The triumph of the water lily
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glasses. I added some ice-cubes into the drinks from an ice bucket. I then splashed some lemon juice into mine and asked Norman if he wanted some in his. "Why not?" he said and came to stand close behind me. I turned around holding up the two glasses in front of me as a protective shield, when I saw the embers of desire and deep appreciation burning in Norman's eyes. He was about taking me in his arms, but I shook my head from side to side saying: "No Norman; let's get one thing straight from the onset, you're here for the drink and nothing more. My tone was low and deliberate and he knew I meant what I said. He smiled sardonically, took one of the glasses and strolled out to the balcony to survey the view below. I joined him and settled into one of the ornamental garden chairs. "Effua, I know you're a tough woman; a hard nut to crack, as they say; but this time you've met your match," he said, turning round to look at me directly from where he was leaning his lithe frame against the balcony railings. "I'm not going to give up easily" he warned softly, as his eyes held mine in a disconcerting combination of quiet mirth and seriousness. "It appears you have an inexhaustible store of adjectives for me," I replied lightly. "First, I'm arrogant, then I have a cool exterior and now I'm tough! How many more do you have?" I asked, smiling as I nursed my drink between my palms. "You'll have to wait and find out," he replied, before finishing his drink in a gulp. "What are you doing for Easter?" He asked setting down his glass and doing a quick time-check on his wrist watch. "Nothing much," I answered. "I hope to spend it with my parents." "I might be travelling to Calabar tomorrow and would probably be
"I see," I answered quietly. "I'll speak to you before leaving," he said and rose to his full height
"You don't have to see me out" he said softly, as we broke apart. 91 "I'll come to the elevator with you," I answered quietly avoiding his eyes, as I spoke and stepped into my leather slippers. This was the first real kiss Norman and I had shared and it left me slightly shaken. I was embarrassed by the emotions the action had stirred in me and I struggled to find my composure. Norman was gently amused by my embarrassment and bade me a brief but tender farewell at the elevator. He repeated his promise to give me a ring as soon as he was certain he would he travelling and much to my surprise. I found myself wishing he wouldn't need to travel... He however had to. 92 Seven Getting to Know Norman Miss Solueze! Miss Solueze! I heard someone calling urgently after me, as I hurried out of the lecture theatre. It was the Thursday before the Easter break that year. It was the last working day of the week and I wanted to get to the bank to get some money before it closed for business. Lectures had ended for the day and students were milling all around the corridor. I swirled around smartly to see whom it was, without breaking my stride. It turned out to be Yinka, the controller's secretary, whom I had got to know well . He was courteous, competent and an extremely helpful young man, Yinka got on nicely with everyone. He came to a screeching halt in front of me, saying that the controller wanted to see me if I had finished for the day. "Is he in the office at the moment?" I asked, glancing furtively at my wristwatch. I had exactly forty-five minutes to get to the bank and that was cutting it fine indeed. "Yes, he is for now, but he'll soon be leaving for a board meeting at the Director-General's office, Yinka explained, as he prepared to take off in the direction of the lifts, which were just coming up then. "I suggest you go and see him now," he said, as he made a quick dash for the lifts. I walked briskly to the chief's office and after two light taps on the door, I went in. Chief was on the phone; I took a seat and desperately prayed he wouldn't stay too long and very fortunately he didn't. I imagined he wanted to talk to me about the production of the weekend bulletin. My other colleagues had already taken turns supervising the trainees at the production of such weekend bulletins. The exercise offered us a chance to assess how individual trainees were actually putting the skills they had acquired from the seminar into practice. I guessed it was my turn to take them under my wings. "Hello! Effua! Chief greeted warmly, as he came off the phone. "Good afternoon, Chief," I responded with smile. "I'm afraid we'll be interfering with your Easter festivities," he remarked coming straight to the point, as he put together files and 93 documents I assumed he was taking to his meeting . "The roster says your team is producing the early-morning bulletin on Saturday. Accordingly, you'll be editing the first news bulletin on the external service that day." I got up to confirm this from a copy of the duty roster, pinned to a notice board close to where I was sitting. "Banji is going to be your chief sub-editor," Chief continued to say as he consulted the copy of the roster he had on his desk. "He is a fine, hard working fellow so I don't think you'll have any problems whatsoever. Banji is sharp and familiar with all the ropes and I know writing for the external service is your forte," the chief ended with a smile. "Have you any questions?" He asked cordially with a benign smile and obviously hard pressed for time as he got up from his seat and snapped his brief case shut. "No," I answered, also rising to leave. "Good," He answered. "In that case you just give your address to the
"I'm equally pressed for time," I said, as I walked towards the door briskly. "I have to get to the bank within the next thirty minutes." "You had better be on your way then," Chief advised. "I've only just given Yinka a cheque to cash for me," he explained. I got to the bank only just in time! I rushed in, very much out of breath. I signalled to one of the accounts clerks whom I had become familiar with. The fellow was very busy apparently, but came over to me as soon as he could. I quickly apologised for taking him away from what he had been doing and then asked, him to cash a cheque for me. Whilst he did so I looked across the glass partition at the teaming crowd of customers virtually crawling on top of each other in the savings account section. It was like watching a silent movie, because the thick transparent glass, which separated us from this section, was sound proof. I could nonetheless imagine what it was like over there. The noise, for one thing, would have been deafening and the air conditioning system only barely managing to keep the place cool. I silently wondered why this sort of scene was permitted to occur each time a public holiday was approaching. I wondered why the bank couldn't spend some of it's stupendous profit in buying computers, which would do most of the 94 paper work quickly and efficiently and set free most of the junior staff who were obviously, that moment, tied up with bulky paperwork. The paying clerks at the counters were doing the best they could, but they were out numbered by the customers by at least a ratio of one to twenty customers. I was glad to see the fellow I had given my cheque come up to me with some money. I thanked him, counted the notes quickly and put them away in my wallet and silently thanked God I hadn't had the misfortune of hustling for my money the way my sisters across the glass partition were having to do. I wouldn't have been up to it anyway; at least not that afternoon. It was a rather hot afternoon and most of the energy in me had been sapped by the heat and the day's work. I was drenched in perspiration by the time I arrived at the guest house. I peeled off my wet clothes, as soon as I got to my suite and headed straight for the shower. I simply let the cold water course down my body. It was reviving and after that I laid down on my bed listening to a piece of my favourite jazz music. I had brought my favourite albums with me from lbadan. A short while later, I fell fast asleep. The following day was Good Friday; a public holiday. I got up feeling
"Where were you Effua all of last night?" he asked before I could even say the customary 'Hello'. I laughed both out of pleasure at hearing his voice again and at the slight note of anxious concern in his voice. "I was here Norman; but I was fast asleep. I returned, feeling very spent, I had a bath and before long I was fast asleep. The idea of unhooking my telephone just came to me on the spur of the moment. I didn't want to be awakened," I explained. "You had me worried," he said musingly and sounded like he actually meant it. It was such a long time a male friend fussed over me like that and it gave me a strange pleasure, a warm feeling of being cherished. "I'm sorry," I apologised with a smile. "How was your trip?" "Okay, but hectic," he answered, still sounding rather tired and a bit on edge. "When are you leaving for home?" he asked. "As soon as I'm through with my laundry."
