my bag for a bottle of duty-free perfume. I also gave her some naira notes too. She leapt into the air with a joyful glee, clutching her possessions to her bosom. Nkem and I laughed and got into the car. Alice had been with my parents since she was five. She was the daughter of my mother's cousin, who lived in Koforidua, in Ghana. My parents had practically raised her and she was very much attached to them. She often counted the monetary proceeds from the bakery for my 26 mother. The bakery and domestic staff were under her shrewd and astute control. For all her thirteen years of age, Alice was sharp and clever at handling the workers. She was good to them but never allowed them to get away with cheating my mother out of any of her profit or making away with any of the equipments or ingredients used at the bakery. Nkem and I responded to her cheery "Good-bye", as we drove away from the house. I noticed it was past 6 o'clock and that we would really have to make a go for it, if I was to catch my plane. "Nkem we really have to hurry" I said slightly anxious. "Never mind you just fasten your seat belt. We'll be there before you
"Oh! no, we have to stop to get some fuel," she said, with mild dismay, as she glanced at her fuel gauge. Anyway not to worry We can get some at the filling station on Western Avenue". A couple of minutes later, we pulled up at the station and had the tank filled. As we drove along, I searched for my airline ticket in my bag and made sure my passport and driving licence were still where I had put them, in my wallet. After that, I settled down to watch Nkem tackle the remaining fifteen kilometre stretch from the mainland to the domestic terminal of the Murtala Muhammed Airport at Ikeja. Nkem was a skilled driver. She managed to combine this superb skill with polite consideration for other motorists. Watching her, I wondered why other women couldn't drive the way she did. I had actually taught her how to drive; but I'm afraid she now did it with more grace than I did. What one often found amongst female drivers were extremes of rudeness or timidity I am not certain which of the two is less unsavoury. However, I am convinced that we could be better drivers than some of our men folk, if only we would just perform the task with the God-given grace we are endowed with. I reached into the paper bag of goat meat and selected a big piece. It tasted delicious and I invited Nkem to take a bite. She did so without taking her attention off the road and promptly asked me to get her "Another juicy piece". I laughed and found her one that matched the description. "Please, you'll have to explain to Odili why I couldn't see him before Leaving town, as I had promised," I said as she drove towards the domestic terminal of the airport. "Never mind, I'll do that," she assured me. "In fact, I hope to see him 27 as soon as I drop you off. He is certain to be playing tennis now; but he often comes round with his friend, Brian, for a drink, after the game. I hope to be able to save some of this meat for them - that is if I don't finish it before I get home," she said laughing. "Well you tell him that I'll be coming down to Lagos for a seminar and that I'll certainly see him during that time" "Alright, I'll do that," Nkem responded, as she smoothly brought the car to a halt at the parking lot. Luck had been on our side and the road leading to the domestic terminal of the airport had been remarkably free for a weekend. We quickly dashed into the airport building and I made my way to the checking-in counter, for passengers travelling to Ibadan. I presented my ticket and was given a boarding-pass. Just at that moment, we heard the announcement: "This is announcing the closure of checking-in formalities for flight Ft-006 to Ibadan ..." I quickly turned round to hug Nkem good-bye. "Be sure to let me know the minute you get back to town. Leave your
