Banker's Training School Diary: day2

                                                                   Day Two.

The second day the training class was to be held in another branch at Sanusi Fafunwa Street. I had decided to always get to the class earlier than I did the previous day. Jumoke had said there was going to be an Early Bird Prize for the most punctual of the class. I was poised and itching to grab the prize. I didn't find it hard to locate Sanusi Fafunwa Street; the Okada man knew the locale. That was why I liked Okada. They seemed to know everywhere. With the Okada men there is no way you could lose your way insofar as you have the money to pay them. Just say it, they know it. The Sanusi Fafunwa Branch was also beautifully decorated with a huge Xmas tree by the gate and some lines of Xmas light dangling from the roof of the building to the walls and other beautiful green and red flowers here and there. From outside, the building looked smaller than the other branches I had visited. One of the security men at the gate wore a Father-Christmas cap together with his uniform. He was the one that smiled at me and threw the gate open for me without asking for an ID. He must have seen my folder with the bold Z logo on it. I arrived at Sanusi Fafunwa branch at 6:45am. I thought I was early enough till I stepped into the class. Some people had already come as early as 6:10am as shown on the clock in column of the attendance list. I was the 25^th on the list.

“Do these people sleep at all? Maybe they are resident in VI" I consoled myself knowing I had lost the early bird prize. The class in Sanusi Fafunwa Street was bigger than that at Aademola Adetokumbo Street -- same sitting arrangement, same lightening but Sanusi was chillier. At the front of the class was a giant Air conditioner that stood like a refrigerator besides the big black speakers.

I was looking for where to sit when the veranda got noisier. Many people trickled in and queued at the table where the attendance list lay.

“The staff buses have arrived” the girl at the back seat said and checked her time. From the window I could still see the two staff buses making a U turn at the Ajose Adogun roundabout. The round about I had decided to call Zenith roundabout because of the various decorations of Zenith Bank logo on it.

 The day saw a lot of bonding and socialization; even those I thought were deaf and dumb proved to be the parrots. As for me, I had to mingle too. At the back was a group of four guys, at the centre was another group of five girls and a guy. I looked around and chose a group to join. The group I joined composed of people of various tribes. I liked it. Besides me was Adetutu a Yoruba girl. She was dark, tall and good looking. Her girlish voice reminded me of the Alice in wonder land tape I used to listen to when I was younger. Tutu had the shape I so much desired of a girl -- moderate sized everything (don't ask me what) and flat Tommy. Tutu was the talkative of the group. She did all the talking and laughed all through. They told stories of what happened in some branches of the bank where the branch manager ordered all the marketers to kneel down on the bare flow for not getting businesses. The story was so strange to me. Salamatu was the quiet type. She just sat calmly and watched without words. Only the contortion of her face changed at intervals as response to the story.

"I won’t kneel if I were to be there" I boasted, unsure of myself.

“ah see you; you will even crawl on the ground" Chidimma said. I didn't want to argue. I always carried some kind of male chauvinistic mind set - never to argue with a woman. Chidimma had an intimidating appearance.  She was the extraordinarily bold and confident type. She spoke very refined or do I say funkifised English. Her accent was good and lacked the inconsistency of 'wanna be' hyper-correction. I tried talking to her always just to decipher some inconsistencies in here pronunciations, which I didn't see. The class kicked of for the day when Ronke stepped in and sashayed to the podium.

“oo az not written is name here?” she said waving the attendance sheet. Emeka turned and winked at me. I gave him a thumb up. He was poking fun at Ronke’s mother tongue interference. Ronke took the class on nominations for class president. Uche protested and said the class was a mature one and needed no president and entire class affirmed to that. Ronke tried to explain why the class needed a president but the noise in the class over powered her whispery voice. She gave up and then nominated Richard as the class transaction officer. Richard was the one that went out to make cash withdrawals and deposits for other members. He was the cool fine boy I envied for his popularity with the girls.

The class nominated Chidimma in charge of vote of thank at the end of each lecture. She was either to give the thanks or appoint someone else to do that. That must not be unconnected with her accent. She said "na na na na" for "no" and "yea" with low rising tone for “yes”. Chidimma wore artificial eye lashes that stood so straight like the edges of a tooth brush. She had long finger nails that looked more natural than artificial with pink nail polish on them. Her hair style was the type that covered her left eye at intervals and she would remove them so attractively with her index finger. The swing of her head as she removed the hair gave her the look of a movie star. I guessed she liked big things.

"You are going to give the vote of thanks today", she leaned over my shoulder and whispered in my ears as we filed out for breakfast.

"Me? Why me?" I asked rather excited. I always wanted an opportunity to speak in public. I wanted to show that I could speak good English too. Immediately, I started thinking of what to say. I wouldn't want to mess myself up in front of the class. I sat alone at the extreme left corner of the hall taking my tea and snacks as I thought of what to say. It was unlike the student’s politics thing I used to do in school. This was to be corporate. I wouldn’t have to billow; “greatest lions and lionesses!’ as I did in school. I thought of some sesquipedalian words that would shake the class.

Amaka later joined the group as we regrouped after breakfast.  Just like every other Zenith girl, Amaka was beautiful. The most conspicuous thing on her face was the wide gap on her teeth that looked like she lost a tooth in front. She had big bursts that made her appear misleadingly fat. She was the type some mischievous Igbo boys would call "Nkiruka" or bright future.

All through the class for the day, I kept thinking of what to say as votes of thanks that I didn't get the sense of the lecture till the end. The lunch was a plate of rice with full chicken or full turkey as usual.

"SIR WITHOUT MINSING WORD, I WOULD SAY THAT THE LECTURE WAS EXTEMPORANEOUSLY DELIVERD. AND ON BEHALF OF THE MEMBERS OF THIS CLASS I WANT TO SAY A VERY BIG THANK YOU TO YOU. AND WE PROMISE TO PUT WHAT YOU'VE TAUGHT US TO GOOD USE. THANK YOU."

That was the vote of thanks. The entire class stood up and clapped and clapped and clapped until Mr. Femi left the class. I was still standing and clapping with the microphone on my hand when Chidimma tapped me and whispered:

“That comment was superb! Extemporaneously” she smiled and collected the microphone from me. My face creased more with smiles. I felt relieved. My heart palpitation came down.

At the end of the class, we trekked back to Ademola Adetokumbo Branch to join the staff bus. I walked down with omowumi. She was the jovial type. I head felt bigger when she asked me the meaning of “extemporaneous” and I explained gaily. We couldn't talk for so long because I was feeling hungry moreover, Oloshola was interfering. He spoke Yoruba to the girl. I never liked to receive less attention in any gathering, so I left both of them together at the car park and went into the Ademola Adetokumbo branch canteen. I had to eat something.

"Please Madam I want to buy food" I told the fair fat woman behind the counter in the canteen looking forward for some food.

"No... Bros, we don't sell food here" the response came like a thunder bolt on my head. My stomach made a very loud rumbling sound "kprrrrrrrrr" and I turned to see if the people around there heard the sound. Nobody cared. They were watching the war scenes of Middle East on CNN.

"Please madam I am very hungry can I get anything to eat?" I begged. I couldn’t say why I felt that hungry. My share of the lunch of rice and turkey was big enough.

The woman smiled and gestured me to wait. The deep dimples on her chicks remained in my minds eyes as she turned and walked into the room behind her. I liked dimples though I didn’t have one. When I was younger, I had always pressed my cheek with the index fingers to create some dimples there for no avail. The woman later emerged with a bowl of hot rice and a chicken lap.

“Ha! This is exactly what I never expected. Thank you so much Madam." I said and rushed through the food hungrily like a ravenous wolf. From the canteen I hear the sound of the staff bus and dashed off leaving the food unfinished. The bus was already joining the traffic when I came out. I joined the bus and slept all through the journey till VGC.

BIRTH DAY

BIRTH DAY

You returned to Enugu on the 23^rd of October 2009 after your father’s burial.  You didn’t want to talk to anybody in your neighbourhood yet because you were tired. Your eyes were still heavy with the many tears you shaded for the eight days you stayed in the village. You left your mother and younger sisters at the village to escape the evil hand of the bad people over there as you were the only son of your father. Besides you wanted to get to Enugu and prepare for your birth day that was to come up on the 30^th day of October. You wouldn’t allow your father’s death and subsequent burial spoil your birth day. It was a very important day for you - your 27th birth day. 27 was a significant year in your Zodiac and you were determined to make it remarkable. You had drawn a red and black scorpion on your left biceps. You had planned to unveil the beautiful tattoo on that day. You also planned to adopt the nick name – Jupiter – for yourself in consonance with your zodiac planet. Joan your girl friend promised to bake you a grey cake shaped in your zodiac symbol. It was to be your biggest birth day ever.

 You walked straight into your room and slumped on the bed facing the window like a tree chopped down from the roots. Then you noticed that your window had not been properly closed for the two weeks you had been away. Cobwebs now hung loosely on the frame of the window and dangled like a badly fixed PHCN wires as the breeze from outside moved them. The room stunk dusty. You didn’t border to clean your room because you knew Joan will soon come and help you with the arrangement as soon as you called her. You couldn’t bear the choking dusty smell so you decided to get busy with cleaning the room that was formerly your father’s as you were now the man of the house. As you opened the door to the room, something inside of you was expecting to hear your father’s voice from behind say; “James what are you looking for in there?” but the whole house was calm. The voice didn’t come. The door cricked and swung open. The entire room was in disarray. You meant to start with the cloth strewn bed. Then you eye went over the rust eaten black box that stuck out from under the bed. It was that kind of metallic boxes you used in primary school. It was not locked. It was the box you were never allowed to fiddle with while Daddy was alive. You sat on the bed and drew the box out from under the bed.  As you opened it, a community of cockroaches scampered for safety. One cockroach crept out of the box and you smashed it with my left foot. The box was full of papers that now looked brownish as if they were heat with fire. There were deposits of black rat shits that looked the shape and size of rice seedling scattered everywhere in the box. The papers were receipts and invoices and school fees receipts and repot cards. The first one on top was the receipt of the old Philips television that was your sitting room. The receipt said the TV was bought N25. It had some holes here and there on it and some cockroach larvas clung to it. You turned the box upside down and more insects dispersed for safety. Right on top now was your Primary school report card with your name boldly written on it in a sprawling handwriting of a learner. You smiled at what your hand writing looked like. No wonder your then primary school teacher aunty Chichi called it the struggling of a hen for food. You flapped the report card on your left wrist and screwed up your face against the dust it emitted. In the first page of the report card you saw an assignment you did with the teacher’s mark of good that stood like the NIKE sign across the paper. You smiled and whispered that you always took the first position in the class. Then you saw your birth certificate. It was brown now and some parts of it had been chopped off by the cockroaches, maybe. It now had jagged edges like a rat eaten rag. Then you dusted it and cleaned the surface with your palms. The date read 22nd February and the year had been chopped off. Your head felt swollen as you saw the date. You looked up at the name; it was still James Chineme David. It was like a dream. You had always celebrated October 30th as my birth day.

“Oh! God what do I do with this tattoo” you screamed and fell backward into the bed. You didn’t hear your phone ringing; you wouldn’t have picked it if you had heard it. Your head felt heavy and tears ran down the two sides of your eyes like a leaking tab. As you felt the scorpion engraved on your left biceps you sighed and thought about Oluwole. There they can change the dates and even bring your age down. You lay there thinking till you slept off.

To See Nwautam

Every 26^th of December was for Ekpo Nwautam at Eche road field in Aba. I had heard so much about Nwautam but had not seen it for once. Nwautam was the spirit masquerade that they said came from the world inside the waters. They said it came out from the Ogbo Hill waterside river every December. It was the Ekpo that mummy-water had given powers of appearing and disappearing at will. “I am going to see Nwautam tomorrow” victor had said to me as we sat looking after his mothers stall. he looked me in the eyes for some reactions and I didn’t say anything but watched him as he continued cooking the stories about Nwautam’s magical powers; how Nwautam used to steal scared children away to waterside for rituals; how its followers used to disappear with it at the end of their performances and many other incredible tales. Victor was three years older than me but I was taller than him.

“It doesn’t walk like us humans” victor said “it is not human; It just appears wherever it wants to be at will.” Victor’s big eye balls looked as if they where bulging out of his small round face as he told the astonishing tales. I was stunned to speechlessness. Kalu had told me this same story of Nwautam some time ago. It could not be a lie. Right there, I decided to go and see Nwautam the next day.

“This December,” I beat my chest and said, “I must see Nwautam”.

 26^th of December 1997 was a Friday. The weather was cold and dried with harmattan in the air. The dried dusty harmattan breeze hissed at intervals, rocking tree branches and blowing leaves and papers and cellophanes in the air in a whirling move; the kind of whirling breeze they said could carry away even little children of my age.  I was barely 12years old. Fridays was the day we attended our mid-week services of theocratic ministry school and service meeting as Jehovah’s Witnesses. My mother had gone out for preaching. She had wanted me to go with her but I pretended to be having a terrible head ache. I was still lying feebly and pretending to be sleeping on the broken bench in front of our house when my mum left. It was one of the benches we used for visitors on my father’s burial the year before. It was the bench that Ete Ndukwo and the members of his age grade had broken when they argued that my late father will not be buried if my mum didn’t pay the dues my father owed the age grade for not attending all their meetings. I peeked hazily through the tail end of my eyes at my mum as she sashayed out into the street. The streets of Aba looked deserted amid the frenzy of Christmas festivity. Many people had travelled to the country side. We didn’t celebrate Christmas as Jehovah’s Witnesses. So we stayed back with the Ngwa people and people made jest of us and called us; “Ala-bu-out”.

I stood up from the bench and peeked behind the unpruned bushy hibiscus flowers in front of our house, into the street to ensure that my mum had gone far before I went over to meet victor. As I watched my mum get out of sight, I said a silent prayer that people should not throw knock-outs on her.

Victor came dressed in a pair of blue jeans trousers under a black and white striped T-shirt to match. I didn’t have jeans wears because my mum said they were immodest and debased dressing; that Jehovah’s people must dress modestly to radiate Jehovah’s holiness. I had worn a pair of plain trousers under an over sized T-shirt that was more like a gown on me and we hit the street. In the street we could still see people dragging their luggage to the park and other kids heading for Eche road field to see Nwautam.

Eche road field was randomly rowdy and noisy. There were too many people roaming about in their December best wears. Even little kids of my age were loitering and throwing fireworks everywhere. I had no knockout because mama said I would be participating in a pagan celebration if I threw fireworks during Christmas. There was so much smoke in the air, so much noise in the air coupled with the choking stench of the knockout everywhere. Even in the rowdiness of the arena, it was easy for me to identify the different mafia groups locking in the corners of the street. There, was Dibia under the mango tree behind the goal post area. Dibia was the small boy that broke bottles on his palms. It was he who had stabbed Uncle Mark on the neck and robbed him of all his belongings on his way returning from the market. I remembered vividly how Uncle Mark demonstrated the smallish size of the little boy that robbed him.

“That one under the mango tree is the devil they call Dibia” victor had pointed at him surreptitiously and looked around to ensure no other person heard him and added with adoration, “he is the capon of Ajagba maf. He has graduated from the middle of the street to the corner. His boys are now working for him as small as he is. He has so much jaz.”

In the middle of the field, where everybody ran around with fireworks, were other street boys parading their mafia identities and extorting money and other valuables from people. Besides the gutter across the road was a girl in a gown that had been white before, crying helplessly. Somebody had thrown a knockout inside the dirty muddy waters of the gutter that had refused to dry even amid the hash harmattan. The knockout had blasted and bathed the girl with the dirty water as she passed by. The small boys sitting at the veranda of the bungalow in front of Eche road field laughed uncontrollably. At the other end of the street a boy was screaming for help in the middle of three ugly looking boys with scars on their faces and their heads, dragging his pocket. One of the boys held him on the neck and punched his face in a swift jab, yet he held his two pockets tenaciously with his hands despite the creamy blood that gushed from his nose. People crossed freely and nobody seemed to look at their direction. The boy did not leave his pockets until he saw one of the boys brake an empty battle of bear with the flap of a white handkerchief. The other boys tore his pocket and kicked him down on the ground and ran away with all his belongings.

“You see that one in red running down there?” victor whispered and I nodded and he continued; “they call him Okiriko. He breaks bottles with handkerchief. He is…” Victor was about to tell me more about Okiriko when the noise in the field increased, announcing the arrival of Nwautam. I regretted that I didn’t see him appear from nowhere as victor and Kalu had said. I couldn’t see Nwautam clearly from the back where I was. Many people had converged to see it.

From Eche road it was hard to tell that over 70 percent of Aba inhabitants had travelled to their various villages for Christmas. The Nwautam started pursuing people. I ran too and stumble in the middle of the road. My over sized white T-shirt turned something between brown and coffee with dust and I ran to the corner of the street for shade from the blazing sun, not even for Nwautam that I couldn’t see. I didn’t see victor again. I searched through the crowd and victor was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know my way home; I didn’t want to ask the way from anybody. I was afraid of Ngwa people – with the tale of human flesh eating and head hunting. Soon the noise died gradually, the day was getting dark; knockouts were still firing; and people where dispersing. Nwautam had gone. I didn’t see it. I followed a group of grown up boy at the back as I sought my way home. I was wallowing in the confusing streets till I saw a man walking hastily with a bag that looked like a Jehovah’s Witness. I ran after him.

“Brother good evening” I said and asked if he was a witness. He said yes and I told him I had lost my way.

“Where is your house?” he asked keen to assist.

“36 Okezie street” I answered sounding throaty like I was about to whimper. He asked what brought me to the town and I didn’t answer him. I didn’t want to let him say I had participated in a pagan celebration. He took me home. My mother had flogged me with the cane she had bought specially for me and rubbed some pepper in-between the parting of my buttocks. I cried all night till I slept off. Even in the dream I didn’t see Nwautam.

     No Victor No Vanquish (1)

No victor no vanquish” he says

After battering me for three years

Like the clay prepared for mud house

As if in search of a greedy mouse

My house he turned to rubbles

With bomb shells like bubbles

My water he poisoned too

Eve amid the stomach’s rumbles

The world was watching too

Cumming bruised my wounds

And made them fresh in all bounds

Elbert was Matthew’s busy ant

Fanning the flames that burnt my hut

“Go on!” they said, “Gow-on! Gow-on!”

And ceased the food for the minion

Just because I asked for my right

The human right.

Ignoring the words we ate at Aburi

He came with friends to bury

From different corners they gow-on

So to make me a minion

But I alone I stood

With rusty courage and knife as I could

And I was busy crying

Yet the world was watching

“Odim egwu!” screamed my noble son

My most noble son

Who trampled on the olive truce

And crossed the seas and hills abroad

To appease the god

gods that have stubs in their ears

gods that sprayed fuel and hid in tears

gods that patted with one hand

And the other the embers fanned

Yet the world was watching

No victor no vanquish they said

And made my son drop his sword

Yet he turned Asaba to an abattoir

For bloods in the reservoir

In the Niger washing faces away

For Mr. Geno’s side to sway

Yet the word was watching

“Uwa, zuruike” I have said

Else my spirit would not rest

Because my wounds are still fresh

The world is still watching

And have said nothing

To be continued….

Nwanne sat on the floor with her legs curled in front of her like a Fulani beggar. At intervals, she looked up at her father Etee Kalu as he ate his dinner of akpu and onugbu soup. Her throat region jerked severally as she swallowed thick lumps of foamy saliva watching her father munch a mouth full of pork meat.  She looked up at her step mother thinking that she had heard the sound of the movement of the saliva as it forced its way down her throat. Their eyes met and she quickly buried her face on the floor. She was shy. The expression on Nwunyediya’s face was blank. Nwunyediya, Nwanne’s step mother was sitting by the right, adjacent the short kitchen stool on which the food lay, waiting for her husband to finish so that she could clear the table. That was the custom in Etee Kalu’s house – the wife that prepared the food must be seated beside the man and wait till he was done. Nwanne was drooling and waiting to take the left over. She was her father’s favourite daughter.  Nwunyediya handed Etee Kalu a cup of water as he coughed furiously beating his chest. “Maybe pepper has entered the wrong path” she said as she stood up and gave him several tender pats at the back while he drank some water slowly. Nwanne dashed into the kitchen and reappeared with another cup of water.

“kaa pa” she said in want of words as she handed her father the cup of water and placed her tiny left hand on her father’s shoulder. “Take it easy” nwunyediya added watching her husband with a show of care and love. Etee Kalu looked up at her and his face creased in a smile. She smiled back and recoiled to her seat.

“Nwanne!” Came Igbeneche’s laud voice from the inner room. Igbeneche was Nwanne’s biological mother and Etee Kalu’s second wife. Nwanne stood up hesitantly and sauntered uneasily into the room to answer her mother. She knew why she was being called. Her mother had warned her several times to stop milling around her father whenever he was eating especially when the food was prepared by another woman.

“Onye ukpa, longer throat. Sit down here and don’t say a word if u don’t want me to kill you” her mother snarled in a very low hoarse voice such that neither her husband nor any of her co-wives could hear her. She dare not beat Nwanne when her father was at home. She had once received a nasty slap on her face for lifting a finger on the girl. “If u dare beat my daughter again, I will show u that I carried palm wine for your head”, her husband had warned and that was final warning. Etee Kalu was a no nonsense man. He had a long thick leather belt with which he flogged his wives whenever they went against his dictates. His first wife could not take such treatments, so one day she ran away from the house with her only daughter to where nobody knew.

“Nwanne!” Rang Etee Kalu’s deep voice from outside. He had finished eating and wanted Nwanne to come and eat the left over before Nwunyediya cleared the table. Nwanne made to answer the call but her mother held her back and pressed an index finger on her puckered pouted thick lips. She couldn’t control the tears that trickled down her chubby cheeks. Nwanne wondered why her mother could deny her of the food and felt much pains inside of her. “I must tell my father what happened” she concluded silently in her mind.

“Nwannediya!” Etee Kalu called a second time, spelling out the full name. There was no answer but he heard some little movements in the inner room. “Ogbuefi, I’ve sent her on an errand.” Igbeneche lied. Etee kalu’s wives addressed him by his title name “Ogbuefi”. Etee Kalu knew that it was a lie; he made to stand up and felt some pains in his stomach. He held his belly and sat back sharply and looked up accusingly at Nwunyediya who was waiting for an order to clear the table. Nwunyediya looked surprised. Etee Kalu made to say something and fell backwards from the chair. His legs tossed up and kicked the near empty plates of food in the air and the food spilled all over the floor. He started shaking convulsively saying things nobody around could understand. Nwunyediya screamed and tried to hold him up. Her wrapper nearly went off untied. She readjusted it immediately and knotted the ends firmly with her hair scarf. The other two co-wives dashed out of their rooms screaming on top of their voices as they saw their husband battling for life on the floor. They carried him up gingerly, fidgeting as they called for help from the neighbours. There was no vehicle to convey him to the hospital. Oga Jude the taxi driver next door had gone out early in the morning. Igbeneche gave him a piggy back and the other wives held him on Igbeneche’s back as they ran to the hospital with his legs dangling limply behind and nearly touching the ground. Their children; all came out too. Nwanne, leaned on the wall with her legs crossed and her right hand crossed over her belly held her left elbow while her left palm supported her head. She was crying laud now; not for her father’s uncertain condition, but for the food she saw spilled on the ground. The stream of hot tears raining from her eyes could not allow her see clearly when some fowls came picking the food. She felt like shooing them off but held back herself.

Etee Kalu was very heavy on Igbeneche’s back. She stopped and transferred him on Nwunyediya’s back. His bulgy belly quivered like a bag of sachet water as Nwunyediya trotted on with increased agility like a wounded horse. Etee Kalu discharged his last breath with his eyes open as they stepped on the hospital pavement. The three women lowered the heavy body gently on the pavement and started wailing uncontrollably. Neighbours trickled out one by one like termites after a chilly rain; in a twinkle of an eye the hospital premises was full of onlookers and sympathizers.  Igbeneche was astonished. She never knew anything could kill a man this fast without symptoms; without ailment. She wasn’t sure if these were happening in a dream or in real life. It was like what she used to see on the Nollywood movies she had always criticized. Tears ran down the corners of her eyes. She didn’t know how to start crying like the other women.

The three women made arrangement to deposit their husband’s corpse in the morgue but the doctor, a tall dark man with uneven white beards refused and said a man has to be around. “No women, this should be done by a man no matter how old or young. Is there no man in the family?” the doctor had asked removing his glasses to look into the women’s faces one after the other. It was then that Akudiya, the last wife realized what was about to happen to them. She broke out again in a high pitched wail and threw herself on the grown, kicking generously in the air like a cyclist. Her only son was just three years old. He can’t be brought to represent the family in the morgue. She jerked up from the ground and started running home. Somebody made to stop her but she pushed the person away and tore through the crowd into the street. The other wives knew what she was going to do.  They too dashed out running after her. The big tree had fallen and the birds had to scatter. On her way home Igbeneche dashed into an electronics mechanic shop. The electrician a tall dark young man with hideous scar across his forehead was soldering something on an open radio. He was the man that always came to look for Igbeneche at her fruit shop along Ngwa road. The man Nwanne had learned to call uncle whenever her father was not in town. He was the Uncle that bought Nwanne the t-shirt that had the inscription: Aba noo ji. Igbeneche greeted him amid sobs and ran the back of her left hand across her nostrils to clear the nose that had started running. She bent low to the electrician’s ears and whispered something. Immediately he dropped his soldering iron, unplugged it from the wall socket, carried an old nonfunctional black and white television and followed Igbeneche.

It was bedlam at home as everybody wailed from one corner of the house to the other. Igbeneche led the electrician to the sitting room where he laid down the old damaged television and stealthily carried the new coloured TV away through the back yard. Nwanne could not understand what was going on. She sat there on the floor hugging her knees to her chin and rocking childishly to and fro as she cried like the other kids. She saw Akudiya surreptitiously moving a box through the back yard. Most of the valuables in the house left just the same way within a space of minutes. Some disappeared totally without a replacement while some others where swapped with either rickety irreparable one or an inferior good-for-nothing equivalent. The women removed whatever they valued most; their jewelries, wrappers, clothes and electronics. These they would have done in a better way only if the death had given a little sign; if it had not come this sudden. None of the women wanted to put a call through to Etee Kalu’s people with their phones. They wanted to take care of things first. Words had been sent to Etee Kalu’s people through a little kid and they were expected to arrive soon.

“Nda ife obu? What is it?” Etee Mba asked directly to nobody as he dashed into the yard filed with the noise of the wailing women. Etee Ndukwo the deaf and dumb was with him. They were the first among the relatives to arrive. They made straight into the sitting room where the three women performed different wailing patterns. Akudiya’s voice was the loudest. She could not rest on a place. She threw herself on the floor and landed with her buttocks with her two hands on her head. She stood up and flung herself into the upholstery and lay limply there. Her wrapper was undone and she didn’t seem to notice that. She was wearing a white pant with every other part of her body left bare. Mama Ada, the fat woman that sold Akara in the neighbourhood was trying to hold her still. To the left, beside the entrance door leaned Nwunyediya sobbing in a loud voice and stamping her feet on the ground in a matching fashion. Igbeneche lay on the floor sobbing gently. Mama obi her friend was attending to her. “Please stop doing this to yourselves biko nu” Mama Obi said aloud tapping Igbenche gently at the back. As the three women saw Etee Mba and Etee Ndukwo, they raised their voices the more. It was like a crying competition. Etee Mba whispered something into Mama Ada’s ears and she stood up and picked the wrapper on the floor and help Akudiya cover herself.

“iya, come and show me, come and show me” Etee Mba said to Igbeneche as if in a hurry and made some signs to Etee Ndukwo. As the oldest wife Igbeneche had to go with the men. Mama Obi helped her up and she wiped the tears on her face with the back of her palms and readjusted her wrapper. She raised the tail end of her wrapper and blew her nose into it. She didn’t care that the men were watching as the raised wrapper exposed the “V” end of her fleshy thighs. She readjusted her wrapper once again. She untied her hair scarf and tied it to her waist to hold her wrapper firm and followed the men out of the room leaning on Mama Obi’s shoulder. Outside’ the children had resumed playing once again. They didn’t know what was going on. Nwanne did not play. She sat alone beside the door to the sitting room still hugging her knees to her chin and rocking back and forth. As Igbeneche came out from the sitting room, she saw Nwanne and their eyes met and Nwanne looked away without a word as if she just saw an enemy. There were whitish sketches of dried tears on her chins. Igbeneche thought something about telling Nwanne to go and play with other children but held back her tongue. She also wondered if Nwanne was suspecting anything but jettisoned the thought and moved on. At the gate, they met three other relatives and together they all walked down the street to the hospital

******

The other women were still crying when Igbeneche and other members of the extended family returned from the mortuary. Their voices had gone so hoarse and their throats sore that only people in the sitting room could know they were crying. It was getting dark now. Many people sit at different corners with faces ashen. The milieu was now calm when Igbeneche stepped in through the gate that led into the yard. The children were now playing as they normally did. In the middle of the yard, they sat in a circle playing okoso under a fluorescent light. Igbeneche wondered something about why Nwanne could not play with her fellow girls and looked up the three girls playing alancho close to the kitchen and said nothing. Many more neighbour had came around to condole them.

“Nwanne will you sit like a woman!” Etee Mba barked. Nwanne jerked and adjusted her dress and crossed her legs slowly without looking up. In the sitting room the other women lay sprawl on the floor sobbing gently. They must be tired of wailing now.

“Women we have to lock up this room now” Etee Mba announced. They were expecting it. One by one they stood up and worked out slowly into their various rooms without saying a word and Etee Ndukwo used a big padlock to lock the door. Beside the sitting room window was packed Etee Kalu’s old stainless white horse bicycle. Etee Ndukwo mounted it and unlocked the chain fastening the wheels to the window protector. No one could say where he got the key to the padlock; maybe they were too encumbered with thoughts of the day to think about the key to a mare bicycle. Yet nobody could stop him. His hands were quaking now as they did whenever he was angry and his eyes were red. He must be crying inside of him. Men don’t cry. Nobody wanted to get close to him. Nobody wanted a deaf man’s palaver. Etee Mba made a sign to him and he responded with another clumsy sign and rode out of the gate. Igbeneche bit her lower lips and shook her head in pains as she watched the deaf man riding away with the bicycle. She would have planned and sold the bicycle and even the house; only if the sickness was protracted a little. She felt like a failure. Then Etee Mba was left to read the riot act to the women. He went into their rooms one after the other.

“That is our custom and you can’t change it” Etee Mba’s croaky voice echoed from Nwunyediya’s room.

“Hmm I don’t think that is going to be possible o, because I have to go and carry my goods from Nwanyi-Ngwa, and I still have to sell them before they spoil. They are perishable. How would u expect me to stay indoors for six months because my husband died? As if I killed him; as if that would raise him from the dead.” Nwunyediya complained still sobbing. She sniffed in her running nose and continued; “ok, who is going to be taking care of my children? Who will be feeding us? What about our clothing?”

“There’s nothing to worry about clothing woman!” Etee Mba barked “you have to wear your akwa-mkpe throughout the mourning period.”

“Me, in black? A single cloth for six months?” Nwunyediya retorted with a question meant for nobody. Stressing on the “me”, she beat her chest and shook her head slowly to disagreement. She blew her nose with the end of her wrapper and murmured something no human could understand.

“Woman just wait let me tell you all of the customs before you start” Etee Mba continued saying things she was no longer interested in. the words were to her like water on the back of a duck. She was now thinking of what else to do. If she ran away people would conclude that she killed her husband. After all it was her food he ate before he died.

“Ngwa kpairim, Etee Mba tell me; what rights will you perform during the mourning period? Or are you not going to mourn your blood brother? After all you are going to inherit his things. Look there that deaf that calls himself Ndukwo has already inherited the bicycle. Who knows what and what you are going to be interested in. You will soon for this house and who knows what more. What are you men going to do?” She wanted to add “good for nothing men” but held back and clicked her tongue and clapped and continued; “You are going to throw us out with nothing, yet you want us to suffer mourning as if we caused his death” Nwunyediya made her points weeping louder now. She was no longer weeping for the death of her husband but for the impending customarily imposed punishment and suffering and humiliation. She couldn’t imagine herself in that disgusting black mourning cloth like Mama Ebuka her neighbour; she couldn’t imagine herself staying indoors doing nothing and begging for food from friends and neighbours; after all Etee Kalu had never been the one feeding or providing for her. All he did was coming home to impregnate his wives as if they were baby making machines and have them compete for his attention, cook his food, wash his cloths and even pay his bills at times. “Oh God, had I known, I wouldn’t have allowed him to go to that palm wine bar with Etee Onwuso, that wicked man. He must have poisoned him.” she thought inside her and sniffed in her running nose.

“I didn’t formulate the customs you know and I won’t be the one to change it. I‘ve just told you how it is going to be.” Etee Mba dropped brazenly in a finality tone after some minutes pause. He dusted his buttocks and made for the door without looking back at the depressed widow. He had told the other wives the same thing. Igbeneche was not listening while he spoke to her. His voice sounded so faint and sick as if he spoke from a far. She was brooding over her mistakes. She had injected an over dose of the potion in the soup. She would have been a little more careful if not for the little Otisi, Akudiya’s son that budged in to the kitchen and she over turned the bottle into the soup. She had quickly tiptoed into the kitchen when Nwunyediya went out to fetch some water. She had planned it very well. Nwunyediya had called Nwanne severally to send her for the water but Igbeneche had hidden Nwanne in her room and ordered her neither to answer nor to go outside. Her plans had been to make Etee Kalu go through serious pains in a protracted illness so that she would have ample time to sell most of his properties before his brothers would come to inherit them at his death. The prophet had told her to give him the potion in three installments.

“I want something that would make him go through pains” she demonstrated with her hands in a fist; “that man is a wicked man. He just married us to be producing children for him. He doesn’t provide us with anything. Instead we fight each other for his attention.”

“Just make it easy for him” the dirty bearded prophet in a long white gown said as he mixed the concoction.

“I don’t want to show any sympathy here lord. You can only see sympathy in the dictionary and check it there; it is found in-between shit and syphilis. I don’t want to make any mistake.

The prophet had smiled at her analysis of sympathy and handed her the potion.

Now she was crying as she pictured the wicked grin on the face of the prophet as he said: “this is your with madam. I have nothing to do with it”. Igbeneche just cried and cried and slept off. Her weeping was not for her dead husband but for her mistakes. She didn’t hear anything Etee Mba had said. Akudiya did the same but Nwunyediya could not take it; maybe because of the way the death came as if she killed her husband. She suspected Etee Onwuso poisoned her husband but she couldn’t say it out because she would have no prove to that. She wondered what his co-wives could be thinking about the death or it cause.

“Eew! Eew! They have killed him!” she screamed with stress on the “they” as if she was letting her co-wives know she didn’t kill their husband and tears gushed continuously from the ends of her oval eyes like water from a leaking tank.

******

The six months mourning period passed as if it never came and life went on like it would never end. The co-wives parted too like they never met. The string holding them had broken. It’s been six years now and things had changed a lot. Nwanne stood in front of their new home. She couldn’t see Onu and Otisi again to play with. “They must be big boys now like these ash boys here”, she thought. She was watching some boys playing football in the rain. She had marked this set of boys for their always being dusty. She had called them ash boys because their bodies were always ash with the patches of dust on them. Even while it rained the dust on their bodies seemed not to be washing off. She stood at the window holding the burglary proof and watching the ash boys from the hole of missing louvers on the window as they played naked in the rain. She felt like jumping into the rain to play football with the boys though her mother had warned her against playing with boys. She would have liked to be born a boy if it were to be her choice to make. One of the boys shot the ball towards the stone goal post but the ball rolled close to the goal post and stopped locked in a water log. The goal keeper dashed towards the ball to kick it off but the ball drifted a little to the left and he missed it, kicked the air in a rapid swoosh and landed with his back on the dirty muddy ground. The other boys sniggered freely and threw themselves on the ground. Nwanne joined with laud laughter and clapped too. One of the boys turned and made a face at her, sticking out his tongue and she opened her fingers at the boy still laughing. “shege JB”, she cursed playfully. If it were to be some years before now, she would have pulled off her cloth and run into the rain to play football. She was sure she could play better than some of the boys but she can’t play now that some little balls are growing on her chest. The kind of balls she can’t see on the chest of the boys of her age. She had thought they were boils because of the little pains she felt in them. Her mother said they were not boils when she complained and said they were called breasts; that they would soon grow bigger like those on her own chest; and that they would be producing milk and that her babies would have to suck and feed on them. She had felt so embarrassed the day she tried playing with boys of her age and they left the football and focused on watching the balls on her chest. Some of them tried to touch the balls but she didn’t allow them, not for anything but the pains she would feel at the touch.

Now she felt bad. She wanted to feel free and play naked in the rain. Even if she should ran into the rain with her dress on, the football might hit her chest and the balls will start aching her. She can’t risk increasing the pains of the balls now. She drew up the upper part of her cloth and looked down into it to her chest. The area of the balls looked lighter than every other part of her abdomen. The balls were still there growing by the day, just as her mother had said. She felt them with her left hand and sighed. She wondered what might be inside the balls. They felt strong like unripe tomato balls. As her fingers shoved across the edge of the tender breasts, she felt some pains and sighed again, and looked up straight into the rain. She was looking at nothing in particular. With her eyes on the droplets of the fading rain as they trickled down from the roof she could see the serenity in them. She felt like going into the world in the droplets to know how it felt in there. Then the voice came.

“Nwanne!” It was her mother calling and she jumped out of her imagination and scurried to the kitchen where Igbeneche was wrapping asusu with plantain leaves. She knew why she was being called. “Mma, let me get the trey pan ready” she said as she walked in and out of the kitchen. Igbeneche looked up watching her back as she sauntered like a tomboy towards the wall on which the tray leaned. She could notice the increase in the size of her back side and the curvy sides of her hips and her dark skin that shined oilier by the day. Her daughter was gradually developing into womanhood. She thought something about telling her to walk like a woman but just saying it had not worked. Igbeneche was worried that her daughter was acting masculine. She recalled her own days as a growing teenage girl in the village. She tried to compare herself with her daughter yet she couldn’t fix any similarity but the knock knees and the shrill voice they shared. Igbeneche was still watching Nwanne till she picked the tray and turned. She could now see that her breasts are getting bigger despite the many cloths Nwanne wore to hide them. 

UNHAPPY SCULPURES

CHAPTER ONE

Melvin finished before every other person in the examination hall. He submitted his answer script and walked out of the class without looking back; as if he had just had a blazing row with everybody in the class. He didn’t wait to cross-examine his work as has been his custom. He didn’t turn to see Chinelo watching him accusingly. He didn’t notice the lecturer’s surprised gaze at him as he walked briskly across the class as if he was feeling some pressure down his anus. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look back at his class mates. He would have loved to have one last look at Chinelo especially, Chinelo who always sat beside him in the class for assistance. Maybe he didn’t want to look at the faces he was going to miss. He had already started missing his class mates. The little times of quarrel he had with them were beginning to slide into moments of delicate pleasure. A pleasure he now wished would last for an eternity. An eternity in which Chidimma the class-Rep called him ‘Nwarigbo the big head’ though his head was not too big for his body; an eternity in which he called his classmates “iti boribo” just because he got the lecturers commendation for answering a difficult question he thought no other person in the class could answer; an eternity with Kelementi threatening to shred his answer scripts if he covered them in the examination hall. He didn’t think it would all end this soon.

After the stresses of this school what next? Melvin always carried this question in his head. He was afraid of going home to stay with the problems over there. His father was no more, yes, but he still resented anything that brought him memories of his father and his drunkenness. He didn’t want to go home to the unhappy sculpture that stared at him in his dreams. The school had been an asylum for him.

As he walked out of the Faculty of Arts “B” complex, he pursed at the middle of the “Z” shaped walk-way that linked the “A” and “B” blocks of the faculty. He turned to have his final look as a student at the sculptures and the two magnificent buildings. He had called them the happy sculptures because they looked nothing like the unhappy sculpture he saw in his dreams back home. Those were the sculptures he admired; his friends that had comforted him in times of distress. It seemed to be the first time he noticed that the roof of the building had a “V” shape, curved inside such that it formed drainage system at the center of the roof and the roof stood like the raised wings of an eagle on a flight. He stood there motionless, his face without life. He didn’t seem to notice that the student’s canteen besides the “B” complex was as empty as the walk ways now. His eyes were perhaps on the sculpture of the praying Muslim at the left of the quadrangle or that of the chick hatching from a cracked egg at the center of the faculty quadrangle surrounded with beautiful flowers just like the tree in the middle of Eden. He was not seeing the sculptures; neither was he seeing the beautiful yellowish green flowers surrounding them. He would have recalled what professor chike said about the hatching-chick sculpture during their first year orientation if he was seeing it. He would have recalled that “the chick depicted a fresh student and the hatching meant the school's processes of salvaging him and releasing him from the prison of ignorance and illiteracy thereby restoring in him the dignity of man”. But he was lost in a trance.

 A hissing noise from his class nudged him into consciousness. The noise kept rising in crescendo as his class mates trickled out one after the other like termites from a broken hole. The examination was over. The Faculty of Arts quadrangle and the “Z” shape walk-way that linked the two blocks were filled with jubilant possible grandaunts of English and literary studies saying different things at a time. Some broke their pens to express their happiness. Some brought out various colours of ribbon and tired them on their heads and their wrists to identify with their various cults and fraternities. It was the last of their degree examinations; nothing to hide anymore about their membership to the cult groups and fraternities.  Even Matthias, the gentle boy that always preached in the class, jumped out with his red ribbons. Nobody could have believed that he too was a cultist and of the violent Vikings at that. Samuel and his friends at the other end removed their shirts and swung them like fans in the air, yelling:

“I am finally a graduate!”

“No more burning candles!”

“No more assignments!” they chorused. Cameras snapped enthusiastically to keep images from this jewel of a day alive. “When I used to be an undergrad…” someone said in a hissing whispery voice; “those good old days…” said another; “I used to take the first position in class”, said yet another, sounding like the fathers at home that never failed in schools. Melvin was still standing motionless; he was brooding over his past days in the university. He did not notice the presence of the other students; he did not notice the photographers; he did not notice his lecturer driving off in the old rust-eaten beetle he had always referred to as “nwambe”. He did not take note of the members of Kegite club converging gradually besides the Jackson building of mass communications department to start their “comradic gyration”. Kegite was the club Melvin regretted not joining. He loved the Kegite club’s songs, their unique way of dancing and the “Swahili languaja” they spoke. He had learned to use the esoteric language to some extent. The kegite’s song and drums sounded so faint and sick in his head as though played from a very far distance. He had left his immediate environment mentally as the world whirled round him like a movie on backward motion. He did not notice Chioma running down to the kegites with her right index finger raised and waving in the air to identify as a “carried entity” as the kegites referred to their members. He was brooding over the past.

“Bya Melvin! Come over here let’s take a shot” one of the girls called out to him. He could not hear her. He had swum deep into the belly of his thought. He didn’t notice when his class members took a group picture. A stubborn house fly buzzed around his left ear and immediately he returned to reality and slapped his ear with a very fast swoosh but missed the fly. His ears were opened once more to the joyful noise around him together with the Kegites’ gyration song. He turned to his right to see his class mates running about in merriment. The group picture had just been taken. He missed it. His lecturer had driven away; he missed him too. He swung back to his thought without regrets.

His mind was on the situation surrounding his admission into the university; on how he struggled to secure admission; on how he managed to pay his fees till graduation; on how he stayed in the school. His first year and final year were the most trying times. He had spent some four years at home before he could pass Joint Admission and Matriculation Board University Matriculation Examination. He had wanted to study Law but never reached the cut-off score for law. His parents could not work things over for him with money as others did to get their choice discipline. Maybe his parents were not enlightened enough and had been afraid of the cost of sending their son to the university. Maybe he was not intelligent enough to go for law: was what Melvin never wanted to hear. When he took the last examination, his mind was made up to take any course available. “Maybe God doesn’t want me to be a lawyer” he consoled himself. Really he wouldn’t want to hear that he wasn’t intelligent enough to study law. He always assumed himself the most intelligent boy in Nigeria if not in the entire world. “Yes, it’s hard luck; sheer had luck”, he had once said.

When the UME result was released, he scored high but still short of the cut-off score for law. He cried inconsolably for two days. His mother got tired of trying to console him. “God’s time is the best Nnam”, was all his mother could say but Melvin wouldn’t hear a thing like that. When would Gods time be? Was it when all his mates had graduated from the university? Was it when he had grown tired of wanting to be in school? When? When? When? Or has god’s time past? These questions had stood like a colossus barking doggishly in his brain as he cried. His younger brother, the lastborn, sat around with him and said nothing, because he did not understand what was going on. After some times he went and fetched Melvin some water but Melvin rejected the water. He didn’t want to think about his father who would be drinking himself to stupor in one of the kaikai stalls along the street. The thought of staying at home for one more year stung him like a venomous viper. He just wanted to stay away for some time; away from the day and night drunken snores of his father; away from the limply bang every night on the door and from the booing children in the street that would make jest of him because of his father; yes, away from the shame. He never wanted to live his live as if he had a father. “Being an orphan is better than having a drunk of a father like you” he had once said to his father’s face when he had a brush with his father.

“Perhaps, I will get my first degree in any art or social science course and then study law as a second degree,” he thought without a word. He was determined to leave home at all cost; not just to leave and work into the street; to leave and never to return; no, not the same way. He had promised himself that he would be a better father in life; to give his kids all the things he never had. “Nnam stop carrying”, was only what his mother could say. His mother called him “Nnam” meaning “my father” because he was named after his maternal grandfather though not on the grounds of reincarnation. It was a known norm in every Igbo society; even among Christians; to name children after their grandparents though such norm could be traced down to the ancient believes in ancestral worship and reincarnation. It was a night sleep refused to come to Melvin’s bloodshot eyes. His father did not return home tonight. Maybe he had drunk his brains out and couldn’t find his way back. Yet nobody at home bordered because they had all got used to him such that they preferred his absence to his presence with the accompanying disturbance whenever he was drunk. Nobody was ready to scrub repugnant pungent puke on the floor. Melvin sat up alone looking into the empty darkness, thinking and sobbing till the next day. He wasn’t sobbing because he was not getting admission into the university. He wasn’t sobbing because all his friends were in various universities now. He was whimpering because he was going to stay in the hell-like home for another one year.

 Melvin had to visit the University of Nigeria, at Nsukka to apply for supplementary admission into any other available discipline. UNN was his first and second choice for admission. His friends had always advised him to try other schools but he wouldn’t listen to them.

“That school; their cut off mark is usually too high. Besides, the school only thrives on past glory and their lecturer are all hand pumping sadists”, they would always complain.

“Mba, no, it’s either UNN or no university education”, Melvin would reply sternly.

**********

It was a Monday and Melvin left early in the morning.* He must return today.* He had nowhere to pass the night in Nsukka, moreover, his parents must not know where he had been to. He joined Peace Mass Transit; one of the most popular transport companies that plied Nsukka route. The vehicle was full of students. Melvin could not talk to anybody. He could not look out of the window to watch the trees and people moving backwards as he usually did whenever he traveled in a bus; he could not look outside the bus to admire the hilly landscape of Enugu; he could not get a paper to read knowing the breeze coming in to the car may make the paper flutter and not allow it to remain steady; rather he slept like a baby throughout the journey despite the back pains he felt as a result of the unending potholes of the Aba-Port Harcourt express way. As he slept with his head bent on the head rest of the opposite seat, he was relatively conscious that some saliva would not slip out of his mouth to the floor. At intervals he wiped his mouth and looked around with his blood shot eyes to see if anybody was watching. Maybe he was feeling inferior before the students in the bus. Maybe he was thinking about what to do at Nsukka. Maybe he was much disturbed about what tomorrow may bring. When the bus got to the final stop at the Nsukka terminal of peace mass transit, Melvin was still fast asleep. He didn’t sleep the night before.

 “Hey guy! Wake up, we don reach naw!” the girl nearest to him woke him in a sort of Pidgin-English mixture. It was the known I-day-school speaking pattern.

 “Oh! I’m sorry.” His words slurred out to nobody in particular as he woke up. He trusted out his handkerchief and cleared his reddish sleepy eyes and made a way for the girl to pass by. He came down from the bus and stretched himself. “Oh! My God, e no easy for Ezekiel” he muttered in pidgin amid yawns. He stood confused in front of the bus, not knowing whether to take left or right. Then the girl that woke him up emerged from the back of the bus dragging her traveling bag on the ground. As the wheels of the bag brushed through the crusty soil making some discordant noisy crunches, Melvin’s attention was drawn to discovering that the soil in Nsukka was different. Not like the porous pale coloured sandy soil of Aba.  The soil in Nsukka was the red crusty type mixed with some little chocolate brown chips of stones that make grounding crunching noise when vehicle tyres rod on them and get sticky when the rain touched them. He felt like picking those smooth chocolate brown stones to examine then but a more important mission was dogging in his mind. Melvin didn’t know the way to the campus. The road to the right looked neater and developed, but taking that road may mean going back, he thought. He didn’t even know the way the bus had entered from. The road to the left seemed like entering a village boulevard. Houses along the road looked dirty with the red dusts of the soil caked on the walls. The paints on some houses have assumed some unidentifiable colours with a mixture of the red dust on them. Right before the bus terminal was the busy Ogige market buzzing with women saying many things at a time. Beside it was a dirty motor park bustling noisily with many Agbero boys calling out their different destinations to attract commuters. Melvin had to ask the girl dragging her bag for the way.