95 "And what will you be doing the whole time tomorrow." "I'll be working most of the morning" I answered. "I'm producing the first bulletin on the external service tomorrow." "Ah is that so," he asked with a slight note of surprise. "Yes it is and it means I have to be up at the crack of dawn and at my
"I'm sure you'll be alright," he answered confidently. "Listen, when will your last bulletin be broadcast or rather should I
"I should be finished by about ten o'clock. My main bulletin goes on the air at nine o'clock. I should be finished by ten for certain." "I'll come around and pick you up then; there is something I would want to talk to you about," he added, after a slight hesitation. "Fine! but do I get any hint about the topic of conversation?" I asked with a soft smile. "Nope! none whatsoever; you're going to have to contain your curiosity Effua. And by the way I missed you," he added softly. "Thank you!" I answered gaily, refusing to be drawn into making any romantic response. "Is that all you can say," he exclaimed pretending to be scandalised. "What more do you want me to say Norman?" I asked laughing. "You're naughty Effua and I'll see you tomorrow. I've got to go now". I bade him goodbye and rang off. As I continued with my laundry, I wondered what it was Norman wanted to talk to me about. I could harzard a good guess, but I said to myself to wait and see. My parents were glad to see me home that afternoon and to learn that I was spending the Easter break with them. I went for the Good Friday service with them and then came back home to an enjoyable Good Friday meal of Frejohn. The meal, which is of Brazilian origin, consisted of black-eyed beans cooked to a soft mash and eaten with a thick rich tomato fish stew. The dish had been made popular in Lagos by Lagosians of Brazilian descent. There was plenty of the food to go around and Alice and I indulged ourselves. I had to go to bed directly after the family prayers, as I had to be up early the following morning.Alice, who was always excited to have me home, shared my bed with me. She set the alarm for four o'clock, but was still fast asleep when it went off the next morning. I reached over 96 quickly to switch it off and quietly left the room to get ready. I took a cold bath, and put on a navy blue sailor's blouse over a pleated light grey skirt. I made up my face lightly in front of the bathroom mirror and had just stepped into my white sandals, when the front bell went. I did up my buckle quickly and slipped back to the room. I picked up my handbag and quietly let myself out of the house through the front door. The driver drove swiftly through a sleeping Lagos and brought me to the broadcasting house well before five o'clock. I rode up the elevator to the Newsroom and was glad to find that members of my team had already arrived and had set to work. I picked up the handing over note, the Editor on the late shift had left me and browsed through it, as I strode towards the Editor's cubicle; with Banji, my chief sub-editor close on my heels. I acknowledged his greetings and went through several tapes from Reuters, Tass and the French News Agency with him. I also took a look at the copy of the late night bulletin, which had been passed to me and suggested to Banji, ways of re-writing headline stories, which I thought were worth repeating or emphasizing some other angles to these stories. Some other stories had to be updated. We also culled several stories from the News Agency tapes. Banji had assigned various duties to the trainees. One was charged with the responsibility of monitoring the BBC World Service, Radio Moscow, and the Voice of America. Two others had been assigned to work on some agency tapes, whilst the fourth worked on some News- Reel reports. I took a look at the bulletin the late-night Editor on the home desk had passed on to me and found that only one or two of the stories were of interest to me, as the bulletin consisted basically of human interest stories and so was local in its appeal. The team I worked with that morning was a good one. We worked tenaciously, and in ample time, we had a good bulletin underway. The stories they passed to my desk for inspection were well written with a commendable economy of words, and clear precise messages. There was so much information to put across in very little time and the concise writing style of the trainees reflected this awareness. I made a few corrections here and there; dropped one or two stories and re-worded a number of others. I however ensured that I called the attention of the original writers to alterations, I made to their work and explained why certain stories had to be dropped or reworded. At six o'clock, I stopped what I was doing to listen to the BBC World 97 Service. I wanted to compare its own account of some headline stories with those of the Soviet and French News Agencies. I made out a draft of the headline for my bulletin and soon after, we went into the full production of the bulletin. Time flew so quickly and in no time at all, it was time to go on air. It was a quarter to nine and the tension and excitement, which descends on a Newsroom in the dying minutes before air-time, was on. The news reader was nowhere to be found! I asked Banji to send somebody up to the studios to find out why he hadn't come down to rehearse the bulletin with us; and just then, Roy-Emmanuel himself, came barging in through the doors. He was wearing a track suit, with a towel draped around his neck. He had obviously been jogging or doing something of the sort, because he was breathing hard and sweating profusely. Roy was one of our best broadcasters, at least he was my favourite. However, I wondered if his listeners would ever imagine he was reading the news to them in his track suit, with a towel draped around his neck. "Glad to see you at last," I said, as I handed him the original copy of the bulletin. "Pardon me for being late," he said, panting and trying to get his breath back. We went through the bulletin together and when it was five minutes to nine, he left for the studio, where he was to make the broadcast. I picked my copy of the bulletin and went to the Editor's cubicle to follow the broadcast on a transistor radio reserved for the purpose. "Eight o'clock Greenwich meantime and nine o'clock Nigerian time. This is the Voice of Nigeria; the external service of the Federal Radio Corporation of Nigeria," intoned the voice of the duty announcer for that morning. The signature tune came on and a few seconds later, Roy began reading the News. His delivery was satisfactory; he read at a regular pace and both his diction and pronunciation were good. Most important of all, his delivery of the bulletin was both confident and relaxed. One of my colleagues had only just been telling me of how he had left out the middle page of a headline story of a bulletin he had produced for the home desk; I believe the news item in question, had something to do with the President's budget speech the night before. Roy had been half way through the first half of the story, when somebody detected that the middle pages had been left behind. The entire team, according to my colleague, raced up to the studios, with the page, but couldn't get in without interfering seriously with the broadcast. The chief-editor took a 98 gamble and held up the missing page of the story, against the transparent heavy glass partition screen, that separated the control room from the studio where Roy was reading the News. Roy had read the bulletin without any hitch whatsoever and literally saved the editor's neck that day. Roy returned the bulletin to the Newsroom after the broadcast, and Banji had it filed away in the departmental archives. The day's work had virtually come to an end thereafter and I was relieved everything had gone well. Banji produced a summary of the News, and handed out copies to both the Hausa and French translators. I browsed through that morning's newspapers and unwound with tea and cakes, which canteen staff came up to serve. I instructed one of the trainees to prepare a handing over note for the next shift and was just about to endorse