"I'll do that," I promised, smiling. "Thank you for a lovely weekend". I made a dash for the departure lounge. I made it just in the nick of time. I joined the other passengers waiting to be bussed to the tarmac to board the plane. There were very few of us and the cabin of the Fokker-Friendship jet, which was taking us to Ibadan, was only sparsely filled. I settled down by a window seat and fastened my seat belt. A short while later, an air-hostess brought me some biscuits and some orange squash. I refused the biscuits but accepted the squash. I made a mental note to phone my Editor-in-chief, as soon as I arrived in Ibadan. I was anxious to find out, if he had received the report I had filed in from Addis-Ababa. Secondly, I also wanted to know what arrangements had been made for my accommodation during my stay in Lagos. The flight was a short one and we were circling good old Ibadan, with its corrugated iron roofs, before I knew it. I quickly gathered my bags together, as we prepared to land but remained in my seat until the landing was completed. I was fortunate to find a taxi to take me home as soon as I left the airport building. Home was a five-bedroom house, which I shared with two other friends, whom I had met during my National Youth Service 28 Year. All three of us had been deployed to serve at the government owned radio station O.Y.O. there in lbadan. We got on well, right from the start and the management of the broadcasting house, had found us decent accommodation. We liked the house; and coupled with that, we had found the landlord and his family to be charitable and pleasant. When the service year was over, all three of us had decided to stay on in lbadan. The landlord and his wife, were only too willing to continue having us as their tenants. The house was situated in a very large compound, at the Bodija Estate (an upper middle class area) of lbadan. There was a two- bedroom bungalow in front of the house; but there was still enough room in the compound for all three of our vehicles at a time. I let myself into the house with my keys and, as I did so, I noticed that Laide and Yele's cars were out. However, the security lights were on and so were two of the lights in the sitting room. The radio was also on, but turned down low. I knew the girls were out, but had left the radio and lights on, to give would-be 'Trespassers' the impression that someone was home. I switched off the lights in the guest room downstairs and then went up to my bedroom. I set down my bags on the bed and went to the toilet to ease myself. I made that call to my Editor as soon as I emerged from the bathroom. "Is that you Effua?" I heard him say, after his wife, who had picked up the phone, had put him on the line. "Yes, Chief," I replied, with a smile. He sounded as if he had his ever present pipe at the corner of his mouth; whether it was filled with tobacco or not, was another matter entirely. "Oh! welcome back," he greeted me, enthusiastically. "Thank you Chief," I responded. "We got your report via telex," he went on. "It was a job well done.
"I'm glad you liked it," I answered smiling. "Now, about Lagos; I am particularly sorry that we'll be losing
"Well, I don't particularly mind being in Lagos for a while, but I would like to know what arrangements Personnel has made for my 29 accommodation during the period." "Oh! that has all been sorted out," he assured me. "I made enquiries about that myself. I understand a suite has been reserved for you at the Guardian guest house and the Controller of the FRCN training school, was telling me, on the phone, only this morning, that you had been booked into a suite at the Ikoyi hotel. So you just make up your mind which of the two you prefer." "That sounds okay then," I answered. "I've also asked the accounts department to prepare an out-of-station
"Yes, I will," I answered. "Then you should be getting some mileage allowance. I'll instruct
"No; I should think not for now," I answered. "Well you let me know if you run into any difficulties." "Alright, Chief, I'll do that." "Be sure to drive carefully down to Lagos tomorrow," he advised,
I soaked some garri (fried, ground cassava) in a bowl with water, washed off the shaft, then filled the bowl up with some ice-cold water. I sliced off some portion of the richly spiced roast chicken, my mother had given me and took the whole lot on a tray into the sitting room. The National Network News was just starting on television, as I settled down on the rug with my meal. I followed the News, as I ate, but after a short while, I discovered that the bulletin contained very little 'Fresh News'. Most of the news items had been given on earlier broadcasts and quite a number had been 'over-flogged'. Shortage of news items was a common feature of most newsrooms over the weekend. I wondered why, Editors on radio and television especially did not get around the problem by reducing their duration of broadcast on such days. 30 I switched off the television set and then left a note for the girls on the kitchen table, saying that I was back and that there was some chicken in the fridge I then went upstairs to take a shower and pack some of my belongings into a suitcase for my trip the next day. When I got into bed, I discovered just