“Hello, where can I get a taxi to the campus?” he asked her with a long stress on the “x” of the “taxi” to sound like an “I-dey-school”, though normally he would have preferred a commercial motor cycle to a taxi.

“Somewhere over there” she answered pointing across the road to the noisy park and added, “But why not board okada here? It will take you directly to wherever you are going inside the campus in case you don’t know your way, though taxis are cheaper”

“Where? That would be better”

“Okay, follow me”

“Let me help you with the bag.” He collected the bag from the girl and followed her closely. “Jambito”, she muttered putting up smiles and Melvin smiled too though he didn’t hear her clearly. By the motor park gate, Melvin boarded an okada. While the okada joined the traffic, he thought something about seeing this Good Samaritan girl again. He thought something about having been deceived and misled by the girl and remembered how he had deliberately shown a straying man to the wrong way in Aba. The man had asked him the way to a nearby street.

“Where can I get a taxi to Pound road?” Pound road was the next street after Park road where Melvin was at the moment but Melvin directed the man back to where he came.

“Oh you have missed the road”, Melvin had said mischievously without any curve of smiles on his face, “You have to go back, to the T junction ahead and take left; and after the first road by the right, you turn left that’s the road.”  Melvin had smiled mischievously to himself as the man turned and followed his direction – the wrong direction. It was a kind of norm in Aba. People didn’t give directions any longer because it was rumored that one woman gave the right direction to a stranger and she turned to a cat and disappeared. Everybody was afraid of Ndi-ogwuego, the ritual killers that would turn people into all sorts of things to make money. Some people didn’t even talk to strangers any longer. Giving alms to beggars also was gradually becoming a taboo. No stranger could be trusted any more, not even beggars. He well knew the story of a woman that gave some money to a lame beggar in front of CKC Catholic Church at Ehi road by Asa junction and fell down immediately and got crippled. At that same moment the crippled disappeared together with the woman before people could know what was happening. Such stories were not new in Aba and they made people in Aba tensed and careful and at the same time hostile to strangers. As the bike sped on, Melvin felt a little regret for his past mischievous acts. “Well we can’t differentiate auto-mechanics from mad men these days” he said and turned to see if the girl was coming behind him in another okada. Okada was a name for commercial motorcyclists in the district. The okada man was speeding so fast that Melvin had no time to take a second gaze at the sculpture of a roaring lion at the roundabout immediately after UNN school gate. At first sight it was like a real hungry lion jumping up to devour someone with a long chain on its neck drawing it back. He could not decipher the type of trees they were that lined the boulevard through the gate into the campus. At first they looked like whistling pine, then like ube tree, and now like mango; maybe a combination of the three or some kind of big flower trees. All he was sure of was that they looked beautiful. He could only see hazily a long stretch of buildings and beautiful flowers in front of them along the staff quaters far behind the trees till he came right into the school where he could see pockets of student in different groups. Melvin arrived on campus at 11.00am. He was very hungry and tired. The commercial motorcyclist stopped him in front of the Admissions Department as if he knew what Melvin had come for. He must have known because they say Jambites have JJC written on their fore-heads – they walked gingerly like they were being watched; talked in low tones as if everyone heard and they looked uneasily as if guilty of something gruesome. Their naivety easily sold them out. The entire premises were booming with people craning to see one information board or the other. A board was for some final year students looking for their names on convocation list; another board was for NYSC; and yet another board was the list of second year medical students’ crossing over to the school of medicine at the Enugu campus; and there were yet other boards for varying purposes. People crammed all the boards struggling to see either their names or that of their friends yet it was easy to identify which board was for first year admission list. Jambites are easily identified. Melvin could not get close to the crowd; he stood by the road with hands akimbo like the proverbial duck that has to stand on one leg when it gets to an unknown land. Maybe he was afraid they could push him down. He was very hungry and tired. On a normal day he would have liked to go under the shade of that magnificent Princess Alexandra hall which was right after the admissions building but hunger had blocked his reasoning. He could have pushed his way through the crowd to the notice board but he was weak.

“Hello is there any restaurant around?” He asked a girl who was heading towards the notice board area but she walked passed him, looking straight ahead as if she never heard him. He felt like asking her; “what are you feeling like?” but bit his tongue. Oh! Melvin hated himself for having approached the girl. His eye brows curved up and his cheeks sagged as they did whenever he was mortified. He thought everybody around saw what had happened. The girl walked straight to the crowd and started craning to see the notice board too. “Ah! She is even a new comer like me”; Melvin regretted. He fondled his left hand into his pocket and brought out a handkerchief and scrubbed his face thoroughly as if that would clean up the shame he felt. As he removed the handkerchief from his face and looked at the dirty brownish red dust it had extracted, he shrugged. He never wanted to make inquiries from boys. He was afraid of falling into the hands of cultists. He had heard many ghastly tales of cultism on campuses. How boys were killed in cold blood. How some were beheaded and their heads used as example for others. How girls were raped or forced into relationships. How some were defaced with acid. How some people were threatened and forced out of school. How some lecturers were threatened and forced to give pass marks; and so on. When the okada that brought him into the campus rode through the school gate, Melvin immediately felt he had entered a dark, wild primeval forest, where every male student was a monster roaring to devour someone; a different world of its own. He was confused. He didn’t want to be disgraced or insulted by any other girl either. He had never mingled freely with girls not even his sisters. His secondary school was an all boys’ school. “Am I not an Aba boy – real Nwa-Aba?” He asked himself and mustered up courage and went to a boy standing by the corner with probably his girlfriend. It was the October rush; when old students scouted for the inexperienced Jambites; when the boys looked for new girl friends among the fresh students and jettison the older ones; when cult groups went fishing for new members. Neophytes were easy to catch.

“Excu…excuse me, is there any restaurant around here?” Melvin managed to ask the boy amid stutter.

“Ah... yes, over there is C.E.C restaurant and the other one up there is Providence. There you can get well prepared food”. The boy answered him heartily.

“Thanks!” Melvin appreciated, full of amazement.

“May be he wants to just discharge me because he’s with a girl”. He thought dispelling the cognitive dissonance already building up in him and moved straight towards the guest house. Before he walked down into the building, he spent over five minutes watching the stone sculpture of the earth and a dove on top of it in front of the guest house. Beside it was a big stone tablet with the inscription: CONTINUING EDUCATION CENTER (C.E.C). CEC was the only guest house available inside the university premises. It was a single storey building painted all white. The building was located directly behind the admission department and adjacent the school library. The flower decorations of the environment made it one of the most attractive sights of the university. Melvin entered through a wide door that led into the reception. The reception had only one long chair directly opposite the door and a high wooden counter by the left besides the stair case. It looked so empty like a passage than a reception. At the counter were two young girls pushing out their heads from the cage-like barricade to watch TV than to attend to customers. Melvin wondered how the beautiful palm-like flower in a white enamel flower pot at the center of the reception would keep growing without sunlight. At the other side of the reception just beside the long seat was another door that led into the yard where there were some decorative sculptures. Melvin walked into the yard to see some more of the stone sculptures of men and women relaxing and drinking in the garden-like center of the yard. They might look like real humans at night. They looked very happy. Their drinks never finished and their silent laughter never vanished. His thoughts metamorphosed into some soliloquy “These sculptures will remain like this, drinking and laughing silently and talking speechlessly forever”. Melvin felt like going to stay among the sculptures, drinking from their cups but never to get drunk like his father and remaining happy forever. Such a good life devoid of problem, devoid of favoritism, devoid of cultism and hunger but he couldn’t see them clearly now. Hunger was darkening his vision. He couldn’t continue watching because he wouldn’t want the people around to see him as a “JJC”. By the right flank of the yard were skill acquisition centers and some mini business centers. They looked more like converted conference rooms as a result of their not being used. He watched as he walked like a soldier matching on ‘eyes-right’ command. He watched as he walked and watched as he walked and watched as he walked through the veranda down into the restaurant. He might have bumped into anybody that came in the opposite direction.

The restaurant was peopled with students, boys and girls, some eating while others drank beers of various brands. Melvin walked straight to a vacant seat at the extreme right as he peered into the faces to see if he could recognize any of them but none seemed to be familiar. He sat dawn comfortably with his nape on the seats head rest and eyes fixed on the television in the restaurant. He liked the gentle coldness of the restaurant produced by a giant air conditioner right under the television. He liked the cigarette smoke-free air of the room. There must be a no smoking sign somewhere that he didn’t seem to see. He relaxed his bones as the gentle chilling air penetrated his clothes and touched his skin. He almost slept off if not for the hunger that kept gnawing at his intestines. He was waiting to be served. He was waiting for a waitress that would come and ask him, “Oga na wetin we go give you?” just like the Akwaibom waitresses in the restaurants at Aba would do; and he would smile to himself as Oga and would call them “Nwammong afonyreke”. But after some ten minutes nobody came to him neither did anybody seem to have noticed his presence. His stomach rumbled, “Kprrrrrrrrrrrrr”. He jerked, thinking everybody in the restaurant heard the sound of the thunderous rumbling of his stomach. He could no longer bear the hunger. The waiters were busy picking bottles and some rice strewn plates and clearing some littered tables, none of them brought food for anybody. He watched, students walked in, made straight to the counter, made their requests and came carrying their foods and drinks down to their tables all by themselves. That was the custom - Pay before service. He had to stand up before the warring soldiers in his stomach would cut his intestines for him. He walked up to the counter and ordered a plate of akpu and Egusi soup. It was a round morsel of pounded cassava and some good looking yellowish soup. The price was so exorbitant for such a little quantity of food compared to how such food was sold at Aba. He had wanted to complain but looked round and held back. He didn’t want to look stupid. He thought something about walking away to look for another place – say a mama-put corner or the so called bacteria’s but he needed the food no matter how small to broker peace among the gulf soldiers complaining inside him. Besides he had already paid. To the right side of the counter was a big Coca-Cola customized refrigerator with transparent glass door that exposed its entire content. It was more a show-case than a refrigerator. On the glass door of the refrigerator was a sticker that shouted “PAY BEFORE SERVICE”; and another besides it, “SERVE YOURSELF”; and yet another close to the handle, “NO CREDIT TODAY COME TOMORROW”. Melvin had wanted to buy a bottle of mineral but the price tag on the top right angle of the refrigerator was almost twice what it was sold at Aba. “Ah, this place is meant for Ajebor students”, he reasoned and saved his money.  He always used the name Ajebor for people that pretended to be of high class; people that lived fake lives; people that pretended to be feeble, and spoke English in an irritating artificial hyper-corrective fashion. However in a general sense Ajebor was used for sons and daughters of rich who are in most cases not allowed to do anything themselves; always served and over pampered.

Melvin had rushed through the food not minding how the students around gnawed at theirs with fork as if the akpu was thorny. He had used his bare hands in order not to disgrace himself trying to use the fork and knife like others. He had not forgotten how his friend Uche spilled his white shirt with Ogbono soup at Imo state university while trying to eat with fork and knife like the other students. He meant to smile as a song criticizing the culture of eating with knife and fork by Bright Chimezie re-echoed in his mind and he looked up and looked around feeling watched. Nobody seemed to care. Over a nearby table he could see a boy quarreling with his fork on a plate of rice as he struggled to eat with the left hand. The boy used the knife on his right hand to pack some grains of rice on the fork on his left but as he raised the fork load of rice to his mouth, his left hand kept shaking as though he had Parkinson’s disease, over half of the rice on the fork fell back into his plate with just a few going into his mouth with the fork. Melvin couldn’t continue watching the boy. He had got to complete his mission for the day and travel back home; so he quickly moved over to the sink to wash off his akpu coated palms. As he washed his hands his mind was off to the roads leading to Aba though he had not achieved anything. It would take at least four hours to get to Aba because of bad road depending on the speed of the vehicle and the driver in charge. If the driver would be an old man, ‘kasala don burst”; the old drivers rode slow and steady while the young men flew like jets after filling their skulls with the smokes of weeds and all sorts of hard drugs. “It’s already 12:30pm”, he checked the time. He noticed a figure of a man standing behind him as he looked up to the mirror on the wall in front of the sink. He was afraid. His heart started pounding imaginary fufu with a high sounding palpitation. “Nothing to fear. I am an Aba boy" he told himself as he watched the guy from the mirror without turning around. The guy behind him was tall, huge and handsome. He wore afro-hair cut. A pair of dark glasses rested on his nose that stood high like a cone shading his eye balls.

“Hello, I know you?” He asked Melvin as he pushed up his glasses to his forehead; his voice was quaky and his eyes were tint blood shot red as if he had conjunctivitis but dark shades of his eye lid said he had some eye problems.

“I don’t think so; I believe I don’t know you anywherer”. Melvin replied looking at him through the mirror, trying to sound hard and still not turning around.

“You…are a student here?” The guy asked picking his teeth with a little stick in his left hand.

“em…” Melvin could not answer that question. He wasn’t sure what would follow the answer. Moreover he was sure his name was not on the admissions notice board and he didn’t know yet if his name would appear on the supplementary admission list when he applied neither did he know if any supplementary form was on sale at the moment. He wasn’t expecting any miracle.

“Okay, I am John Nwachukwu, a post-graduate student here. Can I get to know you?” The guy dropped interrupting his thoughts.

“Well, I’m Kelechi” that was his real name. He would have said “Melvin”. He had not grown used to the new name Melvin. He had chosen the name Melvin to hide away from nominal tribalistic vestiges. University of Nigeria was full of people from various tribes of the country, even foreigners. Anybody that heard the name Kelechi would immediately identify him with the Igbo speaking tribe and that was what he never wanted. However, it had got more difficult to identify him with any tribe since his father had a foreign name – Samuel. “Melvin Samuel, that’s a good match”, he had told himself: So only close friends would know his tribe.

********

Melvin fondled his left hand into the left pocket of his trousers and brought out a piece of paper on which he had the written address given him by Mr. John Nwachukwu. It was still intact. Melvin emerged from the C.E.C environs after spending a little more time admiring the sculptures in the garden. Now his eyes were clear, he headed straight for the notice board in front of the Admission Department. Now he could stand any push and any brush from any angle. “It is 1:25pm!” He screamed inwardly as he looked at his wrist watch. The number of people at the admission premises had reduced drastically, so he could go and check for his name, he didn’t have to crane. He went very close to the board and scanned through the names though he was sure his name would not be there since he did not score up to the cut-off mark for. Was he expecting a miracle? Was he searching for his newly adopted name - Melvin? He raised his face from the board defeated. His eyes met a public notice pasted by the side of the board, with the inscription:

“SUPPLEMENTARY/SHOPPING FORM: NOW ON SALE:

 IF YOU SCORED 200 AND ABOVE IN JAMB AND FELL SHORT OF THE CUT OF MARK FOR THE COURSE YOU APPLIED, YOU CAN PURCHASE A SUPPLEMENTARY FORM AND RE-APPLY FOR ANY OF THE COURSES ADVERTISED PROVIDED YOU HAVE FIVE O’LEVE CRADITS INCLUDING ENGLISH AND MATHS.”

It looked like a radio advert script written by an amateur. The sprawling hand writing made it look like a students’ prank. Melvin’s face lit up as he re-read it over and over again. The write-up looked too informal and armature to be real. He felt his pocket; he still had some money on him. “No. I won’t inquire anything again from any student. If it is a prank they might be in cahoots with somebody that would stand around to deceive people the more” he thought. He went straight to a man at the window of the admissions building. Students were not allowed to enter the admissions offices. Everything was through the window.

“Excuse me sir, where can I purchase the supplementary form?” he asked from the window.

“Oh! Are you among the block heads that couldn’t make up to the cut of score for the courses they applied”? The man teased, smiling into Melvin’s face and exposing his cola nut discoloured teeth. The smile on his face showed that he knew it was not the intelligent ones that made the higher scores. He know that most of the higher scorers where people that took their examinations in the so called miracle centers or special centers where malpractices were allowed. Melvin reciprocated with a shy smile, though he felt embarrassed with the phrase “block-heads”. He was sure he wasn’t one.

“Okay take the path by your right, you will see a yellow one storey building. There you will see an inscription – Bursary. Pay through the window”

“Thank you sir”, he appreciated and ran out. It was to be through the window again. In UNN everything was through the window maybe because the members of the university staff were afraid of the students.

The admissions complex was a long building made of fire resistant woods. From afar the building reminded Melvin of Noah’s ark as seen in the watchtower and Awake magazines of Jehovah’s witnesses. Melvin walked briskly down to the Bursary Department. Opposite the bursary was the university primary school; A vast land with small classroom blocks scattered here and there and a wide football field with broken goal posts at both ends. On the field were the pupils playing foot ball and other games. It might have been their break time. There were over seven different balls belonging to different groups and different classes on the same field. Melvin wondered how the pupils would differentiate their balls flying haphazardly to different directions. It reminded him his primary school days when he used to be the goalkeeper in such fields. At a time he had caught other people’s ball thinking it was his teams. It was a junior class’ and nothing came out of it. He remembered the way they used to run round under the gmelina trees playing oro-oro and soiling their white shirts with stains from the indelible yellowish liquid from the gmelina fruits. “Children of these days don’t play” he said inside of him and shook his head sounding like an unfortunate adult missing his childhood days. He couldn’t see the girls playing hide and seek or chocho or uga or ten-ten and swell; he couldn’t see any of them jumping ropes; he couldn’t see any jumping high-jump scales; and all such things that were rampant during his primary school days.

At the bursary window were many people like Melvin in a very long queue waiting in the hot sun to obtain the supplementary form. Some of them used their bags or their books to shade their heads against the blazing sun. The man in-charge of the sales was an old man wearing a double lensed goggle that gave him the look of an owl. The man would screen through a wad of money several times before he would know how much it was. He could bring the money closer to his eyes and stretch his hands outward taking the money farther away such that it was hard to know if what he was suffering was long or short sightedness. He would write down the students name slowly as if drawing some complex graphs. It took so long a time before it got to Melvin’s turn but the queue was growing the more. When it got to Melvin’s turn the man declared that he would attend to only one more person and then go for lunch. Melvin was lucky here.

“What isi your nemu?” the man asked his name in an undiluted Igbo coated English.

“Melv…. Oh! I am Samuel Kelechi” Melvin stammered as he stumbled between his real name and the adopted name.

“Write iti on a piece ofu pepa.”

Melvin picked a piece of paper from the cuts of papers in a glassy tray on the window slab, scribbled his name on it and handed it the man together with the money. He bought the form and crossed over to the shade of the right side of the building to fill it immediately and submit. Some of the prospective students still on the queue started moving one after the other for the shade. The man selling the form had left for lunch. Melvin rushed through the form as he hurried so that he could get to Aba in good time. He had to travel back home considering the time. It’s getting late. It was now thirty minutes past three (3:30pm). Melvin had chosen philosophy from all the courses advertised. His intention was to switch over to law after his first year in philosophy. “Why should one be forced to go for a discipline he doesn’t want?” he asked silently to nobody.

Melvin was intelligent; he looked handsome and elegant. He had a round face, a cone-like pointed nose, flat cheeks, hairy eyebrow, small dark brown eyeballs, small lips and good set of teeth with a moderate gap in front. He was a bit fair in complexion - the sandy colour of the Igbo tribe - and relatively tall. However, friends called him “isiebuka” the big headed KC though his head was not significantly big.

Melvin hurried down to peace Mass transit bus terminal where he boarded a bus to Aba. There were no much people at the park. The bus loading for Aba had only one space left. He was lucky again. He took the space and the driver zoomed off into traffic. The person sitting besides Melvin was a fat woman. Before the vehicle could go one kilometer she had already slept off. Melvin did not feel comfortable throughout the journey neither did he sleep. At intervals the woman threw her entire weight on Melvin and he shoved her away gently. The woman was sitting by the window with her body almost blocking all the air coming into the bus. Her heavy snores mingled with the cacophonous sound of the engine disturbed Melvin’s thought. His mind jumped haphazardly from one thing to another till the bus came to a halt at Aba main-park. He arrived late, at exactly five minutes past seven (7:05pm) with terrible body pains. As usual the park was alive with people – pick pockets, prostitutes, Agberos and other street vagabonds – making all sorts of noise, calling for customers and playing at the same time. The okada that took him from Aba main Park to their house was very fast and the okada man recklessly bumped into every pot hole on the road. He couldn’t feed his eyes on the antics of the half naked cheap Ama-awusa whores – some of them in only bras and panties. He just saw them hazily as the bike zoomed past the soya and mei-shai men bumping into the Ama-awusa road potholes like a war chariot.

“Kelechi, where are you coming from?” His father, Mr. Samuel Okafor inquired as he saw Melvin sneaking into the compound. He didn’t tell his parents where he was going when he left in the morning. He didn’t want his parents to know about his plans for admission until he had got it. He was afraid they would discourage him. Melvin believed he could accomplish anything in life independent of anybody even his parents.

“Em…I accompanied Uchechukwu my friend to Imo State University Owerri for his registration”, he lied. Yet he had conveyed a massage, telling his father that his friends were now in the university and he too would want to follow.

“Ehe, because you are jobless eh? You don’t want to find something good to do. Ewu. There will be no food for you tonight. The bible says it; he that doesn’t want to work let him not eat”. That was final! Mr. Samuel was always firm when he made decisions in his house though Melvin was his favourite. He was never partial the way he treated his children. Hunger had always been his punishment for his children whenever they committed some minimal wrongs. He didn’t like flogging them with the cane as his wife did with fear he might kill them or cause them injury that would cost him some money. His wife had in many cases discouraged such discipline, with the reason that it might lead the children to the temptation of stealing. In the case of Melvin it was this kind of situation that had led him into hawking and selling bread at the motor park. However, Melvin’s stomach was already filled with happiness and satisfaction for the day. He had accomplished something for the day. His father was sober today. He had not expected meeting his father this sober today since he didn’t come home the day before. “Maybe he came back in the morning and slept all day” he reasoned because he could still see his swollen face, the sagging eye bags and his cheeks quaking as he spoke. He had always prayed God that his father would leave his drunken habit. Melvin slept very well that night without minding the mosquito bite. Once again he saw the unhappy sculpture in his dream – a sculpture of a naked man sitting on a stool with left hand under his jaw supporting his head as if he was thinking. Melvin had seen this same dream over and over again, yet he didn’t attach any meaning to it. “Dreams are nothing but the working of the brain while the body is asleep” he always said. Severally, he had tried to see the sculpture anywhere in real life to no avail.

Melvin was a replica of his father, but Mr. Samuel’s face had lost its original looks to wrinkles that were more of hardship than of old age. Maybe the wrinkles were alcohol induced. Every ugly or negative thing in the life of Mr. Samuel was blamed on his drunken habit. He was a shoe maker and Melvin helped his father in his shoe making profession. Mr. Samuel’s business had suffered a very sharp down drift brought about by the incessant importation of inferior, cheap, good looking shoes from more industrialized countries as Indonesia and Dubai. However, the government never did anything to put a stop to the ugly trend despite the difficulties it caused the citizens. The masses who were not shoemakers saw the situation as very laudable because they could buy shoes at a very cheap rate though the shoe might not last for so long and not considering the unemployment implications. Many people left the shoe making profession and went into okada riding while some – the younger ones – went into political thuggery. Mr. Samuel held tenaciously to his business hopping that things might change one day, at least by a change of government. “What is hot must one day get cold”, he always consoled himself. It was during this time that the shoe makers in Aba formed a vigilante group known as Bakassi; brutally killing armed robbers and pick pockets. Many youths were wasted.

CHAPTER TWO

After a week had elapsed, Melvin had to go back to the University of Nigeria to check if his name had been short-listed in the supplementary list. The two weeks had felt like eternity because he had every conviction that he had got the admission. He had already started living the life of an undergraduate at home. He had started wearing his big boots and baggy jeans sagged down to the buttocks like Uchechukwu. How else would people know he had gained admission into the university? He wanted the type of dressing that would shout to onlookers “I-dey-school!” He was optimistic. His chances of getting the admission was supposed to be above 100%; the minimum score requirement was 200 and he scored higher. It was a Monday. He woke up early at 5:30am and headed for the bath room. He didn’t want to boil his bath water as he normally did though it was a cold morning. The day was still dark with some cloud hanging on the sky as if it was about to rain. As Melvin carried the pail of water to the bath room, he said a short prayer; asking God to hold the rain until he got to Nsukka. The bath room was one of the uncompleted rooms of their house with neither roof nor windows nor doors. The door and window frames were covered with some long black nylon materials that wobbled like tattered kite in the air and made some cacophonous sound as the morning breeze wiggled them. It was an improvised bath room. As he removed his cloths, he squatted down and lowered his hands into the water first and felt cold running through his skin and some goose bumps popping out on them and disappearing slowly. He started from washing his legs and rubbing the water slowly on his body so as to neutralize the cold. As he played with the water, he heard a little noise inside the house and suddenly remembered that he had planned to leave very early before anybody else in the house could wake up. He rushed through the water and dashed out of the bath room shaking with cold. He tried to clench his teeth but they kept quivering at the cold, making some low clattering noise. As he dried his body with a long weak towel, he heard a sound in the inner room again and a flicker of light followed the sound. His mother was awake. He dressed up hurriedly, picked his wallet and checked it to ensure that all the documents he needed were intact and he zoomed out of the house heading for peace Mass Transit Bus terminal. Once again he did not want his parents to know where he was going.

Outside was cold and grasses were waving swiftly from one side to another as the chilly morning breeze toasted them. “It must be raining somewhere already”; Melvin thought and crossed himself and muttered “in the name of the father and of the son and of the holy-ghost”. The streets were quiet and lonely. Only the sounds of running feet of people making to catch a bus could be heard and the croaking voice of some bus conductors calling out for passenger.

“Port! Port! Port! Por! Por! Por! Port! ka o banye! Port Harcourt! Port! Banye moto port!”

“Pa! Pa! Pa! Pa! papark! Park road! Park! Na abanye Moto Park!”

The voices called different destinations echoing in the dark windy morning as if they were competing with the chirping of the crickets and the croaking of the bush sides and water log toads. Melvin was very careful to select the bus he would join to the park. The day was still dark. It was still business time for armed robbers, extortionists, kidnappers and one-chance bus operators in Aba. The one-chance buses were the ones Melvin was so afraid of. They always operated in the early dark morning hours when they could pick unsuspecting passengers, take them to lonely areas and stripe them of all their belongings at gun point. The early morning hours were also the ripe time for the kidnappers in Aba, who would carry off people for ransom or some money making ritual purposes. Melvin peered into the bus carefully with his left hand placed on his forehead with the fingers stretched like a visor to ensure that the bus he flagged down had some women and children in it before he entered. “The miscreants don’t go with children” he said to himself and hopped in.

There were no much people at Peace terminal. The first bus was still there. The bus he entered was one of the new buses the Peace Company had just imported. The head rests of the seats still had their cellophane coverings. The drivers would not want to remove them so that passengers would always know that their vehicles were new. They would always warn passengers to mind how they rest their heads on the nylons in order not to tear them.

“Please mind how you dey put your head for that water proof make e no tear”; the driver announced in a croaking warning tone and walked over to the corner watching the passengers as they entered one after the other.

Such new buses always got filled at the twinkle of an eye. Melvin had to wait a little for the bus to get filled. The last person entered at 6:58am and the driver throttled off. Immediately the bus joined the traffic, it started drizzling.

 “This is blessing” Melvin said inadvertently aloud.

“Yes it is.” a girl sitting next to him affirmed gaily and continued “that means that everything we are going to do today will be successful.”

“Amenooo” Melvin said enthusiastically and remembered that he had not prayed for the day’s journey. Immediately he bent his head and said a little prayer. After some seconds he raised his head and crossed himself and murmured, “in the name of the father and of the son and of the holy ghost amen” with his index finger clicking his fore head, then the chest and the two shoulders in cross fashion.

“Let’s commit this journey into the able hands of God!” a female voice announced from the front seat. Melvin was at the back. He could not see who was speaking but he had to join in the Christian praise and worship song the voice raised. They sang and clapped as the bus rode all through the Enugu-port-Harcourt express-way until they got to Nsukka. Melvin was at his favourite rear window seat so he could look through the window to see the outside; he could feel the cold breeze blow on his face. He pushed out his head from the window as the driver slowed down at the pothole infested Garki quarters of Okigwe express-way. There was no rain in Okigwe. He always wanted to see the Hausa people there very clearly. A tall Hausa man peddling soya by the road side made faces at him and he closed his eyes and shook his head for the man. He didn’t want to buy soya. The Hausa man grinned boyishly exposing some missing teeth and his remaining teeth that had turned a mixture of orange and brown with the stains of gworo cola-nut and tobacco and Melvin smiled back. “These Hausa men are all the same, they seem to be contented with poverty”, he thought. He watched the Hausa boys that played by the dirty road side. They were all naked from the waist upwards. The little girls on the other side of the road sat quiet on small kitchen stools and a bowl containing bottles of different mixtures in front of each of them. One of the girls laughed and gave the other a nudge at the shoulder. Melvin tried looking at their faces as they laughed. Each of the girls had a ring on her nose and some dark artistic tattoo-like designs on their black faces. Two among them had black veils covering their hairs and ears down to their necks while the other two wore hand braided Hausa hair styles. He couldn’t tell how to differentiate a Hausa from a Fulani.  He thought about what it would feel like to have such marks on his own face. The thoughts immediately flew out of his mind as he looked across the make-shift rust infested zinc houses that lined the road at the Garki quarters. Behind the houses were many cows of different sizes. He strained his neck to see the little ones clearly. It was his first time of seeing a baby cow toddling behind its mother just like the goats he used to see at the village. He turned to watch through the back glass as the bus drove past Garki quarters. All the Hausa quarters he had known looked alike; busy with the Hausa men selling soya and some selling Jewries; some sat idly with their wooden shoe-maker boxes chatting away time; their women selling the bottled mixtures he couldn’t understand, 911 Mercedice Benz lorries being loaded full with cans of palm oil to be carried off to the north; baskets of onions and tomatoes being unloaded from other lorries that just arrived from the north; some empty big lorries packed by the road sides and their drivers sleeping with raffia mats under them; prostitutes and hard drug peddlers hanging by the corners all day long and so many other activities. The place reminded him of the Ama-awusa of Aba and the Garki of Enugu where the same activities took place. “There is usually a motor park near every Hausa quarters” he thought. He wondered something about why the Hausa people would not build a better house and live in than the makeshift rust-eaten zinc houses they have. These thoughts followed him till he got to Enugu.

The road to Nsukka was characterized by different sizes of hills and mountains. Melvin could see some smokes evaporating from the hills. They made him think about the volcano his secondary school geography teacher always spoke about; that could destroy a whole community. He watched as kites hover over the hills. “Maybe they are looking for their mothers head as told in the folktales”, he thought and crossed himself facing front as the bus turned left at a ‘WELLCOME TO THE UNIVERSITY OF NIGERIA’ sign board at Opi. He thought they had got to the school but the place did not look like the place he stopped at the first time he came to Nsukka. The driver stopped and only one passenger alighted and the bus joined the traffic once again. He got to Nsukka at exactly 10.20am. There was no drop of rain in Nsukka. He needed not inquire from anybody for anything this time. He could trace his way all by himself. He joined an okada straight to the admissions department. As he walked down to the notice board from the Okada Park, he looked at his shoe and thought of how red the shoe would look at the end of the day with the red soil of Nsukka caked on it. As had always been the case many people were there searching for their names on various notice boards. He squeezed vigorously into the crowd to get to the board. Somebody nudged him violently as he pushed through but he didn’t care. He heard somebody call him a fool yet he didn’t turn. He was not afraid of anybody not even of the dreaded cultists. He scanned the names on the list with his index finger running through them not minding that other people were also searching for their names on the board. As far as he was concerned no other human existed on earth but him and him alone. His index finger ran slowly through the list to the end of it. He couldn’t find his name. He was stunned. He couldn’t notice any other person around him not even the curses they rained on him. He scanned through the names again for a second time, the third time, the forth, the fifth… He checked the scores of the names listed; 190, 195, 200, 215, 170, 180 and so on. He scored above these listed. Something must be wrong somewhere. Omission? He scanned through the list once more. There wasn’t any difference. He couldn’t move. He squatted there, mouth agape. He didn’t take notice of a beautiful young girl bending by his side. She scanned and saw her name immediately and jumped up jubilantly. She inadvertently pushed Melvin and he stumbled down with his buttocks on the ground. She ran out neither showing remorse nor knowing that she had touched anybody. Melvin stood up and dusted his buttocks. He didn’t take notice of a woman watching him from the right corner of the board. Melvin could not control the stream of hot tears that ran down his cheeks neither could he control his nose that had begun to run though he never wanted to cry before the crowd but he couldn’t control the tears which came uninterruptedly. He thought of drying his eyes with a handkerchief but remembered he had none and his hands felt weak and could not rise. He felt lonely in the entire world. All hope seemed lost. He worked slowly, one step after the other as though he was counting his steps with his face to the ground like a kid searching for his lost coin. As he trotted down he kept thinking of what next to do when he would get to Aba but his mind could not articulate any thing. He felt being trailed. A woman had followed him as he left the premises. He was already going home. On a lonely path leading to the Okada Park, the woman stopped him.

“Hello! I am Mrs. Kelechi Nwodo, a final year student of the department of linguistics here”.

Melvin was still looking at the woman confused. The words she said didn’t enter his ears. The stream of tears gathering in his eyes could not allow him see her face clearly. The tears were still flowing. He couldn’t control them. The woman handed him a new handkerchief.

“Wipe your tears. I know how you feel. Perhaps I might help you. Give me your name, your UME registration number and the…” He was stunned and couldn’t hear the last words she said. The only thing he heard was “perhaps I might help you” and that was the only thing that could make sense to him. He raised his face to see the woman but couldn’t see her clearly. The face was hazy; changing from that of a woman to a girl and to a man and back again. Melvin ran his palms through his eyes to clear the tears blurring his vision. It was not a dream. He was struck dumb by the good Samaritan-like gesture. He dropped his hand into his back pocket, brought out his wallet and handed the woman all she requested of him. He didn’t care what the woman needed the name for, but “perhaps I might help you” was the only thing he wanted to remember. All he wanted was an admission into the University of Nigeria nothing more mattered to him. On a normal day he would have hesitated. He would have considered the woman to be a ‘Sugar-Mummy” searching for a Sugar-Boy gigolo; worst still he might have thought her to be one of the ogwu-ego people. Now he wasn’t in the mood to think anything but his admission; nothing else would make any sense.

“Okay, I stay at Block E3, Room 210, Zik’s flat hostel, so you can come there tomorrow evening for feedbacks”. The woman said with a stress on the “stay” as if t was to inform him it was not her permanent home but a make shift students hostel.

“But…aunty I am…traveling back to Aba because I don’t know anybody here to stay with”. Melvin replied and immediately slapped his back pocket. He remembered the Mr. John Nwachukwu he met at the restaurant. He searched for the address he gave him, it was still intact.

“Okay…aunty there was a guy I met the other day I came, let me see if he can harbour me.” He brought out the address. The writings were still clear though the paper was badly rumpled.

“All right but be careful” the woman advised him and continued: “Anyway, if you don’t succeed, come down to Zik’s flat hostel and ask for Mrs. Kelechi Nwodo, I would introduce you to my younger brother at Alvan-Ikoku Hall. It is necessary you don’t go eh…”

“Thank you aunty, I won’t” Melvin answered and watched the woman as she turned leaving, walking like a movie star, shoulders held high and hips swinging madamishly. She flagged down an okada and left towards the direction of Zik’s flats hostels. Melvin believed he saw an angel in human covering though he was not sure what it was for. His experiences at Aba had taught him not to trust anybody until they have proven themselves trust worthy. “She said I should be careful”. The words kept roaming in his mind as he walked down making for Nkrumah Post Graduate Hostel. He brought out the address given him by Mr. John and looked at it again, it read: “Room 436, Nkrumah Post Graduate Hostel.” He flagged down an okada. The okada pulled up in front of a gigantic three storey building painted yellow. At the top of the building was the inscription: “KWAME NKRUMA HALL”. Many cars were parked in front of the building as if there was a conference going on inside the hall. Melvin walked in. He didn’t want to ask anybody questions to avoid being called a JJC. He got more confused when he entered the hostel. The centre of the hall was a quadrangle beautifully decorated with flowers and sculptures of humans. It was as quiet as a burial ground. He discovered that the numbering of the ground floor was in 100 series. He searched for the stair case and climbed up. No need stopping at the first floor because it would be 200 series, second floor 300 so he got to the third floor. He could not see anybody around the veranda rather he could hear some voices like whispers in various rooms as he passed through them. As he walked round looking for room 436 he found an inscription on a door that said; “PRESIDENTIAL LODGE 436!” There were some beautiful flowers by the two sides of the door. He stood at the door contemplating whether to knock or not. He was afraid. After a short prayer he crossed himself and knocked at the door; and a very croaking voice followed the knock immediately.

“Please come in”. It was Efe, John’s roommate. The sight of Efe frightened him. It reminded him of the Idi Amin of Uganda he used to see in the movies. Efe was very dark, tall and huge. He had a fat protruding belly, round face, chubby cheeks, wide flared African nostrils and big round eyeballs that seemed as if they were bulging out of his eye sockets. Melvin would have run back, as the door swung open. “Be a man” his mind had urged him.

“Em…em…Good evening. I’m looking for Mr. John Nwachukwu”. He stammered involuntarily as he watched Efe’s smooth hairless scalp which shimmered against the halogen bulb that lit up the room. Efe’s neatly shaved face and scalp made a sharp contrast with his hairy chest. He was in a singlet rolled upwards such that the bushy hairs of his naval region showed. The electric standing fan by his side turned on to the highest speed made some spinning noise that irritated Melvin. Efe must always feel hot because of his Esau-like skin, Melvin thought.

 “Okay come in and wait for him, he went to shower”. Efe showed him to a six spring bed at the right from the door. Melvin sat down on the bed watching the art works on the wall – a woman with her little kid strapped to her back, the second was a picture of a pot with rope net woven around its body and the other was a hunter carrying a very big elephant on his head, an antelope on his left shoulder, and a stag on his right shoulder while his right hand held the elephant firmly balanced on his head, the left hand clutched a rabbit and one of his legs raised to stamp a crawling grasshopper. The picture had an Igbo inscription; “onye anyukwu I ga ebi n’ala biri n’elu?” none of the pictures looked anything like the unhappy sculpture he had seen severally in his dream, yet something in him kept assuring him that the sculpture must be seen somewhere in real life. He was thinking about the unhappy sculpture when John entered with a towel wrapped round his waist. He whistled as he walked across the room to drop his bucket without taking notice of Melvin. He turned round, heading for the wardrobe and stopped dead at the sight of Melvin.

“Oh! Kelechi you are here? Don’t mind me I was…” Melvin sneezed and john pursed and turned to Efe. “Please Efe, turn off the fan, my visitor is freezing here”;

“And he doesn’t talk?” Efe said sounding surprised.

“Yes, as dumb as you were in your first year”. John answered feigning anger and showing he knew that Melvin was a Jambito though Melvin never told him.

“Okay…Jambito!” Efe shouted croaking as he turned off the fan.

“Kelechi, don’t mind this toad. It’s people like him that make the Europeans mistake Africans for monkeys.” John said laughing and continued to Melvin; “Has it been a while you came?”

“Yes, I came since morning; I’ve been at the admissions department”.

“And how far have you gone with your admission processes?”          

“I couldn’t see my name on the board”. Melvin answered sounding strong now. His lips quivered and stopped the way they normally did whenever he wanted to say something and cannot bring himself to say it. He had wanted to ask John how he got to know that he was yet to get admission into the school.

“E…ya…it’s a pity. And what have you been doing about it?” John said and hung his towel with a plastic hanger on a line across the window.

“I bought the supplementary admission form for philosophy and yet my name is not on the supplementary list.” Melvin answered and looked up at John. His lips quivered again and stopped. He didn’t want to say much so that he wouldn’t start crying. “Oh u didn’t follow it up.” John walked over to the wardrobe at the other end of the bed and Melvin’s eyes followed him as if begging for more explanation. His lips quivered and stopped. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand him but he didn’t know what to say about the following up John meant. There was a little silence in the room but for the creaky sound of the wardrobe doors as John threw them widely open and drew out a chest housing some battles and containers of creams, soaps, perfumes and other such things.

‘I… I didn’t know anybody to meet and …” Melvin could not bring himself to complete the statement. Tears had started choking him. He twitched his eyes severally to push back the tears struggling to drop.

“Well that has been the custom here; if you don’t know anybody at the helm or you are not ready to bribe. You hardly get admission you know too many people apply for this school every year. I don’t know what they think is so special here.

“Lend him some of your connections now” Efe said as he stood up putting on a shirt he picked from on the bed.

“Em…okay I have a plan.’ John said after a purse and continued “Let me dress up, we are going to see one of the professors in my department”. He felt for Melvin. “That implies you’ve got to sleep over” he added looking straight at Melvin’s face which was blank and expressionless. Efe opened the door and went out. He was feeling hot. Melvin watched him as he left until the door closed behind him. Efe was john’s personal assistant as the president of the postgraduate students union. John and Efe were together in the undergraduate SUG house of representatives were they had been of different opposing camps. Though John had been the Speaker of the House, Efe had given him the worst opposition of his life as number one contender for the seat of Mr. Speaker. As they met again in the post graduate students politics, John could not afford to take the stiff opposition Efe had given him once again, so he chose him as his PA and as well to groom him for the next PGSU president. 

*************************

Professor Okadigbo’s house was a high foundation bungalow well fenced up to the height of the main building; one outside could not see anything but the roof of the building. The fence was decorated with paintings of many artistic works of lions’ heads and flowers and pretty natural flowers that grew free round the fence. The over shooting branches of the flowers said they have not been pruned for a long time. Some creeping weeds slunk freely like snakes to the top of the fence into the building. It looked beautiful even with the bushy weed and flowers. The building had a very gigantic black corrugated iron gate that matched effectively with the milky white painting of the walls. The house reminded Melvin of chief of Okoro’s building besides his father’s uncompleted ‘hut’. Now he could visualize how his father’s house stood side by side with chief Okoro’s mansion like a theatrical juxtaposition of affluence and abject poverty. He shook his head slowly as the scene ignited his worst fear in life – poverty mingled with old age. “I cannot afford to be poor” he said in his mind and crossed himself. John looked over his shoulders at him and continued without a word. He pressed the bell on the gate and ensured Melvin was following him closely behind. A voice emanating from the intercom facility on the gate asked: “who is it and who are you looking for?” it was a firm feminine voice. Professor Okadigbo had always taught his servants to speak with confidence at all time and to always ask for identification with authority whenever somebody knocked at the gate before openning.

“It's Nwachukwu John, I want to see Prof.” John replied. Someone peeped from the eye piece on the gate and subsequently opened the gate. It was Prof’s maidservant, a young girl of about sixteen. Melvin was a bit trilled by the magic of a talking gate.

“Good evening Sir” she greeted John and smiled at Melvin showing a wide gap of missing tooth and Melvin smiled back shyly trying to marry the firm and authoritative voice with the feebly looking young girl at the gate.

“Good evening girl, is Prof in?” John replied and bade Melvin “follow me” with two fingers.

“Yes, he is in the sitting room”.  The girl answered still smiling but with his held together to cover the teeth as if she had notice that Melvin looked at her unfortunate gap teeth. John was a regular visitor in the compound. He had known virtually everybody in the household. Melvin followed John closely as he descended the make-believe staircase down into Prof’s sitting room. Why did he so much trust this John whom he had not known before? Who knows whom his Prof of a person must be? These thoughts speed through Melvin’s mind with a hissing sound that increased the pace of his heart palpitation. However, he followed John closely. “After all this life is not interesting neither is it worth living without university education” he concluded inside of him. He was not afraid of death. The door to the sitting room was already open when they got there. Professor Okadigbo was watching a CNN program when they entered. He welcomed them very heartily.

“Nwachukwu, how are you?” He showed them to seats.

“I’m alright Prof.” John answered as he got seated and motioned Melvin to a seat adjacent his.

“For this kind of unannounced visit; am I safe?”

“Ah! Sir you are but…” John started adjusting on his seat and rubbing his hands together as if the words he wanted to say would come out from them but Prof interrupted him.

“Yes I know, they say a toad does not run in the day time in vain, either it is after something or something is after it. You do pass my courses very well I know, so what is the matter this time? The union?” Professor Okadigbo was the staff adviser of the postgraduate students union and the Dean of postgraduate school.

“Sir, here is my young friend Kelechi, he is seeking admission. He had a nice score, 225 to be précised. So unfortunate, he was not offered admission, while people that had lower scores secured admission even people that scored below the school’s requirement of 200 and above. Please sir, I believe so much you can help us secure him admission”. John pleaded with anger jn his voice, looking into Prof’s face for a response expecting he was going to start with his regular lecture of bribery and corruption and moral decadence in the country.

“Em…” Prof cleared his throat to break the little silence that set in, “em… that is what we have here; if you don’t know anybody, your right might be denied you. Kelechi what do you want to study?” Prof went straight this time without going through his usual keynote address on moral decadence; maybe because John had heard that severally.

“I applied for law but 225 is short a score for the cut off mark for law”. Melvin replied in a shrill voice avoiding a direct eye contact with Prof.

“First of all I would want to let you know that I don’t give admissions but let me check the courses in which there are still chances” Prof stood up and went into his inner room. John pushed Melvin’s leg and smiled into his face, Melvin replied with a borrowed smile as he watched and admired the sitting room. Prof emerged from the inner room with a piece of paper and a pen. He adjusted his wrapper as he made to sit down.

“Okay, what we have here are…” he adjusted his goggles and took the paper closer to his face “what we have here are; Psychology, History, Linguistics, Music, English and Literary Studies, Crop Science, Estate Management, Geography, Statistics and Mathematics department.” He paused, brought the paper down and continued looking directly at Melvin. “You can only get one of these courses. Law is out of it. More so, I can’t promise you anything now. What you have to do now is to write down your particulars for me. I will see what I can do”. Prof concluded looking inquisitively at John who responded after a chuckle.

“Prof we are very grateful. I believe so much in you sir”.

“Thank you, sir.” Melvin added as he wrote down his particulars and handed it over to Professor Okadigbo and had his eyes glued to the television as John and Prof discussed issues about the union. Melvin was not watching the CNN program neither was he just admiring the TV; he was mulling over the past. He recalled when there used to be a coloured Toshiba TV in their sitting room in Aba and also how his father got home drunk one day and took the TV away to an unknown electronics repairer and the TV never came back. He was sure his father did not sell the TV but no one knew what happened. He might have given it out to an electrician and never remembered whom he gave it to. Worst still, some miscreant who knew him as a drunk might have stolen it away from him; when he got back to his senses the following week, he was not able to recollect anything. The TV was gone. He also thought about what Prof’s house would be looking like if Prof were to be a drunk like his father; and he said a silent prayer asking God to help his father come out from his drinking problem. He was about to cross himself but realized he was not alone and held back his hand limply. When they stood up to leave, Prof called them back; “no now, you can’t leave my house like that without even a piece of cola”.

“Thank you sir, you have given us the most important cola by receiving us into your house and accepting to help us. We are grateful sir”. John replied gaily with a smile. Melvin wanted to object. He had wanted to sit back and have the cola. He was hungry. He watched Prof’s face expecting that he would insist. “Well, if you insist, next time”. Prof bade them goodbye. Melvin was disappointed. “Can you see how handsome Prof looks despite his wrinkled skin? He is a very gentle and humble person. He treats everyone as equal but with special treatment for his intelligent and hardworking students.” John said as they left Prof’s house. He continued chattering as they walked along the road. Melvin didn’t seem to be listening but he kept nodding and making some throaty sound “mmmhm… ehh” whenever John’s words managed to filter into his ears. “Can you guess his age?” John asked and looked at Melvin’s face and Melvin jacked. Then he realized Melvin wasn’t listening. He didn’t border repeating the question rather he tried other means of distracting Melvin from his thought.

“Which of the courses he mentioned there would you like?” John asked

“I am not really sure of what I want right now, just admission first.” Melvin replied in a low tone. That was the kind of discussion that could hold his attention. They continued on the conversation till they got the PG hostel. John was one of the most intelligent students of the Post graduate school. Besides he was the President, Post Graduate Students Union (PGSU) University of Nigeria, and Nsukka. His interest in students’ politics brought him closer to the school administration. Moreover, Professor Okadigbo as a lecturer and a Professor of Political Science, liked students who played what he called genuine politics which was what he thought in class that Nigerian government lacked. John’s idea of politics was not unconnected with his undergraduate experience and knowledge in the department of Philosophy when he was the speaker undergraduate SUG House of Representatives. After his graduation, he had worked out his way that he did his National Youth Service Corp (NYSC) in Nsukka and did his Post-Graduate Studies at the same time as he served. Everything was possible in Nigeria, insofar as the money was available.