it when the telephone in front of me rang. I picked it up and was a bit startled to hear Norman's clear voice. "I listened to your bulletin and was pretty impressed," he said softly. "I'm glad you liked it," I answered smiling. "Are you almost through now?" "Not quite, but I certainly will be by ten". "Alright I'll see you then," he promised. "Very well," I answered and rang off. I passed the handing over note to Banji to put up on the production desk for the next shift and then asked him to dismiss the trainees if they had finished with the task he had assigned to them. Banji himself waited behind to make sure that the translators didn't have any problems with the summaries he had given them. He left after their broadcast a short while later. "A pleasant Easter to you Miss Solueze," he greeted cheerfully, as he stuck his head into my cubicle to say he was leaving. "Oh! Have a good one too, Banji," I greeted as I looked up from the page of a newspaper report I had been deeply engrossed in. "It was a pleasure working with you," I said, actually grateful for his co-operation and superb efficiency. "Same here!" he answered happily and saluted jauntily before going off. "Norman arrived a few minutes to ten o'clock and the reception desk downstairs told me he had arrived. I picked up my bag, glad to be leaving and nipped over to the next cubicle to tell Deinde, who was still battling 99 with the production of his bulletin on the home desk, that I was leaving. He said something about me being lucky to be leaving that soon and went back to what he was doing looking rather harassed. He probably hadn't as good a team as I had been fortunate to have. I was tempted to stay back and give him some assistance, but I wasn't sure how he would take it. Editors often view the production of their bulletin as a very personal thing. Besides, Norman was anxiously waiting for me downstairs. I gave Deinde an encouraging pat on the shoulder and went on down to meet Norman. Norman had his back to me and was standing in the main entrance to the foyer and was engrossed in a newspaper article he was reading. I went up to him and gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder. "Good morning," I greeted smiling. He turned around smiling and simply took my hand and led me towards the car. He headed his vehicle towards the Beach at Victoria Island and cruised around a bit until he found a convenient spot. He brought the car to a halt and rolled down the glass on his side. I did the same and quietly wondered what it was Norman had on his mind. Whatever he wanted to say had to be important; not only was he subdued and serious, but he was also tensed and far from being his usual light-hearted self. I smiled to myself and waited; I nonetheless prayed the topic of conversation wasn't going to be what I feared it might be. Most of the Bar-Beach that morning was quiet and deserted. There were only a few Hausa traders peddling their hand woven leather wares. Two of these men were passing by when Norman leaned over to my side and kissed me on the lips. The gesture delighted them and they began to cheer and clap, as they came towards our direction. "Oh No!" Norman said in dismay. "I thought the Beach would be deserted this time of the day." "Never mind they'll soon go away," I consoled with a smile. "Ranka dey-dey!" The two men greeted Norman as they came up to
"Beautiful purse for Madame," one of them said in heavily accented English and proffered his wares for Norman's inspection. "I get slippers that are just as beautiful as Madame," the other fellow said and also presenting his wares to Norman. Norman's easy sense of humour soon erased his initial irritation and he was amused by the traders fast talk and glib salesmanship. He 100 responded to them in fluent Hausa and the minute he did so, he became a brother. He bought a couple of goods from them, but at a quarter of the original price they had asked for. Norman not only bought me the slippers, but also bought me a lovely hand woven clutch bag to match. He also got his niece - Nneka a beautiful leather handbag as well. I made a slight protest saying that he needn't have allowed the men bamboozle him into buying any of their wares. He simply ignored me and made the purchase. "How was your trip?" I asked again for want of something better to say. "As I said before it was fine but hectic," he answered as he reached to the back seat to put away the things he had just bought. "I hope all the hassle is over now?' I said. "I'm afraid not. I have a tremendous amount of paper work to do
"How annoying! Can I be of any assistance?" I asked softly with a smile. "Nope! My under-secretary will be working with me throughout the weekend. It's a rather important assignment," he explained, and smiled as he kissed the tip of my nose. "Anyway I didn't bring you to a deserted beach, just to talk about my work," he continued to say and gave my arm a gentle squeeze before letting go of me and then leant back in his seat. There was a pregnant pause for a second or two before he turned round to say: "Effua will you marry me?" He was looking directly into my eyes as he waited for my response. He was obviously scared of a negative response, but being Norman, he was taking the bull by the horns. After a while, I couldn't hold his gaze anymore. I tried to look away, but as I did so, he caught my face between his hands saying: "Effua, I am not one for playing games. I love you and I want to marry you, because I know we can make each other happy and I believe you feel the same way too; so why are you stalling! You ran from me in Ghana, you ran from me in California and you are prepared to run here too!" "But you still don't know me well enough, Norman," I said looking down and veiling my eyes with my lashes, as I tried to edge away from him. I was slightly confused and embarrassed. I had suspected this was 101 what he was going to talk about and I had come prepared to handle it in a light hearted manner and probably joke with him until the issue passed without my having committed myself. I had however not been prepared for this intensity of emotion on Norman's part! "I've known several women Effua," he said quietly. And I know it's a female thing to be coy; but you are not like that Effua. You are a direct person and you have come to mean something special to me. I very much want to marry you Effua and I would appreciate it if you are clean and categorical with me." I sighed softly and looked up into Norman's troubled eyes. He looked harassed! I smiled as I held his eyes with my own and hoped he would relax. I reached up to him and kissed him on the lips. He responded with good grace but remained quiet, tense, and intently focused as he waited for my response. "Norman you've come to mean a lot to me as well," I said cradling his hands in my own. "Your proposal means so very much to me; and I feel honoured and elated by it." I took a deep breath and paused slightly before continuing. "However, I must ask you to give me time. Marriage is a very serious business Norman, and I would very much want it to last forever. That is why I want you to please give me some time to think this over darling. Believe me, I need to have this time to sort myself out if I'm to become fully committed to you." I ended and waited quietly for his response. I was a bit apprehensive as I sat quietly looking out of the window into the distance. Fortunately, Norman didn't press the issue any further. He simply sighed softly after a thoughtful pause, gave me a faint smile and started the car. Both of us were quiet for most of the journey to my parent's house, we were both engrossed in our private thoughts. I was convinced I was doing the right thing by asking Norman to give me time to think this thing over carefully. I definitely had to be sure I was good and ready to go into a committed relationship such as marriage with someone else after what I had been through. Norman was good; there was no question about that. Life with him held tremendous promise of happiness. I however, needed to be certain I had forgotten Odibe and that all the pain that went with remembering