how tired I was. I fell asleep almost instantly. "Oh! Go away," I heard myself saying, as someone tried to pull the bed covers off me. It was morning and Yele, in her mischievous manner was doing her utmost to wake me up. She had earlier poked her finger into my ear, but so far, I had resisted her efforts to wake me up. "Please, Yele, leave me alone," I begged sleepily. "Never!" she replied. "Wake up Sleepy Head," she drolled into my ears as she began to nibble it. Yele was the most boisterous and hilarious of the three of us; and when it got into her head, she could be a pest with a capital P, as on this particular occasion. I was just wondering what I had done to deserve this bit of harassment, when Laide barged into the room singing - "Tara!!! Everyone, see what I've got," she announced, happily. I gave up my resistance and sat up to see, what it was all about. She was bearing a white squarish box and gaily flicked off its lid, to reveal a beautiful lemon coloured heart-shaped cake, with the words -'Happy birthday darling' written on it. "Laide! this looks almost too good to eat!" Yele said, as she rushed forward to take a closer look at the cake. Laide gave a satisfied grin, as she gingerly set the cake down on the bed. "It's a beautiful cake," I commented, as I leaned over to take a closer look. "Its such a pity I'll be missing all the fun," I added. "Ah! Ah! Why?" Yele and Laide asked, with open protestation. "You forget I am attending a seminar in Lagos starting tomorrow?" I asked with a smile. Yele rolled her eyes heavenwards, saying: "But we fixed the party purposely for today, so that you could join in!" she said. "We hoped you would at least spend a week with us before going off again," Laide said, in her usual soft manner, but with obvious disappointment. "Sorry love," I answered with an apologetic smile, "But you see the matter is completely out of my hands. I've got to fill in for my Editor and the seminar starts tomorrow," I explained as I got off the bed to go to the bathroom. "Did you see my note last night?" I asked, as I towelled my face. I had 31 to shout to be heard, as Yele had turned up the volume of the stereo. "Yes we did." Yele answered. "It was quite some roast chicken. Laide and I had a lovely night-cap with it." Laide was still looking pensive at the thought of my going away again, when I walked back to the room. We were all really attached to each other in spite of the fact that we had different careers and basically separate social lives. Yele was a graphic artist with a large multinational advertising agency. Laide on the other hand, was a producer with the Radio O-Y-O. The house was never the same whenever any of us was away. "You're sure you can't possibly stay for the party? Dale will be
"You give him my love," I answered. "By the way, I've got something for him," I added, as I reached into my closet for the present I had secured for the occasion. It was a set of six different coloured towels with 'Dale' monogrammed on each. I had had them done the last time I was abroad. I had also bought him a bottle of my favourite men's perfume; I felt it would suit Dale's debonair personality." "Oh yeah!" Yele exclaimed with characteristic enthusiasm, as she rushed forward to admire the gifts. "I feel jealous," Laide said with a gentle smile. "I don't believe I've got a gift as lovely as this for him." "You tell that to the Marines!" Yele and I exclaimed, with amused protestation. "Who does not know that you've bought up half of the gift department at Kingsway Stores to give Dale for his birthday and that is apart from the huge box of presents, Regina your cousin, who is an air-hostess, brought back with her from Senegal. I saw her smuggling the gift up to your room the other evening, but I've just decided not to say anything. So sing me another chorus," Yele said with arms akimbo, as she teased Laide. "All I can say is that you've got extra eyes fixed to the back of that head of yours," Laide responded coolly, with an amused smile. Yele and I simply burst out laughing at that. "Who baked the cake?" I asked. "Oh! Domino stores. I actually placed an order through my aunt a