They returned to Nkrumah Post Graduate Hostel at about seven (7.00pm) in the night. Melvin was feeling hungry but could not complain. He didn’t want to bug John with many problems. John took him straight to the Post Graduate refectory as if he had read his mind and requested for akpu with Ogbono soup. Melvin had learnt the norm in the school: serve yourself. The refectory was very neat and spacious unlike the undergraduates’ refectory where he could not concentrate on the food because of the flies that adorned the environment. The PG refectory was not as noisy and overcrowded as the undergraduate refectories. As Melvin sat with the food in front of him, he tried to imitate John by eating with fork and knife. The fork refused to balance in his fingers. He looked up and saw that John was watching him. He smiled shyly and dropped the fork on the table. John was eating with a short knife in his right hand and a fork in the left. He used the knife to cut out some slice of akpu and roll it with the back of the fork and then pick it with the fork into the soup. The whole thing looked so awkward; eating akpu with the left hand and with fork at the same time. Melvin looked up and saw a man at the extreme of the hall eating with his bare hands and not looking up at any other person. He stood up and crossed over to a sink on the wall and washed his palms. John looked up and smiled at him. As he ate the Ogbono soup, he was so conscious of his white shirt to ensure that the draws of the Ogbono soup would not loll down on it. After eating, John paid and they climbed up to his room. While they climbed the staircase, Melvin tried to place the face of John’s hideous roommate. He thought about how he would manage to sleep in the same room with such an ogre without having convulsion. He was afraid. Efe was away when they returned. There was no body in the room. Melvin was tired. He needed to sleep. He had already closed his eyes to sleep when Efe entered the room with his shirt hung on his shoulder exposing Esau-like hairy chest.

“Where did you go?” John asked him.

“Presido, Na aluta ‘E’ beloship I go now”. Efe answered in pidgin smiling mischievously. ‘Aluta E’ was the term coined by Efe for visiting the opposite sex with the ‘E’ probably standing for emotion. The term beloship was coined from the name of a female hostel – BELO HALL.

“Presido, I saw something strange today” Efe said after a little silent

“What was it?”

“I saw a girl, an undergraduate smoking cigarette along the road as she crossed Zik’s flat compound”. Efe announced.

“Just that? It’s no longer news now. They even smoke weeds around there”. John said unsurprised.

“I know, but it must be in the secret, this one was very open; she smoked as she walked along the road, puffing out the smokes proudly as if this is some western school or something”. Efe explained opening his bulgy eyes so wide as he gestured with his hands and his lips pouted in smoking fashion.

“I know, it is no news, I said. It is a thing I see everyday even inside jives”.

“This our society is turning to a thing I cannot understand. If you could see the girl’s attire, it was very deadly. I couldn’t help feasting my eyes on the cleavages of her half exposed breast and her smooth laps left uncovered. I nearly released before she went out of sight.” Efe added croaking.

“Naughty boy!” john cursed and gave him a playful swing and he ducked.

“The girl was very beautiful; I can’t tell why she wanted to ruin her life with smokes of cigarette.” Efe said.

“That’s a painted sepulchre” John replied carelessly and turned back to face his book.

Melvin was very dizzy yet he heard all they said. “This baboon can be so amorous? He could even tell who is beautiful? That implies that he must have known how ugly he is. What sort of a place is this University? Where everything happens, girls proudly smoking along the road not only cigarette, including ganja? What would the boys do then?” as these thoughts raced through his head, he didn’t want to open his eyes and see Efe’s hideous face so that he would not have a nightmare. The thoughts ran through his mind as if in a merry go round until he was driven away by the calm riding vehicle of sleep. John and Efe continued their discussion till 10.00pm. They read their books and finally slept at 1.00am the next day. The night was calm, no dreams of the unhappy sculpture, no mosquitoes, and no bed bugs. Though it was cold, Melvin was well covered with a thick blanket that kept him warm throughout the night. Melvin missed home so much though the P.G Hostel was supposed to have seemed more comfortable than his father’s house uncompleted building of uncemented flour, without ceiling, unplastered walls and no electricity, not to talk of the unbearable mosquito bites coupled with the millions of bedbugs that claimed possession of their entire house. “Home is home”, he told himself. He recalled Ken Saro Wiwa’s Home, Sweet Home, and regretted that had not brought the book; “The Forest of Flowers” along with him. it was 7.00am. John and Efe were already awake reading. Melvin yawned, stretched himself and greeted them.

“Oh! KC, you are awake? You sleep like a rich man.” Efe dropped.

“Ah he will change when he gets admission here” John defended him. John went out and came back after some minutes with a new tooth brush and handed it to Melvin.

“Brush your teeth and prepare for school. I have a lecture at 9.00am”he knew that Melvin would have nothing to do inside the school yet he advised him to go. “Look too many people here are not students. Some people are here just wasting their time yet their names are not found anywhere in the school’s data base. So feel free nobody knows whether you are a student or not.” John had advised him.

 “First of all, I would want to see a lady in the nearby hostel”. Melvin said.

“Well, whatever, but be careful. This environment is not as friendly as you might think”. Those words made his mind beat faster and harder. He moved slowly out to the sink to brush his teeth.

“Would you need hot or cold water for your bath?” John asked but he did not hear it.

“John! Don’t you know he must need hot water in this Nsukka winter?” Efe said feigning surprise. Melvin had always heard people say that Nsukka was the coldest area in the eastern Nigeria during harmatta and the hottest during the hot times. This could not be unconnected with its nearness to the north; besides Nsukka is located on top of the hills of Enugu state.

Melvin had wanted to go and see Mrs. Nwodo but decided otherwise because it was unusual to visit female hostels in the morning hours as John had earlier told him. “Ah! Female hostel, this morning? Don’t try it unless you want to see naked girls and receive the worst embarrassment of your life.” John had warned him.

“How do you mean embarrassment?”

“If you step into those hostels in the morning hours you would hear the girls screaming: ‘ogo! Ogo! Ogo!’ calling you ‘in-law’ and most of them always walk around naked. Can you stand the sight?” John asked laughing and Melvin joined laughing shyly.

They arrived in school at about 8:59am. John had to work briskly into his class for a lecture and Melvin decided to use the time to walk around the school for sites seeing.

“I might get lost somewhere; this school is too big.” He reasoned but added after a little thought: “well I will get a bike to the faculty of Arts wherever I lost my way”. He smiled and moved, working gingerly. That had been one of the advantages of the okada people; they seemed to know almost everywhere. He put his steps carefully as he promenaded. He thought everybody was watching him. He worked round the school till 2.00pm. He took time to see as many sculptures as possible. Was it the sculpture of Nnamdi Azikiwe at the freedom square round-about that caught his fancy the most or was it that of naked man and woman surrounded by flowers near the Vice Chancellor’s office or was it the artifacts in the archeology department environs? He could not say which was the best. Melvin had love for art works. If he had a camera, he would have taken a snap shot of all the art works he had seen. At times he felt like being one of the art works and standing there in the garden like them smiling forever without noticing any problem, without noticing any poverty, without noticing cultism, without noticing any corruption and not having a drunken father, never to grow old – forever young.

He worked down to a photographer to take a shot. He would like to keep alive the memory of his pre-admission days. Even if he didn’t get the admission at last he would have something to remind him his presence in UNN. The photographer wore a sharp eye-catching gray apron that gave him the looks of some okada men in Aba. It reminded Melvin the time the state government introduced aprons for okada people. The announcement over the radio said it was to differentiate them from private bike owners on the streets and then just a piece of the sharp gray taffeta apron with the so called government number on it was sold at a very high cost. It was just another way of Government exploitation of the poor people that was never meant to last more than a month. He looked around and saw another photographer a far off. He wore a different sharp orange coloured apron. The one before him seemed catchier. The back of the apron shouted “LUCKY DREAMS” written in bold black ink. The photographer was busy with two beautiful girls before him. One was in a tight fitted pair of black jeans trousers, v-necked blouse top that exposed half her breasts. The back of the Jeans did not cover her buttocks very well exposing the parting line of her buttocks as if she wore no pants. The other girl was in a tight fitted white short skirt and a black, v-necked blouse. Melvin wondered something about how the girls had managed to struggle into those gabs that can easily go for babies and shrugged. “It is like the fad here;” he said to himself dismissingly. The girls assumed various funny positions for snap shots. They would turn their backs with their left hands on their knees; to show their buttocks and their opened backs and their faces looking back. They would back each other looking back with the tail of their eyes as if they were quarrelling.  It was all to Melvin like what he used to see in the movies and adverts. He stood by the corner waiting for them. The photographer pleaded with him to exercise more patience. Another photographer in an orange apron made signs to him to come but Melvin could not move. He was enjoying the scene – the antics by the two girls.

“Hey guy! Are we okay like this?” One of the girls asked Melvin to assess their new position. The one in skirt was seated, crossed her legs and her left hand supporting her head while the other stood behind her bending low with her head touching the others as if to whisper something. Melvin nodded shyly in affirmation with his eyes fixed under the girls crossed legs while the photographer snapped from the side. It was as if he would use his eyes to uncross the legs and keep them apart to look in through the short skirt though he didn’t want to look. Yet he couldn’t get his eyes off the shiny thighs.

It was Melvin’s turn. He took the photographer to the roundabout where the sculpture of Nnamdi Azikiwe’s head was. He didn’t want to take any seemingly exciting position. May be he was shy because of the girls. He thought everybody passing by was watching so he wanted a simple posture. He stood leaning on the sculpture with his hands held together on its shoulder with his face turned to the right to look the same way the sculpture seem to be looking, from the same angle the photographer took the shot.

“That’s going to be superb!” The girl in short skirt shouted and clapped. Melvin smiled back with only a wrinkle line on his left chin. He paid the photographer and worked away toward the exams and records building. The girls headed the same way with him.

“I’m Uju; my friend is Chioma and you?” The girl in short skirt asked him extending her hand for a shake as they walked out from the photographer’s stand. Melvin had never seen such a gesture before; a girl introducing herself first. All the girls he had known never did introduce themselves even when asked without showing some unnecessary shakara. When they did, they never give their real names. He discarded the thought that the girls might have given him fake names. Besides he didn’t ask for them.

“Ok, I’m…em…Kelechi”. He answered after a little stutter. He had wanted to say Melvin but thought otherwise because the girls bore local names. He shook the girl’s hand and left it immediately as if it was hot. He felt so timid. He was not able to look the girls in the face.

“Okay, we are heading for our hostel now. It has been a hectic day – one registration after the other. We stay in Zik’s Flat hostel”. The short skirt girl went on chattering in such a mechanical tone as though she was calling out a list of content of a beverage in an advert.

“Yeaa…” Melvin mimicked her inadvertently “I’m heading the same way. I want to go and see somebody there”.

“Who? Your girl friend?” She said with one eyes shot.

“Ah...Na…em a married woman, she is to help me for my admission”.

“Ok! That’s it E block. Is she your aunt?”

“No, I just met her here”.

“Wao!” The two girls shouted together and rolled their eyes to each other.

“What about that?” Melvin asked surprised.

“No nothing; I was just thinking if she is an admission racketeer”.

‘I don’t think so because he had not asked for money.’

“And what did she ask for?’ Uju asked with eye brows raised.

“Nothing! She is just helping for God’s sake.” Melvin barked playfully and the girls laughed out loud. He regretted saying the truth. He had wanted to lie about his identity. He would have pretended to be an old student and earn more respect from these girls. He would have pretended to be a final year student from another school. Yet he was afraid something on him might have sold him out as a Jambito.

The girls chattered freely as they walked down to the hostel. Melvin tried to link the “nothing” the girl said with the “just be careful” John warned him in the morning and later threw away the thought. He enjoyed their gossips. They were talkative – parrots; he thought.

“Ok, K.C, we stay in A308. That’s our room up there” one of the girls said and pointed upwards at the second floor of the first building as they crossed through the entrance gate into Zik’s flats. The buildings in Zik’s flat hostel were very old with the paints on the wall already peeling off and spirogyra already growing on them. The walls had cracking lines with some weeds growing from the cracks and the holes.

“You can feel free to visit us any time”. The other said as they parted. Melvin took the right path leading to E-blocks. At intervals he looked back at the girls and watched them walk as if they were practicing the runway cat-works they watch on TV. One of the girls turned to look at him and their eyes met and Melvin jacked off his eyes immediately. He kept moving briskly looking straight ahead, refusing to turn again though his eyes wanted to see some more of the opened backs, the oily thighs, the swinging rumps, and the cat works. He tried to visualize the girl smiling and waving as their eyes met but he couldn’t turn.

*******************

The E-blocks buildings were the face-me-I-face-you kind of houses made up of eight rows of houses facing each other in twos with a row of four toilets and four bathrooms in-between each pair. A row block in E-blocks was made up of six rooms accommodating two students in each. Mrs. Nwodo resided in the fourth room in the fourth row. Uju had said the original plan for the building was for it to be giving as accommodation for married students and nursing mothers but as a result of accommodation scarcity, the accommodations were randomly given to anybody including single students who were at times packed four in a room. Melvin walked down the rows looking at the top of the doors for room number 404. Some girls were taking their bath in the bathrooms with the doors open. They did not even care that someone might pass by. As Melvin passed through the corridor, it didn’t cross his mind that any sane human could be in the open bathroom but he looked anyway. He flinched at the sight of one of the naked girls and continued on his search looking straight ahead like a soldier in order not to look again though his eyes wanted to see more of the curves, to see more of the V and  the balls. The girls in the bathroom sniggered at him: “Jambito” one of them said rather too laud still sniggering. Melvin found the room. It was locked. He still didn’t want to look back. He stood facing the door with hands akimbo, disappointed. He could not turn back in order not to see the naked girls in the opened bathroom again. He stood confused. There was nobody around with whom he could drop a massage but the girls in the bathroom. Do I muster up boldness and ask the girls in the bathroom? No. it is abomination. My eyes shall not behold iniquity! How do I leave here now? Do I walk with the back? No. they would laugh at me the more. These thoughts kept racing up and down his mind. He was trapped like a bird in a bird catcher’s net. Suddenly he heard a sonorous feminine voice barking angrily behind him. It was Mrs. Nwodo.

“What sort of non-sense is this supposed to mean? Who and who are there in those bathrooms?” she did not hear any response rather the doors closed slowly and quietly. She continued:" how many times do I have to warn you shameless pigs to always close the door when you are taking your bath? Don’t you know people pass through here? I imagine what kind of families you came from. If you want to show off your korokoro infested buttocks why not go up to freedom square and walk naked. Stupid girls” she smacked. She had not seen Melvin. Melvin hissed a long sigh of relief and turned around. Mrs. Nwodo raised her face and met face to face with Melvin. “Good day Aunty” Melvin greeted shyly. “Oh K.C you are here? Nna don’t mind these shameless girls without home training that want to spoil my day. How are you today?”

“I’m fine” Melvin replied.

“Cry cry baby” she teased Melvin as she placed her left hand on Melvin’s shoulder. She moved round him inspecting him like a cloth hung in a boutique. She placed her left hand on Melvin’s head and ran it down his back. “You are looking better today; no swollen eyes, no red eye balls, and no need for handkerchief.” she commented still laughing. Melvin looked up shyly with a smile and said nothing. He savored the aroma of cologne that followed Mrs. Nwodo as she entered and her soronous voice sizzling into his ears. She fumbled her right hand into her black shoulder bag and brought out a bunch of keys, moved closer to the door, selected the right key to the padlock and unlocked the door. She motioned Melvin in and moved in as well. Immediately, the bathroom doors opened simultaneously. Two girls emerged, grinned at each other like the mischievous Tom and Jerry in cartoon movies and ran into the opposite room to the bathrooms. Mrs. Nwodo pushed out her head to know who came out of the bathrooms. She only saw the figures in white pants and white brassieres hissed into their rooms. “Idiots” she muttered and continued, “Tomi I already knew it would be nobody but you and Kemi. Let this be the last time I would see such non-sense repeated, else I will ensure you people are suspended from this school.” She warned the open air and went back into her room. Melvin was still standing at the foot math looking round the room. His eyes were on the book shelves. He wondered more about how he could afford to buy such quantity of books before graduation than how he could read them.

The room was well arranged as student’s hostel. Two six spring beds lay opposite at the two sides of the door. At the foot of the beds were reading tables with a chair close to each. On the wall above the tables were reading lights attached to the wall and faced downwards like street lights. Melvin noticed that Mrs. Nwodo’s corner was the right wing. That was evident by the pictures pasted on the wall beside the bed. High above the pictures was a bookshelf attached to the wall, in which were German language text books and some phonetics and grammar books and dictionaries. Directly opposite the door to the wall were two gigantic wardrobes, on top of which were boxes of different sizes. “Women and loads” Melvin marveled. Though there was a ceiling fan at the centre of the room, Mrs. Nwodo had a small table fan placed on a stool by the window beside the door. Beside the door to the right was a very big mirror not less than six inches high attached to the wall. Up above the mirror was something like a wine bar attached to the wall, in which was packed all kinds of women’s make-ups. On the floor was red checkered linoleum spread from wall to wall.

Melvin made to remove his foot wears as he entered the room but Mrs. Nwodo bade him “never mind” and showed him to the seat by the reading table. Melvin felt something about saying; “what a nice place!” but his lips couldn’t form the words. Besides he didn’t think Mrs. Nwodo thought the room nice considering the way she referred to it earlier. Mrs. Nwodo dropped her bag limply on the table and climbed on top of the bed. She sat on the bed and crossed her legs carefully as if she was preparing to offer Muslim prayers. She picked a pillow, placed it on top of her crossed laps and leaned back on the wall; looking tired. The skin of her legs looked like ripe pawpaw; so smooth that Melvin thought he would see the blood running through the greenish veins inside them. Melvin didn’t want to look at those legs again. He buried his face on the ground peeling some invincible things from his finger nail. There was a little silence as he waited to hear something about his admission from Mrs. Nwodo. To break the ice, she suddenly teased Melvin: “I know you won’t cry again” Melvin chuckled and buried his face on the table before him, moving his right foot on the floor. He was shy.

“Are you the last born in your family?” Mrs. Nwodo asked trying to relax his tension.

“No”

“The first?”

“No”.

“The only son?”

“No, I’m the second son” Melvin answered hesitantly, he had wanted to claim the first.

“Ah! Why is it you look so feeble like Ajebor” she continued with curves of mischievous smiles on her face; “your mother; what does she do?”

“She is a trader”

“And what about your father?”

“He died some years ago”. Melvin lied. He didn’t want to think about his father as alive.

“Ah! I’m sorry for reminding you. It’s a pity. Ndo nnu”. Mrs. Nwodo felt pity for him. Her Igbo sounded so soft and anglicized, devoid of tones. The thought of Melvin’s father brought back the tension which was almost dissipating. The thought of Melvin’s father, always reminded him the need not to be like him; the need to struggle out of the depth of poverty that his drunken habit was dragging the family into. However, Melvin had written his father of as dead because of his drunken habit. “Look as inactive as he is just like a dead man”, Melvin would always say to himself whenever he got home and saw his father drunk. Melvin always sighed bitterly whenever he saw his mates rode in their father’s cars. He too wanted that, but his father could not give him the comfort he wanted in life; his father would hardly provide for his family and he had promised himself that he would get everything that he wanted in life by himself. Melvin was still bent drawing shapeless images with his left foot. His face now looked stiff with hatred mingled with pity for his father. He didn’t hate his father rather he couldn’t decipher what the feeling was - A mixture of love, hate, pity and anxiety. Confusion. He was not sure if it was hatred. Sometimes he felt some kind of pity and affection for his father. He winked and some premature tears trickled down his cheeks from his eyes.

“Ok, guess what; I have good news for you, would you like English Department?” Mrs. Nwodo dropped as if to console him and send the tears back into his skull. Melvin raised his face immediately and wiped off the tears on his lashes. The only thing he had wanted to hear was finally up. He couldn’t fathom why the tears were coming out of his eyes. Looking straight into Mrs. Nwodo’s face, he answered: “I don’t mind what Department any longer, what I need is just admission Aunty”. There was a mixture of frustration and desperation in his quaky voice. He wasn’t in the mood to hide any feelings any longer. His glossy, watery eyeballs would show it. His pouted mouth would scream it. His ashen face would dramatize it. Desperation! Mrs. Nwodo chuckled gaily looking into Melvin’s misty eyes with pity. “Well, your admission issue has been settled then. All you need do now is: go home, and come back in a fortnight when the list shall be pasted to start registration in English and Literary Studies Department”. Melvin was stunned. It was like a dream. He wanted to move over and give Mrs. Nwodo a very warm embrace but his guts failed him. He would want to cross over and give her a peck on the cheek as he used to see people do on TV and say things like “Aunty you rock!”; “aunty I love you!”; “Aunty you are the best” and stuffs like that but it was as if his legs were glued to the floor and his buttocks to the seat and his lips sealed. He meant to jump up and rejoice on his own but streams of tears flowing profusely from his eyes could not let him do that. He could not control the tears. They were tears of joy. He couldn’t make a move. “Aunty, words cannot be enough to show appreciation for what you have done for me”, he managed to murmur amid tears. “It’s okay”, Mrs. Nwodo responded giving him a pat on the shoulder. She uncurled her legs and came down from the bed and hugged Melvin. Melvin felt as if never to let go in her warm soft body with his head on her breast while Mrs. Nwodo caressed his head. There was pin-drop silence in the room, except for the sound of Melvin’s sniffing to draw back his running nose and inhale more of the cologne aroma emanating from Mrs. Nwodo’s cloths. He was up to leave with his palms wiping out tears from his face when Mrs. Nwodo left him.

“K.C bear with me, I’ve not got cola to offer you”.

“Don’t mind” Melvin responded in a very low feminine voice. She watched Melvin as he left the room. She shook her head in pity and lean back on the wall and closed her eyes. She did not notice when her roommate entered the room. She had slept off. She was dead tired after the activities of the day in the scorching Nsukka sun; the kind of sun shine that came with the rain.

**************

Melvin went straight to a water tap beside the block-E Hostel and rinsed his face so that people would not notice he cried. He wiped his face with his bare hands and moved on. His eye balls were still red. He was already at the gate leaving Zik’s flats hostel when he heard a feminine voice calling: “K.C! K.C!” He turned back but could not see anybody. “Who knows me here?” he asked himself. He made to continue but the voice came again. He turned a second time and saw a hand from a window in the second floor of Block ‘A’. A girl popped out her head from the window grinning from ear to ear. It was one of the girls he met at the photographer’s stand. He tried to ignore the call and continued on his way but remembered John might not have returned from school. He tried to imagine how his face looked. He knew the redness of his eyes might betray him. There was no packed car along the road on whose side mirror he could check his face. He thought about what lies to tell when the girls asked him about his eyes. He couldn’t fashion out anything. He had to walk slowly to let a lot of breeze blow on his face to clear the wetness of his face before he entered the hostel blocks. All the blocks in Zik’s flats hostel looked alike. It was an old building with cracks all over the walls. In between the cracks on the walls were weeds growing freely. Spirogyras dotted the sides of the building giving it an ugly dirty look. The sight of the building reminded Melvin of the dilapidating uncompleted back of his father’s house at Aba used as bath room. As he entered the building, he climbed the staircase by the right side of the door. Two girls on the ground floor caught sight of him and screamed “Ogo! Ogo!” He would have run back. He remembered what John had told him and mustered courage and continued on his way up. As he got to the first floor, he flinched at the sight of three girls who hissed into their rooms immediately with lightening speed. They might be half naked. The clamour increased as more girls pushed out their heads from their rooms shouting: “Driver! Driver! Driver!” Melvin got confused. Uju opened her door and urged him on from the second floor. He increased his pace and juggled as he ran up to the second floor. The girls had a good laugh. They had succeeded frightening him. He heard as one of them said: “He has acted just like a Jambito.” and another added: “Yes! No old student would do this; he must be a Jambito.” He ran into Uju’s room panting and everybody in the room started sniggering at him. He too smiled shyly. Uju motioned him to sit on her bed. The room was not like the ‘E’ Block rooms. It had three six spring beds, one facing the door to the wall and the other two by the two sides opposite each other. At the center of the room were two reading tables packed face to face with a big board barricading them such that one sitting on one reading table would not see another on the other side unless he stood up. The sight reminded Melvin of a poem by Robert Frost titled “Mending Wall”. A line in the poem rang in his mind; “good fences makes good neighbours”. He nodded and smiled to himself. By the both sides of the door were two gigantic wardrobes on top of which were packed bags and boxes up to the ceiling. Melvin sat quietly on the bed and Uju stood up to make a short of introduction.

“Hey, roommates, here is a friend; Kelechi. He is still processing his admission and K.C…” She tapped Melvin’s shoulder. Melvin stood up. Pointing across the board to a girl applying nail varnish to her toes, she continued; “that one over there is Fola, a third year student of Mass communication Department. She is a good girl.” Fola smiled and extended her right hand to Melvin. They exchanged pleasantries. Fola was a very beautiful young girl -- Dark in complexion, small black eyes and hairy eye lids. She had very long dark hairs that rested on her shoulders. Melvin liked her; maybe for her tallness and not for her long arc-like nose. As Uju’s introductory words re-echoed in his head; “a third year student…” he shifted his attention to the next girl playing with a teddy bear. Uju continued with her introduction. “To my left here, is Salamatu, my class mate. She is troublesome and talkative”. Salamatu made to slap her playfully; she dodged and fell into her bed laughing childishly. “Naughty girl”; Salamatu cursed her playfully and extends her right hand to Melvin. “Don’t mind her, call me Sala” Salamatu said looking straight into Melvin’s eyes as they exchanged pleasantries. Melvin knew that Sala must be a Hausa girl. He didn’t let her know that he didn’t like Hausa people. His hatred for Hausa people had stemmed from the stories he heard about the Biafran war and some contemporary civil upheavals in the northern part of the country. But sala looked different; unlike every other Hausa people Melvin had seen Sala was short but good looking. He looked more intently at her face and wondered why she had no tribal marks on her face. As Melvin sat back slowly, Sala commented; “il est beau Uju” she said in French raising eyebrows at Uju.

“Ne le regarde plus” Uju responded sharply and playfully.

“What do I get you?” Uju asked turning to Melvin.

“No, don’t border yourself”. Melvin answered shyly scratching his head.

“Ajebor” Uju whispered in a low horse voice drawing the “j” sound so long that it was more like the beginning of a song. She stood up and pulled the drawer of her reading table, brought out two ceramics cups and a heater coil, she poured some water in a jug and plugged the heater in it.

“Did you see the woman in ‘E’ block?” she suddenly asked Melvin bringing out some beverages from a lower cardboard.

“Em…yes” he responded and continued with renewed enthusiasm, “but you girls are something else”.

“Why do you say so”; Uju asked without looking back as she opened a tin of milk with a spoon.

“I was so embarrassed. I ran into some girls taking their bath in a bath room with the doors widely opened”; Melvin said and leaned back with his back on the wall with disgust on his face. He didn’t tell her that he tried to look back a second time to see more of the naked girls. He didn’t say that he felt like going to touch them.

“Just that? What did you do? Did you run?” Uju turned smiling into Melvin’s face

“No, but I…I was stunned. I couldn’t move any further”. He stuttered.

“Ha ha ha!” Uju laughed with her lips widely apart “that would have told them you are a Jambito”. He could hear Sala giggling from the other end of the room.

“Jambito? Yes what does this Jambito really mean? I’ve heard excess of it” Melvin asked in a low voice such that the girls on the other side would not hear him.

“It is a slang used for someone that’s still seeking admission or for a first year student. It is a kind of JJC. The name is drawn from JAMB” Uju side lowering her voice the same way he did and handed him a cup of tea. The tea was as syrupy as ice cream. He reasoned that the girl must be from a very rich family to prepare such a near-solid tea. He slowly sipped at the tea. There was a long span of silence. Nobody said anything. Melvin tried as much as he could to avoid Uju’s roving almond shaped eyes. He tried in vain to fashion out something to say. He was so conscious not to ask a question that would sound stupid or say some off-point things.

“How about your friend: Chioma”. He asked in want of something to say after a long silence.

“Em…she went to see her boyfriend behind flats” she replied casually.

“And you? Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, am here with my boyfriend” she answered looking into Melvin’s face with some mischievous smiles on her long face as if she had been anticipating the question. Melvin feigned a shy smile and gulped the last drop of tea in his cup and said nothing. “Why did your people here call me ‘Ogo’ and ‘Driver’ while I was coming up?” Melvin asked still in a low voice, just to change the topic. He already knew that he was called Driver because girls were called “Tanker” in the Boys hostels and that they called him “Ogo” because the girls saw any guy that came into their hostels as an in-law that had come “marry” one of them. He was not listening while Uju explained. His mind had wandered off again to many things at the same time. It’s already 7.15pm. He had to go. He looked up around the room for a wall clock. There was none.

“What time is it?” he asked Uju. The watch he had on was not functional. It was there just like a bangle. He always felt incomplete without a watch; he had complained. He must always put on a watch be it functional or not. At least he would have the satisfaction of being complete.

“Do you want to go?” Uju asked without looking at a watch and he nodded looking restless. Uju pulled the drawer of her reading table and brought out an alarm clock.

“7.20pm”, she said.

“Oh! I’ve got to go, it’s late”.

“Late? Guys stay in this hostel till ten”

“But am still a J.J.C or what do you call it …Jambito”

“Johnny Just Come” Uju spelt and laughed aloud.

“You know our elders say; ‘if a fowl gets to a strange environment, it would stand with one leg until it masters the district’. Therefore, am standing on a leg”. He said in a finality tone and stood up, adjusting his cloth. “Bye roommates” he said as he waived at Fola and Sala making for the door.

“So early? You are not a good in-law o!” Fola retorted feigning anger. Uju looked up at Melvin accusingly. He had wanted to say; “next time I will stay longer” but his timid lips just quaked and stopped shut. Uju followed him as he opened the door. She was to see him off at least to the gate. Melvin flinched at the sight of some girls dressed half naked discussing freely in the veranda. He made to turn back but Uju nudged him from behind and he moved on. He didn’t have to look away to avoid the girls making fool of him. He had not got used to the skimpy things girls wore about in the campus; exposing their shiny thighs and soft end of their breasts that reminded him of the small Christmas balloons uncle Chima used to buy him when he was younger. The girls sat as if they did not notice his presence till he was out of sight. Uju saw him to the gate and stopped.

“Would you come to visit us tomorrow?” She asked searching for Melvin’s face.

“Em…I want to travel home tomorrow” Melvin replied looking restless. He thought everybody passing through the gate watched him as he stood with the girl. He was shy.

“In two weeks time or so I will be back” He said.

“What would you get me?”

“Whatever you request that would not be beyond my ability to get”.

“Well, I would be okay with just you coming back; any other thing of your choice would be jara”. Uju said and rolled her eyes. She would have asked for a goodbye hug or a peck either but the time was not yet ripe, she might have guessed. She turned slowly with her arms crossed over her chest to her shoulders as if she was feeling cold. The weather was really cold anyway.

“Bye bye” Melvin said as he turned swiftly leaving her.

“Good night, I’ll miss you dear” she announced and ran slowly back to her room. Melvin turned and looked round to see if people around heard the girl. “I will miss you dear.” The words re-echoed in his head. He was feeling shy; but it was as if nobody cared. By the other side of the gate he saw a boy and a girl hugging each other as if never to let go. Across the road, another pair was kissing. Melvin drew off his eyes from them, crossed himself and murmured ‘in the name of the Father and of the son and of the holy Ghost”. It was as if everybody walked in twos – a boy and a girl. Zik’s Flats hostel was a female hostel but boys streamed in and out of the hostel as if it were a market place or a brothel so to say. None of the boys came out alone. Some would come out with their girl friends and walk straight into Jives; the nearby pub. The extreme side of Jives was in a deplorable condition. Some parts of the blocks had fallen and they looked dark as though burnt. Melvin wondered if the state of the building was evidence of the effect of the Nigerian Civil war. “May be the owner doesn’t want to repay it so that it would remain as archaeological evidence of the Biafran war in Nsukka.” The sound of music emanating from the tavern was blasting and tearing the air thunderously. Melvin walked past the front gate heading for the school gate opposite. After a little thought he stopped shut and turned around boldly as if he was making for a pub crawl. In Jives he was faced with people dancing in a slapdash fashion in the open compound. Some strolled around with one hand hooked to that of their girl friends as if she would run away, while the other hand strapped a bottle of bear and a stick of cigarette trapped in-between fingers. Some girls sat on their chairs smoking and puffing out the smoke exotically. By the left side of the gate was a tall black Hausa man roasting suya-meat; the fire of his glowing embers went up in flame reviling the faces of the people around the fire place at intervals as he sprinkled some oil on them. Besides the fire were some roasted chickens and some other varieties of meat Melvin could not identify. His mouth watered and his Adam’s apple jerked as he swallowed some mouth full of salty saliva and turn his eyes to the smoking girls once more. The sight reminded him the Sodom and Gomorra of the Holy Scripture his pastor always talked about. It was all like what he saw in American movies. Something inside of him wanted to go into jives and enjoy like others but he would do no such thing. He imagined himself sitting in there with Uju leaning on him and some bottles of beer on their table. He spat out on the floor out of disgust and crossed the road into the school compound. The security men at the gate looked so old and weak. The one manning the gate was in a black outfit just like the Nigerian police with two red stripes on his shoulder and two twine-like ropes crossed under his armpit to his left shoulder. His dried right hand clutched a naked tree branch with which he pointed at upcoming cars to stop for searching. Melvin was surprised at how the dying men could safeguard the entire school. He shrugged. The security men stopped the next upcoming vehicle and searched the booth as the driver came down. Melvin stood by the side watching them. They had no guns but archaic walkie-talkie radio massagers. Each of them had a bulala or koboko tied to his belt. Melvin wondered whom they would flog with the bulala and it reminded him the sight of solders flogging market women that were old enough to be their mothers at Ngwa road market at Aba. That was a normal sight during the military era; he jettisoned the thought from his mind immediately, he shook his head and moved swiftly ahead to the Post Graduate hostel.

He got to the Postgraduate hostel. The entire environment was dead quiet as usual. It looked very beautiful with those cars parked everywhere and flood lights from various corners of the roof top lightening the environment. Only two men were standing outside at the balcony rail chatting in very low tune. Melvin greeted them as he passed and they answered enthusiastically. John and Efe must be worried now, he thought. It was only John in the room when he got in. He greeted him and went straight to the bed. John was on his reading table writing something.

“Where and where have you seen today?” John asked him smiling with a little curve on his face.

“almost half of this school but you know the school environment is too big to be covered in a day”. He answered carelessly, sounding tired.

“Nice, what and what did you see?” john asked and turned to face him.

“If I should start writing down all I saw today, it would make a complete novel.” Melvin answered and he stifled a yawn. He was tired and needed to sleep. He didn’t want to tell john about the naked girls neither did he want to discuss Jives pub nor talk about the visit to Uju.

“Have you eaten anything today?” John asked him.

“Yes” he answered looking quizzically into John’s face. He wanted to hear John’s version of his admission quest. John tried to decipher why the strange look. He turned continuing on his writing.

“Oh! Lest I forget” he remembered “how could I have forgotten such a crucial issue” he turned and dropped his pen on top of his book and continued; “I met Professor Okadigbo after our lectures and…”

“What did he say?” Melvin interrupted curiously. He jacked up from the bed looking straight at John with wide opened eyes and mouth agape. John smiled and continued; “He said that everything has been settled but the only place he could find a space was in Library Science”. Melvin smiled. He was smiling at how John spoke of Library Science as if it was nothing while he would be ready to talk slavery science it were to be a discipline and the only one available in the university. All he wanted was an admission. He did not want to tell John about Mrs. Nwodo and the English Department version. John patted his head. “Lucky boy” he teased him and continued; “all you need to do is go home and come back in two weeks time to pay your acceptance fee.” It was as if he read from the same script as Mrs. Nwodo.

Melvin slept very calmly that night. As he closed his eyes, he fell into a very deep sleep. He went into the dream world with his school bag strapped to his back. He entered a lecture room. There were many students in the lecture room and a lecturer leaning on a lectern. The lecture room turned to become a boat in a river. Another boat came by. There were students in the boat jotting something as if listening to a lecturer. As the second boat came closer, Melvin crossed one leg into it and stood as an anchor between the two boats; one leg in one boat and the other in another. Suddenly, the second boat moved a bit faster, he quaked and his school bag fell into the first boat. Immediately, he withdrew his leg from second boat and staggered as he nearly fell into the river. He woke. Everybody was asleep; John by his side and Efe on the other bed. He tossed about and slept off again. This time, no dreams, no worries, no mosquito bites only the humming sound of the spinning standing fan, pinned down to face Efe on the other side, could be heard in the entire world.

Melvin woke up with a smile on his face, maybe in reminiscence of the previous day’s pieces of juicy information. John and Efe were already awake. John turned and smiled at him. Efe barely looked up with arced brows and looked away to his book. He greeted them and made for the sink to wash his face and mouth. He moved into the lavatory and bent on the first sink by the left side of the door. The corridor looked deserted as usual and all the toilets were free. As he washed his face, his stomach rumbled. The sound moved down from his stomach to his anus with lightening speed. He drew his legs together to tighten his buttocks such that the air or whatever it was would not escape. He stood up standing like a sentry soldier to lock his anus yet the air escaped slowly like a leaking tyre; “pssss…” it went. He farted. Now he began to feel it; that sensation of being watched though he was sure there was no one around. The stench of the fart chocked him. He looked around again guiltily. There was no other person in the lavatory but him alone. He brushed his teeth faster using his left hand to block his nostrils. He heard the sound of approaching feet like somebody was coming and his stomach made another thunderous rumbling sound. This time he felt increasing weight in his bowel. He broke the wind a second time with a piping sound and seized his breath as he washed his tooth brush in order not to inhale the over powering stench that hung on the air. Immediately, he breezed out of the lavatory and ran into a man with his bathing materials. The man swayed to avoid him and turned looking at him. “Am sorry Sir”, he said dismissively looking straight ahead without turning to see the man. The man sighed and entered the lavatory. Melvin increased his pace and ran into John’s room. John jerked up from his book looking quizzically at Melvin. He smiled and asked for a bathing soap. John smiled back and stretched his body stifling a yawn.

“Where are you rushing to?” John asked him raising an eyebrow as he handed him a brand new soap he had brought out from the table’s drawer. In the drawn out chest, were various types of provisions, tins of milk and beverages, packets of sugar, soaps and creams. “Feeling homesick” Melvin answered excitedly and dashed out immediately. John stifled a smile and turned to his books. Melvin felt the growing pressure down his anus. He ran quickly into the lavatory and pushed the first toilet door; it was locked. He did not have the time to read the notice on the door that said: “NOT FUNCTIONAL”. He jumped into the next and squatted as he removed his wears. Pooh…pata…pata; came the sound of his bowel movement. He groaned as he pushed out the faeces from his bowel. He had got no toilet paper, so he stood up holding his trousers and boxers short on his right and the soap on the left. He pushed out his head from the toilet and scanned the entire lavatory like a thief. There was nobody in the corridor but the sound of water for the shower he heard indicated that someone was in the opposite bathroom. He crossed the corridor and ran into the next bath room. He turned on the shower, washed his buttocks very thoroughly and started taking his shower.

Melvin came out from the bath room drenched. He wore only his boxers short while he held his trousers on his right hand. He ran into John’s room and dressed up after drying himself before the standing fan. He didn’t ask for towel and he needed not use his cloth in the place of towel. John had watched him with admiration like a father would watch his toddler struggling to walk till he packed his bag and was ready to go. John and Efe accompanied him to the school front gate where he boarded an okada to peace Mass Transit. The smile on his face was like an undetachable plaster. His lips were permanently apart and not able to shut his teeth as he turned to wave bye to John. It was a Friday. Many students would be traveling home for the weekend though they were usually advised against such frequent traveling. Yet many a student would want to go home to show off the fads on campus and hang around with friends in a show of “I-dey-school”. At peace Mass Transit there were not enough buses to convey the mammoth crowd of people traveling to Aba, Umuahia and Onitsha. He had to hang around and join the long unending queue of travelers like other students and wait for a bus. He scanned through the faces around and none of them looked familiar. Suddenly a bus drove into the terminal and the queue disengaged like a band of soldier ant dispersed by a playing lad. Everybody wanted to go at the same time. There was a stampede for the bus. Melvin was very nimble. He pushed vigorously through the scrambling crowd, trampling on feet and nudging some ribs as he clutched the front door of the bus and blocked it with a firm grip. His elbow shoved through someone’s spongy breast. The person pushed through without looking back and he couldn’t see the face. He got himself a seat in the front besides the driver’s seat and hopped in. Melvin ducked as a female hand-bag flew into the front seat through the window. Somebody had thrown in her bag through the window to claim a seat. The bag nearly caught Melvin’s head but he caught the bag like a professional goalkeeper and kept it on the seat by his right side. He had wanted to shout “ana akukwaka ebaa! Can’t somebody clap for me? The new Peter Rufi has emerged.” But he couldn’t bring himself to do that. Rather he was kin to see who flew the bag knowing the owner must be monitoring the bag to avoid some things missing from inside it. He tried to imagine if it had been in Aba that somebody threw his bag into the car like that. “This bag would even disappear in the air like Willy-willy” he shrugged. The owner of the bag was the girl blocking the front door such that no other person could enter. Some people pushed and struggled into the car through the windows. Some squeezed in through the boot of the bus, while some few others struggled, exerted themselves vigorously to squeeze in through the overcrowded creaking door. A small female back hand bag fell on the floor and threw out its contents of all sorts of make-up kits together with a sachet of prophylactics. People screamed and laughed at the sight of the condom. A motor park worker bent swiftly and picked the condom. The owner of the pouch a curvy dark girl in a red short gown squatted and picked up her things. She didn’t make any effort to get the condom back. She just looked up and smiled at the boy who laughed loud and gave her a thumb up. She couldn’t get a seat in the bus. In a twinkling of an eye, the bus was full.

 “No it’s already occupied” Melvin told a boy that wanted to join him in the front seat through the driver’s side. The girl assumed to be occupying the space stood carelessly blocking the side door of the bus with hands folded across her breast; watching Melvin and the bag. The boy looked towards the direction Melvin pointed and sighed. “Ajebor woman rapa” the boy muttered a curse and walked away. The driver came and collected his money from the passenger one after the other. He sat on the cab and turned on the ignition. The girl had to go in now. “Please, guy let me stay inside”; she told Melvin without saying a thank you for the bags security and Melvin kept looking at her blankly as if he didn’t understand her. He didn’t like being addressed as “guy” may be because it sounded more like “gay” or because he takes the term for its old English meaning - an irresponsible young man. “You are a guy and ladies don’t stay by the window while a guy stays inside” the girl argued looking straight into Melvin’s face. “It’s true”; the driver nudged Melvin and he declined without a word. He didn’t want to snap “I am not guy! It is either a boy or a man and nothing else”. No he didn’t want to embarrass himself in the public. “Guy” was the commonly use term in the campus as a stage in-between man and boy. Using it at home or in the street could make one stand out as an “I-dey-school”. The driver was a young man in his late twenties. He looked rough in his singlet that exposed some irregular cashew nut tattoos on his muscular biceps and blackish scars on his shoulders. He wore a face-cap with the visor drawn down to shade his reddish eyes. The driver smiled into the girl’s face as Melvin banged the door. “No sleeping”; the driver said and faced his front and pulled the gear stick to reverse the car and continued in a funkifized pidgin English; maybe he was trying to sound like the students: “sleep dey contagious; if you sleep I fit catch the infection and sleep too. So if you sleep I go change you to the back”. The girl smiled back, drew out a pair of sun glasses and covered her eyes. Melvin could perceive the flavour of marijuana as the driver spoke. He liked the flavour but he had sworn never to try testing the weed. Even in his secondary school days when some of his class mates used to smoke weed as a show of maturity he chose to be part of the so called Jew-men. He could hardly forget the day his friend, Uchechukwu, came home acting funny, running away from invisible upcoming vehicles, shouting at some invisible police man and threatening to go naked and fight some invisible opponent. The older boys in his street had flogged Uchechukwu and stuffed some water-soaked dry garri into his mouth. Uchechukwu felt so ashamed of himself the next day and made a life decision never to go out with Wilson who had lured him into smoking. Wilson was one of the dreaded boys in the street.

The big sun glasses on the girl’s face made her look a bit like John the beggar whom Melvin usually saw near their resident at Aba begging for alms. Melvin recalled the song John the beggar usually sung while he trusted out his bowl for alms and the song rang over and over again in his brain:

“Onye ji ego nye onye isi

isi emela m aru

isi ajoka

isi emela m aru

onye ji ego nye onye isi

isi emela m aru

isi ajoka

aguru bu ori o!”

John’s song usually made people feel for him and they gave him much money, until one day, Wilson decided to steal some money from John’s outstretched plate. He had pretended to be putting some money into John’s bowl and picked instead. Immediately John caught his hand but he squeezed free from John’s hold and made to flee. John bashed his head with his walking stick while his bowl fell and turned upside down on the dirty ground leaving the money scattered everywhere. Some other boys standing by the corner of the street had laughed at them and the elderly men drinking kaikai in a roadside bush-meat bar cursed Wilson by God. Wilson never cared about being cursed by elders; “it doesn’t mean anything” he would say; “a curse done with kaikai mouth cannot do me anything”. However, they were all startled when the blind beggar shoved away a girl that wanted to help him and picked all the money by himself without any mistake of picking a mere paper for money. “How did John see the money” they wondered. Wilson matched bravely towards John and snatched off his sun glasses. “Hey! He is not blind”; people shouted and they saw John’s healthy eyes glowing like a night guard’s torch. They rushed to grab him but he swerved and veered into the next street and ran away. That was the last time John was seen in the district. He had escaped being burnt alive like a horrible thief. That was the fate of every rogue in Aba – to be set ablaze in the public or lynched to death.

Melvin smiled as he mused over the thought of John the beggar. He fastened his seat belt and pushed the head dress backwards. The bus backed out into the street and pulled out fully into traffic. As the car speed up in the traffic, Melvin felt cool air blowing into his face, it felt good. He watched the bushy parts as they drove into the express way. He tried to imagine that the grasses were running backwards. Even vehicles packed by the road sides and everything they passed by including human beings and houses looked as though they were walking backwards. Melvin smiled. He remembered the good old days when he was still a kid. His uncle, Chima usually took them home in his Peugeot 504 car to the village for Christmas celebration. He liked staying at the back seat in order not to disturb the driver because he would always jump up and shout victoriously at any car they overtook on the road. “These cars are moving backwards mummy!” he would always show his mum. Uncle Chima had died in a ghastly motor accident which burnt both him and his vehicle to ashes alone Enugu Port-Harcourt express way. Melvin crossed himself. “May his soul rest in peace” he whispered. The girl by his side turned and looked at him with surprise and he smiled shyly to her but he couldn’t see the girl’s eyes hidden behind the sun shades to know if she smiled too. He had already started feeling sleepy with his eyeballs bloody red and eyelid heavy, but the driver’s warning words kept ringing in his head; “no sleeping. Sleep dey contagious…if you sleep, I go change you go back!” He hated the back seat so much. Such a police cell it looked like; so cramped, no space for long legs like Melvin’s - Very stuffy and hot. No windows.

Melvin shrugged and struggled to hold his eyes widely open. He contemplated singing a song to keep awake. Suddenly, the sleep was snatched away from his eyes when a screamed from the back seat: “Pre-e-e-z da lord!” and everybody including Melvin but the girl by his side chorused: “Halleluyah!”  The voice came again drawing the /e/ sound in “praise” so long that one might think he was singing a song with such cracked and quavering voice and they replied, in the same drawing manner. Melvin looked back, straining his neck to see the owner of the cracked voice. It was an albino squint sitting at the extreme left of the bus. He was dressed in a white long sleeve shirt and a brown long tie. The collar of his shirt which had a strangling hold on the boy’s neck was soaked with irritating dirty sweat. “He must be stinking” Melvin concluded disgustingly. “Don’t speak abusively of the man of God” something inside of him told him. “Oh! God forgive me” he hissed and crossed himself once more and the girl by his side looked at him a second time and smiled. Melvin smiled back shyly and turned his head facing his front as he clapped and followed on in the gospel praise song raised by the albino.

“Under the canopy,

Under the canopy,

Under the canopy of God.

Our savior will cover us

Give us security

Under the canopy of God…”

They sang one praise song after the other and finally the boy said a very long prayer inviting Holy Ghost to guard both the driver and the passengers as they traveled home. At the end, the albino squint introduced himself as Evangelist, Godspower Abad. He urged other passengers to make material support of the gospel. “Give whatever comes from your innermost part in support of spreading the gospel and see that God will bless you so bountifully.  In Malachi Chapter three verse ten, the bible says…” he quoted the bible passage and continued; “Pre-z-z-z da living God!” and the other passengers chorused “Alleluya!” it was as if they were paying their transport fare a second time. Almost everybody handed the Evangelist some money. Melvin fondled his left hand into his back pocket and brought out the only money there. He looked at it for a while, turned around and gave it to somebody behind him who extended it to Evangelist Godspower. That was the only money he had on him. He thought about how he would get home. The book of Malachi chapter three verses ten came to his mind and he smiled. The show was over and he was beginning to feel sleepy once more. To keep awake he suddenly asked the girl by his side.