him was out of my system. It was only fair to Norman that I ascertained 102 this and came to him clean and entirely free of any inhibiting ghosts ... Odibe had been my childhood sweetheart. He had been my greatest confidant when we were childien and at sixteen had made me become vividly aware of what it was to be a woman. What we shared had been youthful, fresh and unspoilt and both our parents had been delighted by it. They had watched, first in amusement and then joy, as what began as childlike attachment, blossomed into a deep and sensitive caring for one another. By the time I was in my first year at university, it became obvious to everyone that we would eventually marry. We were both very much in love with each other and our parents, who were close friends were thrilled for us. My own parents saw Odibe as the son they had always wanted but never had. He was a generous young man; completely selfless and responsible. He had a joie-de-vivre, which was not only infectious, but also a joy to behold. My parents could not have wished for a better son-in-law. Odibe's mother and I had been such good friends; right from when I had been a little girl whom she used to love to dress up in brightly coloured African-print cotton blouse, sewn with huge puffs and matching skirts, with lots and lots of fanciful beads. She and I remained good friends even after all these years. She was a truly happy and charitable woman and Odibe had inherited much of his genial nature from her. Odibe's father on the other hand had been a quiet retiring person, a dedicated family person; and also highly respected by his peers and associates. He was well regarded by several acquaintances, but he had very few close or personal friends, my father happened to be one of them. Odibe's father was very much at home in our house and he came to regard me as one of his daughters. I knew exactly how it was he wanted his tea, what his favourite dish was... and generally came to regard him as a second dad. I was in my first year at the university when the civil war broke out. Odibe was then at Law School and we had planned to get married as soon as he was through with it. Lots and lots of very good job prospects had come his way and we couldn't wait to be man and wife. And then his father died. He was killed in cold blood during the massacre of the lbos in the Mid-West. Odibe left Law School and went home to Asaba to be with his grief-stricken mother and twin sisters. I had wanted to go with him, but he had begged me not to, saying that the journey to that war-torn part of Nigeria, was fraught with too many dangers and that he would come back to me as soon as he could; but 103 this was not to be. During those dark, turbulent months, several close friends of ours were killed both within and outside Lagos. Many others fled Lagos to go hiding in the hinterlands. Family members were strewn apart and fathers and mothers were left wondering as to the fate of their children. Two days after Odibe left Lagos, the Mid-West too was declared a war zone and cordoned off from the rest of the country. My father had refused to flee Lagos, saying he would never permit a situation in which any member of the family could not be accounted for by him. He had tenaciously maintained that the God, in whom he had so much faith, would keep us safe, even when everything around us said the contrary. My maternal grandmother, who had been alive at the time had been exasperated by my father's insistence in remaining in Lagos and had left Lagos in a flurry of annoyance. My father's insistence eventually paid off and Lagos became a relatively safe place for Ibos to live in. For Odibe and his family, things only got worse. For them, it was a question of going from heartache to heartache. Odibe's father's death grieved me immensely; the brutal and violent way it happened broke Odibe's spirit, but I was the only one whom he would allow to see the depths of his heartache and despair. I desperately tried to comfort him and I believe, what we shared in the past held him in good stead. I exchanged letters that expressed much love and tenderness with Odibe. They came at regular intervals and I desperately awaited their arrival and then suddenly they stopped coming! For three months, I heard nothing from Odibe, his mother or either of his sisters, I was almost out of my mind with worry. My parents were very concerned too and made cautious enquiries about them. I suffered alternative bouts of depression and optimistic elation. I prayed and I waited; and eventually a letter came! It was waiting for me one sunny afternoon, as I came home from lectures. I simply broke down and wept with relief and joy, when I spotted the beloved handwriting. The postmark on the letter was a recent one and the information contained in the letter was current. Odibe explained that he had had to take his mother and sisters across the Niger to Biafra, when it became apparent that Asaba had become a very unsafe place for them to remain. I wondered how the letter had got to me, as he was writing from 'enemy' territory. My heart flew into my mouth when he mentioned in the letter that he had joined the fourth 104 squadron of the Biafran Airforce. He said his mother and his sisters were fine and assured me he was alright and would keep himself safe for me. He said I was to say a little prayer for him, and for a brighter dawn to break for our country Nigeria. He ended the letter on a light note; his sunny personality shone through in spite of everything. He told me how much he missed my mothers Ghanaian cooking and asked me to give his love to both, my parents... Three months later, Odibe was no more! His plane had gone on a reconnaissance mission in enemy territory and had never returned. Right up till well after the war had ended, no one was able to say what had happened to the plane or the crew on board. My parents travelled home as soon as the war was over to help resettle friends and relations, who had been victims of that terrible war. It was on this occasion that they had seen Odibe's mother. They found her in a refugee camp huddled amidst the pitiful mass of broken, tired, malnourished bodies that the terrible war had produced. Most of them looked at you hopelessly with vacant staring eyes. The majority of them were totally unable to help themselves and were completely at the mercy of the Red Cross and the help of friends and relations, who had come to their rescue. My mother had wept, when she realised that the frail, tired old woman who had beckoned to her was Odibe's mother. She bore no resemblance to her former self; all that was left was just a shadow of what she had been, her daughters sat huddled close to her and looking just as bad as she. My parents took all three of them with them, got them food and clothing and a place to rest. They finally helped Odibe's mum wrestle a neat sum of money from the Government, as compensation for their magnificent home, which had been partially destroyed in the war and later converted into an army headquarters. Odibe's mother, resilient woman that she was, used that money to begin a thriving commercial enterprise which afforded her and her daughters a comfortable life-style. My parents gave her all the help they could and were immensely proud of the remarkable spirit and will to survive the woman demonstrated, in spite of all she had been through. They however remained deeply disturbed about me. Like Odibe's mother, I carried the grief of losing Odibe tightly locked up in my heart. I shared many a tear with her and after three years of ceaseless search for Odibe, she begged me to forget her son and get on with my life. I deeply resented both her and my parents' fatalistic conclusion that 105 Odibe was dead. I found this totally unacceptable, at least not until his body had been found; and besides, hadn't he promised me he would return to me safe and well! I just lived on hope from one day to the other. I refused to weep as crying would be admitting or entertaining the possibility that Odibe was no more. For the sake of my sanity, that was one thing I could not afford to do. I kept telling myself that