"It's a very attractive cake" I said. And I honestly wish I could stay back for the party; unfortunately I've got no other choice open to me, other than to respond to the call of duty in Lagos." 32 "What a pity," Yele said. "Never mind we'll save you some of the cake. And Laide, I suggest we start leaving for town if you still intend starting the party at seven o'clock, it's well past mid-day and we've still not got ingredients for the salad nor the moi-moi. When are you leaving Effua?" She asked, as she came up to lean her full weight on me. "As soon as I finish packing," I answered, as I put away a jacket into my portable wardrobe. "I'm already late as it is. I hadn't planned on waking up this late," I added. "Is that to say we won't be seeing you when we get back?" she asked. "I'm afraid so," I answered, as I stuck my bottle of astringent into my hold-all. "Well you take care on the roads," she said. 'And we'll ensure that you get your fair share of the cake," she called out, as she went down the corridor, "And the Champagne too," I called out after her. "Champagne is contraband," Yele answered, as she went down the
Yele had boundless energy and a keen sense of humour, which made it impossible for life to be dull when she was around. She was definitely a tomboy; but nonetheless a dear friend and a reliable one at that. She did most of the weekend shopping and ironing around the flat. She was however a lousy cook. The only thing Yele could successfully cook even with all our teasing and teaching was scrambled eggs. I suppose this was a consequence of having lived very comfortably in the United States as a Rockefeller student for seven years. Yele was nonetheless an unassuming person in spite of her privileged background and remarkable achievements. She had an M.Sc in graphic design from the much renowned Massachuses Institute of Technology in Boston. I understood she was also one of the best three Giovanni, the Advertising Company she worked for could boast of; and that Giovanni was a Multinational concern with branches throughout Europe and West Africa. Yele was attractive in a striking way, although you couldn't say she was actually beautiful. She was physically arresting and had a superb combination of feminine elegance and a masculine vitality, which made her an exciting and vibrant person to be with. Laide was the mother of the house. She did most of the cooking around the house although she ate very little herself. She simply enjoyed 33 the sheer pleasure of turning out exotic dishes. Her features were petite and delicate, but at the same time pretty. I guess it was her features that made men get easily attracted to her - they simply wanted to protect her. Laide however, had a lot of steel beneath that demure and gentle exterior of hers. She had tremendous strength of character and a serenity, which was not easily ruffled. She was, most important of all, a compassionate friend - the kind you wanted to share all your earthly woes with. Laide had read Theatre Arts at the University of Ibadan. She was at this time engaged to Dale: her childhood-sweetheart, whom she was utterly in love with. She was certainly much older than Yele and myself in spite of her youthful features. She often behaved like the big sister that she was. "I made you some chicken sandwiches for breakfast," she said, as she got up from bed. "Thank you dear," I answered, as I put some clean handkerchiefs into my hold-all. "And remember to give us a ring as soon as you arrive in Lagos." she added. "Yes I will," I promised. "Effua! I forgot to tell you something vital," Yele shouted, as she
"What is it?" I asked expectantly. "It's only meant for your ears," she said in a loud and conspiratory
"Drive carefully, Effua!" I heard her call out, as she and Laide prepared to leave the house. "Una good morin 0" I heard Mama Biodun call from downstairs. Mama Biodun was our daily help, who came in each morning to clean
Snatches of the conversation she was having with Yele and Laide drifted up to me. "Ah! ah! Mama Biodun you look funky this morning," Yele teased. "Abi o!" The woman responded with excitement and the good
34 "Me sef I be lady ke!" I heard her add. "Mama Biodun, I hope say you go come our party for evening?" "Yes of cos, if una invite me," I heard her reply "Abi una think say I
This was followed by cheers and laughter, from Yele and Laide. I guess the woman was actually demonstrating to them instantly, that she could actually do the 'Bugaloo'. "Wey Biodun sef?" I heard Laide enquire after the woman's nine year old daughter, whom we all doted on. Biodun often accompanied her mother to the flat at weekends to help her with the cleaning. "She dey for back yard," I heard the woman explain. She dey hang the duster wey we take clean floor." "Okay 0! Mama Biodun, we dey go town," I heard Yele say to the woman. "Is alright make una go come," I heard her respond. Just at that moment I heard Biodun's youthful voice greet: "Aunties