“Hello, you didn’t join us in the prayer?” he asked in a low musing voice.

“I didn’t want to” the girl answered smiling with confidence.

“Are you a pagan?” he asked teasingly.

“I am a Jehovah’s Witness” the girl returned formerly and sat up and removed her glasses as if ready for impending argument just in the manner of Jehovah’s witnesses.

“Oh! Now I get it. Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t say prayers” Melvin said nodding like a red neck. He had recalled a time Jehovah’s Witnesses left their house without preaching to him because he had insisted that they must pray before they started preaching. That had been his usual way of discharging them.

“No, we pray. The bible says ‘pray without season’, we have great respect for prayer. It’s communication with the greatest personage in the universe.” She defended herself firmly.

“My uncle is a Jehovah’s Witness and I once attended one of your meetings in your kingdom… or what do you call it…?” Melvin diverted, he didn’t want to argue especially with a woman. Besides he had known Jehovah’s witnesses and their untamable hunger for argument “I don’t argue with women”, he had always told himself. He had always referred to all Jehovah’s Witnesses as pocket lawyers. Saying they learn how to argue and win in those so called Kingdom Halls of theirs.

“How did you see the meeting you attended?” The girl asked him.

“It was cool, I liked your modus operandi though the church… or what you call it, was too quiet for my liking” Melvin used the phrase “modus operandi” just to show off and impress the girl. As he said it he looked up at the girl to see some expressions but she had put back the glasses. The face looked blank. Now he could notice how beautiful the girl was. He tried to see if she had brown eye balls in the almond shaped eyes.

“Why don’t you join your uncle?” she asked tapping Melvin’s arm.

“Well, if they would be able to convince me” Melvin dropped after a brief laughter that would have meant “impossible!” The girl looked at him blankly and followed up with a brief wry smile. At intervals Melvin looked at the girl and said nothing. He was imagining how such a striking young girl could be wasting her life walking the streets in the sun from door to door just for preaching. “Some of them don’t do what they preach” he dismissed the thought. There was a long span of silence but for the driver’s inharmonious whistling and the discordant sound of the bus engine and some chattering of other passengers, till they got to Aba. The bus pulled up at the Aba terminal of peace Mass transit and all the passengers alighted.

“Er…I’m Melvin Samuel” Melvin told the girl as she turned to go putting on her sun glasses again.

“Ok…I’m Mercy, it’s nice meeting you” she replied and gave Melvin a hand shake. She asked Melvin for his school address. Melvin had none yet. She wrote her room address in a short piece of paper and handed it to Melvin. It read:

ROOM 207 EYOITA HOSTEL

MERCY KALU

Melvin brought out his wallet from his back pocket, put in the piece of paper in a safe corner and returned the wallet to its place. He said “good bye” as the girl turned leaving. He watched the girl as she flagged down a commercial motorcyclist and disappeared. Melvin stood there contemplating how to get home. He had no money for transport and home was still a bit far. He saw Evangelist Godspower climb a commercial motorcycle and zoomed off. He had given him the last dime in his pocket so he had to trek. He was going to suffer the heat of the scotching sun. As he thought about it, Malachi 3:10 raced through his head once more. He smiled and moved on.

CHAPTER THREE

It was a cool evening when the trees did not shade much leaves to liter the compound. Bird’s chirping and hopping freely on the ground in the compound showed no one was at home. The birds flew away and some lizards found their way into the nearby bush as Melvin stepped into the compound. The compound looked deserted; nobody was at home. Not even chukwumere who would always sit in the middle of the compound awaiting his mothers return every evening. Not even Okafor, Melvin’s elder brother who washes his motor bike every evening. There was no need thinking about him. He had always joined Wilson and the other street boys that smoked weed at the end of the street. “Like father like son” Melvin muttered and bit back his lips. It was like a slip of tongue. He wasn’t sure if he loved his father and at the same time hated him. He wasn’t sure of what he felt. As he pushed open the door, a lizard ran out under his leg through the opened door. He went into their inner room and changed into his casual wears. He saw a broken mirror and a comb on the table and remembered it was a Friday. His sisters must have used them and left them there before going to church for Friday prayers. He thought something about running down to the church to join them and recalled that the door wasn’t locked when he came; that implied somebody was left at home. That wasn’t a good sign. It must be either his father or Okafor. He said a short impromptu prayer wishing it was Okafor. His father could not be sober and absent himself from church activities. He might be drunk. Melvin slipped into a pair of flip-flops and went outside in a bid to see his friends, on a second thought; he went back in to the house. Levels have changed; his choice of friends had to change too. He is now an undergraduate so his class should be with the so called I-dey-school. He was feeling dizzy and tired for the long walk from Aba Main Park. Besides it was already getting dark. He entered the living room and fell into a sofa just like a tree chopped down from the root. It was a practice he had learnt in the village stream; to fall like a tree into the stream without braking the fall in any way. The leaving room looked neat but nearly empty with only a blue striped sofa that had patches of dirt caked all over it. The arm rests of the sofa had some small whitish spots on them that looked like paint splashes. They were eggs of bed bugs that have taken full possession of the sofa. Melvin closed his eyes and relaxed his body to sleep. The sleep came immediately but was short lived. A bug popped out from the arm rest of the sofa on which Melvin rested his head. The bug crept briskly into the collar of Melvin’s shirt. It stung Melvin several times but he just raised his hand dizzily and limply scratched his itching neck as if nothing had happened. Other bugs emerged from the other arm rest and fisted on his legs while many others from other parts of the sofa did their normal work on other parts of his body. It was like the marriage fist in cena for the bed bugs. Melvin turned round and round on the sofa and started killing them one after the other. He would press the bugs on the sofa and squeeze them and the dark reddish blood from the bug would splash and stain the sofa more and more. As he pressed, the bugs would burst staining his fingers with dark blood mixed with some black fluids he couldn’t understand. He killed battalions upon battalions of the bed bugs until his fingers turned dark red with what would be called blood. He laid down his head again and he didn’t close his eyes this time. He didn’t mean to sleep rather to attract more killable bedbugs. His eyes were open, looking up at the roof which had no ceiling. He saw four little eye balls glowing in the dark on top of the roof-supporting timbers. The eyes moved with high speed toward the same direction. “These might be rats,” Melvin thought, “or shrew mice perhaps”. The eye balls moved to the wall and rolled down to the floor without winking or blinking, Melvin sat up gently, removed his slippers and flew them at the eye balls. They scattered in pairs without any animate noise. “They are just rats”; he concluded and leaned back. “How do we get rid of all these mess?” he thought. It couldn’t be with pesticide, insecticides or whatever chemicals because the house was too open – no fences, no ceiling, no cement on the floor of some rooms and the house was surrounded by farms and small bushes. The owner of the plot of land behind theirs had started laying the foundation of his own building and had not been able to complete it. The plot was covered with tick bush housing some dangerous reptiles including rats and snakes. It was like the manufacturing house of mosquitoes too. They wouldn’t buy a cat either, his mother never liked cats. “Ninety percent of cats are witches and wizards”, his mother always said. As those thoughts raced through his head with his eyes closed, he heard a mosquito blew her disgusting siren passed his ear. He slapped himself and missing the target. Another mosquito bit him on his fore face and he hit himself on the face without getting anything. It was as though the mosquitoes were playing hit and run. As he made to relax again, another mosquito perched on his left ankle with its sucker already pierced into his skin, its tail danced shakily as it tries to suck in some blood with its straw-like miserable sucker. Melvin stood up slowly and quietly and clapped it dead in between his two palms and some light red blood stained his palms. He felt satisfied. He had finally eliminated the unwanted blood sucker. He made to relax when he heard other mosquitoes blowing their disgusting sirens simultaneously in his two ears. He waved his two hands violently close to his ears to scare them. At the same time something pinched him at the back. “It must be the bed bugs again”, he thought and turned around immediately. He inspected the sofa very well and saw nothing. They might have gone into hiding. He opened the folds on the sofa and killed uncountable number of bedbugs. As he looked into the gap between the arm rest and the back rest of the sofa, he felt another prick in his back. He wasn’t resting on anything. It must be in his cloth. He pulled off his cloth and groped for the bug. He couldn’t see anything. He dropped his cloth on top of the chair and went into their inner room. He later emerged with a raffia mat and a broom, swept the center of the living room and spread the mat such that it would not touch any object but the floor. He laid down there and slept off. He didn’t know when every other members of the family came home. He woke up at 10.30pm and was still feeling sleepy. It was his younger brother that tossed him up. “K.C! let me arrange the mats” he had told him. Melvin stood up and staggered from left to right. He didn’t want to sit on the bedbugs infested sofa. He trotted to the backyard, urinated and made straight for the kitchen because he was hungry. He yawned many times as he walked. He peeped into the inner room, his mother was sleeping alone. He hissed a very heavy sigh and crossed himself. “God please let me not be like my father” he murmured. The entire house was quiet and that was a proof that his father would not be his normal self. In the kitchen he found his food; a plate of rice and a sugar-cube-sized beef meat on top of it. The food was covered with a plate. As he touched the plate, four cockroaches crawled out of the food and found their ways in to the darker corners. He sighed and murmured what no human being could ever understand. He picked a matchbox by the side of their cooking stove and lit up a tunjam oil lamp. It was as if a riot was broken in the land of cockroaches. They ran helter-skelter as they made for the dark corners. Melvin blew off the lamp and went into the living room with his food. First, he shoved his hand on top of the food to remove the topmost part upon which the cockroaches had traded. He made a very short prayer and ate the food. As he made to lay down for sleep, he heard a bang on the door. Armed robbers? The bang was not so hard. It came again, this time sounding slowly and limply. His brothers already sleeping by his sides tossed and turned murmuring drowsily.

“Open this door!” came a sleepy voice from outside, behind the door. It was Mr. Samuel, Melvin’s father. “This is my house!” he managed to say amid dried coughs, his voice horse and slurring. He was drunk to stupor. “Who knows how he managed to come home this night?” Melvin thought. There were times he slept in kaikai booths along the street. He sang one disjointed song after another till the voice later died off. He slept outside in the cold before the door. Melvin did not open the door for him lest he came in and disturbed every other person sleeping. Melvin slept with hot tears in his eyes forcing away dreams.

************

The morning was cold and the entire environment was drenched with moist of the morning dew drops. Melvin woke up at 5.10am. As has always been his custom, he took his book and went outside. He did not see his father outside the door. Someone might have opened for him during the night – maybe his mother. He couldn’t have survived in that icy cold dew drops of the night. The night must have pricked him with much cold. Dew drops must have drenched him with icy drops. Melvin shrugged and moved on with his books. The book he picked was Principal of Economics. He got to his favorite early morning reading position. He always woke up early to read beside Chief Okoro’s house adjacent theirs. Chief Okoro was a politician. Chief Okoro had become a very wealthy man from the day he emerged as the Chairman of his Local Government.  He had completed the building of his residential house a year after his emergence as the LGA Chairman; a three storey building with two apartments on each floor. The fence was so tall above the height of the ground floor. There were two flood-lights at the top of each of the four edges of the fence – one faced inside the compound while the other faced outside to illuminate the entire environment. It was under a Mango tree by the edge of the fence directly under the flood-light that Melvin liked perching to read. He flipped open the book. He didn’t know where to start. “Oh! What do I need Economics for? I might be getting English or Library Science.” He thought and stood up and went back into their house, dropped the Economics text book and picked a literature book entitled ‘Literary Workshop’. As he made to go out, he heard a cough from their inner room. He pushed the door slightly and peeked. It must be his father. He hissed a long sigh shaking his head slowly in disgust. “I thank God I’m not a woman” he muttered. He thought about how his mother would manage to sleep on the bed with his drunken father who would be stinking like an embalmed corpse. How would she sleep soundly amid his noisy uncontrollable coughs, sneezes, gnashing of teeth, yawning and most of all blabbering. He tried to imagine his father staggering into the bed drunk and trying to make love to his mother. “Well” he said thinking aloud in resignation. He thought what it would look like to be a woman and to be forced into sex by a drunken husband. No, he jettisoned the word “forced” from his mind as he remembered that the bible says wives are to be in subjection to their husband. “Thank God I’m not a woman” he murmured again and crossed himself.

He moved down to his reading position and started reading the Literary Workshop till 7.00am. He stopped reading when the day was well open and bright. He had planned to go to his uncle’s – Tee Ukandu – and stay for the two weeks so that he would join some old classmates to the market and to disappear from the disgusting sight of his drunken father. Melvin didn’t want to go to his father’s shop at Ariaria market because he wouldn’t want to come home to see his father drunk. He never liked staying at home whenever his father seemed to be possessed of his drunken spirit. At nine that morning he packed some few things he would need and left. Staying outside home kept him alive to his responsibilities. When he got to Tee Ukandu’s house it was only Chinenye – the last of Tee Ukandu’s offspring – that he met. As Chinenye caught sight of Melvin, she left everything she was doing and ran to him happily and hugged him. “Te Te Te Te” she shouted as she ran towards him childishly. Melvin caught her by the two arm pits threw her shoulder high and caught her three times in the air. That was what she wanted. She collected Melvin’s bag. Melvin tried not to give her the bag, but she insisted on carrying the bag and nearly cried when Melvin meant to collect the bag from her. She dragged the bag on the ground along with her as she went leading Melvin into their house. Dee Ukandu’s house was a three bedroom apartment; three bedrooms, the lavatory, the living room, dining room and the kitchen at the extreme. At the veranda by the left flank of the house came the sound of a manual sewing machine. Aunt Ntachi was sewing there. Little Chinenye took Melvin in through that side.

“Mummy! Tete! Mummy! Tete!” The four year old Chinenye screamed merrily as she approached his mother announcing Melvin’s arrival. In most Igbo communities children do not call their elders by their names. In the Okafor family they added “tete” or “tee” before the names for males and “Dada” or “Daa” for females. Aunt Ntachi was a seamstress. She was making a yellow female blouse when Melvin entered. Behind her were two other machines with nobody on them.

“Daa jisie ike” Melvin greeted her smiling

“Nnaa kee ka imere? How are you?”

“Fine ma”.

“How are your parents?”

“They were… fine when I left”.

“And your younger ones?”

“They are doing well”.

“Have you come to stay with us?”

“Yes ma, for some days”.

“Not the type you would come and leave in a short time. Hope you would spend enough time with us”

“Where are my cousins?” Melvin asked as if he didn’t know they should be at school and took Chinenye up on his body. He inspected her hair and removed some dirt on them.

“Chiaka has just traveled back to school” she fixed a cloth on the sewing machine and continued talking amid the jangling noise of her zigzag sawing machine; “but Onuoha went to school with his dad while Emenike had not come back from school”. Melvin brought Chinenye down picked a key hung on a nail on the wall and went inside with his bag strapped to his back.

Tee Ukandu had four children; two were already in the university, while one was still in the secondary school. Tee Ukandu had wanted to have only three children but the fourth child, Chinenye was a sort of mistake brought about by inadequate family planning. Tee Ukandu was a secondary school principal. No wonder he was much interested in education. He was Mr. Samuels’s elder brother and they looked so much alike that people tend to mistake them for twins. However Mr. Samuels drunken habit had made him look much older than his elder brother.

Melvin entered the boys’ room which was directly opposite the door to the dining room along the veranda. There were not many things in the room but a blue carpet on the floor from wall to wall, an eight inches mattress with two head pillows on it, on the carpet to the wall directly opposite the door. At the foot of the mattress were two big bags and a traveling box. Up above the bags was a wall hanger against which were hung men’s wears. By the head of the bed was a reading table before which stood a chair and on top of the table was a small transistor radio. Beside the table were piles of books in four rolls. By the left side of the door was another reading table, also faced to the wall and by Its side on the floor were also piles of books in two rolls. Up above the table on the wall was hung an Almanac with a reading times table on the wall beside it and a very bold inscription that shouted “WHAT HAVE I READ TODAY”.  It was Onuoha’s corner while the other table by the bed side had been Emenike’s corner. Emenike, was Tee Ukandu’s first son. He studied Medicine and Surgery at Abia State University while Chiaka studied law. Emenike had deliberately taken the reading table by the bed side in order to ensure that Onuoha his younger brother didn’t go to bed when it was time to read. No wonder Onuoha’s table was far from the bed towards the door. Emenike’s other name was okafor; he was named after their grandfather just as Melvin’s elder brother. However, the name Emenike which means “not done by might” was given him because aunty Ntachi his mother had many miscarriages before his birth. Emenike was born after eight years of frequent miscarriages. Hence the name Emenike – child birth is not by might nor by power but by God’s grace.

Melvin made straight to the hanger and hung his cloth, dropped his bag down at the foot of the bed. He changed into another simple wear and left for the market. Before he went out he checked on a neighbour – Akpan. “It’s been a while Akpan left for the market” he was told. He first went to the bakery. The marketing manager of God’s will Bakery recalled him. He had once given him bread at credits so that after selling he would pay in the evening. “K.C, where have you been? It’s been a long time your friend had come and gone to the market” the manager said doing all the jabbering without allowing Melvin to answer. He took Melvin to the store and gave him a barrow full of breads and Melvin zoomed off immediately. He was going to hawk bread at the motor park. It was a business he had done whenever he didn’t go to his father’s shop, whenever he was barred from eating at home for any misconduct and whenever he wanted to escape from the pains and disgrace of seeing a drunken father being jeered by kids in the street. He felt like staying out of home would help him grow far different from his father. “God please let me not be like my father”, was his regular prayer. He was always ashamed of being identified with a drunken father.

CHAPTER FOUR

            The motor park was a bedlam of crowd and their cacophonous activities– people pacing up and down, some of them had no destination; travelers dragging their bags and boxes along with them as they jostled for vehicles; touts screaming from one end to the other; peddlers showing their goods to potential customers and screaming on top of their voices to let people know what they sell. The entire environment would be very repulsive to a new comer – with the sight of jobless Agbero boys pacing up and down; light fingers everywhere picking people’s pockets and snatching bags and bus conductors fighting at one corner after another, stabbing themselves with broken bottles and other sharp objects. By the side of a packed blue Mercedes car stood a woman shouting and crying with her two hands on her head and her left leg continuously stamping on the floor. May be they just snatched her bag. People passed by freely looking straight ahead, nobody cared. In the park, it was “mind your own business” because tricksters used different tactics. She might be one of them. On a road side pavement was a bold inscription: “IF YOU BEND DOWN YOU SEE ABA.” Police men were everywhere collecting their ‘normal’ green twenty naira from every car that passed. “Come on stop! Clear well!” they would shout at any driver that refused to give them twenty naira. “Where are your particulars? What is in your boot?” they would search the car very thoroughly and waste the driver’s time there for at least two hours. At last they must find something they might term illegal and take the driver to their station. Nobody wanted that kind of embarrassment in Aba. Everybody was in a hurry. Time is money. They paid twenty naira and went their way no matter what they would have in their cars. The presence of the police men brought grave yard peace to the environment at times; a kind of fragile peace born out of conspiracy among the police and the touts against the unsuspecting masses. Most times the Agbero boys were in cahoots with the police and so were left to carry on their nefarious activities after which they shared their loots with the police. Sometimes they clashed with the police men and caused commotion in the park. When the police shot sporadically in the air, the park ran amok with people running helter-skelter for cover and the Agbero gangs ran too and then used the opportunity to steal, pick pockets and do other evils. Touting was the business in Aba Main Park. Melvin never liked the motor park thing but he saw it as escape route from the worries at home.

            The day’s business was profitable despite the difficulties Melvin passed through. Melvin had lost three loafs of bread that day – one to a passenger in a moving vehicle and two to okom the mad man that matched up and down the park, singing some discordant rhymes. “Bread! Bread!” the big headed dark passenger had called from a vehicle locked in the traffic. The traffic jam was caused by one tanker driver making a ‘U’ turn on a single lane instead of getting to the roundabout farther ahead. The tanker driver was struggling with his stubborn steering wheel when the police officer came shouting at him; “foolish man! Oya clear well! Clear well!” the driver started jittering as he pulled the steering gingerly. On a second thought he stopped and fumbled his hand into his front pocket and brought out a wad of naira note and squeezed it very well in his clenched left fist. The driver continued struggling with his nagging steering with his right hand while he pushed out his left hand with the fist clenched from the side glass. The police man saw the clenched fist and went closer to it with immediate alacrity and the driver stealthily squeezed the note into his palms which opened and clenched back immediately. He pushed the rumpled money into his side pocket and dressed back with added agility. “Ok! Turn this way! Yes that way!” he screamed demonstrating with his hands as he directed the driver on the way out. The driver smiled as he continued dragging his steering wheel. “The police is your friend”, he must have said with that mischievous smile on the corner of his lips.

            “Bread! Bread!” the voice came again and Melvin had dashed towards the vehicle from which the voice came and another bread vendor came and another and another and another. It was a competition. The man collected a loaf of bread from one of Melvin’s rivals. He inspected the bread as if he was looking for an expiry date or food and drug agency registration number; he pressed the bread as if he was to feel the strength of some bones inside. “Oga it’s a fresh bread.” the boy said remonstratively. The man shook his head and flung the bread back at him. The boy caught his bread mumbling something nobody could understand. The man collected from another person, this time from a girl. He pressed the bread as if to squeeze it. “Bya this man! Wetin be your problem? If you wan buy bread buy and stop to dey press the bread like say na pillow. Abi na your wife breast? If you squeeze am you must buy am oh! No even allow me unleash madness on you this afternoon” The girl barked at the man fearlessly.

            “Ashawo motor park!” the man retorted as he flung the bread back at her. The girl collected her bread; hit the man on the shoulder with a clenched fist. “Your father nyash!” she cursed and ran away. Other passenger sniggered sneeringly behind the man. “That served him right” another passenger in the front seat muttered looking straight ahead. The rest of the passengers complained something about the girl coming back to throw some sand on them because of one person and the man said nothing

            “Oga, look at my own. It’s fresh bread with egg flavour.” Melvin presented his bread to the man with outstretched hand into the car. The man collected the bread but did not press. Perhaps he was afraid of receiving another punch.

            “How much is the bread?”

            “One twenty”

“No it’s one hundred, take your bread”

“Ok!”

“First get my change I have two hundred. I don’t trust you motor park Agbero boys” the passenger said as he withdrew his money. The phrase pricked Melvin’s brain: “you motor park Agbero boys.” The traffic had started moving slowly as Melvin fumbled for change. Melvin dropped the remaining two loafs of bread on a nearby pavement and ran after the vehicle which was still moving in a slow pace. He fumbled with some money in his front pocket as he ran after the bus. As he got close to the bus, the traffic cleared and the bus sped up. Melvin increased his speed, he ran like a mad dog. His legs nearly touched the back of his head as he ran but he could not get the bus, but he could hear the voice of the passengers quarrelling in the car.

“Throw the money out for him;” a passenger said.

“I don’t have a change”

“Then give him back the bread!” another barked.

“And if I say I won’t?”

“Wicked man! It’s God that will pay you” a feminine voice barked faintly. Melvin got tired. He stopped and moved to the corner of the road from where he watched the bus as it went. He bent down with his two hands supporting his kneels and his tongue lolling out as he panted like a dog. He watched the bus as it went out of sight and the voices out of ear shot. The bread was gone; just like that. Melvin trotted back to the pavement to collect the remaining two loafs of bread. Lo and behold they were no longer there. He couldn’t raise any alarm because it would be worthless. He just sat on the pavement to rest as he watched the normal motor park business going on. The dramatic marathon race had sapped almost all the energy in him. He watched as Okom, a popular madman, passed by making faces at him with a loaf of bread under his left arm pit and another in his right hand already torn open. That must be Melvin’s breads the madman was eating but he couldn’t do anything about it.

Melvin brought out all the money he had got for the day and put them together. He was happy he had made enough money though he lost some of his breads. He separated the money into two; one part for him and the others for the bakery. All the boys that sold bread in the park carried them on credit to pay in the evening after sales. As he counted his money, he saw a man coming close to him limping on one leg. He moved with one leg while he drew the other behind it on the ground. Melvin jerked up his face watching the man coming; he clenched his money just in case it was one of the Agbero boys. No, it was one of the beggars he always saw in the park. The beggar came and sat beside him and started arranging his own money. “Boy how far?” the beggar greeted in a cracked voice. That was the popular street greeting in Aba. “No bad” was Melvin’s slangish reply to sound hard. Melvin watched the beggar as he brought out folds of money. Melvin was surprise to see the beggar make a molehill of money between his two spread thighs and arrange them. The beggar’s money was more than twice all the money Melvin had. The beggar finished counting, brought out two pieces of cloths from a nylon bag he had. Right there and there, Melvin watched him change into a better cloth and stuffed his dirty, raggy ones into a cellophane bag. The beggar called a boy hawking sachet water, bought and washed his legs very neat. The feet which formerly looked cracked now shone with incredible brightness like that of a new born baby. He stood up and walked away. Melvin watched his steps. He walked normal with adorable swagger; foot neither dragging nor limping. He watched with amazement till the beggar was out of sight. He sighed and shook his head. As Melvin stood up to go, he saw a filthy naira note on the flow where the beggar sat. It must have fallen from the beggar. He looked around and nobody was watching. He bent and picked the money immediately. “God would understand”, he said. As he made to go, another beggar in a wheelchair rolled towards him; “Oga God go bless you” the beggar said in pidgin stretching out his hand for alms. Melvin looked at him from hair to toe contemptuously and gave out a very long noisy sigh, turned his back on the beggar and walked away from the other direction.

“Ah Oga we dey quarrel? See your leg like Jacky” the beggar cursed in pidgin and rolled off going after other people. Melvin walked into the park to look for his friend Akpan. He saw him selling a loaf of bread to a passenger in an L300 Mitsubishi bus that had on the top of its roof a board that said “ABA TO ISUKWUATO, AKARA, and OZUAKOLI”. It was Akpan’s last loaf for the day. As the man paid him, Melvin went and blindfolded him from behind. Akpan did not scream but held his two side pockets tenaciously. He didn’t struggle to remove the hands with his own hands but waved his head violently from side to side casting aspersions on an imaginary thief until he heard Melvin’s voice.

“Yeye boy” he cursed in pidgin hissing a sigh of relief.

“Ohuru ego kwere onwu” Melvin cursed back in Igbo jokingly as he released him croaking in crescendo. The passengers in the bus joined in the laughter and Akpan laughed too. Blindfolding has been a popular method for pick pockets. They would blindfold somebody to make the person think it was his friend and relax trying to guess the name of the blind folder while another would stuff hands into his pockets and relief him off all his money and the two pickpockets would run away before the person’s eyes would clear. Akpan had known all these tricks.

Akpan was dark in complexion. His head shaved clean glimmered like electric bulb to the afternoon sun. He had two small eye balls on his broad face. His big head housed two broad ears that stood like hand fans high above his shoulders, a broad nose and thick lips. His jaw was a bit curved in banana shape that his friends called him agba-ndi-Jew, the Jewish jaw; on the curved jaw stood some uneven strands of hair like a baby he-goat.

Akpan laughed widely opening his white thirty-two and hugged Melvin. The two walked down home discussing in reminisce of the good old secondary school days.

“I remember I used to beat you. Look how big you’ve grown” Melvin teased.

“Taa! You scare cat that always ran away at the sight us big boys” Akpan retorted shoving Melvin aside jokingly.

“Do you remember…” the discussion continued like that as they walked home remembering and remembering and remembering. They talked about when the junior students rioted against all the seniors in their school. It was such a violent filled day. All the senior students fled the school. Some got broken head, injured arms and legs and so on.

“See you; you where the first to jump the school fence when those small boys came with their weapons.” Melvin recalled and nudged Akpan, “where were you when we blocked the rail?” Akpan just laughed and said; “women always spread the gist after the men must have fought”. They continued with the past experience till they got home.

Melvin’s stay in Uncle Ukandu’s house was a happy one; at least he didn’t have to worry about a drunken father that would come banging and cursing at the door all night. Uncle Ukandu did not ask Melvin about his father because he knew that Melvin was always in his house whenever his father started his debauched drunken spree. He neither asked Melvin what he went to the market for; he knew it was for good. He had always trusted Melvin and Melvin had already told him about his admission plans but uncle Ukandu would always advise him to be careful. Whenever Melvin came back from the market, he would play with Chinenye, his cousin. He attended some of their Christian gatherings with them. Uncle Ukandu’s family were Jehovah’s Witnesses, he came home complaining about how frozen the situation in their church was. “It was dead boring, no dancing, no singing, no clapping, no praising God! Everybody would just sit down listening to one man after another preaching the word of God. It’s so boring! That your church or kingdom whatever you call it is very boring” he complained. Many a night he would argue the bible with Onuoha at bed time. Arguments that never ended until they both fell asleep.

“Jesus is God. It is that Jehovah of old testament that came down in human form as Jesus in the new testament and when he went back to heaven, he came down again in this our time as the holy ghost” Melvin made his point firmly.

“No!” Onuoha would say “Jehovah is the almighty God who created everything on earth including Jesus and the angels. Jesus is his son, the first thing he created was Jesus, God’s son was the one that came to earth and died for us while the holy spirit and not Holy Ghost is God’s active force with which he works, it is not a personality.” the argument would continue like that till the two would join the fast moving flight of sleep to the dream world. Sometimes Onuoha continued talking without knowing that Melvin was already off asleep. Very early every morning, Uncle Ukandu would wake all his children including his wife and Melvin. They would pray together sitting round the table in their dining room. Uncle Ukandu would always read from a small whitish book. Melvin didn’t like it because it wasn’t lively like what they did in their own house – the lively clapping of hands and the praise songs. Before the two weeks elapsed, Melvin went back to his father’s house. He behaved as though he was quarrelling with everybody in the house. His mother had gone to the market when he returned.

 When Melvin got home, his younger ones had gone to school. His elder brother had just come home after the first round of his commercial motorcyclist business. Okafor his elder brother had a routine of leaving home very early in the morning for his okada business but to come back at 11.00am for a rest and go out again at 3.00pm and come back at mid night. It was a normal routine for him and he did it every day. Okafor never went to church with other members of his family. On Sundays okafor went to the football field near his resident to play with his friends. Every Sunday evening he would go to a nearby palm wine bar. That was like his church - “SAINT BOTTLE”. Saint bottle was a popular wine bar where “umuguys”, as they would call themselves, spent the money they made for the week with their girl friends.

Melvin went into the inner room and packed his things ready to travel to Nsukka the next day. He inserted the money for his acceptance fee into an inner bag of his traveling box. He was sure of admission. He fumbled his hand into the back pocket of his trousers; the money Uncle Ukandu gave him was still there. He arranged his traveling box and kept it by the side and left the room. He walked past his elder brother in the passage without a word. He took his bath and went to see his father at the market. He always wanted to know his father’s state of sobriety at all time. His father, Mr. Samuel was sober that day. When he entered the shop, his father was working on a new pattern of shoe and a Christian gospel music played by his side over a little transistor radio. “Ji sike”, he greeted his father. He didn’t want to call him ‘mmpa; as he had always done.

“Kelechi, kedu? How are you?” his father raised his face still working on the shoe. The expression on his face showed he was glad to see Melvin but he always got the message that Melvin was not happy with him whenever Melvin greeted him without adding “mmpa”. Melvin sat down on a bench in the shop but did not respond.

“I heard that you went to your Uncle’s?”

“Yes”.

“How are they?”

“Alright”.

Mr. Samuel was just a good man whenever he was sober. He would always pray and play his gospel music. He joked with people and bought things for his children whenever he came home. He was known to be one of the best shoe makers in Ariaria International Market Aba. He might stay sober for some weeks or months, but whenever the drunken spirit came over him, he would remain useless for weeks spending all the money he had on drinks. But whenever he came back to his senses, he would feel regret for all he had done, beg everybody he had offended for forgiveness and even God. He was very happy that his son was going to get admission into the university but he did not know how to show appreciation. He did not know how to support him. He did not know how to say he would want to support. Melvin had always been his favorite son. He bought Melvin some food, but Melvin’s face was still expressionless after eating the food. He knew why.

“Kelechi, I won’t drink again, I won’t even test alcohol again” he suddenly promised Melvin, tears shining at the corners of his eyes. Melvin knew it was one of his empty promises. It was not his fault. He needed deliverance from the spirit of drunkenness which always came upon him off and on. Tears also grouped in the corners of Melvin’s pinkish eyeballs. He had to leave and his father didn’t make any attempt to stop him in order not to create a scene in the market. He felt Melvin’s pains. He went to his mothers shop and helped her for the day.

Before he left the next morning for Nsukka, Melvin received some money from his parents which he added together with the money Uncle Ukandu gave him. He brought out his traveling bag and inspected it very well, most of the cloths he needed were inside. He was happy he was going to school but he was also a bit depressed. He was afraid of how to cope with the little money he had. He was afraid of how to stay all alone in the entire school without any other member of the family. His younger ones sat by the side watching him as he packed his things. “Tete, where are you going?” chukwumere his eight year old younger brother asked him. Melvin just gave out a borrowed smile and said “ala bekee”; Meaning “the white man’s land”. Chukwumere just shook his head childishly and said nothing. He did not believe it. The money Melvin had would not pay his school fees talk more sustaining him in school. At least he would pay his acceptance fee and still have some money to stay with. As for other fees; God would provide. His younger sisters: nwadiutor and ihuoma helped him with his bags as he left the house for Nsukka.                        

* * * * * * * * *

“Where is the next bus?” Melvin asked a boy standing in the bus terminal with a school bag strapped to his back. There was no bus available. The last one had just left. “One…two…three…four….” Melvin counted the number of people in the garage; 15 people. He bought a ticket and joined the queue, though there was no bus at sight. A family strolled into the garage with their luggage. It was a family of seven, including the mother, father and two big girls and one boy of Melvin’s age, then the two smaller ones. Then an 18 sitter capacity bus drove in. It would not take the big family. They would have to wait for another bus. There was no need to rush. Melvin secured himself a seat close to the window behind the driver’s seat, a boy sat by him with a novel. Next to the boy was an old woman with a empty bottle of water on her laps. The woman stretched out her hand as she called out to a little boy selling sachet water outside through the window.

“Nna bya, how do you sell your water?”

“Ten naira” the little boy said as he craned to see the woman

“Come on, comot here” the woman barked in pidgin “are you a thief? How can you sell ordinary pure water ten naira?” she continued, looking at her fellow passengers as if she was begging for a contribution but nobody added a word. The little boy did not say a word either. He quietly left the window and continued shouting: “pure water! Cold pure water!” That reminded Melvin some of his ordeals in the motor park when he sold his breads. One passenger had nearly pushed him down because he gave him a higher price for a loaf of bread. In his case, he had behaved just like the poor little pure water boy – held his bread very firm and left the scene. He tried to wonder what would have happened if it were to be Akpan or some other peddlers; the man would have seen hell.

Some of the passengers waited outside. They did not want to take the back seat. There were still two vacant seats at the back. Then two boys appeared. They’ve got to go. As the bus drove off and joined the traffic; Melvin closed his eyes and slowly drifted away into sleep. He was jerked up from sleep when the bus made a very sharp swing. Melvin hit his head on the side glass. “Jesus! Blood of Jesus” he heard other passengers in the bus scream.  “People always remember God when they are in trouble”; he murmured. The bus would have had a head on collusion with another upcoming car but the driver was fast. He dragged the wheel away and veered to the left and nearly bumped into two police men standing on the road. “Clear well”, one of the police men snapped rushing after the bus with his gun set as if ready to shoot. The driver pushed out his head and his left hand from the left side. The police men went for the hand and the hand stuffed something into the policeman’s hand and the bus sped off again. The sleep was automatically cleared off Melvin’s eye. They tossed violently as the bus bumped into one pot holes after another. The road was so bad, potted with holes every here and there. The driver sighted another group of police men ahead. He brought out a wad of twenty naira notes from his left trousers pocket and dropped it on the dashboard. He picked a green note, squeezed it into his left hand and continued moving. He got close to the police men and slowed down as one of them was waving him to a hurt. The driver brought out his left hand from the left side glass and stuffed the green paper into the policeman’s hand. The police man did not look at the green paper but sent it straight into his side pocket and tapped the bus with his club and the bus went on. It was a green bread label.

“Yes! That served them right!” one of the passengers yelled as they drove past another group of police men. The driver had brought out a paper label of Africana Bread which looked like a twenty naira note. It was green and had the picture of Nigerian coat of arms. He squeezed it into the police man’s hand. As had been their custom, the policeman did not look at it but stuffed it into his pocket. The police man had smiled into the drivers face exposing a wide gap of missing upper teeth and tapped the driver to move on. “You be correct man!” another passenger hailed the driver in Pidgin. “These police men are so daft; he didn’t even feel the texture of the paper” another passenger added, more surprised more than amused. Most of the passengers, who had bought Africana Bread, opened them and donated their labels to the driver.

“Oh! This one is a stubborn group” the driver grunted as he sighted another group of police men. One of the police men flagged the bus down and directed it to the side. “Clear well!” the police man ordered. The driver tried to squeeze twenty naira into his hand. The police man flinched and struck the hand with his club. “Come down! Watin you carry for boot? Na who you carry?” The police man kept flinging questions at the driver without giving him any room to answer. All the passengers jumped off the bus and stretched their aching legs as the police man searched them one after the other. “Who be the owner of this radio?” the police man demanded for the receipt of a radio set at the boot. His pidgin was with mixture of much English as if he was learning how to do the broking thing. Melvin seemed to like it. The owner of the radio set was a young boy of Melvin’s age.  It was the boy that sat besides Melvin in the bus.

“How you want make I believe say na the receipt of this radio be this?”

“See am now they write the name of the radio” the boy said in pidgin as he showed the police man the receipt.

“Wey the serial number? How you want make I believe say na your name be this wey dey for this receipt? You get any ID card?” The police man poured questions at the boy who got confused with mouth agape.

“This radio go dey here and driver clean your nyash!” The driver had understood what he meant by “…clean your nyash”. He handed the police man a 100 naira note and urged the passengers to enter the bus. Then it was left only the driver, the owner of the radio and the police outside. They pleaded with the police man to release the radio. The police man refused, demanding five hundred naira. Finally, the boy gave him two hundred naira and he released the radio. “God must punish this police man.” One of the passengers said as the bus joined the traffic. Melvin bent down with his two hands rested on his knees and his head on the hands. He had hated what he saw: shepherds feeding on the sheep they are supposed to take care of. It was an everyday sight. There were still police men in groups at every pole on the road ahead. They would shout “ROGER!” at any vehicle that passed and collect twenty naira notes from the driver. As usual, they never looked at the money they collected in so far as it was green. Melvin thought about how the trend must have had effect on the cost of transportation. He sighed and closed his eye to catch some little sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

            The bus arrived Nsukka at 2.00pm. Melvin came down from the bus and stretched himself and murmured; “e no easy for Ezekiel” amid yawns. He boarded a bike into the campus. As he rode past through the school gate, he felt like saying ‘hello’ to the sculpture of lion at the entrance though he was sure it will not answer. When he arrived at the Admissions Department, there was nobody close to the notice board rather people craned at the windows to speak with some staff in the admission building. He couldn’t see the notice board either. May be they have not released the second supplementary list, he thought.

“Have they not released the second supplementary list?” Melvin asked one of the boys standing at the window.

“Go to Demo building” The boy replied him sharply and turned looking in through the window.

“Please where is the Demo building?”

“The other side, beside the bookshop it is behind the department of economics.” the boy pointed the direction without looking back.

“Thank you.”

Demo building served as classroom blocks for the Department of Religion and beside the classrooms, in the same building were some offices and a Library for Sociology and Anthropology department. Demo building was a wooden house made with durable fire resistant woods. Just a look at the walls would tell you that it was a very old building. From a far you would hardly believe the building was made of mere woods.

Why the name Demo? Melvin could not decipher. Melvin marveled at the crowd he saw craning for the lists on the wooden wall. He could manage the situation. He went closer; stealthy he squeezed himself into the crowd. “Sorry! Sorry! Am sorry.” He kept repeating as he trampled on people’s feet. He got to the wall. The names were grouped according to departments. He saw English Department and dashed closer to it in a hurry. His hands were quaking as he scanned through the list using his index finger to run through it despite the flood of abuses and curses others in the crowd rained at him. His heart beat increased as he scrolled through the list to the end of it. He couldn’t see his name. The devil is a liar! It can’t be the truth. He scanned a second time with two fingers quaking violently and his teeth clattering as though he had fever. His heart palpitation increased the more slamming violently against his ribs. Anybody touching him could feel the thundering sound of his heart beat and his clattering teeth. The quaking fingers scrolled more slowly and slowly and slowly and stopped in the middle of the list. This must be his name; OKAFOR SAMUEL KELECHI. The fingers where frozen now. His face creased into a smile. “Yes!” He shouted and made a violent uppercut punch with his right fist in the air in the manner of European footballers celebrating a goal. “Oh! Am sorry” he said as he suddenly remembered he was in the midst of a crowd. He walked away still smiling with eyes widely opened like that of a fish. He had almost left the crowd when he remembered the other option of Library Science and went back pushing and shoving people aside as he made for the wall. “Please! Please! Please!” he kept singing as he made his way through to the wall. It did not take him much fuss to see his name on the board this time. He added more lines to his smiling face and walked away from the crowd. No other person existed on earth but Melvin. He felt like the master of the universe. He was so excited.

He boarded a bike to kwame Nkruma hostel. The hostel was lonely and quiet as usual. As he moved into the corridor he saw a young man climbing the staircase. The man looked like John from behind; it must be John; he thought. Melvin ran after him. When he got closer, he noticed that the man’s head was bigger than John’s. He hissed a sigh of disappointment and continued. He got to John’s room. It was locked. Should he wait for John? It was some minute past five o’clock. He had wanted to leave when his eyes caught a note on the door:

TRAVELLED

PLEASE DROP A NOTE.

“Why today!” he stamped his foot on the ground. Where would he go now? He brought out a pen from his front pocket. After a second thought he slotted the pen back and jacked up his bag to his back and moved away. He headed for Uju’s room at Zik’s Flats hostel; the Block ‘A’. Since the day he met Uju at the photographer’s stand, he always longed to see her again and again. Perhaps, he would drop his bag with her and look for a place to sleep. He recalled the syrupy tea, the hugs and the accompanying goose pumps and the jokes of the roommates. He was not going to be intimidated this time. He was sure they must ridicule him when he got to the hostel. As he got to the gate of block ‘A’, he nearly had a head on collusion with another boy coming down the staircase with his girl friend; hands locked at the elbow.

“Oh! I am sorry.” He said as he swerved and walked on without looking back the boy just sighed and said nothing. He climbed the staircase to the top. “Ogo noo! Welcome in-law” a girl washing at the corridor greeted him derisively in a very mild tone. He could not be embarrassed again. He smiled and said “ndewo” and continued on his way to Uju’s room. He didn’t know the name boys call girls in their hostels. If he had known he would have said: “tanker jisike”. He would have had a good laugh with the girl. As he walked up to the second floor no other girl shouted. They were all busy in their rooms perhaps. He knocked at the door. “Come in if you are rich and good looking”, came a shrill feminine voice from inside the room. Melvin was confused. He believed he was good looking but it all depends on who is looking and what he described or defined as “good”. As for being rich, Melvin was sure he would be rich one day. He knocked again standing firm to assume the aura of a rich-man-to-be. “Come in! Don’t break our door.” The voice came again but more hash this time. It was only Sala in the room. Melvin opened the door and went in. he couldn’t help feasting his eyes on her alluring shiny laps. She was lying on her bed facing the ceiling with a novel on hand. “Sala how now?” She heard Melvin’s greeting and jumped up immediately and adjusted her skirt. She was in a yellow short skirt and a white singlet. Her tits stood flintily under her translucent singlet.

“Oh, em…em…” she tapped her forehead to recall Melvin’s name. “em…”

“So you’ve forgotten my name so easily?” Melvin teased

“No, but I…I have it in my head I…”

“I still know your name. Well it’s an assignment I won’t remind you. Where is Uju?”Melvin tried to digress.

“Okay, that is also an assignment. I search for your name while you find out for yourself where Uju is.” There was a bit of finality in her voice as she said it stifling a fragile frown but laughter eluded her. She suddenly started laughing and Melvin joined in the laughter.

“So you’ve caught me?” Melvin continued “Okay I am Mel…K…”

“Yeah! K.C!” She screamed as she heard the “k” and hugged him. Melvin felt a chilling sensation run down his spine raising goose pimple all over his flesh as the warm softness of her spongy breast pressed on him and the edge of her tit brushed on his chest. He didn’t expect it. It was a full face to face hug; the type he referred to as “three hundred and sixty degrees hug”.

She told Melvin that Uju was in the bath room and motioned him to her bed. Melvin sat and kept his bag in front of his legs. He was watching the pictures on the wall when Uju came in humming a gospel song. She had a towel wrapped round from her chest to half her laps and a shower cap. She had nearly unwrapped the towel when she saw Melvin and fastened the ends abruptly.

“K.C.!” She screamed and jumped over to his side and hugged him. She was careful not to rub off some water on Melvin. She was also careful not to slacken off the ends of the towel. Melvin saw the hug coming and so had no chilling spine. She held Melvin’s shoulders and watched him like a cloth hung for sale, but Melvin only smiled back shyly without a word.

“How was your journey? How are your parents? What did you buy for me? What…” She bathed him with questions without waiting for answers.

“Okay let me dress up.” She turned and moved over to the other side of the room barricaded by the board on the reading table and Melvin sank back on the bed. He could her sala laughing at the other side of the room. After some minutes of silence she emerged with a cup of Quaker oat; as if she knew Melvin was expecting more of the syrupy tee. She was dressed in a pair of blue jeans trousers and black T-shirt. She handed Melvin the oat and asked him to come over to her own side.

“You will pay me for the little he stayed on my corner.” Sala teased.

“Oh baby girl chill, you know we are one.” Uju said playfully

“I made a mistake, I would have locked you outside and stay in here with him. You know what would have happened.”  Sala said.

“I know you can’t do that. You’re my darling.” Uju replied and burst out laughing, Melvin could not help joining the laughter shyly and they all laughed. He started sipping on his oats slowly.

“Lest I forget I bought bread.” He brought out the Africana Bread. It had no label. He continued: “please don’t mind, our driver borrowed the label for ‘roger’ it is Africana bread.”

“It is normal.” The girls said. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them how much he missed their company just having stayed with them once. The only news in his head was his admission.

He opened the bread, collected a slice and handed it over to Uju who passed it over to Sala. Sala collected some and gave the remaining back to Uju.

“I have good news Uju.” Melvin started.

“What is it?” Uju asked drawing closer as if to gossip.

“Just guess.”

“Your admission?”She guessed more like a question, pointing at Melvin’s nose like a conjurer.

“You are right, am going to pay my acceptance fee tomorrow.”

“Oh! My God.” She rose up and held Melvin’s head and pressed him against her body. “I am so happy for you.”

“Congratulations!” Sala crackled “But I will cut your tail.”

“You are now a lion.” Uju yelled.

“Clawless and toothless yet with a very long monkey tail.” Sala chipped in giggling mischievously.

“Shut up Sala!” Uju snapped feigning anger and they all burst out laughing again. Melvin was smiling all through. It was like the happiest day of his life; he had always longed to be called a lion as every other student of the University of Nigeria.

Melvin finished the oats. He stood up and dropped the cup on the table.

“Are you going?” Uju asked looking surprised.

“Yeah! Let me go and look for a place to sleep am just here to give you the news, but I would first go and say ‘thank you’ to the woman I told you about at ‘E’ block”

“Which woman is that?”

“The one I told you was helping me for the admission. She gave me this admission you know?”

“Ok…but you said you are going to look for a place to sleep?”

“Yes. That my friend in Nkrumah Hall traveled. I want to leave my bag here.”

“Ok you can sleep with us our room mates are not around.” Uju said feigning seriousness.

“Hell no!” Melvin shrugged. It sounded like an abomination. The girls meant to pull his legs and laugh at his reaction. Uju saw him off to the narrow road leading to ‘E’ block. E block was just the right half of Zik’s flat hostel adjacent ‘Block A.’. On the left side of the narrow road that led to E block was an empty grass land; and a storey building refectory, which was converted to a reading room was by the right. Melvin walked through the lonely narrow path as he made for Mrs. Nwodo’s room. As he walked past the bath rooms he didn’t want to look lest he saw naked girls again but there was no sound of bathing water in them. The room was opened with just the door curtain barricading the inside. He knocked at the door. “Please wait”; came a voice from behind the curtain. He waited till a feminine head pushed out from the curtain with one hand holding the curtain to a close. Maybe she was not properly dressed. It was not Mrs. Nwodo.

“Ehe?” she enquired with her eye brows arcing up.

“Please I am looking for Mrs. Nwodo.” Melvin said with confidence in his voice.