somewhere in some place, Odibe was safe and alive and would come back to me. It was awful living under that cloak of tension as the days passed into weeks and the weeks to months and the months to years. It was a miracle that I didn't crack up beneath it all. I prayed and I waited. After a while, my parents could no longer stand by, watching helplessly whilst I ate my heart out with grief. They were initially sympathetic and reassuring, but as the days went by and hopes began to fade in their hearts; they urged me to forget Odibe and start living like any normal girl of my age. They wanted to see me laugh, appreciate the joy of being alive and go out with other boys and girls of my age. I knew they meant well, but I resented their intrusion into my grief and the subtle insinuation that Odibe was dead. It all started to get to me and eventually, I dropped out of the University of Lagos and went on to the University of Ghana, Legon to finish off my education. It was there that I met Nkem and discovered a life-long friend in her. I found I could talk to her and share my fears and heartache with her in a way I had been unable to do with either of my parents or anyone else for that matter. She said very little and listened a lot: what little she said was profoundly helpful. It was also to Nkem that I came rushing back two summers later, with the news that Odibes uniform and the Saint Christopher Medal I had given him, had been found in a prison cell in Calabar, along with the uniforms of the other young pilots, who had been with him in the ill-fated fighter plane. The name tags of the three young men had been on their uniforms and given to their heart-broken parents. Odibe's mother had got to know the parents of the other two, who had been with Odibe on his mission in the course of her three year search for her son. They had all been told that all three of their sons had been executed in the prison, just two weeks before the war ended. That summer, Nkem and I graduated. She in Social-Psychology and I in Mass Communication. I soon went on to the UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles), to do my Masters Degree. I was an embittered person, very highly strung and hunted by painful memories. I also kept 106 longing with nostalgia for what might have been. I kept remembering how Odibe told me in that final letter to me, that knowing me had fulfilled him totally as a man and that what we shared happened once in a lifetime. He said we could at least be grateful for having known each other, for according to him: "Of anguish none is greater than the passing of two similar minds that never knew each other". His one regret was that he had not shared the joys of marriage with me and made me totally his, by having me carry his offspring within me. How I wished we had not had a mutual restraint over our emotions and struggled to keep our ardour in check. We had so very much wanted everything to be right and to take each other only when we had been married. That dream had turned into ashes and I was left longing for the comfort of his arms, his child and his presence, which were the only things that could assuage the anguish of my soul. I had a long talk with Odibe's mother just before left I Nigeria. She held me in her arms, as I sobbed out my grief at not having given myself completely to Odibe. She placed a cool and comforting hand on my burning forehead and assured me that God would honour our restraint, bless the motive of our hearts and give me someone else, whom I would find lasting joy with. She said that nothing would have given her greater joy than to have had me as Odibe's wife and the mother of his children, but since life was not always what we wanted it to be, the fit thing to do was to take the little, life had to offer and make the best use of it. The gift of life she claimed was a miracle and a worthwhile thing, even when we were passing through this kind of despair. She told me she had discovered this when she had tried to take her life, after it became obvious to her that Odibe was dead. She had with the help and prayers of friends, such as my parents, overcome the overwhelming desire to die and today, she had so much to be grateful for. Not only had she built a new life for herself, but had given her two daughters a chance of happiness and a new life. Both girls had made good use of that chance. They had married well. Ndidi, the elder of the two, was a lawyer in training and her sister Nkiruka, had trained as a teacher in chemistry at the University of Nigeria at Nsukka. Nkiru, had married one of her former lecturers and was a genuinely happy woman, as she awaited the birth of her first child. I too tried to forget Odibe. God knows that I tried desperately, but the more I tried the more my grief seemed to overwhelm me. Nkem advised me not to try too hard to fight the grief. She said I was 107 just to let it wash over me until it completely spent itself. She said she had experienced such overwhelming grief when she had lost her mother and two sisters in an air-raid during that terrible war. She had been away with a relative in another part of Biafra on that fateful day For one week after the news of Odibe's death had been broken to me by my parents, I lost my focus. I did a strange thing though, I slept for most of the first day that I got the news. Possibly, I kept hoping within my subconscious that it was all an awful dream I would awaken from. I longed for the wonderful oblivion of deep slumber, which came to me mercifully, without the use of drugs or tranquillizers of any sort. Between my waking hours, I would wander about the place totally lifeless, like a zombie. My parents were out of their minds with worry and very grieved by the fact that I wouldn't share my pain and anguish with them. I didn't mean to shut them out: my feelings simply went numb and life around me took on an unreal hue. It was in Nkem's arms that I found an outlet for the pain locked away in the recess of my soul. The floodgates of tears came roaring through like a torrent. I cried so hard I could neither eat nor sleep for days. I could not even keep down anything; not even the tiny sips of glucose water, Nkem kept feeding me. I kept heaving and bringing it all up. The more disturbing aspect of my grieving took the form of a recurring nightmare. In this dream, I found myself taking a walk with Odibe in their back garden, just as we used to when he was alive. The dream was always so vivid and I felt so elated by the sheer feel of his presence close beside me and then suddenly, Odibes face would become frighteningly contorted and he would call out my name with pain and anguish and reach out to me for help, but I was never able to catch up with his receding figure. No matter how much I tried, I was never able to make my heavy laden feet obey me and catch up with Odibe. The vivid frustrated emotions I experienced in those dreams often woke me up, drenched in perspiration, emotionally spent, and feeling distraught and depressed for several days. It literally took me hours to calm down and still the wild pounding of my heart after those dreams. I knew I had to seek professional help and I did when I got to California. The female-Clinical Psychologist I saw on the campus at the UCLA, was very kind indeed. She had the appropriate combination of sympathetic kindness, tact, firmness and above all candour. She advised 108 me not to try too hard to purge my mind totally of every vestige of Odibe's memory. She said to do that was not only unhealthy, but also a denial of what had become a part of me. She said the best thing for me to do was to try to forget the unhappy parts and cherish the good memories, which was his best legacy to me. According to her, there was no better legacy any lover could leave his beloved than good and loving memories. The essential sweetness and purity of my memories would remain untarnished because of the non-realisation of our dreams. For the realisation of my dreams could very well have fallen below my expectations. For all I knew, Odibe mightn't have lived up to what I had hoped for in a husband, she wisely pointed out. As