I heard Yele revving up the engine of her 'Land Cruiser'; whilst Laide called out; "Mama Biodun we are taking Biodun to town with us" "O.K.! Make una buy sometin come." I heard her answer, as she continued with her chores. Biodun was an endearing girl - the kind you wanted to have with you all the time. We never missed an opportunity to have her with us or accompany us on our weekend shopping trips. I got out my toilet bag and headed for the bathroom, It was all quiet around the house except for Mama Biodun's singing, from a room downstairs. It was a warm day and so I wore a light cotton Adire print material, which was sewn in a becoming French Culotte Skirt, with a blouse to match. For my footwear, I put on a pair of 'Roman Sandals'. I took a look at myself in the mirror and I liked what I saw. I guess you could describe me as being of average height, but my sparse weight, thanks to my job, gave the illusion that I was tall. I was actually only 5ft 7ins and not particularly extroverted too. I've often heard people refer to me as being detached, whilst others prefer the term 'Reserved'. A very small percentage believed I was shy and finally, a small category thought I was 35 a snob. I am probably a combination of all the given descriptions minus the snobbery bit. I honestly have too strong an awareness of my personal imperfections to be that. I briskly made my way down with my suitcase and hold-all. I also managed to drape my raincoat over my shoulder. "Hey Aunty Effua," Mama Biodun called out with pleasure, as she ran forward to relieve me of some of my luggage. "I no sabi say you don return," she said. "Yes, Mama Biodun, I returned last night, but unfortunately I am
"Where you dey go again?" Mama Biodun asked, as she set my breakfast on the table. "Lagos Mama Biodun." "Na wa O! When I just dey tank God say you don return." Speaking rapidly in pidgin English, she eventually came round to what it was she really wanted to talk about, which was finding a vacation job for her nephew, Rotimi. I knew the boy well. He was a second year Mass Communication student, at the University of Lagos. He was also a genial person and had been to the house a couple of times. He was apparently his aunty's responsibility. "He don tey wey Rotimi dey fin work bot him never see." She explained. "Na me wit Papa Biodun dey train am, bot he bin good if him fin job take help himself for dis dem long holiday," she added. "But you should have told me about this earlier than now Mama Biodun," I scolded mildly. "There are so many people trying to get vacation jobs at this time and there aren't that many vacancies at the Guardian either," I said. "I beg no vex my dear sister. I no sabi say work dey dear like dis for dis time," she said. "Anyway, you ask him to write a letter of application, using this address," I said, as I wrote out the name and address of the Personnel 36 Manager of the Guardian newspaper, on the back of a call card for her. "He is to post it by Monday at the latest," I added. "Thank you Aunty Effua," she greeted, as she took the card from me and tucked it into her brassiere. "He go write am today" she assured me. "Ask Laide to let me know, if he doesn't hear from them within the next two weeks. I hope to speak to the Personnel Manager on the phone, as soon as I get to Lagos." "I hear," she answered, as she picked up her duster and continued with her cleaning. Mama Biodun was a Seventh-day Adventist; which explained why she cleaned the flat on Sundays and not on Saturdays. Saturday was for her the Sabbath and the day of rest and so, she worshipped at her local church on this day and cleaned out our flat on Sundays. We had originally found this an awkward arrangement, but as time went on, we had got used to it as, we indeed also got used to Mama Biodun; her singing and good Christian cheer. She took my luggage out to the car. Meanwhile, I went out to the kitchen to fill a thermos flask with a cold drink. It was one-forty-five and the sun was blazing high up in the sky. I was certain it would rain later on in the day, but in the interim. I had a hot and gruelling two-hour drive ahead of me. I found Mama Biodun trying to give my dusty looking Renault, a quick wash. I asked her not to bother, as I was taking the car to the garage, to be serviced and given a quick wash, before setting out. The garage, where I normally serviced the car was virtually empty, when I arrived there. The attendants, who were glad to see me again, after such a long break, greeted me warmly and gave me prompt service. They changed my spark-plugs, checked my oil gauge, changed my worn fan-belt and eventually greased all the nuts and bolts in the car. I finally got the car washed and the petrol tank filled. The entire exercise took exactly forty-five minutes, and cost me five hundred Naira. I paid my bill and left the boys a generous tip. It was a few minutes to three o'clock, when I eventually set out. At the Polytechnic bus terminus at Sango, I debated with myself, whether or not to stop for a group of girls, who were waving me down for a lift. They were apparently students, who had come down to Ibadan from Lagos to spend the weekend. 