“Oh! Sorry she has travelled. She received a call last week that her son was seriously sick. And I don’t think she might be coming back here, though some of her things are still here. You know she has graduated.” The news sounded fictitious to Melvin. He couldn’t move. In just two weeks everything had changed.

“Is there any way I can contact her?”

“Oh! I don’t have her home telephone number but I believe one of my neighbors here does. Just come tomorrow I will help you get her number.”

“Ok, thank you.” The curtain closed immediately and Melvin turned moving like a man defeated in a court case. He walked past Nkrumah Hall and got to Alvan Ikoku hostel.

Alvan Ikoku and Eni Njoku halls stood like twines behind Nkrumah. They were just separated by a vast parking space fenced with beautiful flowers but at the back the two walls seemed joined together. Close to the wall connecting the two hostels was a very gigantic water reservoir tank, which perhaps dispensed water to the two hostels. However, the presence of some boys on top of the tank, drawing water from it and some still climbing would make a visitor think that the plumbing connections were probably no longer functional. The two hostels looked like twins holding hands together from the back. Melvin trotted into the hall. Just like Nkrumah hostel, it had a rectangle shape with rooms in rows. Unlike Nkrumah hostel, the center was not decorated with flowers but was cleared like a football field with small goal posts at each ends. The environment looked very dirty. The play field was neatly carved out with short pavements that created a path-like veranda in front of the rows of rooms. Across the fence-like pavement into the play ground were some weeds growing freely and dirty patches of garri and other sorts of rejected food items and dirty cellophanes littered everywhere. As he made to walk round the veranda somebody poured down some dirty water from the upper floor and the water hit on the pavement and splash on everybody close to the veranda. Melvin ran back immediately and the other students around there cursed in the air though they did not see the person that poured the water. Of cause it would be vain to go searching for the person since he might have ran back into his room. It was normal in Alvan Ikoku hostel.

Melvin climbed the staircase to the top, it was the third floor. He had expected to see the fourth floor but there was none. He was surprised. He saw a four storey building outside and on climbing the staircase he had found that it was three. Underground? “I must unravel this mystery” he concluded. He walked round the corridor like a rural health inspector, swerving away at times from playing boys that ran around the corridor. He looked down from the balcony to the center of the play ground. His eyes turned and his head felt swollen. He felt a voice in his head saying “jump! Jump”. He drew back immediately, it was too high for him. All the rooms had a six spring bed each set in front of them and one hung high above the door which the students used for hanger for drying clothes after wash. Just like in Nkrumah Hostels, the beds were made to be in the rooms but the boy would not like to share a bed for two or more people, rather they threw out the beds and spread their mattresses on the bare floor; besides many students who could not afford to pay the accommodation fee were squatting with their friends. The beds in the rooms would have made squatting impossible. Melvin sat down on one of the spring beds. Now he felt like a bona fide student with nothing to be afraid of not even the dreaded cultists. He was feeling very sleepy. It was night. He relaxed on the springs without a mattress and the bed shivered noisily and groaned as though it could collapse. Melvin closed his eyes, relaxed his bones and drifted away into sleep. “Banana and Agidi! Banana and Agidi!” Melvin heard the call of a peddler as if in a dream. He jerked up. He had thought it was a peddler selling Banana and Agidi, though it would make a very bad combination. He didn’t see any hawker but a boy with a bucket of water past him still shouting the same thing “Banana and Agidi!” “Oh!” he lay back disappointed. Throughout the night, the hall was very noisy. At a time he would hear somebody shout from a far:

 “Alvan I won die!” and another would reply: “Die now! Zuo!” together with many other sorts of disturbances. He woke up very early in the morning with pains all over his body. He stood up and stretched arching parts of his body amid very loud yawns. “It’s not easy for Ezekiel.” He muttered. He looked at his wrist watch, and remembered it was not functional. He sighed. He strolled down the right side of the corridor. As he got to the extreme he perceived the smell of Indian hemp and paused. It was in the passage by the left that connected Alvan Ikoku and Eni Njoku Hostel. The passage was dark. May be the bulb was damaged. No perhaps it was whoever was smoking that Indian hemp that switched it off. No perhaps, they have stolen the bulb. He kept reasoning. He saw a figure coming out from the dark. His heart palpitation increased. The figure emerged from the dark with his soap dish on the left hand, a towel on his neck. Oh! That was the bathroom. Melvin entered the passage. He could not see clearly in the dark passage but the glowing embers of the Indian hemp moving from one side to another. Then he came close to a group of boys in a semi-circle with wraps of wee changing hands. “These must be the cultists”. He was afraid. He mustered up courage as he sort for the bathroom. As he approached them the stench of the wee increased chocking him and he coughed and held his throat though he always liked the flavour. The boys sniggered at him. “Zuo!” one of the boys cursed and blew some smokes towards Melvin.

Melvin found the lavatory at the right hand side of the passage. He pushed the door open and light from the lavatory lit up the passage.

“Close that thing zuo!” he heard a horse voice from behind him and shot the door immediately. The voice came from one of the boys smoking in the passage. They needed no light but the glowing embers of the wee. As Melvin moved forward into the lavatory, the stench of excreta mixed with the flavour of the Indian hemps filled his nose. He covered his nose with his left palm. The lavatory had six bathrooms to the left, six rows of toilets to the right and a urinary facing the door. Melvin first turned to the right still covering his nose though that did not salvage the situation. He opened the first toilet door. The toilet seat was filled to the brim with faeces dripping on the floor. The waste paper basket by the side of the toilet seat was also filled with papers littered everywhere on the ground. Melvin jammed the door immediately. The faeces he wanted to pass ran back into his intestine. As he turned to his left, a boy ran into the lavatory naked with his short on his left hand, a stick of burning cigarette on his lips and his penis dangling like primary school bell in between his thighs. The boy shoved Melvin aside and ran into the second toilet.

Patapata! Patapata! Came the sound from the toilet. The boy was doing it. Melvin could not bear the increasing stench any longer. As he turned facing the bathrooms a very fat rat scurried across to the door towards the passage. Melvin froze.  It took some second for the goose pomp on him to relax. He had not seen a rat as big as that before. It reminded him the rats that ran round their house at Aba but he had not seen any as big as this one with hairy body like a puppy. He continued straight to the bathroom and entered the first one. The tiles on the walls had been scattered leaving the wall coated so slippery with spirogyra and patches of indelible soap foams. Melvin picked off his cloths and hung them carefully on a protruding shower pipe on the wall. And look! By the window side, someone had forgotten a medicated soap. Melvin grabbed the soap immediately. “God has provided.” He told himself as he recalled the story of Abraham and Isaac and the sacrificial lamb in the Holy Scripture.

Melvin stayed for a long time in the bathroom. He was enjoying the shower until someone shouted at him from outside.

 “O boy comot for bathroom naw mek man pikin baf. Wetin be your own gbege now?” Melvin started fidgeting as he heard the undiluted pidgin of the voice outside. He stopped the shower but he had no towel, so he could not put on his cloths as drenched as he was, neither could he step into his shoes like that nor could he step out into the corridor flooded with deposits of urine mixed with dirty water from the bathrooms. The voice came once more:

 “Who be dat zuo sef? Abi you neva enta shawa before?” immediately, Melvin used his singlet for towel, after drying his entire body he put on his cloths and left the singlet in the bathroom.

* * * * * * * *

The bank was fully crammed with people - Students waiting to pay their school fees in a very long queue. Melvin felt a very chilly cold on his skin as he stepped into the banking hall through the electronic metal dictator door. He sniffed gently to draw in the wafting queen of the night fragrance that filled the hall. As the cold from the air conditioners sizzled into his ribs he sneezed and remembered the joke of an old woman from the village that went to visit her son in Aba. As she opened the son’s refrigerator and felt the cold in there, she started screaming: “oh uguru harmattan is this where you hid and we’ve been waiting for you at the village”.  Melvin struggled with a little trace of subdued smile on his lip and moved on. He could easily identify where to pay with the presence of the students at one corner of the banking hall. He didn’t look at the direction of the three young ladies across the counter and the clattering cash counting machines in front of each of them. “Who is the last in this queue?” he asked a boy standing at the tail end of the queue. “Em there are some boys…two behind me.” The boy answered. Melvin had thought of a way of manipulating the queue and getting to the front but decided otherwise; maybe because it was in a bank.

“Okay, I will stand here till they come.” His eyes went from the picture of the president to that of the state governor hung at the top left of the banking hall. He imagined how the pictures would change at any time with a coup or at the end of the ongoing electoral tribunals. He never believed that civil rule will ever succeed in the country with the contemporary kleptocratic sect in power. Under the pictures was the customer service desk. A man and a lady sat behind the broad table working on their computer sets and looking up into the hall at intervals with endless smiles on their faces as if there were some invisible hooks drawing their lips to keep them on the smiling position. The queue was very long and time consuming. It was not really moving fast as some people would come and their friends would fix them into the front of the queue. Everybody wanted to go in good time. When it got to Melvin’s turn, the two boys emerged from nowhere.

“Bros, excuse, we dey before you” one of them said in pidgin. He could not argue it because he was pre-informed. He stepped back for the boys to enter the queue without looking up; he was feeling cold. One of the boys continued looking intently at his face.

“K.C!” the boy called him astonished and their faces met.

“Sunny!” Melvin screamed as he jumped into the boy and they embraced each other warmly. Melvin never expected to see anybody he knew here.

“What are you doing here K.C?” sunny asked looking into Melvin’s eyes.

“Exactly same thing you are doing” Melvin replied proudly and looked furtively around the banking hall and lowered his voice as if someone had shh him down.

“No, no, no, be serious, do you mean you’ve got admission here?”

“Nna na God o!” Melvin said in a code mix and smiled shyly. He meant to say how difficult it was for him and how seemingly impossible it might look for a poor person to get admission into universities this days; he meant to ask sunny how he too managed to get through the admission rigours; He meant to ask him if he had gone through the normal bribing and sorting process; but his mouth could not form the words. His lips just quivered with the wide smiles on them and dropped open as he heard sunny ask:

“Into what department?”

“English and Literary Studies” he answered and added “and you?”

“Well…I couldn’t make my JAMB and so I decided to start a diploma programme here last year. I don’t have any time to waste at home.” Sunny replied with an explanation on why he was doing a diploma programme. People in the diploma programme were generally viewed as the most unserious students in most Nigerian schools. Hence people did not find it easy to identify with the programme less they would be seen as dull brains.  That was the programme Melvin would have gone for if he had missed the admission list. He didn’t want to spend any more years at home.

“Okay! That’s nice.” Melvin said sounding like a counselor

“Oboy!” They hugged once more and looked each other in the face with their hands locked on each other’s shoulders.

It was a happy reunion of old friends. Sunny had been a very intelligent student while in the Secondary school. He had been Melvin’s classmate though they were never so close in the secondary school. He was ironically called Sunny because he was very dark in complexion. Sunny’s real name was Ikechukwu. Sunny wore a well kempt afro hair cut. His eyes were dark brown with pure white eyeballs that contrast sharply with his dark face. He had a long arc-like nose that gave him the look of a Fulani; his small lips and Jewish jaw gave a handsome look on his oval face.

“In which department are you doing the diploma?” Melvin asked Sunny as they left the banking hall heading for a small eatery adjacent the bank.

“Public Administration and Local Government Studies.”

“Ah PALG; the most populous department on campus?”

“Yah, we are the king’s.” sunny boasted with his shoulders held high.

“Stop swaying your big head, you have many fools in that department.” Melvin retorted dodging away from the playful swing of Sunny’s hand.

“Even at that, my department is better. Well you are still new, you will soon understand. Your department is a girl’s high school. That is why your school fees are very low compared to ours.” Melvin didn’t want to say how inferior his department was being rated in performance. He didn’t want to argue how worthless a diploma certificate was viewed in the country. He didn’t want to say that the so called Ordinary National Diploma Degree was a glorified secondary school certificate. He just didn’t want anything that may make sunny feel bad so he didn’t want to continue with the playful argument.

“Ehe” Melvin jerked and continued; “yes, I will soon switch over to law and grab my LLB.” He pronounced the “B” in a long drawl like BEE.

“Oh yes, I remember K.C there is something you will help me do.” Sunny digressed knowing where the discussion was likely to lead.

“What’s that?” Melvin asked looking curiously into Sunny’s eyes. Sunny ordered snacks and a bottle of mineral for each of them as they sat down in the restaurant adjacent the bank building.

“I know you don’t drink alcohol, church man” he teased and nudged Melvin and called for a stick of cigarette. He lit up the cigarette as the waitress brought the snacks and drinks and to continue in their discussion he said: “K.C I believe you can do this.” Melvin watched him quietly like a sheep without saying a word. Not just because he was surprised to see sunny smoking openly but also because of the exotic manner in which he puffed out the smokes making some hazy rings in the air.

“I would want you to help me in one of the runs I have.”

“Hey, hit the nail at the head.” Melvin snapped humorously.

“Ok, it is about exam runs.”

“What about it?” Melvin asked making a frowned face.

“Guy I hope you won’t continue like this, this is a deal that is going to fetch you eighteen thousand naira. Just go into the examination hall and write what you have in your head, you’ll make your money. What else would you want to do with your brain? I am sure you don’t have to read for this” Melvin continued looking at him with disgust. He could not say a word. He didn’t want to have anything to do with examination malpractice. It is a sin. There was ice cold silence between them as Melvin thought about how bad sunny had changed. How he has lost morals. After a little more silence, sunny brought out a piece of paper wrote something on it and dropped it on the table. He regretted suggesting the exam runs to Melvin. Maybe time was not ripe yet for such discussions. Maybe he would have limited their discussion to the past. Sunny’s face was ashen as he stood up without looking at Melvin’s face. He thought about things he would have talked about; the fight between their school and another nearby secondary school; the junior student riot against the senior class; the strenuous weekly Thursdays manual labours; his first attempt at smoking, the various school inter-house sports competitions and the usual inter-sect group fights that followed them and so many other memorable things of the past. The mistake had already been made so he had to leave. Yet he believed that Melvin would later come to understand that he meant well for him with the offer.

“Well, I know you are angry with me now but I believe you would later come to understand me and what I mean here. This is my address K.C. I know I’ve annoyed you but you can visit me whenever you feel like. We shall always remain friends. Honestly I men well”. He stood up leaving, Melvin just watched him leave without a word. He didn’t move to stop him. He didn’t even finish his drink.

Examination malpractice is a sin. Melvin would not want to get involved in such a sinful act. He wouldn’t have the face to pray to God ever again if he had accepted that offer. He gulped down the last drop of drink in his bottle and left, back to school.

Melvin was lucky enough there were not much people yet in the faculty of arts general office. He joined the growing short queue of people waiting to convert their bank tickets to receipts. Soon it was his turn; he got his receipt and left the premises. When he came out to the front of the Faculty of Arts Quadrangle he couldn’t make up what next to do. He turned watching the building and the surroundings as if he had not seen then before. May be the admission pressure on his head had not allowed him to see clearly. Now he is a bona fide student. He could feel free to walk around and see things properly. The faculty was very magnificent. He knew no place to go. He had paid his acceptance fee. He promenaded towards the Department of Fine and Applied Arts and his gaze was on the Art exhibitions, sculptures, paintings, and craft and so on that lined the path to the studio.

The first one was a pregnant woman naked from hip upwards. Its face looked like one in pain. The second was a man, naked from hair to toe, sitting on a rock; maybe Adam. The naked man reminded him the unhappy sculpture he had always seen in his dream. For some time now he had not seen him in his dreams again. He had not been dreaming that much. He moved close to the sculpture and ran his hand through its face. It felt very smooth. The next was a musician with his wooden guitar hung over his nape and a microphone on his left hand joyfully singing a song no one could here. The other was a duck with its wings spread. Another: a monkey reading a book and many others. You could easily mistake them for real humans and animals at night. Melvin stood there watching and thinking about what next to do. As he remembered he had to go for courses registrations; he turned back immediately and entered the faculty of Arts building. It had two storey buildings facing each other and Melvin felt like just standing at the center of the “Z” shaped walk way that connected the two buildings to watch the activities of other students. He had always liked to be an observer. If life were to be a stage Melvin would prefer to be a spectator; watching the characters as they come and go. He entered the walk way that had a solid cemented floor and pillars holding the roof which served as shelter, so he couldn’t feel the blazing sun of the day. By the two sides of the walk way were carpet grasses with pretty flowers surrounding them. He would have liked to walk on the grasses with bare feet and see how they felt. He would want to cross over into the middle of the grasses by the right flank to touch the sculpture that looked like someone saying prayers – Muslim perhaps. He thought there might be snakes hiding within the cluster of elephant grasses around the sculpture of the broken egg - with the head and a wing of a chick sticking out of it – the poisonous Nsukka snake they call Echi-eteka. He didn’t want to look at the centre to the right wing of the building towards the dirty cracked wall of the one storey building meant for Mass Communications Department senior class; with the inscription: JACKSONS BUILDING. So he never thought; “who was this Jackson and what was he to journalism?”

Melvin entered the complex ‘B’ which housed the departments of English and Literary Studies, History and International Studies, Theatre Arts, and Archaeology and Tourism Department. He joined the long dark passage to the left. On the left flank was the Faculty’s would-be computer hall; an empty hall housing only a table and a computer monitor on top of it. Melvin didn’t seem to border about the irony of a computer room without even a complete set of computer, having heard the rumours of the burnt students’ affairs offices – where some non-academic staff of the university set ablaze to destroy the computers that were threatening to strip them of their jobs. To the right were offices with name tags on top of the doors. Many students sat on the pavements in the passage looking helpless just like the beggars at CKC Aba -- Some chatting away time while others waited for one lecturer or the other. The cold nature of the passage made it a very comfortable place for resting and waiting after the days stress and the blazing sun outside. It was also the place you see students with one problem or the other – missing result, fake admission, exam failure, victimization and an unending list of problems. Melvin passed the faculty general office where he had changed his bank teller for a school fees receipt; many people were still queuing, still waiting, still chatting and still groaning there. The faculty officer who was issuing the receipt was not there and none of the students seemed to have known where he went. Somebody said he was gone for one hour; yet the students had no choice but to wait for him. May be he went for lunch; maybe he went for school run; maybe he was gone for the day. Yet the students had to wait. Opposite the faculty office was the stair case. He took the stair case up to the last floor where he saw to his left a hall with the inscription: FIRST YEAR CLASS. The door was open. He pushed in his head and retracted immediately and rushed down stairs as he saw that the class was full of girls. He couldn’t muster enough courage to join them in the class. They didn’t even seem to notice his presence as they continued with their girls’ gist – that hair is so vivacious; the nails are superb; the lipstick… and stuffs like that. Sunny’s phrase re-echoed in his head “girls’ high school”. As he emerged from the staircase facing the Faculty General Office he saw the notice on the door besides it which read:

 CLEARANCE AND COLLECTION OF

REGISTRATION MATERIALS.

He had neither seen the door nor the notice while he passed before. He pushed the door tenderly and unveiled a very spacious hall. The hall was full of people and relatively noisy. The new students were already choosing friends among themselves. He saw what seemed to be a queue and went to join.

“There are people behind me o!” The girl at the tail end of the queue warned him.

 “Okay who is the last person?” Melvin asked.

“There!” She said pointing at a boy leaning on the wall alone with a news paper. He looked so much like an Ajebor -- a silver spoon boy. Melvin went to the boy. “Hello, are you the last?”

“Yes.” The boy answered barely looking up from the paper.

“Okay, I am now following you.” Melvin looked for a place to sit down but there was no space. He had to lean on the wall. Beside him were two girls chattering like wireless radio. At intervals he would listen to their gist of “the guy this and the guy that” and looked away without a word. He envied some of the new students that got themselves busy with novels. Some were reading some voluminous novels. Ninety-nine percent of the novels where foreign – James Hardly chase, Jim Cusby, Stephen king and the likes. Melvin tried to imagine himself reading such voluminous novels. He shook his head; maybe because it didn’t seem possible. He preferred African novels because they seemed more real to him than the western unimaginable fictions. He also thought the non-African novels are less educative.

The queue was invisibly very long. People came in randomly and claimed their positions. The line was not moving at all as many people came, claimed positions and left to come back later when it must have gotten close to their turn. Melvin waited for so long. It latter got to his turn, the woman was very old. She must have exceeded the retirement age of sixty. She wore a very big pair of glasses like a welder. Melvin handed her his receipt.

“Mhu, your credentials?” Melvin stuffed his hand into his back pocket and brought out his secondary school certificate and birth certificate folded carefully. The woman collected them and looked up to his face with a frown – a frown that barked “why would u fold your certificate into your pocket this way? Are u a pig?” After screening through the certificate with her goggles lifted a bit from her jutting long nose, she tore out a sheet of paper, scribbled something on it and handed it over to Melvin.

“That is your Registration number,” she said in a very mechanical tone that made Melvin jack up to look at her face a second time. Her English was the type he could call pure with some “r” colouring of vowels at word endings.

“Thank you ma,” Melvin said with a smile and stood to leave.

“Come back here isi-ukwu.” The woman called him back smiling and continued; “take that file it contains your registration materials and have your credentials back. I don’t have anything to do with them it’s only the photocopy that I am taking.”

“Thank you ma,” Melvin appreciated again. He didn’t care that the other student in the hall laughed when the woman called him isi-ukwu. He too had smiled. Not just because he knew his head was not too big for his body but for the bungling incompetent manner the woman pronounced “isi-ukwu” with English tune rather than tone. It was already 4.00pm. He checked his front pocket; the piece of paper containing Sunny’s address was still there. Melvin came out from the faculty and boarded a bike to Sunny’s place.

******

No. 50 J.C Nwobodo was a square house that had four rows of blocks containing four rooms each. It was the type derisively called ‘face-me-I-face-you’. Melvin could not have realized that it was a mould house plastered with cement if not for the unending queue of solder ants on the wall that drew his eyes to some cracks exposing some red mould. He would hardly believe it was not a block cement house with that creamy white paint. Melvin entered the compound through the left side. At the center of the compound was a poultry cage with some fowls and Goats running round the compound freely. It reminded Melvin of his village, his grandmothers live stocks and little farms. The rows of rooms were numbered. He brought out the piece of paper once more; it said ‘Room 4’. The room four was open with yellow cotton veiling the interior. Deafening sound of heavy metal music was emanating from the room. Melvin knocked at the door for the first time and heard no response. He tried a second time. It was a feminine voice that came; “Who is it?” and the curtain swayed and sunny came grinning from ear to ear as if he never had any misunderstanding with Melvin. “Oh! The Kele Cee!” he said in a rasping masculine voice. He came out and showed Melvin into the room. At first, Melvin stood at the door inside the room like a kid that had lost his way. He wanted to feign amazement. Melvin thought that Sunny’s room didn’t look like that of a student with so many distractive irrelevant properties that would be inimical to studies – to the left hand side at the entrance was a metallic basket packed full with provisions of beverages and close to the wall stood the small fourteen inches television and the video CD player by its side that Melvin thought would not permit any serious student to read. The most amazing to Melvin was the metallic coloured three loader audio CD player that had the face of a Mercedes Benz car. By the right side was a twelve inches mattress and high above it was a wall hanger full with both male and female cloths. Underneath the mattress and underneath Melvin’s feet was a red flowery carpet spread from wall to wall. Sunny’s girl friend greeted Melvin left the room perhaps to get some cola for him. She was in a loose boxer’s short that made her rump swayed like an unevenly packed bags of sachet water and an over sized black T-shirt on top.

Melvin sat down on the mattress with his legs crossed in muslins praying fashion and with his eyes scanning the entire room like a sanitary inspector. There was a little rechargeable florescent light hanging by the window side that caught his eyes. He didn’t look up the ceiling to see the coloured bulb. Maybe Sunny used the florescent tube for reading.

“Sunny is this your room or…?” he teased with mouth agape.

“Boy take am easy naw!” sunny cut him short in pidgin

“Hey!” Melvin continued, feigning anger. “I have told you several times that am no longer a boy”.

“Ok, young man.” Sunny retraced laughing ridiculously.

“There is nothing young about any man. I’m a man period” Said Melvin, still stifling a frown; until his face creased and laughter eluded him.

Sunny’s girl friend came back with a bottle of soft drink and some biscuits. She dropped them before Melvin and left again. Melvin watched her without a word as she left waggling her rump as she moved.

“Don’t tell me you are living here with this girl like you are married?” Melvin said looking away as if he wasn’t talking to sunny. Sunny smiled and tapped his shoulder. “Guy you won’t understand.” He said.

“What?” I want to understand.”

“Okay, if you insist, it’s the in thing here. Go round the school you will see that all the guys are living with their girl friends. You shouldn’t be marveled, it’s normal as far as university is concerned. Cohabiting is normal.”

“But …but…you know it’s immoral and you can’t afford to let your parents know about this.” Melvin added stammering as he spoke like a counselor still surprised. The expression on Sunny’s face says ‘he didn’t care.

“Anyway, it’s matrimonial training or matrimonial experiment; we are learning the act of marriage. This is university you learn everything.” Sunny replied croaking in crescendo as Melvin punched his shoulder playfully.

“em…sunny.” Melvin tapped him looking more serious and continued in a low hoarse tone. “you… I don’t have a place to stay now and I had thought I would stay with you but em…”

“No you can stay here there is no problem.” Sunny said in a low pitch, he was looking for a way to placate him.

As the day got dark, sunny accompanied Melvin to Uju’s room at Zik’s Flats hostel where he collected his bags after spending some time with the girls. That night Melvin made up his mind to take up the examination malpractice deal with Sunny. Though his mind was not at rest but he needed money so much to pay some fees at least.

CHAPTER SIX

Melvin came out from the students Affairs Department and walked straight to the hostel. He didn’t want to board a bike not just because he wanted to save money; rather he wanted to look around the school environment once again. University of Nigeria was too big. He could not cover it in a week’s promenade. The student’s affairs department was constructed with fire resistant woods just like the Demo building. Every student of the school came to the student’s affairs at least once in an academic year for registration and be assigned accommodation. It was as if accommodation issue was the only thing the student’s affairs did; nobody seemed to remember the student’s affairs after securing accommodation. Right opposite the student’s affairs department were two female hostels - okpara and eyo-ita hostels – standing like twins. Melvin wondered why these hostels looked more homely than the Zik’s flats; why the Zik’s flats looked older; why there were no flowers in Zik’s flats. As their custom has always been, many girls sat out at the gate of the hostels playing cards, some just chatting away time, some washing clothes while some others sat around gossiping and some with their boyfriends. It was normal. The female hostels had very beautiful surroundings with flowers and some umbrella trees as gmelina and almond trees in front of them. As Melvin walked down the step into the flowered surrounding of the hostel, he kept patting the top of the beautiful flowers used to cave out the walk ways. The sight of the flowers could easily remind him of the Garden of Eden in the Holy Scriptures. Okada men in front of the hostel waiting for would-be passengers whistled and called at him, peddlers waiting for customers to buy Okpa, moi-moi, banana, groundnut and so many other edibles beckoned him, but he shook his head gently at each of the calls. It was a normal sight in front of every hostel in the university. He didn’t expect to see the games as in the male hostels – the tennis boards, the snooker boards’ make shift football field and so on. Melvin worked past the hostels down adjacent okpara hostel to the right where the Faculty of education building was - A long white two storey building. Behind okpara and eyo-ita hostels was the vast empty land with just small grasses on it known as the Freedom Square – a name which must not be unconnected with the Nigeria-Biafra war. The sight could make you think of playing football or better still hosting a church crusade. Inside the freedom square were many photographers displaying to attract customers. They wore jackets or short aprons with their names boldly written at the back, as LUCKY DREAMS, LARRY MORE and IMAGES. Some girls inside freedom square posing for the camera reminded him how he met Uju and he smiled. Opposite the freedom square were the Faculty of social sciences buildings and the Arts Theater building. On the walls of the arts theater building were some displays of adverts of a drama showing for the night. Melvin continued walking down watching people in the freedom square till he got to a cross road. At the center of the cross road was a roundabout with a monument – the head of late Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe. The sculpture looked very beautiful. Melvin felt like crossing over to go and touch the glasses on its face but the sight of some security men standing at the Arts Theater premises made him think otherwise. He didn’t want to go farther through the left side of the cross road following the freedom square which led to other female hostels today lest he wouldn’t have the strength and time to go and sigh-in to his hostel. He just looked at the right that led to the General Studies department and continued forward towards the school library till he got to a T-junction facing the abandoned old uncompleted school library. Some of the dilapidated hall rooms had been converted into public toilets and waste dumps by the students. From that far he could see hazily some figures squatting on the windows – maybe defecating. The school authority had always boasted that the library was to be the biggest school library in West Africa. Melvin took left. As he got to the Center for Continuing Education known as CEC for short, he recalled the small mold of garri, and the high price of things on there. He crossed himself as if he just saw a ghost and decided never to enter there no matter how hungry he could be. The first one was a mistake; no ignorance; no hunger. He thought these over as he trekked in the hot sun till he got to Alvan Ikoku hostel. He was so tired. He had to sign in with the hostel supervisor. It was a piece-a-cake. The supervisor; a tall pot bellied handsome man with broad nose stamped and signed at the back of his accommodation fee receipt and handed him a calendar and two stickers. One of the sticker said “I’M PROUD TO BE AN ALVANITE” while other said “A LION IS NATURALLY AHEAD OF YOU” with the green UNN logo of a lion and motto of “TO RESTORE THE DIGNITY OF A MAN” on top of them. Melvin looked at the stickers a second time and thought of pasting them on the front door of their house at Aba and smiled. He did not open the calendar to see what was on it but he had already concluded in his heart on where to hang it – in their sitting room behind the bug infested sofa directly opposite the door such that it would be the first thing anybody that enters the house would see. He climbed up to room 407 where he was assigned. Just like the other rooms, there was a spring bed in front of the room. The sight of the spring bed reminded Melvin the day he slept outside without a cover cloth. He also recalled the pains of the spring on his back, the cold of the night and the noises. The most annoying was the mosquito’s ear deafening lullaby, which would not allow him sleep but reminded him of the sound of an ambulance.

There was only one person in the room. He was naked from the west upward. Peter was bent on his book when Melvin knocked at the door.

“Who is it?” he asked and opened the door. Melvin came face to face with a fine-looking young man of about twenty years in a very dark but shabby afro hair cut.

“Ehe? May I help you?” Peter asked.

“Em…yes, you can help, em…” Melvin stammered with smiles on his face.

“No, I don’t ‘can help’, I’m a student.” Peter cut him short making a joke on the use of the clause ‘can help’ as if it was wrong. Melvin got more confused as he saw no sign of laughter on Peter’s face.

“Okay, I’m a student as well.” Melvin continued “and I was assigned to this room.”

“To do what? As a cleaner?”

“As an inmate.”

“Eh, an inmate?” Peter asked feigning amazement and continued; “but this is not a prison yard.”

“ooh! You don’t understand I am your room mate.” Melvin quibbled having been drawn at his wit’s end. Then Peter started laughing.

“Don’t mind me come in, I’m Peter and you?” Peter extended his right hand for a hand shake; he grabbed the hand firmly and continued. “I’m Melvin and you can also call me Kelechi.

Melvin looked round the room. There was nothing special about the room. There were only three reading tables and two stools and wardrobes in the near empty room.

“Okay, I will pack in tomorrow.” Melvin told him and left the room after a parting handshake.

Melvin left Alvan Ikoku Hostel to Zik’s Flat hostel to see Uju. He had got legitimately into the system; no need to be afraid of jobless hacklers neither was he ashamed of seeing half naked girls this time. It’s now a regular sight; even inside the school many of the girls wore skimpy and transparent things that expose their vital parts. He knocked on the door and an unfamiliar voice bode him ‘come in’. It was Uju’s younger sister that visited. Uju was lying on the bed in a boxer’s short and a loose black T-shirt.

“Oh K.C, you are welcome!” She said limply without moving from the bed, Melvin greeted everybody in the room and sat down at the foot of the bed.

“K.C; meet Sonia my younger sister. She is also a lioness; A first year student of the Department of Medicine and Surgery.” Uju introduced her sister proudly and continued “Sonia meet K.C, a friend and a student of English and Literary Studies Department.”

“Oh! K.C you’re welcome”, Sonia said and extended a handshake looking straight into Melvin’s face with a captivating smile.

“Thank you Sonia.” Melvin responded smiling back and continued mischievously to sound humorous: “I like that name So-near. Does it mean God is so near or what.”

“Oh no! You are getting it all wrong. It’s not ‘so near’ but Sonia. S-O-N-I-A.” She spelled out the name.

“Okay and what does that mean?”

“I don’t know it’s just the name they gave me” she said and Melvin felt a little relief as his newly adopted name also had no meaning to him but just a shade.

“But a name should have a meaning; do you have an Igbo name?”

“Yes of course but not in all cases does a name mean anything.”

“Mmhm.”

“Ogbenyealu.”

“Oh that’s a nice one, do you know that name follows people. That is to say the name you bear affects your life.” Melvin spoke convincingly demonstrating with his hands. Uju watched them admiringly without a word

“I don’t think so.” Sonia responded and continued; “name I believe is just like a label on bread; you can remove the label and the bread remains the same. It doesn’t matter what name one bears. What matters most is what you do”

“No it does.” Melvin retorted with full assurance. “Don’t you know that as you are, with that your name, no poor man will marry you? There is power in spoken words, as people call you that name day by day it starts taking effect on you. Moreover, your name is not just a name but like information on a notice board, ‘Ogbenyealu’ meaning ‘not to be married by the poor’ gasikia!”

“And you K.C have a European name?” Uju joined the discussion sounding weak.

“Em, yes and no I would say.” Melvin answered hesitantly.

“Why yes and no at the same time?” Sonia asked.

“Okay, my European name is Melvin, but it’s just there for non-Igbo speakers and I use it to dodge away from some unprecedented tribalistic sentiments.”

“Supu!” Uju shouted and held her head immediately as she felt an ache

“Whatever, then what is the meaning of Melvin?” Sonia asked dismissingly.

 “Well, I don’t know.” Melvin said slowly sounding defeated. He doesn’t like being defeated in an argument especially by a woman.

“What is the need for all these meaningless European names? As for me, I believe our local names are better. That’s why I can never add any of those meaningless labels to my name.” Uju dropped repeating the word “label” to show she took the side of her sister.

“No, it may be because of the multi-lingual setting of Nigeria. To avoid people bastardizing your name, you tell them one they would easily pronounce.” Melvin tried to make a defensive dive.

“What? Who told you that European names are easy to pronounce. Did you get my name very well at the first instance? Don’t you hear Hausa people pronounce Pilip for Philip and Kwolinse for Collins? At times Efik will pronounce ‘yon’ for John and ‘darri’ for Larry. Even Yoruba man will have ‘Ari’ for Harry and ‘Handru’ for Andrew. In fact every speech community has its own version of shibboleths.” Sonia spoke convincingly looking at her sister for support and Uju nodded in agreement as if to say “that’s my girl!”

“Well,” Melvin said slowly; “it’s only that we so much like foreign things no matter how they are but I believe nothing has gone wrong yet. We can still correct things.” Melvin concluded defeated. Turning to Uju in the bed he asked: “Uju you are sounding weak, what is the matter?”

“I’m alright; it’s just that I’m feeling some weakness in my bones.” She sniffed in as if she had catarrh and continued, “My activities today were so hectic. It is just stress.” Melvin stayed in Uju’s room till the day got dark and Uju accompanied by her sister saw him off to the back gate leading behind Zik’s flats and turned back.

Sunny was already disturbed before he came back. “Nna this environment is not convenient for such night movements as this.” Sunny announced to Melvin as he stepped in. Melvin smiled and relaxed on the bed. Sunny’s girl friend was already asleep. There was cold silence in the room as Sunny lay like a log of wood beside his girl friend and Melvin lay with his back on the floor facing the roof.

“How was the day?” Melvin asked Sunny so as to break the ice.

“Well, we thank God.” Sunny answered in a cold voice and added, “Where have you been all this while?” Melvin smiled after a little silence, “I have been in Zik’s Flats.” He answered though that was a question that he has hated. It made him feel he is still under parental surveillance. He wanted to experience freedom and do the things he could not do while at home with his parents. He didn’t like to feel any bit of dependence – not here in school.

“Em lest I forget, I would be packing to the hostel tomorrow morning.” Melvin announced and Sunny jacked up, “What?”

“Yes.” Melvin answered in a light quivering voice.

 “But I had thought we are going to leave together hear; at least it would be good for your privacy and comfort than in the hostels where you have too many people in one room.”

“Yes but I …” Melvin turned and looked at Sunny’s girl friend and winked and continued;

 “… I would just want to stay in the hostel at least for two years so as to get familiar with some kind of people and their different ways of life. Didn’t u say it: ‘know everything’? Moreover, they say; “good fences make good neighbours.”

 “Well no problem but those things are not hostels but dormitories.” Sunny said dismissingly and lay back.

Melvin closed his eyes and drove away into the world of fantasy where he was in the class with so many girls. He couldn’t identify the faces of the girls. He was the only man among them. Then the lecturer came, a very young lady; it was Uju. Melvin got confuse and ran out of the class. He jerked up from the sleep, and discovered it was all a dream. He sighed and went back to sleep.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Melvin did not come early to class the first day he attended. The lecture on course was English 105, Introduction to African Poetry. The class was filled to the brim. Some students stood at the door and the windows. It was a combined class with some students of the department of theater arts and linguistics. Some serious ones craned to see and hear the lecturer. Luckily, Dr. Okonkwo’s voice was loud enough to be heard. The people at the door and the ones outside would need to strain their ears. Melvin tried to squeeze himself into the class through the marmot crowd at the door. There were little spaces inside the hall. The students would not want to enter the airless hall. Those inside were sweating profusely like Christmas goats. He succeeded and got into the class amid various abuses for the feet he trampled on. He listened carefully with his book and pen jotting some things he could grab from the lecturer, but the lecturer was too fast for him.

At first sight Melvin had concluded that Dr. Okonkwo was intelligent and strict not just because he didn’t come into the class with any paper, but by the way words came out of him without fuss. When he started teaching, words flew from his mouth as if he read from a script. Some dusts from the chalk board would spill on his cloth as he went on with the lecture. Melvin reasoned that this kind of lecturer would be uneasy to please in the exams. He tried to cram those words Dr Okonkwo usually wrote on the board believing Dr Okonkwo must be pleased to see them in his answer script. He wrote them down at the last page of his exercise book. At intervals he wrote the difficult words on the black board. Words such as: verisimilitude, negritude, nationalism and many more adorned the black board after Dr. Okonkwo’s lectures.

At the end of the class, the crowd at the door created a path like the red sea for Dr. Okonkwo to pass through before any other person makes a move. They liked him.

Melvin enjoyed the first class so much. After the class Melvin met a boy that was seated in the front seat. He wanted to copy from somebody else’s note book so as to make up for the part of the class he couldn’t meet.

“I didn’t get enough things, you know the man was fast and the class was noisy.” The boy told Melvin hesitantly.

 “No problem, anyhow it is, let me just see.”

 “Take now only if you can understand my handwriting.” He gave Melvin his notebook. Melvin compared the notes and updated his. It had been a very busy day for Melvin. He had had five lectures from interesting lecturers except for Mr. Apia. Apia was the young lecturer in his early thirties that had come into the class with a poorly typed book from which he dictated things for the students. His class was the most boring. Throughout the period of his class, his face was bent on the book, placed on a lectern in front of the class. He had read from his book with a very low voice as if he read to himself. At the end of the class, he had announced that everybody in the class should buy his handout.

 “Where is the class rep?” he asked and one huge dark boy stood up.

“Follow me now as I leave to my office and carry the handouts.” He had left and the class started up the noise again like they never met him. Melvin had focused on copying Dr Okonkwo’s note while Mr. Apia was in the class. He didn’t deserve any serious person’s attention. His only problem for the day was worries about how to the money for Mr. Apia’s handout. He was so worn out that he couldn’t walk fast as he returned to the hostel.

As he got to the hostel he just lay limply like a log of wood on the foams on the ground. It was such a hectic day, standing in such a hot and stuffy class room for over seven hours, receiving lectures after lectures.  As he tried to sleep, his mind wondered over what lay ahead. He was to go through this process for four years or more. That was just the beginning of his birth pangs. The process continued like that. In his spear times he would go to Nkrumah Hostel to see John and frequently to Zik’s flats to Uju. He had lost contact with Mrs. Nwodo. It was very painful. He continued in the routine till it was December and Christmas break came. Every student was asked to leave the school premises. Melvin travelled to Aba.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Melvin got to Aba early in the day as he had resolved never to embark on night travels any longer. He stopped over at his father’s shop. As he had not expected, his father was in the shop busy with some new designs of shoes. He was sober. Melvin greeted his father and moved into the shop still watching his father’s face with his eyes squinted for any trace of alcoholic contour. He was never sure of his father’s state of sobriety until he saw his some parts of face clearly. From infancy, he had known the different contortions of his father’s face when he was drunk as against when he wasn’t. He could easily tell by merely looking at his face; even when he tends to pretend and cover-up. He didn’t need to sniff around for the nauseous odour of alcohol. His father would always try to suppress the pong by leaking some minty flavoured tom-tom sweets. A mere look at the face could tell Melvin: the reddish eye balls, the strong vein line that popped out under his left eye bone, the sagged eye bags, his nose that would get bolder, his cheeks that would look chubby and his red lips that would look glossy with some smears of tom-tom sweet, could have been a pointer to absence of sobriety. He didn’t need to listen to hear his disjointed words that would come out slurred. He didn’t need to wait and see him stand up and stagger. Melvin had at one time wondered if any of his siblings knew these signs. Mr. Samuel was absolutely sober today. He took a careful look at the new design of shoes and smiled and said nothing. He checked their customers’ record book. It was fully loaded with requests. He was excited.

“jisie ike mmpa” he greeted calling his father “mmpa” as a sign of approval with smiles.

“K.C how was school?” his father asked in response as he jerked up as though he had just noticed Melvin’s presence. Not because he was much engrossed with the work on the new design of shoe. He didn’t know how to start. He didn’t know what to say. He was engulfed with the feeling of guilt. He had failed as a father, in his responsibility of catering for his son’s need of education.

“We thank God sir.” Melvin answered stressing the “sir” involuntarily and still flipping the pages of the customers’ record book. He didn’t want to look up to his father’s face again. He knew what it would look like now with the guilt hung on it. It wasn’t a new thing to him – a replay of an old movie. He knew his father will always feel regret and promise never to test alcohol again and not even to get near it, a promise he always made and never kept.

“Oh, thank God you are back. Is your school on break for the end of the year?”

“Yes, thank God!” he replied impulsively for his father’s state and continued; “it’s Christmas break we call it.” He dropped the record book.

“That’s fine. You are welcome and I hope you brought Okpa Nsukka for us.” Mr. Samuel asked to lighten the discussion.

“Ha how could I ever forget that? I know chukwumere must like it” Melvin said and laughed.

“What doesn’t he like Insofar as it is edible? So you’ve been eating okpa Nsukka?” his father asked and stopped suddenly and started again in a lower tone now; “how have you been managing with feeding.” Melvin said “God is alive” and stood up to live. He didn’t want to talk about his fees and feeding in school. He knew his father would soon start his usual apologies. He didn’t want to sit around to listen to his father’s remorseful denunciation of alcohol; may be he wouldn’t be able to bit back the tears that might follow. His father offered to buy him food.

“Thank you sir, I will come back later.” He announced to his father as if he didn’t hear anything about the food and left the shop making home. He thought of going to his mother’s shop but later jettisoned the thought and went straight home. He was happy. The situation at home would be good. His father was sober and business seemed to be moving. What next? The forthcoming Christmas celebration would be such a promising one.

*************

The weather outside was chilly and dried, with harmattan breeze blowing from the north to the south, drying people’s lips and breaking them. Withered leaves filled the ground and leafless trees waving their ugly branches at passers by. At intervals the harmattan breeze came in a rush and swept all the dirt in the environment in a spinning gust. Melvin had drawn back and took to his heals as many other people did when the whirling pool of dirt driven by the breeze came. The gust of wind swept through the dirty street, rocking tree branches and stirring the sands and dirt, blowing them into the sky. The breeze was fast enough that Melvin had to stop running but stepped aside with his hands covering his face to avoid dusts in his eyes and nostrils while the blizzard of dirt and dust whirled past him in a hissing noise. Up in the air were many tattered cellophanes fluttering like children’s kite to the sky.

 “Ghosts are heading for the market,” he muttered and continued on his way home.

The compound looked dirty with withered leaves everywhere on the ground. The trees and the few leaves remaining on them had turned brown with dust. It was a season nobody would want to stay under the shade of a tree. Most trees had lost all their leaves. The almond tree in the middle of the compound now looked like a mere sketch of a tree’s skeleton. It was a season of hot sunny weather mixed with spine chilling cold dried breeze. The kind of dried breeze that dehydrated any leaving thing and left the nostrils of little children with crunchy mucus that produced some whistling sounds as they breathed. The Kites hovering in the sky was a harbinger to the advent of harmattan. Now the Kites were everywhere letting out some shrill cries and terrorizing the community of domestic fowls and lizards. A flower in front of the house had turned brown coated with dust on its dried sepals.

“This would have been red, had it been in Nsukka,” Melvin thought. He looked at his shoes. They were very dirty with some dots of red dust all around it. Any person that had seen him would have noticed he was coming from Enugu State. It was December. The sight of his shoes reminded him the story in the bible about how Jesus had washed the feet of his disciples. Maybe it was in a harmattan period or their soil must be dusty like the Enugu soil. The thought sped across his mind like a space rocket as he trotted into their house.

“Where has everybody gone?” was Melvin’s guess when he pushed open the door. There was nobody in the house but books scattered on a table in the sitting room. Perhaps one of his younger sisters was at home. The sound of water as if somebody was washing some plates in a basin drew him towards the kitchen corridor from where the sound came. He was frightened as he saw nobody in there yet the sound came clearer. He tip-toed gingerly along the corridor towards the back door following the sound. He jerked and sighed with relief mingled with disappointment as he saw the basin. It was a rat struggling for its life in a stainless basin filled with water. “You startled me? I will teach you a little lesson now.” He murmured talking to the rat and wondered how the rat must have entered into the basin. The rat wanted to escape but the walls of the basin was slippery. Melvin came closer to watch the rat, laughing derisively at its fruitless convulsive efforts to get out of the water. The back door swung open and Melvin jerked.

“kelechi, you were laughing alone.” His sister said as she ambled in to the house through the back door.

“Nwadiuto come and see this foolish rat” Melvin said still laughing without looking back.

“How did you get it in there?” Nwadiuto asked as she drew one leg closer and one facing the door. She jerked and ran back as the rat jumped up in continuous convulsive effort to escape and Melvin laughed out loudly and screamed; “Ajebor!”

“One foolish white man would like to spend all the time he has studying this type of thing and come out with some silly theories he would want to apply to human” he paused and pure in some more water in the basin and continued; “do you know  E B skinner? That was what he did with his Rat-in-a-box and came up with some theory on motivation and conditioning. Some people may even video it and use it as a documentary in one of their silly TV programmes. That’s idleness”. Melvin continued chattering and smiled. Nwadiuto’s face had been screwed with abject fear and disgust. She didn’t want to get close.

He switched on the electric switch beside the door. The smile on his face widened the more as he looked up to the light that shone over his head on his face.

“When did this happen?” he asked not looking up at Nwadiuto.

“Papa just fixed it last two weeks” Nwadiuto answered carelessly, still clinging gingerly to the back door and add; “village boy” and dodge from an anticipated playful swing from Melvin. It sounded good news to Melvin. He liked it whenever his father tends to shoulder some responsibilities. The thoughts in his head dried out the smiles on his face. He went into the inner room, came out with an electric heater, plugged it on the wall circuit and inserted it into the water. He danced to a music nobody played and stuck out his tongue for Nwadiuto with closed eyes and turned to watch the rat struggle to death in the boiling water. He didn’t want to look at Nwadiuto now.

“KC do you know you are wicked” Nwadiuto asked disgusted and ambled in to the sitting room to her books.  He picked up the basin still not looking at Nwadiuto and threw away the water together with the cooked rat to the street. He watched with pleasure as two Kites descended in lightening speed struggling for the meat. One of them hooked its claw on the dead rats head and picked it and the other followed it immediately as they went up again making their disgusting shrill noise. Melvin looked up to the heavens and smiled at God. He went back, switched on the light and switched it off again. He repeated the process for more than five times as if he had not seen electricity before.  He was happy there was a little progress, just for the few days he left home – electricity at home. He thought about going to visit a friend and rememberd he had promised his father to return to the market. “No, this is December.” He thought abruptly and quickly jettisoned the idea of visiting a friend rushed into their room and prepared for the market. He had got to earn some money in order to celebrate the approaching Christmas and New Year in a grand style with others in the country side. He had in mind a new design to add to the shoes his father was making. He rushed out into the streets through the blizzard of dust and the harmattan wind menacingly waving the leafless tress on his way to the market. At intervals he stopped with his hands shading his eyes to dodge from whirling pool of dust swept up in the dried breeze by fast running vehicles. The thought of contacting conjunctivitis through the dust frightened him. He would have worn some goggles like every other person in the street. He managed waving the dust with his hands till he got to the market. His father was no longer there in the shop when he came. Has he gone to drink and get himself drunk? God forbid! He had been trying to condition his mind to accept that his father had died centuries ago but he couldn’t. He sat down and started working with a straight face. His face creased with smiles as his father reappeared looking sober. His father smiled back though he didn’t know why Melvin smiled.