for the nightmares, she said it would go away with time. She said it was the mind's way of purging itself of an undesirable emotional event, which had remained impinged on it for a rather long time. She explained that a positive attitude, coupled with the healing hand of time, would soon put an end to it. That visit to the psychologist did me tremendous good. I stopped making concerted efforts to shake off the burden of those painful memories and started savouring the sweetness of the simple things of life again. I gradually regained my joy for living and by goodness; it felt so good to come away from the suffocating cloak of grief, which had incarcerated me for so long. Norman was the only other male who had captured my emotions as powerfully and entirely as Odibe had. They were somewhat alike and yet distinctly unique in the appeal they held for me. I so much wanted to belong to Norman! But then, I wanted to be sure I was coming to him for all the right reasons and that Odibe's memories no longer held so much pain for me. That day, Norman met my father for the first time. Papa was outside in the front garden, raking up some dead leaves on our tiny patch of lawn. He had a bonfire going and was busy raking and burning the refuse when we arrived. Alice, who was out helping him ran up to the car to relieve me of my files and newspapers. She said a quick hello to Norman and went on into the house. Norman urgently whispered to me, whether or not he was to come up and say hello to my father. "Why not?" I asked with a smile. My father looked up casually, as we walked up to him and continued
109 "Azuka Papa," I greeted him in Ibo. "Azuka child! Are you back already?" he asked, obviously in good spirits. "Yes Papa; I've finished work for the day." "Azuka Sir," I heard Norman echo respectfully behind me, as he
"Good morning," my father greeted with interest and pausing for a moment. "Papa, I want you to meet a colleague and friend of mine, Norman Obi by name. He is a journalist too, but he works in the president's press office," I explained. "I see," my father answered, nodding with interest. "So you are the people who have the president's ear," he said good
"Well not exactly Sir, it is only when he chooses to make it available to us," Norman replied smiling. "Well, you continue to do your best and make sure he listens to you. Your task of keeping him informed of people's reactions to his policies is a critical one," he advised and continued with what he was doing. "Thanks Sir, I'll bear that in mind," Norman responded respectfully, as he left. Norman winked at me conspiringly, as I walked back to the car with him. I simply smiled. He asked if he could come round to my parents for a visit on Sunday evening and I assured him it was perfectly alright for him to do so. Most of that Saturday I spent with my mother preparing food for the next day. Alice and I cleaned out the huge turkey my eldest sister, Ama, had sent down, through her driver for the festivities. Ama lived in Jos with her husband and three daughters. Her older children, a set of twin boys were students at the University of Lagos and often visited my parents. Gika-Chukwu, my immediate elder sister, lived in Kano. Her family was much younger by comparison, but just as much attached to my parents. Gika-Chukwu's husband was such a genial fellow! I often referred to him as 'My favourite brother-in-law'. We had only just received a huge Easter card from them. It had been sent by special delivery because it couldn't fit into the opening of our mail box. The gesture was typical of my happy-go-lucky sister and her fun-loving husband. 110 My mother was busy roasting the turkey, whilst Alice and I prepared a pot of chicken stew and then some pepper soup for the next day. We were all busy at work, when my two nephews, Rufus and Alexander (Ama's two sons), walked in! Their arrival was greeted with plenty of cheers, for it was always so much fun to have those two around. They had a hilarious sense of humour, and infused the house with much gaiety and laughter each time they visited. My parents were singularly proud of them and rightly so too. They were two fine specimen of healthy, happy, teenage, male youths, properly brought up and possessing all the best physical attributes of their handsomely tall and imposing parents. Alex, the elder of the two, was a first year undergraduate in the faculty of environmental design, whilst Rufus was also in his first year, reading engineering. My mother, on seeing the two boys, asked me to add some more meat to the pots of soup I was making, for the two boys had an appetite that matched their size. They always ate from the same bowl and the last time I had watched them devour a mound of pounded yam and okro soup my mother had set before them, I had virtually burst at the seams with laughter. Alex, eating rapidly, had protested that Rufus wasn't pausing to relax or even drink a sip of water. Rufus had replied that he would not even stop to breathe, because if he as much as did that, Alex was sure to clear the plates of every trace of food before he knew what was happening. It was a joy to see that even as growing adults, the two boys had remained attached to each other. I gladly added some more portions of the chicken we had cleaned to the food I was preparing. I was certain it was going to be an enjoyable Easter break for all of us. And so it was. The following day dawned bright and early. The whole family went down to church in the big family car. The Easter service, which I always enjoyed, was said in Latin and so took longer than usual. It was well past noon when it ended. By the time we arrived home, the twins were ravenously hungry. They offered to pound the yam for my mother, saying that they could do it faster and more effectively and they were as good as their words. In no time at all, there was a towering mound of smooth white pounded yam on the serving tray. We all quickly took our seats around the table and bowed our heads in reverent silence, as my father said the grace before meal. To everyone's chagrin, the grace soon degenerated into a sermon about the purpose 111 and significance of Easter. I opened my eyes, as I wondered what was happening to Alice, who was trembling beside me with suppressed laughter. I wondered what was so funny, until I looked across the table and saw my nephews, looking at my father with disbelief, mingled with dismay, as the prayers went on and on. Alex soon had his head on the table, as if in a dead faint; whilst Rufus rolled his eyes heavenwards as the prayers continued. I could not help laughing when the two, looking very famished, settled down with chins on the table to watch the steam rise from the food into the air. My mother, who had also given up closing her eyes, was equally amused. She tactfully interrupted my father and gently reminded him that the food was getting cold. We mercifully tucked into the food after that and very much enjoyed it in spite of the delayed start. A greater part of that afternoon was spent playing a game of Monopoly. My mother was the first to go bankrupt, followed by Alice, my father and then myself. The twins were such astute players, I vowed I would never play the game again with them, until I had acquired a greater mastery of their technique and the game itself. The game was so absorbing, we only paused, when some local parishoners came to visit and collect the meal my mother had prepared for the old people's home the parish ran. We all retired to the sitting room when it was seven p.m. and time for the National News Bulletin. It was also about this time that Norman arrived. My mother had just gone to get us a light meal when the door bell went. I knew it was Norman and got up quickly to answer it. He was the one all right and next to him was his niece Nneka, whom I had heard so much about, but was meeting for the first time. I ushered them in and hurried off to the kitchen, to tell my mother we had two more people for company. Norman exchanged brief pleasantries with my father and then settled down to listen to the rest of the News. When it was over, I introduced him and Nneka to my mother, who had just joined us and then got my nephews introduced to them. The twins and Alice lost no time in chatting up Nneka, who was an open friendly type. She was obviously a bit of a tomboy and the young people seemed to find her amusing. I heard the boys pressing her to have a go at the Punch drink they had prepared that afternoon. It had been a surprisingly good drink and had comprised a bottle of red wine, the boys had brought with them from university, a lemon, cut in half and left standing in the bowl of wine. They then said 112 some gibberish over the bowl and added some pineapple juice, one large table spoonful of honey and several ice-cubes into it. I encouraged Nneka to try some of it. She did and ended up having two more helpings before they left. My mother also dished out generous quantities of the pepper soup for them. Norman appeared to be enjoying his and seemed to be at ease, as he engaged himself in a light conversation with my father. "Which of the Obi family in Asaba is yours?" I heard my father enquire with interest. "Okpala-Obi," Norman replied simply. "Okpala-Obi, Okpala-Obi!" My father repeated and screwed up his