37 They looked harmless enough, but one could never be sure. One often heard bizarre stories of harmless girls turning out to be ruthless criminals or car snatchers, the moment they got into your vehicle. Anyway, I found myself slowing down and opening the front, and rear doors of the car for them to get in. They quickly did so and thanked me effusively for stopping. One of the girls had joined me in front whilst the other two settled at the back. I increased the power of the air-conditioner and slotted a Bob James number into the cartridge player. Apart from the odd Eric Gale or Bob James Jazz numbers, soul, rhythm and blues were my first love, musically speaking. I felt very poised for the journey ahead and in a matter of minutes, I had left Ibadan behind me and got on the expressway leading to Lagos. A look in the rear mirror, told me the two girls at the back were fast asleep. The girl in front wasn't. She sat huddled in her seat. "I hope you are not feeling cold?" I asked. "You could close the ports of the air-conditioner if they are facing you directly," I said, indicating in the direction of the air-conditioning system, which extended to her own side of the car. "Oh no, thank you. I am alright," she replied. She was a pretty girl, aged between eighteen and nineteen, probably less, but I wasn't sure. She obviously had breeding and seemed to be appreciative of either my dress or my person, because she kept stealing cautious glances at me. After a while, I asked her her name. "Maruwa Chikodili," she answered. "And where in Lagos are you going?" "The University campus at Akoka," she replied. "I see; and what course are you reading?" I asked, after a slight
"Engineering," she answered. I was taken aback. She saw my expression and laughed. "My father is an engineer, so are my two elder brothers. I also understand my grandfather was a blacksmith," she added for effect. "So it runs in the family." "Well you could say so," she responded softly with a smile. Tell me,
"Oh now I see." I replied. I knew the construction company. It had a foreign partnership and
38 had been affected by the government's indigenisation decree. I believe it had become a legitimate venture as it had acquired the government's stipulated sixty percent Nigerian ownership. "Are you a journalist?" She asked. "Yes I am," I responded. And how did you guess?" "I saw a press label on your rear wind-shield." "I see," I answered. "But apart from that your face looks familiar," she persisted. "Really?" I asked, with mild intrigue. "Yes, and I could almost swear I know your name already. But what is it?" She asked with laughter. "Effua Solueze," I said smiling. "I thought as much," she said with childlike glee. "Now let me tell you the rest. You work for The Guardian and you have a weekly column, which I simply love reading. You really do have a remarkable way of putting across your thoughts. You have an uncanny way of getting to the heart of the matter in your analysis of very intricate and complex political issues, and if I may say so, you do this with greater clarity than so many of your colleagues - male! or female! "Well, well, well. Isn't that generous of you." I answered, for want of something better to say. "But can you tell me which particular articles you so greatly enjoyed or admired?' "Well, for a start, I liked your article on the return of Chief Ojukwu and I also enjoyed your write up about the genesis of the Chadian crisis-I understand there is to be a follow up article to the last one?" She asked. "Yes, there is," I responded, genuinely flattered now that I was convinced she was actually a regular reader of my column. Several people had actually complemented me on those two articles she had mentioned. My Editor-in-chief had actually said that my views on those two issues as expressed in those articles, were the most in depth and original he had heard or read. "Do you smoke?" Maruwa turned to ask me after a lengthy silence. "No, I don't," I answered, with my attention fixed on the highway.