******

Christmas seasons were usually rowdy in Aba. People dragging their luggage up and down the streets in a bid to travel to the country side; sounds of fireworks filled the air. Everybody looked very neat and happy. It was 24^th December and many people travelled to the country side in order to celebrate the Christmas and New Year down there. The market was so overcrowded as it was the last market day for the year; the subsequent days would be public holidays and the market would be closed down for the celebrations till the second of January. And most streets of Aba would look deserted. The market was filled with people trying to buy things that they would need and even things they never needed. Things were very costly. It was a season of prosperity for all sorts of people. The price of goods doubled; maybe because demand doubled too. They had come to enjoy the money they were able to save through the year. Business men, traders, Thieves, extortionists, pick pockets, armed robbers, fraudsters and all sorts of people took advantage of the season. It was a dramatic sight watching the people demonstrating along the road with their goods. The most attractive were boys that sold cheap okirika wears along Ngwa-road market. They blocked the road such that vehicles could not pass, yet nobody complained. Nobody could say anything. It was a season of joy. From a far, you could hear their voices as they screamed all sorts of things and called on potential buyers:

“Sele pay! Sele pay! Sele pay! Select and pay!”

“Bend sele! Bend sele! Bend sele! Bend down select!”

They threw the clothes in the air and caught them skilfully. Buying in this kind of environment was never easy. Pick pockets were on rampage. Everybody watched their pockets as they walk. Melvin held his money on his hand. He assumed them safer there. He bought some okrika jeans trousers and some T-shirts. He tested the clothes and gave silent thanks to the importers of the cheap second handed cloths and wondered how he would have afforded new ones. Most people in Aba preferred the okrika wears for their low cost and high quality.

For Mr. Samuel’s family, travelling to the village during such period was inevitable.

“Are we going to see chichi at the village?” little Chukwumere had asked looking up to his father as they file into the Mitsubishi L300 bus that took them to the village.

“I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in the village.” It was Nwadiuto that answered expecting some response from no one in particular.

“Don’t you know they are Jehovah’s Witnesses? They don’t do Christmas. They say it is a sin. They say it is a pagan celebration.” Okafor said and laughed and added “but they will eat Christmas fowl if you give them.”

“I won’t give them my own.” Chukwumere said and clung to the extreme window.

The family left on the afternoon of 24^th of December. Ozuakoli was not far from Aba – just few kilometers after Umuahia. It took them some hours in traffic jams caused by uncountable police road blocks before they got to Ozuakoli. The Enugu/port-Harcourt express way was over crowded with many vehicles conveying people to their villages. As had been the custom, there were many accident sights along the road as a result of bad road network and reckless driving. Many auto-mechanics lay under broken down vehicles along the side of the roads. There were many learners on the road with their red ‘L’ signs dangling on the bumper of their cars like a nursery school bell. Maybe they wanted to go to the village and show off to their people that they’ve got a new car. It was a good season for auto mechanics and medical doctors as well, even the morgues. The police men were not left out. They stood on every pole in the road more to collect twenty naira from the motorists than to check mate armed robbery which was the bane of Christmas celebration. Melvin was sitting in the front seat. His eight years old younger brother Chukwumere was at the rear looking out through the back glass. Chukwumere always jumped up whenever their vehicle over took another in the traffic. “Driver hit that car! Jam it oh!” he shouted as they over took a private car that had proved a little stubborn. As for Melvin, he watched with depression the pretty luxurious cars that sped past them and the joyful families there in. Melvin was so very ambitious and so determined to get whatever he would need in life. His worst fears in life had been poverty and old age. “Poverty is a thing of choice”; was a quote he had once told his friends, though he never believed it himself.

Nne, was the first to catch sight of them as the Samuel’s family alighted from the Mitsubishi L300 flat roof bus at the village square. She had been waiting there since morning, pacing restlessly from one corner to the other. She stood at the village square to welcome his grand children every 24^th December. She was sure they must come home. She made a cry of joy; “olo lo rilo!” as she caught sight of them and ran to them gaily. Everybody in the square sit-out bench had turned looking at their direction as the screechy sound of the L300 bus coupled with Nne’s scream drew them. Some fumes of dust were raised as Nne performed a little egedege dance steps to a song she chanted in closed teeth. Mama Osondu ran out from a near by compound and danced with Nne. They danced gaily in congruous steps till they got to the bus were the Samuels stood watching entertained. Nne embraced them all, and looked into their faces and said; “God has made you beautiful nwam” repeatedly to each of them one after the other. “Dim, how are you?” she asked as she hung her left hand on Okafor’s neck.

“Odi mma”, Okafor’s responded shyly as Nne moved round and round inspecting him with eyes widely opened.

“chei! My husband is now a full grown man.” She hugged him once more, took his hand and led the way to their house. “Dim” was the name Nne called Okafor. He was named after his late grandfather. Nne was Melvin’s grandmother. They had all called her Nne that only a few people could recall her real name. Despite her age Nne still stood straight with her intimidating tallness of a woman. She looked very strong but for some missing teeth in the front and dropping left eye lid that looked sleepy. Her fair skin still shone lucidly, contrasting the long tattoo that ran down her arms as her souvenir from long years of youthful exuberance and frivolities. Nne was satisfied now that she saw her grand children. She walked peacockishly holding Okafor’s hand as she led through the rid fence in to her compound.

Melvin’s mother together with Mama Osondu went in with the girls following Nne while Mr. Samuel and the boys packed their loads inside. Some of the little children playing at the village square helped them with the loads. Most of them came naked to the waist with just pants and their protruding bellies shining in the setting sun. Melvin liked watching the village boys play freely naked and their dusty bodies exposed to the dried harmattan breeze coupled with the hot sun that had unleashed her blazing embers to the earth. If he was younger he would have liked to join them to just know what it felt like. He was sure of that. After taking in the loads Melvin’s father brought two loaves of bread and shared to the naked boys and they dispersed jubilantly. Melvin could see them running down to the village square where they devoured the bread like a team of vultures on a dead rat. Chukwumere had wanted to run after them but his mother could not allow him. Melvin hurried as they carried the luggage inside and picked up an empty can. He had caught sight of some boys heading for the stream. Nobody would stop him now that he had seen Ifeanyi though he never liked going to the stream in the evening. Unlike when he was younger; when he an ifeanyi played along the road to the stream, running in contest of who would be the first to get the leave of a certain plant or the other far ahead; this time they no longer played. As big boys rather, they walked slowly and majestically to be admired by the girls of their age. Especially now that he was a university under-graduate, levels have changed.

“Ozu B!” Melvin screamed as he jumped on ifeanyi.

“Kele C!” ifeanyi hailed him back and hit him playfully on the head with his can.

“E don tee bro” Ifeanyi said in pidgin as they shook hands.

“E don tee true true, how e be for PH?” Melvin asked imitating Ifeanyi’s crude pidgin.

“PH dey oh, we just dey hustle to get admission for UNIPORT”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you I got admission in UNN”

“Oh congratulations my man!” Ifeanyi screamed and shook him warmly. Melvin said something about girls’ dressing in campus and ifeanyi laughed and told more about the same in UNIPORT. They chartered along till they got to the stream.

The stream; Iyi-Nzu was located in a valley in between Mgbelenta-ogwum-ike hills just after the ihu-mmam oil bean tree. Ifeanyi drew Melvin back as he made to crose the oil bean tree.

“You think say na your bathroom you dey enter so?” he asked in pidgin feigning serious.

“What…?’ Melvin had wanted to ask but remembered he was about to commit abomination and ran back to the oil bean tree and removed his slippers besides the heap of other pairs of foot wears at the root of the tree. He looked at his slippers a second time and feared that some one might come and pick them. It was the pair of slippers he had made some weeks ago with Italian leather. He never cared about stealing of slippers when he was younger. He had so trusted the powers of the tree then. Now some doubts were creeping in. A little girl just came by and removed her slippers. She looked up at Melvin’s face and smiled and greeted him: “mamma tete.” She threw her empty water can down the hill and ran bare footed after it in to the valley before Melvin could respond to the greeting.

“Even this small one doesn’t playfully forget that the stream forbids foot-wears?” He thought aloud and continued to Ifeanyi looking straight; “You know, I dey wonder why people dey get mind leave their foot-wears under that tree and still come back and meet them there” Melvin said after a little silence.

“bros na the spirit be that. This tree wey you dey see so, no be ordinary tree. Ihu-mmam na ancestral oracular tree wey dey protect this village. Nobody feet get liver steal anything wey them leave for that place.” Ifeanyi paused and continued; “you no see the name? Who fit steal something wey them leave for spirit hand?”

“Because nobody don try am. For say here na Aba guys wey no send go don demystify that tree” Melvin managed to say dismissingly amid smiles.

Melvin threw his water can down the hill and followed it as it rolled down to the valley into the stream. Ifeanyi walked slowly laughing at him. He didn’t want to throw down his can; maybe he didn’t want the girls coming behind to call him a kid. At intervals he looked back at the girls and adjusted his steps with some added swagger.

“KC you nor wan go visit your paddy wey snake bite for yonder?” Ifeanyi screamed at Melvin and pointed at the near-by bush part. From the top of the hills people could hear Melvin’s croaking laughter echoing in the hollowness of the valley. He laughed for long with his hand on his belly. He didn’t just laugh for what Ifeanyi said but for the crude pidgin he used. Melvin so much liked the Warri pidgin accent accompanied with some sonorous high rising intonation.

“That one na for small children. We don pass that level. We get toilet for house” Melvin replied still laughing.

There were no much people in the stream because it was getting late yet Melvin wanted to swim though he had not learnt the act of swimming. They spent some time in the stream paying football with unripe mango; they played hide and seek and finally went back home late with blood shut eyes. However, his parents never worried; after all he was in his home town.

Nne could not let Okafor go anywhere since he came. Okafor had bought her some clothes from Aba. They where the clothes he had given her mother some money to buy. He was sure he could not make a good choice of women’s wear. Nne was overly excited at receiving the clothes. With hands locked at the elbow she took Okafor round from one door to another showing him to her fellow old women in the kindred.

“Come look what my husband has brought for me!” she sang to her friends referring to Okafor. Chukwumere followed them dancing to Nne’s unrehearsed song. Okafor just smiled shyly with his lips apart. He couldn’t say a thing. He only smiled.

“I mee la nna, thank you”; each of the old women said and gave Okafor a pat on the shoulder. He could only smile and nod his head like a red neck at each blessing.

The food was ready when Melvin re-entered. His grandmother had prepared Akpu with ugu vegetable soap garnished with snails and craps: the kind of soup that had always made him long to remain in the village. Nobody could tell where Nne got the snails and craps in the dry season. The entire family but Mr Samuel ate together in two big black ceramics bowls.

“Chu where is papa?” Melvin asked Chukwumere without looking up. Every other person looked at Melvin. They all knew why he asked. Chukwumere just looked up vacantly and said nothing as if he too knew why Melvin asked. Melvin’s father left, to pay a visit to some of the elderly men sitted under the almond tree in the village square. Those trees that had refused to shed their leave like other trees had done in obedience to the harmattan. When he walked out of the door announcing his destination, his wife had felt the nudge that he would come back drunk. Melvin said a silent prayer that he shouldn’t get himself drunk; though that would not be a new thing. He had done that so many times in the past when he left just as he did “to greet the elders” he said but never came back by himself. Melvin and Okafor had picked him lying on the ground at the village square. Melvin said a silent prayer and doubted that God would answer him. It was the kind of prayer he had always prayed for his father. Yet God never seemed to have ever listened to him.

The next day would be Christmas. The moon was bright in the sky. The type that made little children want to wake in the night and jump out to play. People were still playing in the village square. Various circles of young people could be seen listening to an elderly person. The entire village was relatively quiet. Just the sound of a few fireworks could be heard from a distance. Maybe the knockouts were reserved for the D-day. Nne took Chukwumere to the front of the house outside. Just under the leafless guava tree. Chukwumere had already sat to listen to her folk tales when other children caught sight of them and left what ever they were doing to listen to Nne’s stories. Melvin was lying on a broken couch leaned on the termite hill at the centre of the compound. Nobody knew he was listening as Nne told the story of the small Mbe, the trickster and how he married the king’s beautiful daughter. He didn’t want to go and sit on the floor before Nne as he did when he was younger. That position was for kids. Now he was grown up and an undergraduate at that. Yet he could not over grow the fondness for folk tales.

“In the land of the animals was a very powerful king” came Nne’s voice as she started the story. “The king’s daughter was the most beautiful lady in the world; so the king said that whoever wants to marry his daughter must bring him an elephant. “You know Enyi is the biggest land mammal”, Nne told Chukwumere putting the sentence like a question. “Hei! Nne it can be as big as this house, I have seen it in the television. It cries mowou!” Chukwumere exaggerated, demonstrating the size of an elephant with his hands spread and the other kids laughed.

 “That’s good!” Nne said and continue, “do you know Mbe, onye aghugho?”

“Yes, Nne.” Chukwumere answered, and cupped his right hand upside down and placed it on the ground as he demonstrated the shell of a tortoise.

“It is very small and has a strong shell like a snail. It is drawn at the back of my drawing book.” “it has patched shell!” somebody screamed from behind.

“Yes you know it, but there are some bigger ones, bigger than these your heads put together” Nne continued with the story; “every animal wanted to get Enyi but it killed animals that came to it by trampling them to death. All the strong animals tried but could not succeed. However, Mbe now went. Do you know what it did?” Nne asked Chukwumere.

“Hei Nne, Mbe is too small for an elephant, it can’t do anything.” Chukwumere answered amid laughter. The other kids laughed too.

 “Okay, listen” Nne continued with the story “Mbe told Enyi that there was going to be a feast in the king’s palace and that he, Enyi, was to be the chairman, that if he would come, he would be given the honour and glory of being a chairman in the all powerful king’s palace. Enyi was so delighted that he dressed up immediately. Meanwhile Mbe had already decorated the King’s palace in a festive mood and had told the king that he is coming with the elephant for his daughters hand in marriage but the king had laughed at him and jettisoned his words as mere bluffing. When the elephant got prepared, Mbe climbed on its back and started riding to the king’s palace. As Enyi moved Mbe quaked and screemed:

‘no! Enyi please bring me down I will fall down from here and my shell will crack. No! no! I can’t continue like this. Let me work on my feet.’

 Enyi refused: ‘No Mbe if you work on your feet we won’t get there in good time. You know you are too slow.’ Mbe ignored him and pretended to be coming down and Enyi picked a rope from the ground and gave it to Mbe and said: ‘ok Mbe tie this rope on my neck and use it to hold yourself to me as we go.’ That was exactly what Mbe wanted. He tied the rope on Enyi’s neck and as they moved on Mbe started announcing that he has caught Enyi. Enyi asked him ‘Nwa-Mbe what did you just announced?’ He lied and said ‘I said Enyi is going to be the chairman.’ The song goes this way; you will answer ‘gborodomgbo’ okay? Let’s sing.” Nne started the song, while his grand children chanted the chorus.

“Nna m eze akputa m enyi                                      gborodomgbo

Nna m eze akputa m enyi                                       gborodomgbo

Nwa Mbe isi na ikputa onye                                   gborodomgbo

Nwa Mbe isi na ikputa onye                                   gborodomgbo

O kwa asim ani ya lekwa enyi chebe enyi           gborodomgbo

O di ka asi na akputam enyi                                   gborodomgbo

O kwa asim ani ya lekwa enyi chebe enyi           gborodomgbo            

O di ka asi na akputam enyi                                   gborodomgbo

O kwa enyi ga abu isioche                                     gborodomgbo

O kwa enyi ga abu isioche                                     gborodomgbo

Enyi na-ga nam so gi n’azu                                    gborodomgbo

Enyi na-ga nam so gi n’azu                                    gborodomgbo

“Enyi, the elephant was happy and proud that he was going to be the chairman of a feast in the king’s palace.” Nne puffed out her two hands and held her head high as she demonstrated Enyi’s proud movement. She continued “so Mbe continued his announcement until they got to the king’s palace, Mbe handed Enyi on the rope to the king in exchange for the king’s daughter and the elephant was killed and used as meat for their marriage ceremony. That was how the small tricky animal, Mbe tricked the big elephant to his death and married the most beautiful woman in the world. So Chukwumere what did you learn from the story?” Nne asked as she ended the story. She taught Chukwumere should be sleepy by now as had always been the case whenever he was told stories. Chukwumere was very awake because the story was very interesting to him especially the song, he could not forget.

“Okay, I learnt that Mbe rode on the back of an elephant.” Chukwumere answered and everybody sniggered at him. He got annoyed. His mouth puckered as he made to cry but Nne consoled him. “Don’t mind them you got it very well but there is something else. The biggest lesson of this story was; don’t follow people you don’t know. Even people you know don’t follow them to where you don’t know. Don’t be too self assuming and proud because it was pride and greed that landed elephant to his death. Do you get that?”

“Yes” was Chukwumere’s answer. “There was a day John asked me to follow him to their house and I refused.” He concluded in an assuring voice. His eye looked heavy now. He was half-asleep and half-awake.

“That’s right; you are a good and intelligent boy.” Nne cheered him and tapped him to go to bed. Most of the other kids have already slept in their sitting positing leaning on the tree; Nne woke them one after the other and they filed out to their various houses robbing their eyes with the back of the hands. Outside was bright. It was night though the moon made the night as bright as the day. The night was cold. Though the harmattan breeze seized for a while one could still feel its chilly dryness in the air. “Nne I want to go and swim at the Iyi-Nzu tomorrow.” Chukwumere told his grandmother drowsily as he made for the bed. “Ah don’t you know that tomorrow is Christmas, you will see Atumpi along the road,” Nne replied and Chukwumere cooled down grudgingly. Chukwumere slept on his grandmother’s bed while the grown up boys; Melvin and Okafor slept in the sitting room and the two young girls Nwadiuto and Ihuoma slept in the room next to their parent’s bedroom.

Chapter Nine

The long awaited Christmas day started with a hazy morning. Melvin was not awoken by the crackles of chicken and the bleating of the stubborn goats at the back yard. He had learnt to put up with them. The earlier crows of the cockerel did not penetrate his dream world too. Melvin jerked up from sleep as though being pursued by a masquerade in the dream as he heard the sound of the gong of the town crier. The light penetrating from the holes on the window made him squint. He looked around him, everybody but Chukwumere had gone out; maybe to the stream. He looked up and cursed the non-functional wall-clock hung beside his late grandfather’s photo and made a short sigh. He didn’t wait to hear what the town crier had to say. “It must be all those old men’s businesses”, he reasoned and picked his T-shirt and ran into the kitchen and picked up an empty water container and dashed out of the house -- without brushing his teeth neither did he wash his face. It’s better to use water from the stream to wash the face every morning and also to use the white fine sand of Ogbalelu to brush the teeth. They were believed to have some healing powers. Besides they feel wormer than the water in the big earthen pot at home. Melvin liked drinking from the earthen pots because of the coldness of the water irrespective of the weather but now it was cold outside.

Outside the harmattan had made a smoke-like screen mist in the atmosphere. It was as if smog hung in the air. It was hard for Melvin to see through to some other persons in the opposite direction till they get closer to him. He walked across many people without noticing them because of the mist but at intervals he greeted; “mamma nu wo” whenever he felt he had crossed some people and would receive a chorus response of “mamma” in return. He wouldn’t wait to answer the other parts of the greeting of “Imere angunu? How are u?” He didn’t care if he had greeted kids that would reply “mamma nwam” and laugh after. He was more interested in meeting his people whom he believed were far in front. He swerved severally as he nearly bumped in to other people returning from the stream. He was careful not to break any person’s earthen pot. To break an earthen pot was believed to attract misfortunes.

“Hey you stop there!” somebody screamed at him as he crossed a group of boys. He didn’t want to stop. He looked back and hazily saw one of the boys smiling. It was his cousin, Emmanuel. “Oh tee Emma, is it you? Mamma tete” Melvin recognised and greeted him. Melvin had always wanted to stay close to Emmanuel whenever he came to the village. Emmanuel was intelligent. He was a graduate of Abia State University in Uturu. He was elated the day he heard of Melvin’s admission into the University of Nigeria. He too had always wished he was a graduate of the prestigious University of Nigeria. They’ve not met since then.

“Nnaa how is it with school?”

“Its going as God destined” Melvin answered and shook him firmly. With Emmanuel were two other boys he introduced as Osondu and Chibu. They were students of Abia State University. Melvin had not seen them before. “They are my friends from umuahia” Emmanuel had said.

“No wonder, I don’t know them.” Melvin shook them and said “call me Melvin”. His cousin looked surprisingly at him and said nothing. It was the kind of company Melvin wanted; a company of the I-Dey-Schools. To be found among the undergrads and even graduates. Melvin joined them as they swaggered in the silence of the mist with their heads held high.

“Where are these smokes coming from?” Melvin deliberately asked to break the silence. He knew they were not smoke.  He paid more attention to his grammar as he spoke. Speaking Igbo would sound like a taboo among the I-Dey-Schools. His pidgin here had to be of the Warri version accompanied with high-rising intonation. They were not smog nor were they smoke but smoky mist of dew drops that characterizes the harmattan.   Emmanuel had explained. The day was very cold with the chilly drying harmattan breeze mingled with the ice cold dew drops sizzling through the smog-like-mist of the day into the pores of the skin. “The stream will be worm this morning even with this Nigerian snow”, Melvin said and smiled.

“Yea Nigerian snow it could be called” Chibu re-echoed and they laughed. Osondu said something about the mist blocking his view of the faces and figures of beautiful girls.

 “We are blessed here,” Emmanuel said, “what if it were to be the winter season of the western world? Do you think any of us will be out here, talk more heading for the stream?”

“so Oso don’t complain, just wait till they get closer then you will see their faces and figure.” Chibu teased and they all laughed. Osondu said something about Ozuakoli having too many beautiful girls and how he got his second girl friend that was from Ozuakoli and some things about her shape, which he said was like an hour glass. They kept chatting and laughing along the road till they got to the stream. Melvin didn’t laugh aloud like the others. He just smiled wryly at each laughable gist. He was not used to obscene discussions centred on women.

The heap of foot wears at the root of the oil bean tree marvelled Melvin. The Christmas day was a day nobody went to boreholes for water in the morning. The stream was fully crammed with people. The atmosphere around Iyi-Nzu was clear. May be the stream absorbed the misty substance that hung on the air as in other places. Emmanuel had said as they descended into the valley. Melvin could see everybody clearly here. First he had to fetch water in his can but not in Iyi-Nzu. Iyi-Nzu was crammed with people already swimming from all corners. They took the narrow valley path by the right to Ogbalelu.  They could clearly hear the noisy sound of the spring water bursting out from the rock as they waddled through the hollow of the valley. It was the sound he had always feared when he was younger. The tunnel-like path to ogbalelu used to be very lonely in other times of the year. Now it was full of people. There was nothing to fear; not even the sound of the water any more. Not even the jutting tree branches from the mountains on the both sides that had come together to form a roof over the valley. Not even the roots of the trees clasped to the walls of the hills like snakes. Not even the voices of people from the other stream that re-echoed in the tunnel-like path. Melvin had to fold his short up to his thighs before he waddled into the stream as the others did. The first step into the stream sent cold to his spine with the resultant goose pimples all over his body. He could clearly see his toes below in the crystal clear waters. His legs seemed stumpy and shorter than they were. The more he waddled in to the water the shorter and fatter his legs looked. The soil under the water was neat white. Melvin watched the legs of others in the stream. Emmanuel’s legs also looked very short like those of dwarfs in the water. Some beautiful fishes crossed as he toddled in the water heading for the rock at the extreme. He made way for them.

“Look at beautiful fishes and u people don’t eat them” Osondu quipped looking straight ahead. Emmanuel nudged him and nodded forward and whispered something about the thighs of the girl in front of them.

“In all our steams, it was forbidden to kill a fish whether intentionally or unintentionally. But you can fish the clothed fishes.” Emmanuel quibbled still looking at the girl in front.  Melvin looked up at Emmanuel. He didn’t understand which of the fishes were clothed.

“Old boy can you feel that ass?” chibu whispered amid clenched teeth. Melvin was not listening to them. His ears were on Emmanuel’s tales. He thought he could her more of the clothed fishes.

 “There was a day a fish died in Iyi-Nzu.” Emmanuel’s voice was laud enough to conceal his friend murmurs of “this girl this and this girl that”. “We were swimming in Iyi-Nzu and abruptly we saw a dead fish floating in the stream. Maybe somebody had stamped on it while jumping into the stream. Immediately, there was a stampede in the stream and everybody ran out of the water shouting in panic. It was as if it was a riot in a market place. People ran helter-skelter picking their cans and containers out of the stream. Something abominable had happened.” He stopped and took a furtive glance at the fair girl dragging a twenty litres can. Her clothe was drenched in water and clung firmly to her body. Her structure was lucid, showing the lines of her inner wears. “What do you say about this one guys?” he whispered and rolled his eyes and continued with the stream story, beaming with mischievous smiles on his lips. His friends looked back watching the girl till she waddled into the tunnel of the valley. They might not have heard the other things Emmanuel said. Melvin was engrossed in the story of the stream.  “It happened just like magic,” Emmanuel continued; “the stream started rolling noisily backwards like a mat and with a great speed it moved. The place was left like a desolated land. Only the white soil left there could tell that there was once a stream there. The expanse of land that formerly contained Iyi-Nzu looked like the wrestling ground in the village square – no waters any more. Our elders made series of sacrifices to Iyi-Nzu for eight market days to pacify the gods of the stream before it came back to its place. When it came back, the stream looked so moody and not as bright as it used to be which was a sharp contrast to the name “Iyi-Nzu” which meant chalk stream. Maybe the stream was named so because of its bright colourless whiteness then or because of the countless number of Nzu chalks that were usually found in it. We did not fetch nor swim in it but continued with the sacrifices and the elders organized a burial ceremony for the dead fish – a little fish.” He demonstrated with his fingers. “They said the stream was still mourning and it might swallow anybody that entered in it. One morning a very heavy thunder struck and with a loud noise like that of war chariots going to war, the dirty stream hissed away and Iyi-Nzu flew in so bright and serene. There was call for celebration and caution as well.”

The thought of Iyi-Nzu as a spirit filled him with awe. So Melvin moved with caution in order not to kill a fish in Ogbalelu until he got to the rock where he filled his can. While in the stream the water container was floating so light and Melvin dragged it out to the bank without fuss. His siblings were already prepared to go, so they all went together.

******

The environment at home was in a festive mood most of the kids were already dressed in their Christmas best. Melvin dropped his keg of water and went straight into the bathroom where he freshened up himself and put on the best of his gabs. The ones he just bought the day before. It was a day nobody ate at home irrespective of the goat and chicken meats with which the food at home was garnished. Melvin had already planned to visit his maternal village with his elder brother. Their maternal grandparents were always yearning to see them and they so much liked the way their grandmother treated them - like eggs.

Ama-mba was a nearby village, some few minutes trek from Ama-ogudu, Melvin’s paternal home. On their way, they were intersected by some little children’s masquerade. The masquerade was decorated with banana lives and raffia while its face masque was the back of a pawpaw fruit. From the double holes eyes and nose through which the baby masquerade breathed Melvin could see some roving eyes and tiny holes of the nose. The masquerade came dancing convulsively and brandishing a broom which took the place of the machete in real masquerades. Other kids followed the masquerade closely drawing it back with a rope tied to his hip. Other children who were considered non-initiates of the masquerade group ran into their houses and watched from a distance with admiration; while some others who considered themselves fast runners would stand in a distance showing their palms to the masquerade in a wresting challenge. At such sights the masquerade group would release their masquerade to pursue such persons and flog them with the broom. To flog somebody with the broom was something abominable in Ozuakoli community. You would be assumed to have been cursed if flogged with a broom. It was one of the customs of the people whose roots and meaning have been lost in the annals of time. As the masquerade group went, they sang energetically, beating their tom-tom and gong discordantly as they sang:

Ebi lee Ebi lee

Owo ayamma

Ebi lee Ebi lee

Owo ayamma

Ebi lee Ebi lee

Owo ayamma

When the masquerade group came close to Melvin and his elder brother, they surrounded them singing and dancing. The masquerade was not meant to flog older people. Okafor was enjoying the scenario. He danced and laughed at the contradiction of using ‘Ebi masquerade song for Atumpi which they claim that their masquerade was. As the masquerade sang he flipped some wads of naira notes on them. The whole thing was annoying to Melvin. He couldn’t bear it any longer; he shoved the baby masquerade aside violently and passed by.

“What did you do that for?” Okafor asked Melvin feigning mock annoyance.

“Why should you be dancing to such a pagan rhythm? Small children like this are already finding pleasure in idolatry and paganism and you instead of condemning it, are here encouraging them,” Melvin said without looking back. Okafor just looked at him from head to toe and sighed and called him “Pastor Kelechi” derisively.

On getting close to Ama-mba, they met another group of boys. All the boys were neatly dressed with their toy guns. In their middle was one in all reds with white belt and white shoes. He wore white hand gloves to cover the colour of his hands. He was very fair and the movement of his eye balls behind the over sized glasses on his flat nose said he was an albino. Melvin never liked albinos; he thought they smelled. It was a little Father Christmas, a small child dressed like Father Christmas with artificial white strand of hair fixed on his face. “this looks more like a caricature of the ancient Moses than Santa Clause.’ Okafor screamed amid laughter. Through the plastic goggles on his face Melvin could still see his oval eyes glaring like a torch and shaking convulsively. Melvin’s face lit up as he recognized it. The kids where distributing biscuits and chocolates to other children as they went from house to house. There the grownups would dip their hands into their pockets and give them some money. Melvin called them and flipped some wads of naira notes at them; nodding to the rhythm of “seven days of Christmas” emanating from their toy radio. He was very cautious to be very miserly with his money. He needed the money more than every other person at least for his school. Okafor did not give them any money but he danced to their music and collected some biscuits from them.

“Tufia gi! Okafor those biscuits are meant for kids.” Melvin felt embarrassed.

“Who told you I’m not a kid? I can see you’ve given your money to your western masquerade.” He teased Melvin sniggering and continued; “the white man’s masquerade is an old weakling that plays with kids and cannot scare a cat”. Melvin remained mute and kept a straight face as he walked. He did not want to be continuously made jest of by Okafor. They walked straight without talking to each other till they got to Ama-mba.

As they drew close to Ama-mba village square, they heard some loud noise as if there was a riot going on somewhere in front. The village square was in a festive mode. As they drew closer up the slop that led to the village square, they could hear the rhythmic sound of the Ikoro, the Oja, the Ogele, the Udu and every other traditional musical instrument all combined to make euphonious sounds. It was like everybody in the village square was making a particular dancing step which rhymed perfectly with the drums. Okafor strained his neck like a giraffe to see the center of the square. He wanted to see who was in the middle of the crowed. It was the feminine masquerade called Ojionu. Ojionu was a peaceful masquerade that had the head of a crocodile and a long mouth with sharp pointed teeth jutting out from the two sides. Ojionu was a masquerade meant for entertainment but serves as a harbinger to the coming of Atumpi its husband and a dangerous spirit. People were gathered watching the acrobatic dance of Ojionu in the village square. Ojionu was assumed to be a female because it was friendly, entertaining and harmless. Meanwhile Melvin could not resist the urge to watch the alluring Ojionu dance performance. At intervals Melvin would unknowingly moved his head and legs to synchronize with the drum bits. Not that he wanted to dance, yet he tried the move unknowingly. Okafor watched Melvin fro a far and was grinning mischievously from ear to ear. Melvin did not notice Okafor watching him. He seemed hypnotized by the Ojionu bits. He was unconsciously enjoying it. He cringed at a touch by Okafor who started laughing in crescendo as if to attract on-lookers. Melvin leaned over to him and whispered, “Why are you behaving like this?” and looked around quietly. He suspected they were being watched. Some people around there just looked at them and turned back to their dance and the masquerade.

“You were dancing to pagan music.” Okafor managed to voice out amid laughter. “An African is always an African no matter what Europeans coloration he puts on. It’s not your fault little brother, you’re African my brother. It is in you” Okafor said still laughing and making jest of Melvin.

“Had I known, I wouldn’t have followed you to this place.” Melvin said his voice horse and trembling with anger. He moved on briskly leaving Okafor behind. He had not gone far off when a thunderous cannon sound was heard in the air announcing the emergence of Atumpi, the masculine dangerous spirit. Everybody started running and scampering for safety. Children threw fireworks from all corners and at the masquerade. It was a stampede. The village square became very noisy, smoky and dusty; people running, stumbling, shouting, screaming and provoking dust; fireworks emitted smokes that filled the air. It was like a replay of the conflict scene in an American war film. Melvin exacted himself vigorously to run as swift as he could with his heels nearly touching the back of his head. He didn’t even look back to see what was happening behind. The blast of the cannon and accompanying stampede behind had got him on the go. He ran as if focused on a prize ahead, as if only a final whistle could stop him. he had ran so far away from the village square and continued running until he stumbled into a fire work that banged and splashed films of dust into his eyes. He stopped dead. A group of children by the road side laughed at him and dispersed. They must have targeted him very well. He rubbed his eyes continuously with the back of his hands cursing the children that threw the banger as he fumed with anger. He nearly fainted when Okafor touched his shoulder. He thought it was Atumpi. Goose pimples ran down his whole body. “It’s me what’s the problem.” He held his chest as if to press down his heart that had nearly jumped out through his mouth. He tried to calm down as he heard Okafor’s voice. His head had started aching seriously; his heart pounding some invisible fufu. “Please help me blow off the dust in my eyes.” He managed to beg Okafor in a whispery and quaky voice. Okafor drew him to the side of the road and blew some air into his eyes.

Something inside Melvin was happy that his elder brother had made some changes. It had been a very long time since he walked side by side with Okafor till now they were grown up. Okafor was spoilt by the kind of company he kept at Aba. Friends got him into smoking and gambling and many other juvenile crimes. However he felt their bond as brothers returning as Okafor blew of the dust in his eyes. Melvin felt his palms so hard and rough like the surface of sand-papers on his fore head and eye lids as he held him to blow in some air. He said a little player wishing they could go back to their kid days when people used to mistake them for twins. But now Okafor had grown too fast and he looked much older than Melvin on the face. He looked much older than his age though he was just two years older than Melvin. The Okada business had darkened him so much yet he retains his handsome looks. He was a bit shorter than Melvin.

When they stepped into Umuogbonna compound it was mama – their maternal grandmother that caught sight of them first. She was expecting them because it was like a standing order that they must spend their Christmas in Mama’s house. Mama was a firmly built woman. Despite her old age she still stood erect and looked strong. Mama jumped up from her short kitchen stool as she saw them. She danced round to her newly coined song:

“bianu bianu,

 umum

bianu bianu,

 umum

bianu bianu…”

 She untied her scarf and spread it on the ground for Melvin and Okafor to step on it. They were surprised to see her gray hair shining with sparkling blackness. She looked very young with her hair well weaved in corn-rows that would have given her the looks of an under sixteen secondary school girl except for the various lines of wrinkles on her forehead. Some dots and shades of red colour on her face and chest region was evidence of previous applications of ‘Uhie’; the traditional red skin toning ointment. No wonder she looked so fair; the colour of sandy soil. The whiteness of her eye ball contrasted sharply with the charcoal dark tiro around her eye lashes. Was she not an illiterate, nobody would doubt that she could read with the smallest beam of light with her eye balls so white. It was a Christmas, so mama was dressed so exotic in her green double George wrapper and golden lace blouse to match. The one daughter Daa Ngozi had bought for her during the Ila-oso festival two years ago. Her ear rings were the pure gold her first son Tee Chioke bought her as Christmas gift the previous year. This year Tee Chioke had bought her food stuffs in bags and a pair of white cover-shoes, but she had reserved the shoes for Easter celebration which was to come three months ahead. It was as if some of the wrinkles on mama’s skin had hidden inside, this Christmas. She was very happy jumping up and down like a baby whose parents just bought a toy. As Melvin watched Mama jumping, he could see the semblance of her mother when she was happy but now his mother was never happy. She was always grouchy and cranky about one thing or the other. He tried to recall the last time he met his mother happy like this. It was the day Okafor emerged the best student in his secondary school and came home with many gifts. He could visualize the tears of joy trickling down her tender cheeks. Such tears were already grouping around Mama’s eye sockets now. He feared the tears might gush down now. He looked away at Okafor maybe to see if he was thinking the same thing. Okafor was simply blushing, giggling and watching Mama’s dance. He had never guessed right at Okafor’s mind right from childhood yet he was determined never to stop trying.

Melvin and Okafor could not afford to ignore the hair scarf Mama spread on the ground. They must step on it else she would get annoyed. They couldn’t afford to spoil her joy for the day. They walked on the scarf like kings with their shoulders held high. Melvin was shy, smiling boyishly; Okafor enjoyed it all dancing kingly as he walked down the scarf on the ground. Mama hugged them one by one. She guarded them jealously into her room without allowing them to greet any other person in the compound. That had been her custom which everybody knew. “They came with blessings and must step into my room with the blessing first before greeting any other person.” Mama said as they came out from her room with white chalk on their foreheads and at the back of their hands. They went room by room greeting their uncles. In whichever room they entered, they were lavished with Christmas gifts, including clothes, shoes and money. Their uncle knew that they would come and hade kept the gifts waiting. Later they settled for a tray of rice garnished with chicken and goat meats. Mama told the story of the miraculous girl in the village as they ate. “Mmirimma,” she said with her eyes widely opened in dismay, “stood up one day and started calling some peoples’ names and when she was asked why, she said they were evil. Everybody thought Mmirimma was joking until she confronted one of the men and threatened him with death if he doesn’t go and remove his juju. Tee Obike thought it was an eight years old child’s bluff. He died after two days as Mmirimma had prophesied. The next day all the other men she mentioned came to the village square and confessed and burnt their juju.”

 Melvin watched mama as she told the story. He wondered what would be inside the little eye bags under her eyes. He know they were marks of old age and not product of alcoholism like those under his fathers eyes. He thought about how his eyes would look when he would get to Mama’s age. He tried to juxtapose his mother’s face and that of Mama in his mind so as to make comparison.

“Mbao you must finish this food” Mama announced as Melvin made to drop his spoon on the new tray with flowery designs. “So this is why all of you look this skinny like ogwu-azu. You don’t eat enough.” No matter how big her grand children looked mama always called them skinny. She would want them to eat and eat and eat and grow as fat as Paka the grocer at the village square that never stood up from his arm chair because of his size. As they ate Melvin thought about what his grand fathers had looked like. He was only told that his grandfather was a wealthy tall dark man but he didn’t see him. He knew his mother most have taken after his grandfather’s dark skin. Mama was fair.

Melvin and Okafor left mama’s compound when the sun had set. None of them had a functional wrist watch. Melvin had refused to buy another wrist watch after he had lost several of them to pick pockets and extortionist. The only one he had was not functional and he didn’t want to repair it because it had spoilt several times. Yet he wore it like that. Leaving without anything on his wrist made him feel incomplete.  As for Okafor, he never bordered about such things. He would rather wear elastic band round his wrist in the place of wrist watch just like European wrestlers. Now he wore locally made beads.

“They make me look like a titled man” he would always say.

“No they make you look like a native doctor instead” Melvin would argue.

“Whatever” he would reply “what’s bad about being a native doctor? A doctor is a doctor be he native or alien. It’s all about curing people.” With that Melvin would not want to continue with the argument in order not to be taken round the issue of borrowed culture and cultural suicide that Okafor always liked.

When they came out to the village square, people were just converging after a fierce race ignited by Atumpi and that was its last outing for the year. Melvin stood from a far watching Atumpi as it went with its entourage behind the village’s township hall. That was Melvin’s first time of seeing Atumpi but he saw only its back made of raffia-like materials. Nobody called them raffia because Atumpi was believed to be a spirit. It had the feet of a lion with mixture of black and white long hairs covering the feet up to the toes with long nails. It had two horns with branches like an antelope hence the name “Atumpi”.

“What does it look like?” Melvin suddenly asked Okafor as he hastened to catch up with his pace. Okafor smiled weakly and said; “It looks like an antelope but with strange lion-like eyes and some long pointed teeth jutting out of its mouth. Its chest looks like that of a gorilla. Maybe they killed a gorilla and used its front skin and…”

“Do you mean people built that Atumpi?” Melvin interrupted.

“Yes now, do you think it’s a spirit as they say?” Melvin nodded firmly as if with full assurance.

“Come off that,” Okafor continued; “That Atumpi is just entertainment. All the seeming incantations they make are just mere blabbering. They don’t mean anything. Can’t you see, they say it kills but at the end of the day it doesn’t kill anybody rather if it gets you, they will force you to be initiated into the group with much fines. So don’t be afraid of it, it’s just a humorous traditional way of easing tension and making life move on just like that so called father Christmas and the likes.” Okafor concluded his lecture still smiling. But Melvin was not fully convinced; he wouldn’t want to argue with okafor but he wanted to understand more. “Are you trying to tell me that it is a human being that is inside that Atumpi?” he continued curiously looking at a different direction.

“Yes.” Okafor started all over again; “Atumpi is just a masquerade and that spirit of a thing is attached to it to mystify it. What is seemingly mysterious about it is only that hidden aspect of it. That is why; if you decipher their secret they will force you to join. As for the heavy fine they levy, it is just to scare people and make themselves seem important.”

“But Okafor, how did you get to know all this?” Melvin was not yet convinced; he continued chattering and asking like a baby parrot.

“Oh! You think I’m your age mate?”  Okafor asked feigning anger. Melvin pretended to have understood him.

“Okay, that means I will no longer be afraid of the so called spirit again, since they don’t kill. And if they want to flog me I will fight the masquerade.” Melvin said nodding like a red neck.

“What did you just say?”  Okafor jerked up his head with his hands tugging his two ears as if he heard faintly. He drew closer to Melvin.  “If you try it, they will skin you alive. One pastor Emenike once did it. Do you know what they did to him?” Melvin moved his head like a standing fan without a word.

 “They gave him a general beating till he was unconscious. They nearly lynched him to death. They didn’t stop there. They went straight to his house and burnt it down with fire and finally cast a spell on him and sent him into exile for some years.” Okafor concluded looking straight ahead. Melvin kept watching him with mouth agape. Okafor must have known all these things because he was always with elderly people especially with Nne. Melvin recalled how brilliant Okafor used to be while in the secondary school and wondered why he lost interest in school.

At night when the entire family was complete, they drank to a keg of palm wine that Nne brought. One by one they recounted what their day’s experience was. The girls came with more gift items than the boys as was expected. Mr. Samuel came back later, a little tipsy; nobody blamed him for that. It was a day of merry making - Christmas. He had tried to hold fast on his resolve not to drink alcohol again. He always tried.

CHAPTER TEN

The next day was Boxing Day; a day for exchange of gifts. It was Umu-Okafor day celebration. It was a day Melvin liked so much; a day of family reunion, a day of settling issues in the family, a day for planning of the family when every member of the Okafor family both home and abroad came home to deliberate on the development and progress of the family. It was also a day of merry making, when every member of the family celebrated and made showy display of his or her means of living. Even Tee Ukandu the Jehovah’s Witness, came home for the family meeting because of its great importance.

The Okafor family was on display. Melvin liked to stand at the village square and welcome his uncles as they arrived. People from other compounds also came to watch them through the reed fences as they arrived; some in luxurious cars, and some in motorcycle, while some others came with their “leggedice Benz” as Melvin would refer to people that came on foot. As he watched his uncles and aunts enter the compound Melvin could once notice how spacious the compound was with only three buildings separately apart. Umu-okafor family compound was a very big compound with a three bedroom bungalow which belonged to Melvin’s father, another three bedroom bungalow that belonged to Tee Ukandu and a two storey building that belonged to Tee Chimezie. Tee Chimezie was the eldest of the family; the first and only son of the first wife. It was he who demolished his father’s thatched hut at the centre of the compound and built his two storey building even when every other member of the family was against it. His mother had died when he was yet tender. He was a retired school headmaster. It was he who spearheaded the affairs of the family and presided over the family meetings. Melvin had always wanted to be like Tee Chimezie with good education and wealth. Other members of the family had built their own houses outside the family compound while a few that had not built their personal houses lived in Tee Chimezie’s house. The entire buildings was fenced round with reeds of raffia with one big bamboo gate at the entrance facing the village square and another outlet at the back of Tee Chimezie’s building, which led into Nne’s yam barns. A narrow road at the back of the yam ban led to the general village toilet.

 Melvin trotted around the compound greeting everybody including in-laws and daughters of the family married both in and outside the community. It was only in this gathering that he always met aunty Chioma, the aunty that had refused to marry. Everybody agreed that aunty Chioma was a strange woman. It was she who had said she wouldn’t allow any man to control her. Melvin dreaded her masculine demeanour, her muscular biceps and the little strands of hair scattered sparingly around her lower jaw. He remembered how horrible he felt for the three days he had stayed in aunty Chioma’s house. He was just seven then. He couldn’t decipher why he had to run out of the house; why he had gone through the risk of crossing the busy express road to run away and was finally shown on the television as a missing child – lost and found. He would have preferred to stay there at NTA that day than to return to Aunty Chioma and be hit with a ruler on the back of the ears and back of the fingers. He couldn’t live with such a man-woman. Now he could see Aunty Chioma work into the compound with shoulders held high; he couldn’t go over to greet her because the meeting had already started. She was Mr. Samuel younger half sister. Her mother had died immediately after her birth. Melvin sat on the top of a termite hill near the fence as he listened and watched the meeting in progress. It was Tee Ukandu that said the opening prayer.  Tee Chimezie did the “Iwa Oji” which he insisted was indispensable in every Igbo gathering and aunty Chioma had supported him. He pronounced the blessings, the ogu and the ofo to which everybody answered in affirmation. Melvin felt he could have the opportunity to do the iwa oji one day if it were not a pagan practice. He couldn’t say what was wrong in it. He watched as Tee Chimezie broke the cola into little pieces after pronouncing blessing for the family and called the younger ones to pass it round.

The meeting kicked off with tells of success stories and achievements in the family within the year in review. Among these achievements was Melvin’s admission into the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Melvin felt like a king when he was called out in the middle of the entire family. Though he was timid, he managed to comport himself. Tee Chimezie lavished praises on him when his father explained that he did not know how Melvin manage to get the admission and how he paid his first school fees.

“Yes, I know you will not know because of your drunken habit. In short I will soon come to that.” Tee Okechukwu the youngest of the family but the richest, taunted Mr. Samuel with sudden bust of anger and sat back. Mr. Samuel could not say a word again. He bent his head to his right shoulder facing the ground with his kneels supporting his elbow and his fingers joined together in a zip fashion above his head. His right leg shook like a wall clock pendulum. Melvin felt like shouting back at tee Okechukwu. But he held back. Mr. Samuel was not angry. He felt so ashamed of himself, to be so shouted at by his younger brother. He felt like a failed father. He immediately felt himself as a barrier to his son’s bright future. What would the other children of mine think of me? Oh I have been a careless father that seems insignificant to his children. His thought sped. He didn’t want to look up. He could not raise his face to look at Melvin standing in the middle of the congregation like a prospective king awaiting coronation. He felt like walking out of the congregation but he couldn’t. Tee Ukandu had brightened him up when he shouted back at Tee Okechukwu. “Okechukwu shut up! I said shut up and sit down there! How dare you talk to your elder like that? No matter what he does, don’t you have respect for elders?” There was a murmur of “Yes, that serves him right”; “Yes, his head is swelling because he has got some money”; “nobody even knows how he gets this money that is intoxicating him like shekpe”, and such other low side comments said with clenched teeth from various corners of the congregation. Daa Uloma leaned over to her husband, Tee Onyema and whispered some things looking at Tee Okechukwu. Tee Onyema was the immediate elder to tee Okechukwu, he and his family were living in Lagos. Their mother was the youngest wife of Melvin’s grand father that had died in a motor accident two years before.