My mother, who had been listening with interest, placed the name before he could. She was a bright woman and had come to know Asaba almost as much as my father did. In fact she had an edge over him, because she never forgot faces nor the names that went with them, "Oh! I see," she said with a benign smile and nodding with recognition, as she continued to look in Norman's direction. "He is Diuso Okpala-Obi's son; Diuso, the poultry farmer, your friend," my mother continued to say, as she tried to jog my father's memory. "Can't you see the resemblance?" "Wait a minute," my dad said, with excitement, as he sat up in his
"Are you saying you are Diuso's son?" my father queried, in a theatrical fashion, which caught the attention of the rest of us. "Yes, I am," Norman answered simply and smiling, with an odd mixture of mild embarrassment and interest. "You don't really need to ask," my mother said softly. "He is simply a younger version of the man." "You are welcome son," my father said very warmly. "Your father and I were at the technical school together, just after
"So you are actually Diuso's son?" my father repeated and looking at Norman with pleasure. 113 "Yes, I am," Norman again reassured him and gave a small laugh. "That's right!" My father said, nodding with approval, as he sat back in his chair. "It really is a small world," my mother joined in. "I spotted the resemblance right away, the moment he mentioned the
"Yes, he is a carbon-copy of his father," my father agreed. "We learnt of the sad report of your mother's death," he continued, as
"And it occurred just about the same time you lost your sister and her husband, we gather?" he asked compassionately. "Yes, it was a particularly stressful period for my father, however, we lost my sister and her husband long before the war unlike my mother," Norman pointed out softly. "Yes, I am aware of that, we actually heard of the news of your sister and her husband's death, the very day it occurred here in Lagos. We, like every other Asaba person here in Lagos, were grieved by the circumstances of their death. We understand a car accident was what claimed their lives?" "Yes, it was," Norman answered and nodded in affirmation. "Your father is a remarkable person," my father continued musing, as
"His poultry farm and corn mill were the first one ever to be set up in Asaba, or for miles around for that matter. At the time he started, we were all sceptical about the venture and see what he has done for himself today. We initially felt he was stupid to have left the security of the civil service, but alas, his tremendous success has proven us all wrong." My father was obviously thrilled at meeting the son of a long lost friend again. His extroverted rapport with Norman was quite remarkable for he was often warm but never quite this open and exuberant with people, when he met them for the first time. I gather your father has now retired to Port Harcourt?" "Yee-es, you could say that, Sir," Norman answered hesitantly. "However, his farms at Asaba and Abeokuta are still running," he explained. "That's right; that's very good; when next you see him, tell him Solueze sends him greetings," my father said, before getting up to take a phone call in his bedroom. 114 Norman stayed a little bit more after that and then left. I saw him again the following day, but only briefly, as I stopped at his place to collect Nneka, who had struck an instant friendship with Alice and the twins and had asked to come with us on a trip to Takwa Bay. Nneka, just like the twins, was armed with enough food and drink to feed an entire army. 'My young people', who were all very excited, helped Nneka put the food and drinks away in the boot of the car, whilst I went upstairs to say hello to Norman. He and his personal assistant were deep in work, but he broke off the minute I came in and quickly introduced the fellow to me. Norman was still in his dressing gown, his hair slightly tousled, but still as male and attractive as ever. He put an arm loosely around my waist, as we went down the stairs together. "I can't thank you enough for taking Nneka out of my hair this afternoon," he said, as we joined the teenagers at the car. "Uncle, that isn't complimentary," the young lady protested with a good natured smile. "All these good people would get the impression I am normally a pest with a capital 'P'." "Well, you let your gracious manner correct their notions," he answered simply and gave her an affectionate kiss on the cheek, before turning his attention to Alice, who had reacted to him with abashed shyness the day before. "And how are we today?" he asked, as he teased her mercilessly and much amused at her painfully shy discomfiture. "Is it today that you'll be singing for me in Twi?" he asked. "I can't sing in Twi anymore," she protested and ducked her face
"No, it's no use hiding behind Alex, yesterday you promised me you would," Norman insisted and laughed with mirth, as she continued to resist facing him. The twins politely acknowledged Norman's greetings and soon after we set out with a cheery wave from him. My young companions were in very good spirits that afternoon and I had fun listening to them and watching them enjoy themselves. Nneka was a quick-witted young woman and so was an ideal match for my rather argumentative and extroverted nephews. I had brought a paperback with me and soon lost myself in it, as the 115 young people foraged along the coastline of the Bay. We later ate some of the mammoth quantity of food they had brought for the picnic, before taking a trip on the river in a canoe. The day was mild and sunny and that outing with that youthful crowd was just the break I had been needing for some time. I was glad I hadn't turned down the twins' raptured suggestion the night before, that I spent the day out with them. We made friends with a young couple, who had settled next to us ashore. They were very much taken in by the young people's good-natured fun. We eventually left for home just before sunset. We dropped Nneka off at home before continuing on our way. I had told Norman I wouldn't want to interrupt his work a second time, and so we simply said our goodbyes to Nneka at the door without going up to say hello to Norman. Bassev, Norman's house help, was out in the garden taking the dog on a walk when we arrived. The Labrador bounded up to the car and rose to its towering height to be hugged by its mistress. Lady Delilah (as the Labrador was called) was an enormous dog and I had been very much overawed by her size the first time I visited Norman's residence. Norman had put me at ease and gradually helped me to get over my fear of the creature. I had actually begun to be fond of it. It was a genuinely genial dog in spite of its size. Alice was simply stunned by the awesome sight of the creature. She kept craning her neck to catch some more glimpses of Nneka and the dog, as we drove away "That was some dog," Rufus remarked, as he poked a piece of paper into Alice's