"Because I genuinely thought most journalists did and more frankly, because I am learning to. I tried smoking at the party we attended yesterday and it almost choked me to death." "And why do you have to smoke if you don't enjoy it?" I asked. 39 "So as to be accepted and because everybody else is doing it," was her candid reply. We had arrived at the toll gate at this juncture and so I paid the fare and collected my ticket before making any response. The two girls at the back were obviously fatigued and still fast asleep. "Why do you have to smoke to be accepted?" I asked with interest, as I turned to look at her. She was obviously an intelligent young woman and a self assertive one at that, but it would also be wrong to underestimate the strength of the peer-group pressure that she was under. "Well, everyone on campus is doing it and you kind of feel strange and left out, when you don't." She sounded embarrassed and at the same time touchingly youthful. I was silent for a short time as I pondered my response. My heart went out to her, as I began to fully appreciate what she was going through. Growing up and discovering her own identity was proving to be a rather painful business for her. Here she was a 'Chrysanthemum' in every sense of the word, totally unspoilt and desperately trying to find her foothold in a social milieu in which her personal ethics, as taught to her by her parents and teachers (at the Catholic boarding school I was sure she had attended), were being scorned as staid and unfashionable by her new peers at the university. I silently prayed she would find that foothold, which she so desperately sought, amidst a decent peer group, who would convince her that it was still alright to remain as unspoilt and uncomplicated as she chose to be. "Maruwa, you don't have to do something you don't like or enjoy to be accepted by anyone," I said. "You actually owe it to yourself to remain what you are, and there will come to be some people, who will love and admire you for just that. I know, from first-hand observation, that artificiality never earns people either love, or lasting respect. You don't get deep self-satisfaction from it either." I continued, "And inevitably, the people you try to impress, see through your facade and come to despise you for it." "But it's so uncomfortable being different," she insisted youthfully. "Yes, I know," I answered, feeling wise and old. "It takes courage
40 end of the day. I personally believe, that its important for each of us to be happy, to be what we are as persons, for it is only then, that we can fully earn the love and respect of those around us." "Can I have your address please?" She asked, as she reached into her bag for her diary. "Well, I am based in Ibadan actually; but I am going to be in Lagos for the next three months. I am participating at an FRCN seminar. However, you can reach me through the main switch board at the broadcasting house. The number is three-one-double-zero-eight-nine. You just ask them for the training school," I said. "I am not certain what extension I am going to be on, but you just tell them you want Effiia Solueze." I spelt Solueze for her. "Huh! I am so glad to have met you," she said, as she brought out a comb and a mirror from her bag. "It's been nice meeting you too Maruwa," I answered with a smile. She reached out to the back and roused her two companions. I asked
"I hope so too," I responded softly. "Good-bye and do take care of yourself." I gently edged my way into the fast moving traffic, as I set out for Victoria Island. I rolled down the glass on my side and then switched off the air conditioner. It was a quarter to five o'clock and I estimated, it would take me approximately twenty minutes to get to Victoria Island via the Third Mainland Bridge. I had made up my mind I was going to stay at the Guardian Guest House. It was a familiar residence. I had stayed there on two previous occasions, when I was in Lagos and had quite enjoyed it. Apart from that, it had a homely warmth which a hotel would normally lack. I selected a cartridge with a recording by Manu Dibango. It was a jazz instrumental number and it kept me company, unobtrusively, on the last few kilometres stretch of my journey. I arrived at the guest house at precisely five-twenty-five. I made enquiries at the reception desk and was told a reservation had been made for me. The girl consulted a register and said that suite sixteen was mine. I collected my keys and made my way to the elevator. One of the porters 41 came forward to assist me with my luggage. The premises of the Guardian Guest House was indeed attractive. It had about three separate chalets for the very senior employees of the Guardian newspaper, who came to Lagos with their families. The main block was a six storey building with each level holding five suites. I soon arrived at suite sixteen. It was a single one and was complete with a bath, a toilet and a tiny shower. A balcony attached to it