“Em…” Tee Emeka cleared his voice as he stood up to talk. Tee Emeka was Mr. Samuels’s brother in-law married to the eldest daughter of the family. He started with greetings; “chee..Chee…chee…Umu-okafor kwenu! Chee..Chee…chee…Umu-okafor kwenu! Kwenu! Kwezuonu!” There was a loud chorus of “yea!” response to any “kwenu” he billowed and a longer refrained “eeee!” to the last “kwezuonu”. There was a little silence in the compound as if somebody had suddenly died. Only the sound of the chirping birds on the surrounding trees and the bleating of goats at the back yard could be heard. Even little Chukwumere who was washing plates at the backyard, tip toed out to see who was about to say something. The voice sounded high and croaking. It invoked authority and respect. Tee Emeka cleared his throat once more and started with proverbs: “Our forefathers say that you can only climb to the top from the ground. And it is only the duck that walks briskly to the public toilet when an important issue is at stake. Ndi-Igbo say that the leaking of a pot of hot soup is done little by little; everything has its own time.” He paused as if to take some air and billowed again “Umu-okafor kwenu!” they answered and he continued “Our focus for now should be on this boy who has paved a way for himself to the future. We should be talking about how to assist him and how to motivate others to follow the same path without being derailed. Let us be pragmatic and progressive. Whatever happened has happened. There should be no going back. So let us concentrate on how to be making things right. Though a man whose house is ablaze, they say does not go hunting for rats.” He paused for breath when a little noise was brewing from behind him and people responding with the nod of the head and some murmur of “yes”, ‘that is it”, “that’s how a man talks” and other side talk. To continue he billowed; “Umu-okafor kwenu!” and there was quiet once more; “at this juncture, I have volunteered to pay his school fees at the second level.” The declaration was followed by a very thunderous applause by all in the congregation. Somebody screamed “scholarship!” Melvin grinned shyly from ear to ear, with his two hands crossed at his back like a fowl and his right leg drawing shapeless images on the dry ground. He had wanted to jump up and jump into Uncle Emeka but his legs felt stuck to the ground. His hands felt tied to the back. Only his lips parting in a wide grin could not close. It was the part of him that he never liked. The feministic shyness that had always made him look extraordinarily gentle. The shyness that had always made him count one to three for himself before summoning the courage to do anything. He had once feared that it might be this kind of shyness that had plunged his father into taking alcohol so as to borrow some courage from the battles.

He was called back to reality when Tee Chimezie called out: “Chee…chee…chee Umu-okafor kwenu, kwenu. Em..” he cleared his throat and continued; “Em…Chukwuemeka has opened the floor. I always talk about him. He is a good in-law and a rhetorical speaker, Umu-okafor kwenu.” He concluded as he adjusted the piece of kola nut in the left corner of his mouth. Many others in the congregation took turns in making promises to Melvin. Some tendered their offers immediately. Melvin didn’t know how to tell the gathering that he was of age now and wouldn’t want them to hand his money over to his parents as he recalled all the money he had saved with his mother when he was younger were never given back to him; even the money he had saved for a bicycle. When he asked for the money, his mother asked is he had not been eating in the house. Finally, it was time for Melvin’s vote of thanks.

“Let him talk to us.” Somebody said from the back. It was Emmanuel’s voice. Emmanuel was Tee Chimezie’s first son. He grew up in the village and had the courage to speak in the public. He knew when to cut in and when not to do so. Emmanuel knew quite right that Melvin may not muster up enough courage to speak in the public without stuttering because he grew up in the urban area.

 “Let him talk to us.” The voice came again and Melvin raised his face cutting an accusing furtive look at the direction of Emmanuel. That would mean saying: “Oh Tee Emmanuel what have I done to you?”

 “Umu-okafor kwenu!” came Tee Chimezie’s voice as he started again; “Kelechi nna! Dimkpa asaa! Orue n’omume! Nna the ball is now in your court. Umu-okafor kwenu!” he concluded giving Melvin as many praise names as possible. The entire compound became very quiet once again with all eyes on Melvin. There was pin-drop silence in the entire world only the sound of chirping birds, cracking sound of burning fire wood with which some of the women prepared the item seven of the gathering, the bleating of goats and the hissing sound of the harmattan breeze sizzling through and swaying the dried leafless tree branches could be heard. The gathering was in a hush, with Melvin the theatrical spectacle at the middle looking confused. He hung his head in shyness. He did not know how to get started. Should I start by billowing “kwenu” as the elders did? Or is it a pagan greeting? Or is that type of start meant for only the elders? Should I start with saying “praises the lord”? Should I start with a proverb? That is sure, but what proverb can I conjure for this context? Hid mind sped. He twisted his fingers one after the other as if he was determined to break them in pieces. He felt the surge of hot sweat on his face; a kind of perspiration that no other person felt in this drying harmattan even in double sweaters. His palms sweat too; even his hills sweated on his brown flip flop and made them very slippery. It was as if the sweltering of his entire body was a propelling force. Something came into his mind and he kicked off.

 “My people, I greet you all.” He received a thunderous “yee!” as he paused and started again. “My elders and my owners I greet you all.” This was followed by another thunderous “yee!” and there was a little hush while he contemplated on whether to billow “kwenu!” or not. He remembered a book he once read that said: “The beginning of failure is the fear of failure” and something spoke into his mind saying: “KC make the mistakes and learn from them. Don’t be afraid of mistakes.” It was the book now speaking from his subconscious. And he continued; “chee chee chee… Umuokafor kwenu!” everybody answered enthusiastically but Melvin’s father was still surprised at his son. He had thought that Melvin would start with “Praise the lord” or “Hallelujah.”  He was filled with mixed feelings of both disappointment overwhelmed by satisfaction. His son was behaving a full grown man. He wondered if this greeting is only accepted in traditional parlance, or is it seen as the pagan way of greeting from the Christian point of view . It was as if something just slapped Mr. Samuel’s brain saying: “Tee why not stop bordering yourself. Both “hallelujah” and “kwenu” are just to attract attention and maximum concentration to the one who is speaking.” It was the cognitive motivation that settled the dissonance in his mind. He came back from his mental journey as he heard Melvin’s voice breaking the ice. “I don’t know how to start. They say a child given something greater than him would always ask: ‘who am I to give’. In this case it is obvious that it’s for me, and I can’t express how I feel. I am speechless. I will first have to…” As he spoke, he quivered as if with cold and tears rolled down his checks, surging out like the ‘Ogbalelu’ spring water. They were tears of joy mingled with stage fright.

“Say it any how!” somebody screamed from the back but he couldn’t continue. His lips felt as if glued together with shoe makers’ gum. He felt like opening the ground to disappear from there or better still cross his arms to his face and disappear like the Willy-Willy ghost he used to see on TV. Tee Chikezie had to cut him short with a billow of “Umu-okafor kwenu!” Melvin rolled up the lower part of his T-shirt and covered his face shyly as he moved away from the crowd. His heart was now a house of chalk; very joyous but he couldn’t express it. He can now feel like a big boy in school. It was to be an unforgettable day in Melvin’s life.

As he went into his grandmother’s room, he sat down on the bed brooding on what had just happen. “I have so messed up” he said to himself thinking aloud as could be heard from ear shot. “I would have mustered up enough courage. I had started very well and my proverb was suiting to the situation. Oh!” he sighed, “What have I done? I would have said; I thank you very much my elders, my owners and my repurchases. I lack words to express my feeling. If one should enter and touch the walls of the rooms in my heart, he will be smeared white by the chalks on the wall. However, I will always promise us all that the fowl does not forget he that pulls its tail feather in the rainy season. Therefore I pray God to replenish the pocket from which all these donations came. I pray God to bless every member of this family and I pray God to give Umu-okafor long life and prosperity.” As he spoke he tried to visualize the response of the gathering which would be nodding of the head followed by three thunderous Amen to his prayers. He continued rather aloud; “Umu-okafor kwenu! Kwenu! Kwezuonu!” he stopped at the third billow knowing that he was not qualified to say it four times. It was only the initiated of the ihemmam that were qualified to do that.

Melvin continued in his soliloquy; “I would have said; ‘please my people, let us sing praises to God for today, an unforgettable day in my life.’” He sang aloud with his hands held together without claping.

O me kwala ya ozo

ome ihe ukwu

chineke emekwala ya ozo

ome ihe ukwu.

O mee kwala ya ozo…” he was about to say the song a second time accompanied by the clap of hands when he heard a slight movement at the door. He recalled that he was talking all alone and aloud. He sighed. That was one of the bad habits he inherited from his father; talking aloud to himself like a mad man. He had hated the parts of him that he got from his father. It was as if he had inherited only the bad aspects of his father. Melvin never judged himself as handsome as his father despite the age contortion of his father’s face. He had inherited his father’s crooked legs and his timidity; shyness and the thinking aloud. He went over to the table at the tail end of the bed and picked up his father’s picture and his own. He compared the both. By his own rating, his father had been a failure and he would not like to fail like his father. He knelt down to pray. His prayer was interrupted half way by a thunderous clap and a long and loud shout of joy accompanied with music outside. He jumped up and crossed himself in the trinity fashion and dashed outside. Everybody was dancing and singing now. Tee Okechukwu, had just broken the news of his new Mercedes car and a house he bought at Lagos. The news triggered off the item seven. Melvin did not hear the congregation’s deliberated on his father’s drunken habit and other delicate issues. He didn’t want to hear that. He was sure they would counsel and scold him in serious terms and give him suggestions on how to stay away from alcohol and he would apologize and say he drank to forget his problems when they press much and he would promise never to test any alcoholic drink again and everything would end there and the evil bird would continue crying unabated. It was always a wasted breath complaining about his father’s alcoholism. It was only God he believed could cure his father and he had been praying seriously about that yet God didn’t seem to be answering him so he got tired of praying and resigned to fate. Melvin wouldn’t want to sit and watch the stereotype being replayed and stay in a bad mood all through the rest of the day. The day was full of merriment till it was night.

That night almost every member of Umu-okafor family went to bed tipsy if not drunk. As for Melvin’s father, he did not know when he was helped to bed. He was drunk to stupor. Nobody could blame him today. It was a day of joy and of plenty of drinks for everyone. Melvin and the other boys rearranged the compound before going to bed. As Melvin put his tipsy head on the bed, it drove him away to Nsukka where he found himself in tavern.  It was Jives. It was a moonless night in Jives with the flood lights lightening up the environment. Hard metal music was chiming so loud to attract party lovers. Melvin sat on a round table with some friends whose faces he could not identify. He was dressed in a red shirt, a black pair of trousers and a pair of white shoes. As he sipped on his bottle of bear, he noticed another group of boys watching him intently from another table. He tried to avoid their beaming eyes but “eyes attract eyes” they say. Whenever his eyes met theirs, he noticed that the boys made some signs which he did not understand. Those boys were all dressed in red caps but one of them wore an afro hair cut without a cap. Melvin could not identify their faces because it was night aided by the multi-coloured revolving party light at the middle of Jives out-door bar. Something in him told him that danger was looming. He hastened up and gulped the last drop of drink in his bottle to leave the environment. As he stood up saying good night to the boys sitting with him, one of the boys in red cap followed him. Melvin was filled with fears. “You are in soup, they are cultists” was what came into his mind. He walked briskly out of Jives premises and turned left so as to follow a short cut that led to Franco hostels. Before he could enter through the broken wall which the students normally referred to as Golden gate, two of the boys intersected him. “Come on stop there Jew man!” was what he heard from the one in Afro hair cut. Melvin’s head got swollen with fear, and his bladder became filled with very hot urine struggling to make its way out. Some trickled down his legs but he tightened up his anus to hold the hot urine from rushing out. He pretended not to have heard the voice and not to have seen the boys. As he made to cross them with his face bent downwards, he received a heard grip at his collar with a piecing lock on his Adam’s apple. Another threw a punch that would have landed on his left eye if not for a heavy metallic bell that struck very loudly and drove him back to Ozuakoli out of the dream world. He woke up sweating like a Christmas goat. It was all a dream. He noticed he had a little fever. Every other person in the room but him was sleeping and snoring heavily. It was like a snoring competition in the room; like a gathering of toads. Nobody noticed the way Melvin jacked up from sleep as though being pursued by a masquerade in the dream. The sound of the bell came again followed by a faint female voice that said: “repent for the world is coming to an end!” Melvin hissed heavily. “I had thought it was a better thing” he muttered. He tried to check the time and remembered that the wall clock was not functional; neither was there any light to see with. Nature has its way of telling time. Melvin jumped down from the bed and groped to see the window as he heard the disturbing feminine voice and the bell again and again. He knew his way to the window even if blind folded. He opened the window and tried to pierce through the tick darkness outside. “The moon was sleeping.” He could only see a hazy white long garment pacing up and down the village square. It looked like the willy-willy ghost he used to see on TV.  He squinted to see what it was but the figure got rather blurred than ever. He squinted the more but the more he squinted the more faint the figure got, like a picture drawn with pencil on a paper and ran through with eraser. Suddenly, lightening flashed as if from a photographer in heaven, exposing the full length of the white garment. It must be a woman in of the white garment churches; she must be shivering with cold there now as she paced up and down the village square, bare footed, with a bell in one hand and a bible on the other. Melvin could still hear her voice so faint. He was not interested in what it said. He thought about the stupidity of exposing one’s self to such danger so early in the morning because of what is assumed to be the word of ‘God’. He had hated white garment churches. Be it cherubim and seraphim, Sabbath or brotherhood of cross and star and the likes. He remembered a song little children used to sing about such white garment churches and smiled unconsciously. The song kept ringing in his mind as he quit trying to see the woman out there; it was as if the woman’s movement was a dancing response to the song ringing in his mind. His face creased with smiles:

Ndi Cherubim

Ndi ogologo uwe

Akwawala ha bandi

Eziokwu a dighi ha n’onu

Suwiti na Chingomu bu mmalite ekpere

Granotu na biskiti bu mmechi ekpere

Ahu broda metu sista ha amalite ibu amuma

Broda I kuom n’ala mee mu ihe soro gi.

As the ridiculous song rang in his head, Melvin remembered what Uche his friend would always say; “religion is the only thing that would make the wisest of men foolish.” “It is the truth, no wonder that woman would be out in this cold morning dew of harmattan, pacing up and down the village square without any foot wears and disturbing other people’s sleep with her disgusting bell. Not only that, she is also shouting on top of her voice talking to nobody in particular. This must be hypocrisy”. Melvin said to himself aloud and somebody mumbled something drowsily in the dark room. Melvin now realized he was talking aloud; a habit he believed he had inherited from his father. He sighed and turned to see who it was but could not see anything in the darkness of the room. Melvin’s brooding over the situation was cut short by a cock’s crow emanating from the back yard. He closed the window stealthily and tiptoed back to bed knowing that his grandmother will soon emerge to prepare for the farm. He tried to have a little more sleep before it would be time for the farm.

Sleep is usually sweet and enjoyable under the harmattan cold breeze especially when he slept under a thick blanket. Melvin’s mantle was thick enough to give him the warmth he needed. Outside, the cold dew drops were drizzling profusely and he could still hear the woman’s bell and her voice carried in the hissing harmattan breeze as though from a very far distance. He coiled up like a snake and swam into the dream world once again as the voice and the bell died in diminuendo.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Everybody in the house was awoken by the clattering sounds of the farm implements Nne was gathering. “ngwa, ngwa, ngwa” she shouted repeatedly as she woke each person up with a tender slap on the legs. “Let’s go”. They all stood up hurriedly like a television program pressed on the fast-forward button. Everybody in the family was to go to Nne’s farm this morning. That had always been her way of getting almost everybody to work on her farm; by going to the farm a day after their family general meeting. Nne made the family members into various groups for different farms with Tee Chimezie’s children leading each group because they were living in the village and knew the farms. It was usually a very interesting farming expedition every twenty-seventh December in Umu-okafor family. Any group that finished would carry their loads to the nearest farm and wait for the other and helped them. The farm work was mainly harvesting of cassava tubers. The farming escapade usually reminded Melvin that it was time to go back to Aba. Only one more celebrable day was left and he was to resume school on the third of January. The farm products they have harvested would be used to prepare garri for each family as they go back to their respective destination after the ‘New Year’ celebration.

The thirty-first night which gave birth to the New Year was a night of jamboree – New Year eve. Nobody seemed to have slept in Ozuakoli. It was a night all the churches in Ozuakoli community buzzed with people for tarry-night. It was the night most Pentecostal churches termed “Passover night”. They clapped and sang and danced as they crossed over to the New Year. Melvin did not go to the church with his parents as he did the previous years. He stayed at home playing cards with his cousins because he was feeling sleepy he said. No he had always been in the church every 31^st December but this time he wanted to try another way; to see what happened at home, and in the village square in times like this when they were at the church.

As for the non-Christians, the entire village was silent as they waited for the great double bell to announce that it was twelve mid night. Melvin was prepared with his fireworks and tyres to burn. He was sitting on the bed playing cards and was feeling drowsy as he played. Melvin jumped up immediately as he heard the sound of the double bell. He rolled his tyres to the village square where it was happening. So did almost everybody in Ozuakoli community who did not go to the church that night. The village square was crammed full with people throwing all sorts of fireworks into the air. Before Melvin could roll out his tyres to the village square, the entire place had already lit up with tyres and their black smokes going sky high. It was serious burn fire night with people singing and dancing round their different burn fires. As Melvin watched the people dancing around their fire, he thought what it would be like in hell fire. He sighed and moved on. The frenzy was meant to last for only one hour.

“Afo laa oh!”

“Afo laa oh!

“Afo laa oh!”

People were shouting from different corners as they scampered round their burn fires. Some brought out their old cloths and burnt them to ashes hoping to buy new ones the next day. They assumed that the cloths might be part of the ill lucks they had the previous year. Okafor, Melvin’s elder brother was dancing uncontrollably in the crowd making from one burn fire circle to another, throwing his fireworks in to their fires. The sounds of the fireworks were meant to chase away the stingy incumbent year and usher in a flesh new year.

The situations in the churches were similar. People in the church were dancing and singing choruses; their thunderous clap of hands sounded like fireworks. They were songs to chase away the incumbent year. Some donated some of their properties to the church; cars, cloths, shoes and money. Those properties were not to follow their owners into the New Year lest they come with their accompanying bad lucks. Like the welcoming of the messiah in to Jerusalem, they sang welcome songs to the New Year. The New Year stood by the corner watching invisibly as the Ozuakoli Community gave him a red carpet reception. He might be smiling at them now and spotting the people among them whom he was going to visit with bad omen and whom he would bless. Tomorrow they say is pregnant, nobody knows what her offspring will be; twins to some, a male or female child to others, some others triplets and to yet others imbeciles or still birth.

As for the incumbent year he was moving away, step by step as the clock went tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac for him. He would turn back at intervals with face ashen to look at the unprecedented injustice they paid him with. Even those he had been good with joined the crowd; chasing him away just as the good book says the ungrateful Jews did to the messiah. But he had to go. Tic-tac, tic-tac, tic-tac, the clock kept banging for him, so rudely. “Ingrates, you are chasing away the devil you know for an angel you do not know.” He muttered and the New Year gave a wicked grin as he stepped in gradually like a king. “Damn you ungrateful fools,” he might have grouted as he stepped in, knowing that in no distant time he too would be treated the same way as his colleague. A fresh new year came.

Melvin believed he was one of the people the year had treated nice, but he was really angry with the year for bringing the assumed good fortune at the eleventh hour. “Maybe, he was induced to do what he did by his successor the -- New Year.” Melvin thought as he poured a little kerosene on his tyres and lit up fire. “Afo laa oh!” he shouted and made round the burn fire several times. People threw in fireworks into the fire and they made thunderous sounds splashing fire and embers about to scare away the stingy year.

At 1.00am it was all welcome song for the angel which nobody knew. The year stepped in accompanied by several gun salutes made by the cacophonous sounds of fireworks and the crackling of the burning tyres. He finally stepped in with a very heavy chilly harmattan wind and the people made a joyous sound in unison as they felt his presence, though he did not talk to them. One by one everybody went to bed happy for having welcomed the New Year. Melvin got home dead beat and famished. He was not disappointed in himself though he had gone the ways of the pagans. “It was all the same” he thought “wasn’t it the same farewell and welcome? Only the final Passover prayers made the difference.” He felt it was a necessary experiment which God should understand. He knelt down facing the bed. He pushed his index finger into his nostrils and the finger emerged smeared with charcoal black substances. He repeated the action severally to clean the smokes he had inhaled from the burn fire. With his head bent on the mattress he said a short prayer and made his New Year resolution. The church would be over crowded he was sure his parents would not notice he wasn’t there.

Melvin woke up at 11.00am the next day. His father was still sleeping. Was he drunk last night? No he had got to pay back what he borrowed from Mr. Sleep the previous night. Melvin came into his father’s room to greet him but saw him still sleeping. He tried to imagine what might have happened in the church the previous night. He would think about what would have been his father’s New Year resolution; very body knew what Mr. Samuel’s New Year resolution had always been - To quit taking alcohol - A resolution which he always failed a day after. Melvin closed his eyes and said a short prayer and asked God to help his father live up to his resolution and refrain from alcoholism it was a prayer he always said whenever he saw his father sober. He crossed himself and sighed. He felt God had ignored him as usual. After his prayers he started packing his things to travel back to Aba for onward migration to Nsukka. The remaining two days was like two years to him. The village was going to be boring from the next day. Many people would travel back to the urban areas and left in the village would be the elderly and little children.

“Kpo! Kpo! Kwom!” came a knock on the door as he packed his things. It was Jehovah’s witnesses and Melvin does not like them talking to him.

“Who is it” Melvin asked.

“We are your friends and neighbours” came a voice from outside.

“Okay wait I’m coming”. Melvin left what he was doing and went to answer the visitors at the door.

“Chrr…” he sighed heavily as he saw the Jehovah’s Witnesses. He wanted to close the door and go back but on a second thought he asked them. “Ehe, what can I do for you?” as if he did not know whom they were.

“Ok, we have been discussing with people around this vicinity on the issue of New Year resolution, and now we are on your door post. We want to discuss with you why people don’t keep their New Year resolution.” One of them spoke out. That sounded an interesting topic to Melvin. He invited them in, though he knew his father would not like that gesture. The witnesses explained to him that the world is ruled by Satan and that is why he wouldn’t like any human to do anything good. That was the only point Melvin picked. While they said other things he was nursing some thought: “Religion is the only thing that makes the wisest man a fool.” Those Sunny’s word sped through his mind. “How could people always walk around the street, from door to door, everyday just to preach about what they are not even sure of? At times they are being insulted, assaulted and disgraced yet they continue just because of what’s written in a book. That’s really foolishness” he thought with head hung down as if he was listening to the Jehovah’s witnesses. As the Jehovah’s witnesses stood to go, they gave him some magazine and because he had no money to purchase them they took back their book. “Yes that’s what is propelling them; to sell those books and make money. Money, money, money, money, money. Money makes the world go round they say.” Melvin thought. He said goodbye to them and closed the curtain. He had wished his father was awake to have heard the Jehovah’s witnesses, but he would not have allowed them into the house in the first place. “You people have taken my brother and have him behaving like a lunatic,” he would always say whenever he chased Jehovah’s witnesses out of his house. Melvin hurried up as he packed his load; he wanted to join Tee Ikechukwu in his car the next day. Tee Ikechukwu was an NNPC staff in Port Harcourt. He had to leave very early on the second of January so as to resume work for the year.

CHAPTER TWELVE

            School activities resumed on the third of January as scheduled. Examination was waiting at the door to kick off the following week. As Melvin stepped into the Faculty of Arts premises, he stopped to admire the building which he always referred to as Twin Towers as usual. However the carpet grasses that were surrounded by flowers in between the “twin towers” had all turned brown as a result of the dry season and because of the short Christmas break; nobody was in the campus to water them. Only the sculptures remained as they where – never growing old and never getting tired – with some dots of reddish dust here and there. It was as if the sculpture where looking at him. He felt the urge to say “hi friends I’m back” to the sculptures but his lips couldn’t form the words; he just smiled at the sculptures and continued moving. The entire environment looked shabby and dusty. There were just few students on campus. Melvin turned right into the B complex. His presence into the English Language and Literary Studies department was greeted with the examination time-table on the notice board. Who have pasted this? There doesn’t seem to be anybody on campus. His heart skipped a bit as his eyes journeyed through the notice. The examination was to commence in a week’s time and he had not read anything. The Christmas period was not known to be study friendly with any student except for introverts and maybe Jehovah’s Witnesses to whom no day made any difference. Melvin had to rush back home. In the hostel, none of his roommates was back yet. He brought out his books and started reading in the empty dusty room. He didn’t think about cleaning and scrubbing the room. He read all day long but only going out at intervals to stretch his legs and eat. He continued the process for a week until the examination started. The first paper was on phonetics and phonology. It was Melvin’s favourite. The examination started at nine in the morning. Melvin was late. He came when it was fifteen minutes past the hour. “Oh! My God I’m late” he thought aloud while he knocked on the door to the examination hall. “Who is that bastard?” came the lecturer’s voice from inside the hall. Melvin quaked as he heard the voice.

“Oh God Save me, please touch her heart please.” He prayed as he waited for the door to open. Dr. Mrs. Clare Ikechukwu was a no nonsense woman. She doesn’t tolerate any nonsense from anybody and she doesn’t compromise excellence and intelligence. She had known Melvin by name because he always answered and asked questions in her classes. Melvin’s performance in Dr. Mrs. Ikechukwu’s class had bought him envy from other class mates of his and the lecturer was aware of that. But Melvin did not care because he never liked his class mates. “What have I to do with those village girls?” He would always ask and go to the Mass Communication department where he could find the kind of boys and girls he would like to associate with. Most of the Mass Communication students had thought he was their class mate. He had at times attended lectures with them when their lectures did not clash with his.

“Ehem? What can I do for you?” Dr. Mrs. Ikechukwu asked as she opened the door without looking at the person at the door.

“Em…mummy, I’m for the exam.” Melvin stuttered.

“And if I may ask who are...?” the lecturer stopped on the way as she raised her face and saw Melvin standing like a statue before her pleading.

“Okafor Samuel! Why are you late?” she continued mildly as she saw Melvin’s watery eyes saying “am sorry”.

“You are twenty minutes late! Come on go inside the hall. Your punishment is that you are going to stop at the same time with others. No grace!” She concluded in a finality tone.

The noise in the class ceased immediately the lecturer turned to face the class. “What was the noise about?” she asked; stone faced. She moved up and down the class looking carefully on the ground.

 “Hey you Stand up!” she shouted. It was Chiamaka. Chiamaka was a quiet looking girl but fellow students said she had nothing up her skulls that they referred to her as chicken brain. Though she was never caught with illegal materials in the examination her class mate said she was a professional in exam malpractices. She never sat in the front row during examinations. She always sat close to the wall or at the back .

“What was that you were hiding?” The lecturer asked coming closer.

“Nothing” Chiamaka answered boldly with her eye lids flicking continuously. The lecturer flipped her answer booklet and her question paper. She saw nothing she checked the floor. There was nothing. Her concentration on Chiamaka was an opportunity for the people at front rows to copy one another and use illegal materials. Melvin was sitting besides Bola. Bola was a Yoruba girl; very dark, flat cone-like nose, short and not really beautiful. She wore a multi-coloured long shirt. As the lecturer faced Chiamaka, Bola raised up her skirt up to her laps; on her shiny smooth laps were some papers with some tiny inscription which only she could understand. Melvin was perplexed at the sight. He couldn’t help fisting his eyes on the shiny laps and the vee shaped ending of her white pants in between the thighs. Bola looked up shamelessly at Melvin and smiled into his face.

“Surprised? Omo reminder”. She said in a very low whisper. Bola was known to be an intelligent girl. Melvin wondered why she should engage in such malpractice. Well she referred to them as “omo reminder”. Melvin watched the laps as her head nodded like a red neck as she looked up and down into the papers.

“I know you were doing some things here. Don’t think you have gone so free. I will still catch you red handed”, came the lecturer’s voice from the back as she shouted at Chiamaka. She did not catch Chiamaka. Chiamaka was really a professional in the lieu of examination malpractice as the said. Nobody knew what she did to the tiny pieces of paper she had before the lecturer entered. She might have swallowed them or hidden them in her brassieres. Bola covered her skirt immediately as she heard the lecturer’s footsteps approaching. The film was over for Melvin. The skirt came done like the shutting down of curtain in a drama theater. He shrugged and continued with his answer booklet. The lecturer trotted up to the front of the class. Leaning on the lectern in front of the class, she watched over the entire class with her eyes roving from one part to the other like an eagle.

“Twenty minutes to stop!” she shouted. The announcement was followed by a little moment of murmur. Everybody started writing faster; giraffing was on the increase and some who had nothing more to write and nowhere to copy sat up and moped like owls. Melvin had already finished but he didn’t want to submit his booklet to avoid some negative remarks from some disgruntled elements. “Yes he is trying to show off”, they would say. He took the time to re-read his answers and made some necessary corrections. The final announcement from the lecturer; “Stand up! Leave your answer booklets on the desk and leave the class” was followed by a low noise of unvoiced fruitless protest by the students and all moved out of the class quietly. Nobody could ever afford to disobey Dr. Mrs. Ikechukwu. Melvin left the examination hall and went straight to the hostel to prepare for the next examination which was to come the following day. The exams where so jam packed. They even had two examinations some days.

There was no break at the end of the semester so as to make up the school calendar which had been distorted by ASUU strikes.  Academic Staff Union of Universities’ strike was no longer news. The second semester commenced immediately after the examinations. As Melvin attended classes he had to prepare for the Senior Certification Examination which he had accepted to impersonate for somebody else. He had already used up half of the money for the contract some months ago. The preparation was no big deal. He had to scan through some text books in order to remember some things and not necessarily reading. “… just go into the exam hall write and write, you’ll make your money, what else would you want to do with your brain?” those words of his friend Sunny, kept running through his head whenever he read the O’level textbooks. He took up the contract for lack of money but now he had some small money, should he doff the contract? It is never done. How would he feel if someone does that to him? “Tufiakwa!” He can never be in the position of needing somebody to impersonate him in an examination. “Well let me just take it as an adventure. After all the bible encourages youths to examine all things.” He settled the dissonance that went on in his brain with a seeming misapplication of the biblical injunction.

“Melvin, how was your first semester examination?” Peter his roommate asked him one morning.

“Well, I believe it was good”, was Melvin’s response.

“That means you are no longer a Jambito. They have officially cut your tails with those exams.” Peter said laughing;

“no…no…the tail cutting was done on the matriculation day when we sang and went round the hostel.” Melvin cut in disagreeing with Peter.

“That was student’s tail cutting, which was made to entertain people.” Peter explained and continued, “Okay you will understand why I said the examination was official tail cutting when you see the results.”

“Well, whatever” Melvin concluded absent mindedly and smiled to himself as he savoured his matriculation experience. The matriculation day was really entertainment galore in the hostels. The night before the occasion, nobody slept in the hostels. The older students disturbed the hostel all through the night with some improvised musical instruments. They sang and danced round the hostel playing their music with empty containers of beverages, plastic water containers, bottles, spoons and so on. The entire thing started with an old student who ran round the hall in a ragged matriculation gown. As he ran round, he announced with bold unseriousness: “ALL JAMBITES COME OUT FOR NIGHT PARADE!” it was in the fashion some church and fellowship groups called their members every morning. This was followed by a novelty match-past by some old boys in their shabby matriculation gowns. As they matched they sang:

“I remember when I was a jambite

I remember when I was a jambite

I remember when I was a jambite

I remember when I was a jambite”

Then it was followed by the second song which goes:

“Uni…uni…ver…si..ty

You are very, very sweat

Very, very sweat

I’ve been missing you for so long

Since I was a Jambito

It’s not good to be a Jambito

With a bushy, bushy tail

Bushy, bushy tail

Smelling whenever you’re going

Like a rotten tomato”

It was the second song that impressed Melvin so much. It was a comic version of a Christian hymn he liked so much. Melvin jumped out of his room to watch. That was how he was caught. They sang the song accompanied with mellifluous sounds beats to attract the jambites. Each of the first year students that came out that night was caught and forced to join the mock parade. After the parade, they were forced to run round the hostel shouting “Ewu Jambito!, Ewu Jambito.” Though the exercise was administered by force all the first year students enjoyed it after all. They wished it would not end. The same exercise went on in all the hostels; even in the female hostels, though the school authority had in various occasions discouraged it.

The next day, the matriculation was scheduled to start at twelve noon. Almost all the students in the hostel woke up very late because of the last night’s activities. Melvin was awoken by the noise outside. He checked the time. It was a quarter to ten. He ran in to the bath room and had his shower. He knew that it was only his elder brother Okafor that would attend his matriculation. In his family such things were not seen as serious. He dressed up in his three piece suit and dashed out of the room. Meanwhile the morning tail cutting was in progress. The older students blocked the ways out of the hostel; such that before any first year student would leave the hostel, he would have to dance to their ridiculous songs and drop some money in their bucket which served as their offering chest. It was a punishable act by the school authority. Yet the students did it. No one could stop an age long ritual. They would place somebody as a watch who would always alert them whenever men of the school security were at sight. The watch man would blow his whistle at the sight of any security men and the gathering will disperse. Throughout the day the hostel was bubbling with visitors, many foods to eat and drinks to take. Okafor, Melvin’s elder brother visited. He came with a friend, some drinks and a cooler of rice which Melvin shared to his roommates. Melvin thought that was the end of tail cutting.

“It is only after exams that you cease to be a Jambito. Even after the exams you still remain a Jambito until you see your results.” Peter explained. “Why do you say after seeing the results?” Melvin asked confused.

“That is because you will still behave as a Jambito until you see your result. The disappointment will change your behaviour automatically if you really know why you are here” Peter said laughing and he continued; “Am not saying or praying that you have ugly results, but it is usually the case” he continued laughing.

“Well, I know I wrote well.” Melvin concluded absent mindedly.

“Ehem” Peter suddenly said looking a bit serious “Melvin there is something I have for you”.

“What is it?” Melvin asked curiously.

“Somebody told me from home that he needs somebody to write his SSCE for him. I believe you…”

“Oh! It’s a pity I already have one.” Melvin cut him short, Peter was from Nsukka. He was one of the lucky folks who had a university in their village and as such knew the importance of education from tender age. Melvin had just discovered that he was two years older than Peter, yet Peter was in second year while he was in his first. Moreover, it was more or less as if Peter was more intelligent than him. But he would never believe a thing like that. Nobody on earth could be more intelligent than Melvin. His mind always told him that. At the end of his first year Peter had emerged as the best in his class and that earned him a Federal Government Scholarship award. Peter was studying physics, one of the most difficult courses in the University of Nigeria.

“Physics is a very interesting course. It’s only that lecturers here are deliberately making it seem very difficult.” Peter would always say. Melvin saw Peter as a challenge.

“This one I want to give you is in Nsukka here. You don’t need to travel and miss many lectures.” Peter tried to coax him.

“Em…the one I have is not that far.” Melvin replied.

“Where?”

“They say it is at Adaba, near Mkpologwu in Uzouwani Local Government”.

“Do you know the place?”

“No but they gave me direction, they said it is after one village…Ukpata.”

“Haa, the place is a bit far o! And the road is very bad because of that the transportation is costly.”

“They will be paying for my transport whenever I want to come back to school.”

“It is only one man that plies the road. They call the man ‘Nnchi’. He goes three times in the morning so if you miss his vehicle no more for you for that day. You will have to wait till the next day.” Melvin sat attentively as Peter explained the route.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The road to Adaba was very rough and potted with holes in one place after the other. Melvin woke at six o’clock in the morning and worked down to the park in order that he would still meet Nnchi --The only transporter that plied the route. Nnchi’s vehicle, a Peugeot 504 Salon car was already filled up before he could get to Nsukka Old Park near Ogige market.

 “Oh I’ve got to wait for the second journey” Melvin thought.

“Hello, do you want go to Adaba?” Nnchi asked Melvin. He was chewing a very long stick with which he brushed his teeth at intervals.

“Yes” was his answer.

“Okay, enter the car, soon we shall be leaving”, Nnchi said motioning him to the already filled car.

“Sir the car is already full. Where else can I sit?” Melvin asked confused.

“Are you new here?” Nnchi asked and brushed his teeth casually.

“Yes but…” Melvin answered still confused

“Okay wait when other people come, you will understand.” Nnchi dropped carelessly and continued with his chewing stick.

As Melvin stood there trying to understand what Nnchi meant, three other people came. They just greeted Nnchi very friendly and entered the vehicle sitting on the laps of the other people already in the car. Melvin marveled. It was like what he used to see on comedy films.

“Do you now know what to do?” Nnchi asked smiling mischievously.

“Boy do you think you are in your father’s house?” one of the passengers cut in derogatively. His Nsukka accent was so crude. “This one is a raw village boy”, Melvin thought. He had no option. Even if he waited for a second journey it would be the same. Perhaps he would have to carry someone on his laps. He entered and sat on the laps of a fat man. He had much space to place his buttocks.

“No!” the man screamed “You cannot carry me so move over to the guy in the front seat he is your size.” Melvin sighed. He though the man does not like his bony buttocks. He hated the man for that; meaningless hatred. For a man he has not known before and whom he didn’t know if he would ever meet in his life. He moved over to the front seat and sat on a boy of his size. Later two more people emerged and the car was ready to go. Nnchi turned on the ignition and the car screeched, groaning violently. As the car moved on, it squatted like a dog with its exhaust pipe gnawing the ground. At any little pot-hole the car screamed and murmured with its old filler coated body making a cracking noise and its exhaust pipe screeching with pains on the ground. They continued until they joined Mkpologwu road which was Nylon tarred and the car sped off like a mad dog without destination. A police check point was in front. All the police men along Mkpologwu road knew Nnchi very well.

“Oh! I knew it; these police men are going to stop us. How could a car carry almost three times its capacity….?” Melvin worried in his mind. He had got it all wrong. Nnchi had his way of doing things. As he got close to the check point Nnchi brought out his left hand made into a fist and squeezed something into the police man’s out stretched hand. That has been the custom. If you don’t want disturbance grease the policeman’s palms and get going your way. It does not matter what you have in your car.

Before getting to Mkpologwu, the driver took left to a narrow road which was full of pot-holes. It was the way to ukpata. Trees lined the two sides of the road giving it a very attractive look. At a point the car stopped. “What is it?” Melvin asked without a word but with his eyes roving quizzically. The entire passengers got down the vehicle and stretched their legs. Melvin did the same. “Time to swap!” driver said as he sat on the cap. The passengers started entering back into the car. Melvin stood aside waiting for the boy that carried him to enter before he could enter. The boy also stood outside waiting for Melvin.

“Hey! Come enter naw”. The boy called his attention in pidgin.

“Enter first naw.” Melvin retorted in pidgin and other passengers started laughing. “Boy na your turn to carry am.” Another passenger put in.

“Do you think I will have to carry you to your destination? Wise man!” the boy said provoked. Melvin entered hesitantly and the boy followed sitting on his laps. At first he did not feel the weight until the car started moving like an old woman creeping to her grave as it bumped into one pot-hole after another. As the driver tried to change the gear, Melvin’s leg blocked the gear stick and the driver gave him a little nudge with his fist. Melvin had to adjust. Any time the driver made a change of the gear, the gear stick brushed on Melvin’s left leg. Melvin was all the while enduring the pains. The boy’s weight seems to increase at any pot hole. Melvin’s leg started aching, feeling as if they are withered. He tried to move his legs. They were irresponsive as if they were dead. The boy seated on his legs was sleeping, nodding uncontrollably at any pot-hole the car felt.

Melvin hissed a sigh of relief as the car came to a halt in a market place. He came down from the car and tried to stretch his legs. They felt as if they could not carry him any longer. He staggered a bit and held himself.

“Oh! It’s not easy for Ezekiel”. He said amid yawn. He was feeling hungry. He had to eat something there in the market before making any further movement. He bought some Okpa and went into a grocery where he bought a bottle of mineral. There he watched the driver unloading the things in his booth as he enjoyed his Okpa. The Okpa in Adaba tested so good; in fact better than the ones he ate in Nsukka. He watched the driver with hatred as he whistled back into his car and drove away.

“How could someone squeeze people like that in a vehicle like sardine? Is it not wickedness?” The thoughts sped through his big head as he continued munching his Okpa as if he had not eaten for days. Other passengers were greeting the driver, showing appreciation for his carrying them, though they all paid equal amount. Melvin was surprised at that gesture. How could one pay to suffer and after suffering he would still say thank you to his punisher. It was when the Okpa was about to finish that he started feeling for more of it. Though it tested more delicious than the ones he used to eat in school he couldn’t buy more. He had to reserve some money just in case he did not see his client he could use the remaining money for transport back to school. Any way if he didn’t see his client he must find a place to sleep because he could only find a vehicle in the morning -- Three times and no more for the day.

“Please Oga you no any person wey dey answer ‘go slow’ for dis village?” Melvin asked the grocer in crude Pidgin English.

“Na small boy wey dey go school?” the grocer asked wanting to be sure.

“Yea.” Melvin Americanized his answer and adjusted his eyes glasses making a show of superiority.

“Wetin you dey fain am for?” the grocer asked for security purpose.

“Well, I’m a student of the Department of English language and Literary Studies, Faculty of Art, University of Nigeria.”  Melvin started introducing himself, speaking as though through the nose and rolling his tongue in a bid to apply all he had been thought in English Phonetics and phonology. “And I am Melvin” he continued “and I …” he looked at the man’s face and saw that he was really impressing him and continued add “r” colouration after every vowel, “I am here to help ‘Go Slow’ in his examination which will be starting tomorrow.” Melvin concluded feeling like a god. He saw the excitement in the man’s eye. Examination malpractice was not seen as anything bad. It was just normal.

“Okay.” The man said “em… ‘Go-slow’ go farm, e go come back soon. So sit down here and wait.” The man went inside and called his son Stephen. Stephen had a very small stature. He looked malnourished. He was the type Melvin would refer to as a brief or summarized human being. However, his face looked older than what should be his actual age. His visible veins and rough skins showed he was old enough to be Melvin’s age mate or older than him. Stephen was not handsome at all. As he appeared before Melvin, he wore a gentle outlook. He was in a red round neck top and a black short. He wore a little well kept afro hair. The sight reminded Melvin of the dream he had while at Ozuakoli. He jettisoned the thought immediately because he never believed in dreams as ever coming real. Dreams to Melvin were the working of the brain and mind while the body is asleep.

“Alua!” Stephen greeted in their local dialect but Melvin did not understand it. He was expecting “elua” or “ndewo” which was more of the standard Igbo but in all the Nsukka community they used “Alua” for welcome among many dialectal differences. Melvin continued looking at Stephen until he extended his right hand and said “Welcome.” Melvin grasped the hand and replied: “Thank you. Are you ‘Go slow’?”

“No, I’m his friend.” Stephen answered grinning.

“Okay I heard he went to the farm.” Melvin said speaking as though through the nose so as to sound as if he was just returning from England. Stephen was admiring him, especially the way he raised his nose as he spoke. It was really intimidating. Stephen immediately switched over to Pidgin English to avoid fumbling with the English language and be disgraced by the grammarian sitting right before him.

“Ok I bi ‘Go Slow’ friend and na me and am wey pay for you. Dis man here na my papa.”

“Yes e na my son.” The man affirmed nodding like a red neck and grinning shyly.

“E don give you something chop?”Stephen asked and Melvin nodded and shook his head at the same time meaning yes and no. he was right. ‘Yes’ in the sense that the man has given him something to eat and ‘No’ in the sense that he paid for what he ate. Stephen went into the store and emerged with a bottle of malt. Melvin needed more of the Okpa. As if Stephen knew that, he went outside and bought more Okpa for Melvin. The second round commenced. Melvin ate with just tips of two fingers holding the Okpa and the bottle of malt sending in its dark contents through the left corner of his mouth at intervals. He was showing off, knowing that he was being watch and admired. He was feeling like a European colonialist that had come to a primitive African community. He had wanted to finish the thirsty Okpa but in order to retain the air of superiority he had to leave a little piece on the plate and some drinks in the bottle.

“Ajebor!” he screamed inwardly giggling at the foolishness of what he did with his face expressionless. Stephen took him in and showed him a room already prepared for him for the two weeks of the examination. It was a cramped room. Generally there was no electricity in the village. The mattress in the room was more like two carpet under-lays put together than like a mattress. To sleep on such a mattress would be same as sleeping on the bare floor. The only difference was that the coldness of the floor would be minimized by the mattress. On the mattress was a bed sheet that could be said was formerly white but now wore a confused colour. It was something between light brown, milk and cream colour. Up on the wall facing the door was a wall clock decorated with some local dead flowers. A chaplet with its accompanying crucifix dangling right below the wall clock beckoned on Melvin’s eye. The clock was not functional.

“Excuse me.” Melvin reacted immediately. “Please I don’t want that thing.” He said and pointed seriously at the chaplet. Stephen was marveled at that reaction.

“Na God thing you dey talk about like that?” Stephen asked Melvin with mouth agape and brow raised. The expression got Melvin more annoyed.

“I said remove it! You say God. What is godly about that idol? I can’t stay in a room with that nonsense.” Melvin said with finality in his voice. Stephen moved slowly and detached the chaplet from the wall and wore it on his neck full of adoration. Melvin watched disgustingly. At the extreme left of the room was a secondary school locker table and a stool. On the table were some secondary school textbooks and three novels. On the corner of the table was the inscription: “HAIL MARY MOTHER OF GOD.” To Melvin it was a blinding sight. How could Mary be mother of god? The thought kept pricking his mind. He then remembered the trinity doctrine which implies that Jesus Christ was God in human form. That settled the anger already boiling up in his stomach. “By implication Mary was mother of God.” He reasoned. He recalled an unsettled argument he once had with of his cousins. Tee Ukandu’s son as regards trinity. The questions the boy posed to him had glued to his mind. “How could you say that one plus one plus one is one? Doesn’t Jesus say in John Chapter Seven that his father is greater than him? Didn’t Jesus deny ever making himself equal to God before the Jews and maintained that he was God’s son?” while his cousin asked these questions backing them with biblical injunctions, Melvin maintained that whatever comes out as a snake as offspring must be a snake and therefore, God will bear God as well. It was a heated argument in which no one listened to the other. One Hausa shoemaker had once laughed at the seeming insensibility of the matter when he heard that Jesus is God’s son. “How could Allah have a son when he doesn’t have a wife?” he said amid convulsive laughter. The Hausa man said that such utterances are a profanity to God’s name. Melvin believed so much in trinity but he had not much defense over it. He would always quote john chapter one verse one to follow up.

“Over there.” Stephen said pointing at a row of nails attached to the wall at the left “is where you may hang your clothes.” Melvin nodded and crossed over to that side and hung his bag. In the bag were few clothes which he intends to wear throughout the two weeks. He did not border about a tooth brush and pest because in any village there must be a tree that served as the tooth brush. It may be the guava tree or the Nim tree. Just cut a twig and chew, brush your teeth. Just that.

‘Go-Slow came back later in the evening with a barrow load of bunches of palm fruits and  a machete and his native, tree-climbing belt made of strong tree barks twisted like Bob Marley hairstyle. ‘Go-Slow’ was a very masculine boy with bisects as big as that of American wrestlers. His full masculine body was well exposed as he came naked from the waist upwards. He had a big chest like a fox. The visibility of his veins was indication that his structure was built out of hard labour and not some gym body building exercises. His dirty coated black skin was sweating profusely. He wrapped his black round neck top to his waist covering his buttocks. He wore bathroom slippers which had sagged so much at its tail end under his dirt coated brown heels.

‘Go Slow’ dropped his barrow of palm fruits and went straight to a near-by water container, pour in some water and took them to the open air bathroom where he took his bath. The bath room was built with raffia attached round about four wooden pillars. There was no door at the entrance. Therefore, anybody inside the bathroom would need a piece of clothe to cover its door against passersby. Then he came out refreshed. He had not seen Melvin. He did not know him either. ‘Go-Slow’ was so happy when Stephen told him about Melvin’s presence. They had thought he would no longer come. “He speaks like a white man.” Stephen said.

“Yes naw, we told Paul to get us the best on campus”, ’Go-slow’ replied. Paul was a native of Adaba whom they gave the contract to write the examination for them but Paul’s parents got to know about it and sanctioned Paul from coming to the village during that period. Therefore he had to start looking for the dark goat in the day time. He then handed the contract over to sunny who was his friend in school to search for a credible hand. Because sunny already had a deal with somebody else, he transferred the deal to Melvin. During this period of Secondary School Certificate Examination, most students of the University of Nigeria left the school to the neighboring villages to impersonate in the examination halls. Those were their sources of extra income.

“Where is the messiah?” ‘Go Slow’ asked in excitement.

“In that small room”, Was Stephen’s answer. The both of them went together so see Melvin.

“Mind your English when you speak to him. You know he is an unfortunate European. He doesn’t understand Igbo.” Stephen informed Go Slow as they got close to the small room.

“I know naw. I will speak ‘nke kariri oyibo.” Go Slow said laughing. Melvin rushed to the school table and pretended to be reading immediately he heard their voices.

“Come in!” Melvin screamed at they knock on the door. They walked in with their hands held together in front like people before an oracle.

“Oh! Are you ‘Go Slow?” Melvin asked with his face expressionless.

“Yes”, Go slow nodded smiling like a beggar that has picked some money on the ground.

“Okay its gonna be morrow right?” Melvin said Americanizing his words to retain the position they have given him like an American Ambassador that lost his way in a primitive African village.

“Alua…Alua…Alua.” Go Slow welcomed him and walked away slowly.

“Riwe ndi itoro” Melvin screamed inwardly in his Igbo dialect and jumped down to the unfortunate near-mattress as Go Slow and Stephen left the room excited.