mouth, which had remained agape, as she gazed on in amazement. Rufus's mischievous action promptly brought Alice out of her stupor and she swiftly reacted by spitting out the piece of paper and giving Rufus a whack on the head. He ducked smartly and she fell over, much to Alex's amusement. "Won't the dog one day bite her," she asked Rufus, with innocent candour, when they were much calmer. She was still very intrigued by what she had seen. "No, it won't normally bite unless it is seriously provoked," I explained with a smile. "It's a well-trained dog," I added. The twins didn't have to return to school for a couple of days, but I had to return to work the following day. As I hugged my mother goodbye, I told them I wasn't coming home that afternoon after work, as I was 116 returning to the guest house. They were sad to see me go and promised to come down to the Island to pay me a visit, before my stay in Lagos ended. Alice, as usual was upset to learn that I wasn't coming home that afternoon. I promised to phone them as often as I could before setting out. My father, a stickler for punctuality, had set out for the Island much much earlier than I did. The traffic on the ten kilometre route to the island was heavy and typical for a working day following a public holiday. The drive was very slow and rather exhausting. I arrived at the broadcasting house feeling slightly fatigued, but nonetheless relieved at being on time for my first lecture that morning; and that day went off rather smoothly in spite of its false start. Nkem returned to Nigeria the same week my stay in Lagos ended. She had put on a little bit of weight and looked relaxed and well-rested. She had been away for only a fortnight, but the break had done her so much good. She brought back presents for my parents. There was a beige and gold patent leather clutch bag for my mother, with a matching pair of comfortable low-heeled slippers. There was a lovely maroon-coloured dressing gown for my father, just the thing he had been wanting for a long time. As for me, there were three resplendent silk shirts in gold, beige and maroon colours. I was thrilled with them and they felt so good on the skin. Even Norman hadn't been left out; there was a set of white silk handkerchiefs for him. Nkem also got him a key holder, with a platinum disk, with his name monogrammed on it in gold letters. It all looked expensive and Norman had been touched by the gesture. He drove down to Apapa with me to say thank you to Nkem and it was on this occasion that he met Odili for the first time. The two took an instant liking to each other. Odili was a person you could like easily. He was reasonably good looking, but not in any spectacular fashion. However the arresting thing about him was his gentle, witty-engaging personality. He was a much travelled man with polished taste, he was a wealthy young man, but the respect he so easily commanded had nothing to do with his considerable affluence. He was just endowed with a natural air of respectability; a rare attribute, which some people are unable to acquire even with enormous wealth, status or affluence. Odili had the same deferential behaviour for both the wealthy and the 117 poor. He showed the same courtesy to the literally ignorant as he did to the erudite. What mattered most to him was the kind of person you were. A remarkably wise disposition for a young man to have. Nkem had also brought back presents for not only every member of her domestic household, but also for Comfort and Mama Asaba. She however told me she was not sure how Comfort would react to her gift. My intuition told me it was likely to be with hesitation and lots of suspicious misgivings. I therefore advised her to keep her distance until she had got to know Comfort better. Later events were to prove my instinctive misgiving right. That last weekend I spent in Lagos was a restful one. I spent it at my parents' home with Nkem. Norman had already left for an official tour of some Northern states by the time I set out for lbadan on Sunday morning, after taking Nkem home. He promised to stop over in lbadan to see me before returning to Lagos. Laide and Yele were thrilled to have me back. Laide's wedding was just a few weeks away and the flat reflected this. There were packages of all shapes and sizes all over the place. Laide's trousseau and wedding outfit had also arrived. The wedding was to be a typical Moslem one, both Yele and Laide's parents were devout Moslems. I had never attended a Moslem wedding before and so I avidly looked forward to attending this one. The traditional Yoruba attire of Aso Oke Buba and Iro, which Laide had chosen to wear, was a masterpiece of African craftmanship. Yele had been excited about it and couldn't wait for me to see it. When I eventually saw it, I could well understand Yele's excitement. The material was of pastel green colour and woven with very fine quality threads; a superb combination of pink and silver threads were used for weaving the intricate designs of stars which dotted the entire material. I understood Dale was to be attired in a traditional agbada outfit sewn with an identical material. I soon got into the spirit of the preparations for the wedding. In as much as I had enjoyed my stay in Lagos, it felt so good to be with the girls again. It was equally good to be at my desk again in the office. I had really missed the privacy of my small cubicle back at the Guardian. About a 118 week after I had been back at work Wanita, a mutual friend of Laide, Yele and myself, asked me if she could move into the flat after Laide had left. She obviously had an acute accommodation problem and was desperate to secure the place before anyone else thought of it. I was certain the girls wouldn't have any objections, but I promised her I would have a chat with Yele and Laide about it before the week ran out. I was as good as my word, and a few days before Laide's wedding, Wanita moved in with us. She had to, as her housing problem became even more desperate. That same week, Norman stopped over in lbadan to see me on his way hack from his tour. He arrived one Tuesday afternoon as Yele, Laide, Dale, Wanita and myself were sitting down to lunch. We quickly made an extra place for him after I had made the introductions and gotten over the excitement of seeing him. The girls had hitherto spoken to him only by telephone and had actually been itching to meet him. They were therefore understandably excited to see him in person. Laide and Dale tried to get a categorical commitment from Norman that he would attend their wedding that weekend, but unfortunately he couldn't give them his word, as he had a particularly important assignment lined up for that weekend. "I'll do my utmost to see if I can squeeze it into my cramped schedule, but I'm afraid I can't really promise," he graciously explained ,as he prepared to take his leave. I retired to the guest room for a quiet word with him whilst Yele and Wanita offered to prepare a quick meal for his chauffeur. Norman took me in his arms the minute we were on our own. "I missed you Effua," he said with some measure of feeling. I simply smiled, feeling rather pleased to be seeing him again. "I've got to be in Port-Harcourt at the end of the month to see my father. I would like you to come with me Effua" he said the last bit with some measure of trepidation and I was certain my response meant so much, to him. He waited for me to say something with bathed breath. "Oh! Norman!" I said at last, with a heavy sigh and buried my head in his chest. "You're pushing me unrelentingly. You must know you would be sending important signals to your dad by taking me home to meet him!" "Darling! I just want you to meet my father and spend the weekend with my family, that's all!" "I promise you it's going to be alright," he said earnestly and held my 119 face between his hands, as he anxiously tried to persuade me. "Say yes Effua," he cajoled, with a coaxing smile. I gave a small laugh, as I looked directly at him For all his smile,
120 Eight 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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