revealed a lovely view of the lagoon. I set my bag down on the bed and gave the porter a tip. I made a survey of the place after he had left and I liked what I saw. There were fresh clean white towels in the shower and bathroom and both the hot and cold water taps were functioning when I tried them. I douched my face with cold water and decided to attend the evening Mass at the Catholic Church of Assumption at Falomo. It was only a ten minutes drive away from the guest house and my wrist watch was saying a quarter to six. Evening services in most Catholic churches in Lagos began at six o'clock and so if I hurried, I guessed I would be just in time. I made a quick check, to see if I had my New Testament Bible and my rosary with me in my bag and fortunately I did, so I simply picked up my umbrella and raincoat and left the room. I arrived at the church gates just as the bells for Mass were chiming. It was six on the dot and the clouds had darkened ominously; a heavy storm was brewing and so I took not only my umbrella, but also my raincoat with me as I got out of the car. My car was parked just within the church's main gate and as I hurried towards the church itself, a passing vehicle blared its horn and flashed its lights at me. Someone in the car waved, as I looked up; but since the car looked unfamiliar I simply continued into the church just as the first pellets of rain came down. Indoors, the service had begun and I found myself unwinding as it progressed. I thoroughly enjoyed the service as I often do, when the congregation is only a handful. I lost myself in the beautiful singing of the choir. Most of the hymns were familiar ones and I happily joined in the singing. The sermon too was indeed stimulating and was delivered in a succinct fashion by the officiating Dominican priest; the message clear and simple. Christianity, he pointed out, transcended what he termed 'Ritual Church Attendance'; it was a way of life which transcended mere daily or weekly church attendance. According to him, we could only begin to appreciate the all-pervading power of this religion only if we had 42 our eyes focused on the person whom Christ was and the teachings he had left behind. It was only when we allowed his teachings to permeate every area of our daily living, that we could really be called followers of Christ and then reap the joy and strength that come therein. The eloquence of the priest and the clarity of his logic, transformed the sermon, from a stereotyped Sunday church sermon, to a clear message, which was not only thought-provoking, but also possessed a ring of simple truth. I was glad I had attended the service and as I joined the rest of the congregation in singing the closing hymn, 'Praise to the holiest in the heights'. I promised myself I would attend more of such evening services in the months ahead. There is something deeply satisfying about a church service attended by a small congregation, whose attention is keen and whom you feel have a real need to worship. It had stopped raining by the time Mass was over. The whole place was awash with the rain. The pleasant smell of the hot caked afternoon earth, which had now been cooled and dampened by the rain, rose to my nostril, as I walked to my vehicle. It was just some minutes past eight o'clock, when I arrived back in my suite at the guest house. The first thing I did, was to give my mother and Nkem a ring. Nkem, I understood, was out and so I left my phone number with Dorcas, as I had promised Nkem I would. My mother, on the other hand, was home and had actually been waiting for my call and was relieved to learn I had arrived safely. I, thereafter, unpacked my suitcase and took a quick shower. I settled down to watch television after I had rung the kitchen staff and asked them to bring me up a club sandwich and a cocoa drink. The meal arrived promptly and I settled in bed with it, as I watched television. There was an interesting and extremely amusing local drama sketch 'Ichokwu', just beginning as I switched it on. I laughed right through it all; after that, the network news came on. I stayed up to listen to it, but thereafter, decided to call it a day, as I had a busy schedule ahead of me the following day. I called the switchboard before turning in. I asked them to give me a ring at half past five the following morning, and for the third day in a row, I slept like a log. 43 Directory: standing standing -> Region III standing regional response team (rrt) meeting williamsburg, Virginia Thursday, January 12, 2012 standing -> Information and Communication Technology (ict) Products and Services available to Victorian schools on a Department preferred supplier basis standing -> Desktop computers standing -> Mobile United Committee Highlights 2014 standing -> The catholic university of america standing -> Episcopal Diocese of Rochester Standing Committee Minutes Download 1.22 Mb. Share with your friends:
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