That was how Melvin got deep into examination malpractice. His conscience was now turned to accept it as a means of survival and not crime. He did not regret any bit of it. police caught some people during the exam and bound them with hand Coffs and took them away. Such did not deter him. To Melvin the only regrettable thing about the ordeal was the bite of some near-microscopic insects in the village. When he got back to Nsukka his legs were dotted with spots. The skin of his legs looked like the skin of a hyena. That was the only thing he hated about the adventure. Food was no problem in Adaba. He didn’t have to pay for food. Like a greedy oracle, Go Slow and Stephen brought him food three times a day. Melvin was usually impressed by the way they placed the food as if he was the father of the house. After eating he neither needed to remove the plates nor to wash them. The boys were always there to do that.

At least he had got some money. As for the informal scholarship offered him by his uncles in the village, nothing was forth coming. They were mere empty promises but it still comforted Melvin to remember that he was recognized in the family. Melvin decided to travel to Aba and buy some clothes that he would be selling in school to sustain himself. That proved to be another source of income for him.

CHAPTER FORTEEN

Melvin was now waiting for the greater joy to come. When somebody would come and tell him: “O boy, the results of the exams were excellent!” That would be one of his happiest days.

“Okafor Samuel I have not been seeing you in my class, why?” One of his lecturers asked him. He didn’t like to be called by his father’s name.

“Sir, I’ve been sick.” He lied bringing his face down like a bashful sheep.

“Sick?” but you added more flesh this few days, well, for your information, you must attend at least seventy-five percent of my classes to be qualified for my examination.” Dr. Dike announced with finality.

“You were not here last week when we shared this class into seminar groups. So you have to join the last group, you have no choice.” The lecturer informed him. The last group had two people that Melvin would not like to work with but he had no choice. He was the only male in the group.

“Who are the other members of the group?” Melvin inquired from Chinelo, one of the girls in his group. Chinelo was one of the few girls Melvin considered pretty in his class. She was one of the few civilized girls in the class whom Melvin would not always ignore in the class.

“Em…we have Ifeoma, Kemi, Aisha and…guess who…Ke-le-menti.” Chinelo named the last person in a along drawl and burst out laughing.

“No this is serious, why should you laugh about it. You know it’s going to be a heavy task on us. In the real sense we are only three in our group that is, Kemi, you and I”. Melvin said in a frown. Chinelo increased the volume of her laughter. Chinelo was a very lively and carefree girl. Whenever she laughed her face looked like a baby -- innocent. She believed something must be done, no matter what happened. Besides she was very intelligent but doesn’t always find time to read her books. The little one she read always got stocked to her brain. Melvin complained much about Kelementi. Kelementi was the worst in the group. Her real name was Happiness but the class dubbed her Kelementi when she mispronounced “climate” as “Kelementi” with her tick Igbo accent. Melvin already knew that she was not going to contribute anything to the group. As for the other two, Aisha and Ifeoma he had not seen them in school for a long time. They were of the group of student known as visiting professors or Non-Academic Students Union, NASU. Kemi on her own was not that intelligent but she was of the average. At least she could cram something and say it. She behaved like a computer; garbage in garbage out; copy and paste. Whatever he put into her was what she had to say on the D-day. However, her only serious problem was stage fright.

“What is our seminar topic?” Melvin asked Chinelo.

“Em…Women in Achebes World; with references from Chinua Achebe’s ‘Things Fall Apart,’ ‘Arrow of God,’ ‘No Longer At Ease’ and ‘Ant-Hill of Savanna”.

“Hey! Four novels!” Melvin screamed with two hands on his head and his face looking nervous. “Okay, Chi you will read two while I read two, please.” He pleaded with Chinelo, calling the pet name ‘Chi’ in order to reach her heart.

“My brother, no time.” Chinelo replied carelessly.

“Please naw, Chi I know you can do it.” He continued pleading with her with his two hands on Chinelo’s shoulders and his eyes directly looking into her eyes.

“Okay, I will try.” Chinelo finally accepted.

The D-day came unannounced but Melvin was prepared as well as Chinelo and Kemi. As for Aisha and Ifeoma, nobody saw their faces in the class. They were deliberately absent from class that day instead of facing the shame of standing before the entire class without anything to offer. Kelementi was present; she intended to hide under the other three members of the group.

Melvin did the introduction of the theme explaining the subjugation of the women in Achebe’s novels while Kemi took the second part mostly reading from her outline, then Chinelo did the concluding part. Then it was time for question. They stood before the class with their hands to the back waiting for the questions like people in the duck before a judge. The class did not ask any question it was a clear and understandable delivery.

“If nobody has a question for them, I will ask mine.” The lecturer announced. Melvin and his team started jittering as the lecturer paced up and down the class looking at their faces. They made faces for their friends in the class to fashion out easy questions, though they did not need the question. Of course they knew that if any question would come, it would be thrown at Kelementi and if she did not answer the group would have a deduction from their marks.

“Okay no questions.” The lecturer started, the group sharpened their ears to hear the final verdict. The lecturer paced round them like a military commander inspecting a parade team.

“You, you’ve not said anything. Tell us something about the treatment of women in the Anthill of Savanna which I assume you read.” Dr. Dike’s words came like bomb shells on the group. The lecturer addressed Kelementi and no helper could be needed. She stood dumb founded, gazing shamelessly at the class with her eyes glaring like a rat killed with hot water. There was murmuring in the class. The class buzzed with amazement.

“Ehen! We are waiting.” Dr. Dike said pacing up and down the class for over two minutes Kelementi did not make any move.

“Okay, just read a paragraph for us from your outline.” Dr. Dike gave her a simpler option. But how did Dr. Dike get to know that Kelementi could not read? Was he a wizard? He had been in the lecturing business for a long time. He had seen various characters in his classes. Kelementi was a shameless illiterate though in the university. How did she succeed through the Senior School Certificate Examination and the University Matriculation Examination which had detained Melvin at home for some years? Melvin had an answer to that. Had he not taken an examination for someone who does not know how to read? Someone who was always in the farm? Soon he would be given admission and there would be multiplicity of the likes of Kelementi in the universities. Impersonation was the answer.

“Sir, she lost her voice...that’s …” Melvin tried to defend.

“Where? Where? Where did she lose it?” the lecturer cut him short, “I will help her find it, where?”

“To sore throat.” Melvin lied to save Kelementi.

“Okay, she should read like that. However it goes am closer I will hear her. Now read for me and not for the class.” Dr. Dike said as he lowered his head down leaning over to Kelementi as if he wanted her to whisper the words into his ears.

“She is stammers too.” Chinelo cut in.

“Yes she should read like that wherever it hooks her we shall free her.” Dr. Dike insisted. The class got so noisy. It was an incredible scene.

“Has she gone deaf and dumb too?” Dr. Dike asked ridiculously and the entire class laughed. The lecturer moved over to his records book on the lectern in front of the class and wrote something.  Melvin thought that he might have reduced some marks for them.

“Ehen? What’s your name?” the lecturer asked Kelementi.

“Happiness Ibori.” She answered looking straight into the lecturer’s eye shamelessly. It did not really mean that Kelementi could not read even a word, but she believed that it would be better to be silent than to mess herself up by mispronouncing and some words right before the entire class as she had done before and fetched herself the funny name. The class was as quiet and cold as a morgue when Dr. Dike looked up. Nobody sniggered at her again, nobody booed her again. It was a sort of surprise to many - An illiterate in the university. Melvin felt guilty for having a hand in the promotion of such ugly trend.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Melvin was very early to school the next day. He wanted to see his result before people started cramming at the notice board. Somebody told him he saw the secretary of their department pasting the results on the notice board the previous day in the evening. Melvin ran into the Faculty of Arts Complex without admiring the sculptures as he usually did. He greeted fellow student on the way without looking up to see their faces. It took him three steps to jump each row of the staircase. When he got to their department, there were two people already before the notice board. One of them was smiling as he helped the other to look for her results. It was Metshack and Oluchi. Metshack was seen as the most intelligent in the class but Melvin could not believe that. He believed that he was more intelligent than Metshack. “How can a village boy be better than me?” Melvin would always ask himself. Truly Metshack was a village boy. He was a native of Nsukka. He was so short that it was just a little thing that made him escape being called a dwarf with his stumpy hands and legs. In addition to his shortness, he was very ugly. He had a flat nose and large mouth with full lips. He was very dark in complexion and the back of his head looked as long as cucumber. “It may be people like this that make Europeans call black Africans, black monkeys”, Melvin always thought whenever he saw metshack. Despite his ugliness the girls in his class liked Metshack so much because of his intelligence and his willingness to teach others. Not only that, he never covered his books in the examination hall. He opened his answer booklet like cinema for the girls to copy. Oluchi was always beside him that people assumed they were dating each other. Oluchi was a beautiful Nsukka girl. She looked like the so called half-cast, very fair, long nose, brown eyes and long hair. Oluchi was the sort that did not like copying from somebody in an examination hall. She sat far from Metshack in the exams. Her results were not bad though what she saw on the notice board were a bit far from what she expected. Metshack was very happy. His result had been full of A’s and B’s with just a few C’s and one D. Melvin did not want to get close to them as he checked his result lest they will get to know his registration number. There were no names on the board but the results were written against registration numbers. The first result Melvin saw was a ‘D’ his heart skipped a bit and his tentacles started quaking. He scanned up and down the board to ensure that it was his number. There was no contrast. “Me! ‘D’? Why? I wrote well in the exam.” He went over to the next result sheet on the board and scanned down. What he saw was a sort of comic relief. This result sheet was full of ‘E’s, F’s and D’s but he was the only person that had an ‘A’. It was his favourite course – English Phonetics. He already knew it would be an ‘A’. “If I don’t make an ‘A’ in Phonetics who else will?” he went over to the next and was expecting to see another ‘A’. He scanned down, down, down and stopped at a point. The smile on his face dried out. He squinted his eyes to be sure of what he saw. It was an ‘E’. He nearly screamed. Tears started grouping in his eyes. He tried to control it as he went over to the next result sheet. He took solace in the fact that the result sheet was a sort of mass failure and he was lucky to have got a pharaoh-let-my-people-go score that gave him the ‘E’. The next result was a ‘B’. He did not notice when Metshack and Oluchi left the scene. As he was checking his result, he noticed the presence of somebody by his side jubilating as she checked her result. It was Kelementi. Melvin felt like giving her a dirty slap. “What should be making this one happy?” Melvin asked himself; “If my result should be as bad as this, people like Kelementi should be talking about how to prepare for carry-overs.” On the contrary Kelementi’s results were better than Melvin’s but nobody could explain the reason. Melvin was most annoyed when he saw the result on English Poetry. It was a ‘D’ but Kelementi made a ‘B’. His stomach rumpled with anger. He remembered the words of Peter his roommate when he said the exams was a symbol of official tail-cutting. “I must meet the lecturer to explain what he meant by this.” Melvin decided firmly. On a second thought he decided to go home first and consult Peter his roommate. That was one of his worst days in the University of Nigeria. He did not attend class that day. He went straight back to the hostel. Peter had already left for school when he came. He abruptly started feeling sick and weak. He totally lost appetite and was feeling sleepy.

“You came back very early today.” Peter asked as he stepped into the room facing the sleepy Melvin.

“I did not even go to school today.” Melvin answered in a shaky voice.

“Don’t tell me that! Were you not the one that told me you were going to check your results this morning?”

“Peter, they have finally cut my tail as you said.”

“What do you mean by that?” Peter asked giggling.

“My result…”

“What about it?” he squinted.

“Very poor. Even courses I was sure of making ‘A’”. Peter felt pity for him as he spoke down-heartedly.

“Well that is what obtains here. And don’t you ever make the mistake of going to ask the lecturers about it because if you do, they will start witch-hunting you. He would only ask you to apply for remark. And if you apply for remark, your script will be transferred to another group of lecturers to remark. You know, no lecturer will want to bring his fellow lecturer down, rather he will apply very strict measure in marking the script to ensure that he brings your marks lower than ever.” Peter explained.

“But what about the people that passed, who am sure do not know anything.” Melvin asked still confused.

“Wake up my boy. Don’t you know that they pay for the score they make? That is what is called sorting here.” Peter explained.

Melvin could not say any more words rather he decided to read very seriously for the semester such that no lecturer would afford to give him anything less than what he scored. He could not afford the money to be paying for scores. However, he had lost out in the bid for a federal Government Scholarship like peter his roommate. But he would have taken solace on the informal scholarship he was given by his uncles in the village but nothing had come since then. Moreover, there were signs that the F.G scholarship fund for the year would not come. The time for it had past and nothing was heard about it.

“Come in!” Melvin answered to a knock at the door. The door smartly opened. It was Chinelo his classmate.

“How did you get to know my room?” Melvin asked.

“Don’t you know am a ghost?” answered Chinelo smiling shyly.

“Hey! The queen of England has visited my home. What do I offer her?” Melvin teased.

“Only tea or coffee that is what the whites eat.” Peter cut in.

“Don’t worry yourself; I came to know why you did not come to school today. Is everything alright?” Chinelo said changing the conversation.

“Okay, I was in school but I felt sick and came back.” Melvin answered.

“Oh! And have you taken some drugs?”

“No, I perceived that I just needed some rest.”

“Did you see the results?”

“Yes I did.”

“Wonders shall never end!” Chinelo screamed and clapped her hands in the manner of woman gossips.

“It got me dumb-founded.” Melvin said hissing a long sigh.

“Melvin is this what they do in this hostel?” Chinelo changed the topic of discussion.

“What is it?”

“I will not come here again;” she said with disapproval in her voice.

“Did they shout at you?”

“Yes almost the entire hostel was out booing at me while I was climbing the stairs.” Chinelo said and snapped her fingers and shrugged: “tufiakwa!”

It was a norm in the hostels. The boys always came out to boo at any girl they see in their hostel. If the girl was a new comer she would be intimidated but if she had been an old timer she would not mind them and go her way. While Chinelo was climbing the stair some boys saw her and started shouting; “tanker! Tanker! Tanker!” They made all sorts of noise. Some would crow like a cock, some bleat like goats, some like dogs and all such things just to intimidate her. Chinelo had wanted to run back but she remembered that it was the same thing they used to do to boys in the female hostels. And the boys would be assumed to have triumphed over her if she would chicken out. She continued unabated. In the male hostels, the girls were referred to as ‘tankers’ imported by somebody while in the female hostels, boys were seen as ‘tanker drivers’ coming to drive away a tanker. The girls also referred to boys as ‘ogo’ meaning ‘in-laws’.

Chinelo’s visit was a kind of relief to Melvin’s troubled heart he wished Chinelo would not go but she had to.

“I will be on my way.” Chinelo said as she stood up to go.

“So early? It has not been more than 30 minutes you came.” Melvin said trying to persuade her to stay back.

“Yes, but I have some other engagements today. It is just because I did not see you in school, I just want to come and know what the matter is. I will come some other day.” She stood up and Melvin followed, to see her off. Melvin saw her off to where she flagged down an okada and left. When Melvin and Chinelo were declining the stair-case, Abraham was climbing up the stair as the same time. Though Abraham saw them, he did not exchange greetings with them rather he shook his head without a word and climbed up. Melvin felt embarrassed though Chinelo did not notice that gesture by Abraham and his accompanying countenance. Abraham was the financial secretary of the Christ Ambassadors Fellowship in the school. Melvin was a member of the fellowship. After seeing Chinelo off, Melvin pondered over the entire scenario. Why did his Christian brother shake his head like that with his face on the ground? Why didn’t he even try to exchange greetings with him? Did he think he had just committed fornication with Chinelo? Did that shake of the head mean that Abraham is disappointed in him as a Christian brother? All these questions raced through his mind as he climbed the stair-case. He made to stop over at Abraham’s room and ask him what the matter was, but after a second thought he decided otherwise. “After all, I owe no fool any explanation for how I live my life in this school.” He concluded rashly and entered his room. He prayed to God begging for good results in the present semester. He had partially blamed his mysterious failure on his frequent visits to Uju and others at Zik’s flat female hostel. Now that his advisers Nwodo and John have left the school, he needed to be the master of his life.

The next day, Melvin ran straight to the Library and borrowed some books. He had planned to be finishing one text book in every week. He had decided to become a triangular student – moving from hostel to class, to the library and then back to Hostel. He knew that other aspects of his life would suffer – his social life, religious life and his business. With religion he was already confused. Which one was the right one, every religion and denominations claim to be the best. The words of Dr. Dike (his lecturer) did not escaped his memory; “if you were of Muslim background, by now your must be speaking in the defense of Islam, you think Christendom is the best because you are of a Christian background.” And that was the truth. Even inside Christendom each denomination claimed to be the best and the only one acceptable to God. “What about African traditional religion which was the only religion our great grand fathers knew before the coming of the whites”. As he thought about these he recalled what Mr. Ukpata said when he was lecturing them on Nigerian Literature; “Earlier, Nigerian literature were meant to answer the Europeans who said that Africa is a bush barbaric continent, without culture. The African writers such as Chinua Achebe wrote so as to correct the misconceptions which the selfish Europeans have created by showing that before the advent of colonialism, Africa had her own languages, religion and other ways of doing things through there novels and poems.” Dr. Ukpata had paced up and down the class and found somebody wearing a Roman Catholic chaplet and he continued: “they said that the Africans worship idols made of woods. What was their own god made of? Here we have it they introduced another god made of plastic. Look at what this one hung on her neck like a mad dog.” He pointed at the girl with chaplet and everybody in the class started laughing at her especially those that were not Catholics. That aroused a moment of rowdiness in the class. Some of the students said Mr. Ukpata was blaspheming God. If allowed they would like to stone him to death. As if Mr. Ukpata knew what was going on in their minds, he continued again: “I know if given the chance some of you would want me stoned to death, that I have profaned God. That is one of the strategies the Europeans used to get us bigoted to their deceptive religion. But when they came here they said all sorts of things about the gods of our forefathers and nobody did anything to them. They even burnt them with fire unabated. Now here we have it, if you say anything bad about Mohamed the Muslims will kill you. If you say anything ugly about Jesus, Christians, though they won’t kill you they would say you have sinned against the Holy Ghost, which is an unforgivable sin.” The entire class was as quiet as a morgue. Mr. Ukpata really enjoyed the fact that he was working on the minds of the students. They were all very attentive except some who were fanatics.  As for Melvin, he was really carried away. Mr. Ukpata continued pointing out his reasons; “if Christendom is really the best why all these divisions?” he coughed and continued “The Europeans used religion to put divisions among us, such that while we quarrel, they will be busy looting our valuables. Come to think of it, there is no difference between Roman Catholicism and African traditional Religion. Take for example, the Igbo Traditional religion. The Catholics have their chaplet with which they pray and the Igbo’s had their personal gods -- ikenga with which they prayed also. The Igbo’s Ofor plays the same role as the Blessed Sacrament; the saints also play the same role as the ancestor in Igbo religion. The Orji was the Igbo’s Holy Communion. The Nze and Ozo group played the same role as the knights. The both religion have priests that wear the same type of gown and the same sign of the cross. The only difference is that the Roman Catholics’ god has a mother while the Africans god has no mother. Moreover, the Roman Catholic god is three in one and my own is only one – Obasibinelu.” Mr. Ukpata stopped and started smiling knowing that his analysis had been painted in the minds of the students. “Well”, he continued, “you need to stick faithfully to one of these religious believes in order to give your lives meaning. Without that you might die a confused person” his right hand went into the front pocket and emerged with a chaplet. “This is my own chaplet” he said “but whenever I travel home I still join in all the traditions” the entire class started laughing but Melvin did not, he had already left the class mentally. He thought about the similarities and difference of the children’s masquerade and the children’s Father Christmas he saw in the village they were both masks only that one was mean while the other was mild. The religions stood in his brain like the Twin Towers competing which would be taller and he stood in their middle confused of into which to enter.

Melvin read for four hours consistently without raising his head, at a point he felt his brain had blocked and nothing entered. It was as if he could not understand anymore. Anymore thing he read went like water poured on a duck’s back. He had to take a break. The library was very scanty, no much people in it because examinations were still afar. As Melvin walked down the staircase he remembered the girl he met in a bus on his way back to Aba. He drew out his wallet and checked for the girl’s name. it was there.

ROOM 207 EYOITA HOSTEL

MERCY KALU

Eyo-Ita hostel was located adjacent the Library. He strolled down to Eyo-ita Hostel with mixed feeling. He didn’t know whether she would be in her room. Even if she was there, what was he going to discuss with her? Well he was going to relax his brain with some gossips. He knocked at the door of room 207. At first there was no response. He knocked a second time and somebody opened the door a little and ran back.

“Please wait!” a female voice called out from inside the room. “Maybe the girls were not properly dressed.” Melvin thought as he waited patiently tapping his left foot on the ground.

“Come in!” the voice called but Melvin did not hear it. His mind had already wondered off to how he was going to trigger off communication with Mercy.

“Come in!” The voice came a second time louder. Melvin was called back to his immediate environment. He opened the door and entered. The room was arranged like the hostels in Zik Flat but it was more spacious than the rooms in Zik Flats. Just like in the rooms in Zik Flats the room was parted by a row of reading tables and a very big wardrobe at the middle of the room and by the two sides were beds touching the wall. At the wall opposite the door were two other beds arranged in a line. The two girls in the room were well seated with their eyes fixed at Melvin as if to ask “Who are you and what can we do for you.” The staring eyes threw Melvin off his feet that he stuttered as he wanted to greet them.

“Em…gu… good evening all.” He greeted looking from one face to the other trying to fathom who was Mercy among them. He wondered if he could recall what Mercy’s face looked like. After a little pause, he mustered courage and continued: “Please am looking for Mercy Kalu”, looking at one of the girls whom he suspected to be Mercy because she was as fair as the Mercy he met – the colour of sandy soil.

“Mercy just went out to see somebody off. You can come in and wait for her.” One of the girls said as she motioned him to Mercy’s bed. Slowly, Melvin sat down on the bed, looking round the room like someone that had just lost his way. At the head side of the bed was a shelf that housed many books especially those of Jehovah’s Witnesses. “Yes I will ask her for some Awakes.” Melvin smiled as he fashioned out how to start up conversation and immediately the door swung open. It was Mercy. She was in a pair of blue jeans skirt and a yellow top. As Melvin saw her, the face rolled back into his memory. He started smiling into the girl’s face but she did not smile back. Rather she looked confused and surprised. “Who might this be, smiling as if he picked some counterfeit money?”  Melvin wondered what would be going on in her mind and the smile on his face dried up. Mercy drew closer. She leaned on the reading table opposite Melvin and screwed her face as she tried to recall but nothing seem to be coming up her memory.

“Melvin Samuel.” Melvin said and extended his hand for a shake.’

“Mercy Kalu.” The girl said as she received the hand. “I know.” Melvin said immediately as he heard the name and continued: “We met in a bus, do you remember?” He tried to remind her. He hated such a scenario. Girls always like to pretend they didn’t know somebody especially when it is a boy. No wonder he had concluded never to see a girl on the road and call or wave to her unless she did first. He had once been embarrassed. He knew Cindy when he was taking General Certificate Examination (GCE) at Aba. Cindy had sat beside him all through the examination that people thought they were dating each other. Cindy had a long neck that made it easy for her to copy from Melvin’s work in the exam. She would always cling on Melvin as if he was her husband but as a shy boy, Melvin would gradually and continuously move away from her. However, Melvin was very surprise that after some few months when he saw Cindy in the University of Nigeria premises. Cindy pretended not to have known him from Adam.

“Hello!” he had called out to Cindy but Cindy did not turn as if she heard him. She was looking straight ahead and walked briskly. As Melvin called her she increased her pace.

“Hello Cindy! It’s me K.C.” Melvin called once more to emphasis their familiarity. She stopped and waited for Melvin. She was in a very tight-fitted pair of white trousers that clearly showed the parting of her buttocks and a red sleeveless top that hung loosely on her breast. As Melvin got close to her, she didn’t care to remove the black goggles, which covered half of her face rather than the eye. It was more like a windscreen than eye glasses.

“Hello Cindy.” Melvin said smiling out stretched palms to receive hers in exchange of greeting. She did not respond. Her face was so frowned and her hand stiffly held her hand bag.

“Ehen? Can I help you?” She had asked. Melvin was dumbfounded, his mouth could not close, his out stretched palm dropped slowly.

“Em…Cindy, am K.C. we sat side by side in the GCE at Aba.” Melvin cleared her.

“Sure?” she asked and removed her windscreen. “I’ve not been to Aba. It can’t be me.” She said and covered her face back. Melvin nearly fainted. He was sure it was Cindy. She did not deny the name. “Yes it was her. Cindy; there is the small tribal mark close to her eyes.” He assured himself. Melvin stood there watching the tin air as Cindy left. It was like a nightmare. There was where Melvin decided never to call a girl that didn’t call him first.

He thought he had met another Cindy in Mercy.

“Melvin…? Melvin…? Melvin?” Mercy recounted with her eyes squinted as she tried to recall whom Melvin was. Melvin’s face had already turned expressionless with his heart brooding hatred for women. If Mercy should deny ever meeting him, he would just get back to the Library and pick his books. He would be disorganized throughout the day.

“Okay…Melvin we met in a bus going to Aba.” The girl remembered and Melvin’s face creased like Shakespeare’s map of Illyria.

“How has it been? It’s been a long…long time. You promised you will come and see me and here a whole session has passed you did not come what happened?” Mercy asked looking into Melvin’s face.

“Nothing, I was just fumbling into my wallet and saw your name and address and recalled. So I said let me come and get some Magazines from you.” Melvin said shyly trying to shift away from her gaze.

“Okay, I have many of them. Watchtowers and Awakes.” Mercy stood up and brought down some magazines from her bookshelf.

“Oh! Am sorry.” Mercy said as she dropped the magazines on the table. “Please forgive me Melvin I tend to forget so easily. Meet my roommates – Dola and Edidang. They are very good people. So feel free with them.” Turning over to the girls she said: “girls, this is Melvin Samuel, a friend. We met in a bus while traveling to Aba.” Dola and Edidong smiled and extended their hands to Melvin and they exchanged pleasantries.

As Melvin looked at the magazines two articles caught his fancy – ‘What is the Holy Spirit?’ and ‘Is there fire in Hell’ were the titles of the magazines. Melvin picked them.

“But I don’t have any money on me.” He said looking at Mercy.

“Well don’t you know you have to pay?” Mercy asked childishly.

“I…I…know but I believe that if it is God’s word, it should not be sold.”

“Don’t you read in Proverbs Chapter Twenty Three verse twenty-three?” mercy asked ready for argument.

“What does it say?” Mercy brought down a bag from the shelf and brought out a bible. She began to read.

“It says: ‘buy truth itself and do not sell it – wisdom and discipline and understanding.’ Did you hear it?” Mercy closed the bible and giggled; fulfillment written all over her face.

“Wait first, what type of bible is that you read from.” Melvin collected the bible from her and dropped it back on the table. “Ehem! I would have said; it is Jehovah’s Witnesses’ bible. You people turn thing upside down. I will read it from my own bible when I get to my hostel.” He brought out a pen from his pocket and wrote the bible passage on one of the magazines.

“You’re already writing on the magazine for which you’ve not paid.”

“Okay I will pay you later.” Melvin stood up ready to leave. “Em... I was reading in the Library and so I came to cool off a little here. Now I’ve got to go back to my books before it gets dark and late.” She saw Melvin off to the hostel’s gate and bade him goodbye.

As Melvin walked down the narrow path that led to the Library he recalled some of the things his lecturer Mr. Ukpata used to say, that every religion is rooted on business initiatives of somebody. No wonder they give offerings in the churches. Where do the offerings go? As for Jehovah’s Witnesses is theirs based on selling books and magazine? Where does all the money they make from the sells go? He remembered Evangelist Abadnego he met in the same bus with Mercy. Evangelist Abadnego had siphoned some money from almost all the passenger and backed up the act with the scripture. “Everybody wants money. No wonder there are uncountable number of churches everywhere. Perhaps church is the easiest way to make riches these days” he thought. He recalled a fellowship he once attended with “Believers power word church” in the school; the Pastor as he had heard was very powerful. He preached with excessive authority, making prophecies and at times speaking what nobody could understand while he prayed. That remembered Melvin of the comparison Mr. Ukpata once made of the Christian religion priests and the African traditional religion priest. He said they dress alike – in white or red garment that covered them from neck to toe. They use the same symbol – the cross. They serve God and also make incantations. Mr. Ukpata likened the speaking in tongues done the churches to the incantations done by the native doctors and traditional priests.

“That’s profanity – sinning against the Holy Ghost – to say such a thing.” A voice screamed inside Melvin’s head, he shrugged and crossed himself with the sign of the cross and continued with the thought of the pastor in the “Believers Power Word Church.” The pastor had a very euphonious voice. When he sang the entire church felt as though the angels have descended. However, the offering in the church was usually three times.

“Where does all the money go? They say it’s God’s but how do they get to God?” he asked himself boyishly. He jammed his left foot on a stone on the ground and staggered and held himself. He looked back at the stone and then at his leg. His shoe had torn open but he was not hurt. “Maybe this is a caution from God to redress my thought.” He thought and continued moving thinking nothing again.

He got into the Library and picked up his books. He could not continue reading because he would not understand if he did. He was not in the mood to read any longer.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Melvin’s thought had jumped to his final year as a stubborn fly buzzed near his left ear. He didn’t care to wave it away. Melvin had not expected the final year to come as soon as it did, though he had performed relatively well. He was no longer afraid of what grade to graduate with, but the question that bugged his mind was: after graduation what next? The country had got no jobs to offer anybody but the long legs. He was afraid of the future.

“Who is Kelechi Samuel in this class?” Professor Atima had asked one day as he stepped into the class not looking at any of the students in particular.

“Oh my God, What on earth have I committed?” Melvin was afraid. He did not want to own up immediately. Professor Atima was a heavily built old man of not less than sixty. Despite his old age, Professor Atima still looked very neat and strong. His clean shaved face exposed freckles all around his chin that made him look as if he smiled even when he didn’t. He had a large oval shaped mouth, pert little nose and dark brown eyes. His shining hair parted in the front left of his head showed some touches of hair conditioner and cream. All the students were afraid of Professor Atima. Professor Atima only taught the final year and third year students on Syntax, semantic and stylistics. He was known to be very strict and does not tolerate any form of non-sense neither does he laugh or smile. When asked why he doesn’t laugh, professor Atima would say:”I don’t see anything to laugh at”

“Did I mess up in the third year syntax examination? Who knows? Maybe somebody had copied verbatim from my work. Oh! It must be Chinelo.” Melvin kept thinking with his head bent on the desk and his heart pounding heavily. During the third year second semester examination Chinelo had copied from Melvin’s booklet. She had always lamented that syntax as a course was so hard for her to understand because it was a bit mathematical.

“I said; who is Samuel Kelechi?” Professor Atima’s voice came a second time as he wrote STYLISTICS on the board still backing the class.

“Here sir”, Melvin answered fidgeting as he stood up and there was a little murmuring in the class – everyone whispering something into the ears of his neighbour.

“Alright”, Professor Atima turned facing the class, his face stone frowned. That had always been him. He never smiled before students no matter the situation. One day a very bold student had asked him in a departmental general meeting:

“Sir, why don’t you smile or laugh? The way you keep your face before us students has the strong repelling effect.” In answer, Professor Atima gave him the regular answer: “I don’t see anything to laugh at or smile at.” However, his real motive for not smiling or laughing before students was that students tend to take a lecturer for granted when he played with them. He therefore chose to be strict and get maximum respect from them.

“Okay” Professor Atima continued “Why didn’t you answer to your name the first time I called you?”

“I…I…was sleeping.” Melvin stuttered as he lied.

“Why do you sleep in the class?” Professor asked with his face screwed.

“I’m not feeling fine sir.” Melvin lied deeming his eyes with his chin relaxed to look sickly.

“Well, whatever,” Professor continued nonchalantly “See me in my office after this class.” Melvin’s heart nearly jumped out through his mouth. He became destabilized. Why did Professor Atima want to see him? What on earth has he committed? He bent down and said a premature prayer. He did not understand anything throughout the duration of the lecture. What must have been the problem? He continued wondering.

As he got in front of Professor Atima’s office after the class, Melvin tucked in his shirt to look formal and smart before entering the office. He was really afraid and it was written all over his face. He read the instruction on the door: KNOCK ONCE AND PUSH OPEN. He knocked and opened the door. It was as if he was entering an evil forest with a monstrous evil spirit seating directly opposite him and ready to devour him at the slightest mistake.

“Good afternoon Sir.” He said; his voice hoarse and trembling with fear.

“Good afternoon.” Professor Atima replied in a high-fall tune of intonation; “you are Okafor Samuel.” Professor continued “feel free and have a seat.” Professor said starring at Melvin and his face lit up. Melvin sat quietly his heart slamming against his ribs violently.

“Em…” professor started: “there is no problem. Just feel free, it’s just that…” he paused to light a cigar and continued as he sent the smoke up looking into Melvin’s eyes. “It’s just that you performed very well in my course and I said I must know who this wonder boy is. You had an ‘A’ in my course. Have a hand shake.” He extended his hand to Melvin and grabbed Melvin’s little palm and shook it very well.

“How has your performance been in other courses?”

“Fair.” Melvin answered. His heart had finally came down and relaxed. This was his first time of seeing Professor Atima smile. It was like a movie.

“So this man can smile?” was the thought on his mind.

“I like your use of English and the way you make examples to boost your points.” Professor removed his glasses and puffed out a stream of smoke like a chimney and continued: “I like hard working students like you. Keep it up and if you have any problem with any of your courses, come I will assist you; here are textbooks.” He pointed at a long shelf by his right hand side. “I believed you might need them.” Melvin felt like a king having such a close relationship with Professor Atima. He had smiled for him. That was a very great privilege. And now a free entry and exit visa to his office. As Melvin emerged from Professor Atima’s office, he met Chinelo waiting outside. Chinelo screwed her face as she saw Melvin smiling. She was expecting a stone frowned face, or worst still watery eyes and running nose.

“What was it about?” She asked.

“Just commendations.” Melvin answered giggling.

“Commendations?  What for?” she was surprise to hear that such a fastidious person as Professor Atima could ever commend somebody. Prof was known to be very stingy with marks commendations and very generous with condemnations.

“On the exams now; what else do you think?” She couldn’t say a word. Melvin must have written wonders; she thought and didn’t ask after her own result.

The death of Melvin’s father stung him like the scorpions tail disorganizing his members. Though he had always assumed his father as dead long ago, he could not easily accept the message. Blood is thicker than water. As he read through the sprawling writing on the letter, some hot tears trickled down his chin. He quickly used his right thumb to scrap out the tears and ruffled the letter into his back pocket. He tried to compose himself so that nobody would know what had happened.

“Okay thank you ma.” He said to the messenger in the departmental General office in a quaky voice and turned to go. The woman saw the expression on his face and wanted to know why. “Is everything alright?”

“No…much problem ma.” He lied and cowed a faint smile that made him look more as if he was crying than smiling then he disappeared through the opened door. The messenger watched him as he left until he was out of sight. She shook her head slowly.

“These children…” she muttered.

When the messenger told Melvin that she had a letter for him in the students’ pigeon hole, Melvin was very happy. He had thought it was a feedback from the overseas scholarship he applied for. He had worked briskly into the departmental general office leaving Mrs. Onuoha behind. As he picked the new brown envelopes from Mr. Onuoha’s table, he saw the sprawling handwriting on it which looked like his elder brother’s. His heart skipped a beat. “Well, different people’s writings look alike.” He concluded and tore the envelope open with rekindled excitement. Once he opened the letter, he went straight to the conclusion which read without a signature:

Yours brother,

Okafor.

He closed his eyes immediately and placed the letter on his chest and cuddled it with his heart slamming violently against his ribs. “What would be the content of this letter?” he thought. He had not been written from home since he got his admission into the university. He saw Mrs. Onuoha stepping to the office and tried to coordinate himself. Mrs. Onuoha crossed over to the opposite table watching him. She had seen various students’ reactions to letters. Some would open their letters and jump up into the air joyous while others would break down crying, some others may just smile or frown depending on the content of their letter and their expectations. Mrs. Onuoha was always there to assist the students. She consoled the heart broken and rejoiced with the happy ones. The students always confided in her. They saw her as their second mother. She was still very pretty despite that age was no long on her side. The wrinkles on her face said she must be close to sixty. She had a pointed nose, dark brown eyes; black hair with many traces of gray strands scattered all over her head. The centre parting of the front of her hair always gave her the looks of as Asian princess. She has an oval face. Even the little freckles on her face could not hide the beauty spot on her check. Mrs. Onuoha was a very kind woman, but Melvin didn’t want to let her know the content of the letter because he usually told people that his father had died years ago.

Melvin could not tell anybody in school know about his father’s death, yet he was so disorganized that he couldn’t concentrate on any other thing in school that day, he had to go back to the hostel feeling all alone in the entire world. Everything seemed blurred and hazy. He needed somebody reliable to talk to but it must not be the people he had told the lies about his father. “Lies? It wasn’t lies.” He jettisoned the thought. “My father really died years ago.” He concluded and flagged down an Okada racing back to the hostel. As he climbed the stair case of Alvan-Ikoku hall, he walked slowly as though he was counting his steps. His legs felt so heavy to lift. His mind was much troubled and he was mentally far away from his immediate environment. He got to his room and dropped his books. There was nobody in that room. Peter would have been the best person to confide in but he was not there. He decided to go to Sunny’s house; per chance, he might be there. He considered the fuss of trekking to and fro Sunny’s house without seeing him. “There is no harm in trying.” A voice spoke to his heart and immediately he jerked up heading for Sunny’s residence.

“I don’t like that expression on your face my boy.” Said Sunny without greetings; his voice concerned, as he caught sight of Melvin approaching. Melvin didn’t have the strength to correct him for calling him “my boy”. Sunny noticed that something was wrong with his friend. He was expecting Melvin’s normal “slogan” ‘I’m a man’ and ‘there’s nothing young about a man, I am a man period.’ He dropped the cloth he was washing and followed Melvin into his room without a word.

“K.C, what is it?” Sunny asked as he drew closer to Melvin. Melvin just sighed and sat down on the fluffy mattress with his jaw in his left palm and his elbow resting on his left knee.

“You can confide in me K.C, you know.” Sunny’s voice came to him as if from a distance. He turned and looked at Sunny with eyes squinted as though he wanted to see more clearly, Sunny was patiently looking inquiringly at him. Melvin opened his mouth as if to say something and closed it again. “My father has died.” He said in a piping voice. Sunny jerked closer to him as if he did not hear him clearly.

“What?” Sunny asked with eyes widely opened and mouth agape. Melvin fell back on the mattress and closed his eyes. Streams of tears rolled down from the tail ends of his two eyes. He was not crying for the lost of a father but for the bad timing of the death and the accompanying responsibilities. Though he thought his father as dead long ago, he was convinced of his importance in the home. Sunny tried consoling him though he did not understand Melvin’s pains.

“Take heart friend. We shall all die when the time comes. Good your family is a Christian home; I believe you have to entertain the hope of seeing your father in heaven.” Melvin turned immediately as he heard those last words. He silently cursed Sunny for opening his mouth to say them. He had wanted to bark “no he is in hell!” But he comported himself with a fragile self control.

“I will travel home tomorrow.” He said sounding smugly resigned.

“Have you told your Head of Department?” Sunny demanded.

“I will write him and some of my Lecturers before traveling tomorrow.

“Let me get you something to eat.” Sunny said as he stood up making for the door.

“No I’ve lost all appetites.” Sunny turned and looked at him sympathetically. Sunny knew what it looked like to lose one’s father. His own father had died some three years ago. Sunny ignored what Melvin said and went ahead with the food. When he brought the food, he persuaded Melvin to take it and he did.

The night was cold and moody that gave birth to the bright Friday morning. The sun came up so early. The sort they say transits some vitamins into the skin. Melvin was awoken by several sounds of canon. That was an indication that a great man will be laid to rest in Nsukka. “Kpoom!” came the sound of another canon that drove Melvin into deep thought. There was not going to be any sound of canon on his father’s burial. He knew that because his father was poor and besides he was a Christian. Melvin hated that name: poverty. “Please God don’t let me be poor in this life.” He prayed silently. “Kpoom! Kpoom! Kpoom!” came another series of canon sound that brought Melvin back into his immediate environment. He drew a long sigh and stood up. Sunny was still sleeping and snoring slowly. Melvin pinched his toe to wake him.

“I’m going to prepare to travel home this morning.” Melvin said quietly.

“Mmm…wait a little, let the day get brighter before you go. It’s too early now.” Sunny said in a slurring voice. His eyes were sleepy and drowsy. Melvin insisted on going with some convincing reasons. “I have to go and write the letters which I will leave for my head of department and some other lecturers before traveling.” He said.

The wall clock was at 6:30am when Sunny stood up and stretched himself amid yawns. He went outside and washed his face with cold water and accompanied Melvin to the end of the street.

“Ehe!” Sunny recalled something; “K.C, it’s better as you are leave early to avoid meeting Oriokpa.”

“Are they coming out today?” Melvin asked startled.

“I heard from a reliable source.” Sunny answered firmly.

Oriokpa was a set of Nsukka masquerades that used to appear in all whites and flogged people who do not give them some money. The Oriokpa is known to be hostile to strangers and does the indigenous people of Nsukka no harm.

“Safe journey and take good care of yourself!” Sunny wished Melvin as they parted.

“I’m not going to stay long.” Melvin assured him and turned facing the road to Zik’s Flats hostels.

“My regards to other members of your family.” Sunny shouted as he watched Melvin running down the road to meet up with time.

It was such a cold morning despite the sun standing out there in the sky. Melvin folded his arms across his chest as he walked briskly and bounced a little as he passed through Onuiyi road to cross through Flats Hostels. As was normally the case, the Flats Hostels premises was full of girls moving about from fetching water and buying from the groceries. Melvin hated the sights of girl’s in skimpy wears and some almost naked. He crossed the Block ‘A’ hostel without looking back. He didn’t want to be seen by Uju and her room mates neither did he want to be stopped or distracted. Unfortunately for him, before he could get to the gate, he was intersected by Salamatu, Uju’s roommate. Her appearance was so sudden that he couldn’t hide from her.

“Hey! Run away husband!” Sala screamed running towards Melvin with arms spread to give him a hug. Melvin managed to smile in order to hide his inner feelings. He hugged the girl and closed his eyes as he received the warmth from her body.

“How you dey naw?” Melvin asked in pidgin with two hands on her shoulders. Melvin slowly ran his hands from Sala’s shoulder to her elbows and released them. “You don’t want to know how we are doing.” She accused and crossed her arms over her chest and continued childishly. “Since we changed to another room you have not came to see us.” Melvin felt a little guilty but decided to defend himself with a counter attacking.

“But Sala you should understand, it should be reciprocal. Could you remember the last time you people visited me?” he asked looking quizzically into her eyes. To cut the discussion short, he said: “anyway am traveling home today for something urgent. I must come to visit you people first thing when I came back eh.” He tapped her shoulders and turned to leave. “Extend my greetings to Uju and others.” He announced as he moved away from Sala who looked at him accusingly.

“We are now in ‘C’ block! C3 105!” she announced and waved Melvin good bye watching him until he was out of sight.

Melvin got to Aba at two o’clock that afternoon. He knew nobody would be in his father’s shop in the market. There was no need to go to his father’s shop this time. He flagged down an Okada at the park and made straight home. “Take it easy Oga.” Melvin warned the Okada man as bumped into pot hole without control. Roads in Aba were fully potted with holes at every corner and the first rain had already dropped as indication of the setting in of the rainy season. Melvin detests Aba in the rainy seasons yet he had got no choice. The Okada pulled-up in front of their house. There was no trace of anybody around the house. He feared that they might have traveled home. “No” he said “My father cannot be buried like a fowl though he was no rich.” Melvin walked slowly with his face down as though he was counting his steps as he walked into their house.

He pushed the door open slowly and gingerly looking straight into the sitting room, there were people seated in a semi-circle with faces looking ashen and hands supporting their heads as if the heads were too heavy to stand on their own. The stream of tears hanging around his eye balls could not let him see the faces clearly. He tried to suppress to urge to cry by blinking severally to send the tears back into the head. Then he recalled that he had sworn not to cry if his father had died of drunkenness. “I won’t cry for him neither will I witness his burial if he had drunk himself to death.” He concluded and sighed and the tears in his eyes dried out. He sounded as if his crying or not crying would make any difference with his father. His eyes swallowed back the tears. He could then see clearly. His mother and his elder brother were seated with his aunts and uncles in the seating room. The sight reminded him of the utopian promises they made him in the village. More hatred for everyone brewed in his heart. He moved swiftly and crossed the sitting room without greeting any of them. It was no time to exchange pleasantries because his heart was heavy. Melvin entered into their inner room and his younger sister Ihuoma followed him with a moody face.

“What happened?” Melvin asked her but she could not understand the question. Ihuoma kept looking at Melvin with askance.

“I mean what killed papa?” Melvin refreshed the question looking at her straight in the eyes like a police detective.

“Death.” She answered not looking at Melvin’s face.

“I said how did he die? Who told you I don’t know it was death that killed him?” Melvin shouted at her in a hoarse voice lacking patience as if she had a hand in her father’s death.

“I don’t know.” She started shyly trying to suppress the urge to cry, “But I heard his corpse was picked the early morning in front of Papilo’s Beer pallour.” The words sunk deep like a two edged sword into Melvin’s heart. It instead had a hardening effect on his heart. All the veins in his head stood out in anger. He dismissed Adanne and decided to get more information from Okafor his elder brother before he would take any action.

Mr. Samuel had gone to market one early morning. The sales that day were very fabulous that Mr. Samuel got overjoyed and left the market before the close of the day’s trade. He did not go home directly but branched into Papilo’s Beer Parllour. He bought drinks for almost everybody in there.

“It is well!” he kept shouting under the influence of alcohol. He had drunk himself to stupor when the owners of the beer Parlour wanted to close for the day at mid-night. People woke up the next morning to see Mr. Samuel lying like a log of wood in front of the shop. They thought it was fang-over of the previous day’s drink. Not until his children came searching for him did they realize that he was gone. Nobody cried at the spot because it was such a shameful death. His wife arranged for a vehicle that conveyed him to the morgue.

The entire story had twitched Melvin’s ears and they pierced through his ears into his brain. Immediately he made up his mind to go back to school. “This is suicide!” he screamed rather unknowingly aloud. “People that commit suicide are meant to be thrown into the evil forest and not to be buried.” He concluded silently and started parking his cloths back into his bag. Nobody in the family would be happy with him. He knew it but he was ready for whatever consequence his actions would bring. He was determined. “I won’t have a hand in the burial of a man that took his own life.” He muttered as he sneaked out through the back door. He knew so well that what he did will break his mother’s heart but his mind was made up not to get back home till his graduation from the university. In addition to the shameful nature of his father’s death he had already decided not to set his eyes on his hypocritical uncles that would promise and fail. He headed for the market and bought some cloths that he would sell at school. That had kept him going.*********

Now it had all come to an end. His business with the school had come to the end. It was time to go home. Melvin was confused. He continued in his musing state with eyes fixed on the sculpture in front of the Faculty of Arts Building. As if he would blame them for his problems. He had spent four years in the building with these sculptures studying another man’s language while his mother tongue was gradually going into extinction. He thought. Though he was looking at the sculptures, he was seeing nothing at the time but his eyes were in the past. A voice came ringing into his trance. “Melvin! Melvin!” the voice sounded as though from a far. He did not answer until a soft chilly hand shook him. He jerked around just like a man that woke from a deep sleep. It was Chinelo, his class mate. “What is it Melvin? You’ve been standing here all alone. Don’t you want to join us it the graduation party?” she asked him but Melvin lacked words. The voice sounded as if they were coming from another planet. As he opened his mouth to speak his jaw dropped, hot tears trickled down his chubby cheeks. He could not control the tears. “I’m sorry.” He said in a very low voice to Chinelo and left swiftly. As he went out through the Jackson building he saw the happy sculptures at the fine and Applied arts building. His eyes went to the one playing guitar; the one that looked like a palm wine tapper; the naked woman; the one that sang silent songs. He felt like going in the midst of the sculptures. He felt like turning into a sculpture and to remain there happy forever. He crossed the other side of the road, flagged down an okada and went straight to the hostel.

It occurred to him that the country has got just few jobs to offer. He was afraid of the future. And very soon the school authority would ask every graduate to vacate the hostel. He packed his bags without talking to anybody as he had already made up his mind to go home irrespective of how he would be received back home. As he walked slowly down the stair case, Saro Wiwa’s Home Sweet Home kept running through his brain. As he matched outside the hostel, he turned around to have his seemingly final look at Alvan-Ikoku hostel and Eni-Njoku hostel standing like the Twin Towers. He turned to the direction of the school stadium towards the Twin Towers of faculty of Arts and shook his head slowly as tears started grouping around his eye balls once more. He hissed “towers of confusion” he said in a very low tone. He flagged down an Okada and zoomed off to the park. He felt like saying good bye to the sculpture of lion at the school gate. He raised his hand and the hand dropped slowly and the okada sped up and the sculpture was out of sight.