ADMISSION WAHALA 2

The E-block buildings were the face-me-I-face-you kind of houses like the type found in the slummy Ama-nmong areas of Aba. It was a community of eight rows of houses facing each other in twos with a row of four toilets and four bathrooms in-between each pair as if they were separating the houses from ramming against each other. A block in E-blocks had six rooms accommodating two students in each. The original plan for the building was for accommodation for married students and nursing mothers. Now the rooms were randomly allocated to single students crammed four in a room like every other undergraduate hostels in UNN as a result of accommodation scarcity. Mrs. Nwodo’s was Block E4 room 404, the fourth room in the fourth row that now looked quiet and deserted except for the cry of a baby coming from first room. Melvin walked gingerly down the lawn looking at the top of the doors for room 404. Sounds of dropping waters in the bath room followed him and he felt it must be from a water tap left uncorked. He thought something about going into the bath room to stop the running water but the sound was not steady. Water from the bath room splashed on the opposite pavement as Melvin got close and he jumped backwards. He heard what sounded like laughter from the bathroom and paused. 
“Maybe someone is washing the bathroom”, he said and moved on. As he meant to cross the bathroom, he caught sight of a girls buttocks shining glassy with soapy water. He flinched and looked away immediately like a solder on eyes-right command. They were two girls taking their bath with the doors widely open. Melvin looked again furtively to be sure of what he saw and increased his pace without looking back and the girls laughed. 
“Jambito!” one of them called out laud. 
He could hear their croaking laughter re-echoing in the other empty bathrooms as if the houses also mocked his timidity. He felt ashamed. 
Room 404 was locked. He still didn’t want to look back. He stood facing the door with hands akimbo, disappointed. He could not turn back to face the lucid pornography behind him though his eyes wanted to see more of the curves, to see more of the V and the balls. He stood there growing confusion and more weight between his thighs. There was nobody around with whom he could drop a massage but the naked girls behind him. Now he could still hear them laughing louder and the empty rooms mocking him from behind. Some ravens flew across the top of the building making their croaky sounds like they were part of the laughter. He thought something about walking up to the naked girls to ask them the whereabouts of Mrs Nwodo but his legs refused to move. He wouldn’t want the girls to see the mound that had formed in the front of his trousers. He pushed his too hands into his pocket to keep his crotch region even. He tapped his fingers inside the pocket as he thought of what to do next. He was trapped like a bird in a bird catcher’s net. Suddenly a sonorous feminine voice barked angrily behind him and he turned his neck. 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 as the doors closed slowly and quietly. 
"How many times do I have to warn you shameless pigs to always close the doors 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 didn’t seem to have seen Melvin. Melvin hissed a long sigh of relief and turned around. Mrs. Nwodo raised her face and cowered a weak smile. 
“Good day Aunty” Melvin greeted shyly still with his two hands bulging up his pockets.
“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 on a mannequin. 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 my handkerchief.” she laughed. Melvin looked up shyly with a smile and said nothing but savoured the aroma of cologne that followed Mrs. Nwodo as she crossed over to unlock the door. She slumped into the bed opposite the door and motioned Melvin in. Immediately, the bathroom doors opened simultaneously. The two girls emerged, grinned at each other like the mischievous Tom and Jerry in cartoon movies and ran into the opposite room. 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 zoom past. 
“Idiots” she muttered.
“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 mat looking round the room. His eyes were on the book shelves. He wondered more about how he could afford such quantity of voluminous books before graduation than how he could read them.

Two six spring beds lay opposite 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. Mrs. Nwodo’s corner was the right wing with her pictures on the wall beside the bed. In the first picture she sat on a sofa, smiling and holding hands with a white bearded man and a baby on her laps. In the second one she carried the baby with a sucker in its mouth. High above the pictures was a bookshelf, 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 marvelled. 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 feet long attached to the wall. Up above the mirror was something like a wine bar, packed full with all kinds of women’s make-ups. On the floor was red chequered 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. Mrs. Nwodo dropped her bag limply on the table and went back to 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. She was tired. The skin of her legs looked like ripe pawpaw; so smooth that Melvin thought he saw 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 the tension in the air.
“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 said and placed her hands on her chest. 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 had dragged the family into. He had written his father off as dead because of his drunken habit. “He is as inactive as a dead man”, Melvin had said to himself one of the days he got home and saw his father drunk. He sighed bitterly whenever he saw his mates ride 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 what the feelings were. He winked and 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 jerked 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. 
“I don’t mind what Department any longer, what I need is just admission Aunty,” he answered, looking straight into Mrs. Nwodo’s face. There was a mixture of frustration and desperation in his quaky voice. He wasn’t able to hide any feelings now. His glossy, watery eyeballs would show it. His pouted mouth would scream it. His ashen face would dramatize it. Desperation! Mrs. Nwodo chuckled mutely looking into Melvin’s misty eyes with pity. 
“Well, your admission issue is 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,” she managed to say after a little silence. 
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 wanted 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” 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 now. 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 and her sonorous voice sizzling into his ears. 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. As Mrs. Nwodo left him, He wiped out the tears from his face with his palms and stood up to leave.
“K.C bear with me, I’ve not got cola to offer you”.
“Don’t mind” Melvin responded in a very low voice. She watched Melvin as he left the room. She shook her head in pity and leaned 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 skin searing Nsukka sun; the kind of sun shine that came with the rain.

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

my butterfly

MY BUTTERFLY

Gently hovering around it

Carefully negotiating the best entry point

The colours are irresistible

You approached

Thrust your proboscis into its juicy pool

Like a dragnet it kept holding you fast

Your wings radiate so brilliantly in the sun

It’s like a nuptial flight of the termites

So passionately involved

So obsessed

My day is gone

As I kept beholding your radiance and delicateness

Above all

Your immeasurable beauty is unequalled

You are my butterfly

i am searching

I AM SEARCHING

I know she is somewhere out there

While I grope for her in the darkness of my heart

Where her first leg took a leap on a prong

Where we have been playing all along

Like twine kernels separated in an uncracked shell

So we have not seen each other

Yet every day I see her there

A tangible mirage in a concrete apparition

In that darkness of the enclave of my mine

Yes every day I touch her

A sky close-by seeming impossible to reach

And we play together in there

Like a drop of oil on a cold stream

She has always been here

Playing in my timid heart

Where I fantasized, since I was young

Where I have locked her all along

To nurse her to a full-fledged woman

My mouth I have zipped to keep her locked

And my anus is blocked to imprison her

Now she is gone out there

Having slipped away from the grip of my fingers

Like water from a rickety basket

Now I have got to keep searching all over

I am searching

The Convention

                                                          CONVENTION THINGS 
Hi pals, I come again to disturb the peace. 
We just came back from the Safeguard Your Heart District Convention of Circuit EE17. I so enjoyed it! The three days felt like thirty years outside this trouble filled world. So let me tell you a little about it. I won’t te

ll you everything that happened there shaa.

On the Thursday night before the convention, Bro Ejike called me on the phone and said the “Ntachi” group will be sleeping over in my house for the night. I said it would be a grand privilege to host them. He laughed and said they were coming to cook in my house that they wanted to carry some food to the assembly ground. I laughed and wondered how their food would taste. They say people that like food a lot don’t know how to cook and I believe that. 

*bend down let me whisper to your ears*

Ejike is the District Overseer of Ntachi Omeprazol congregation. Have you hear about them before? These guys are so funny to be with. They are UNEC students of Campus congregation. They have a sharp network that detects where there is free food; sumptuous ones at that. These guys can eat and eat and eat until you wonder where the foods enter. Notwithstanding, they all maintained athletic figures with flat six stones trunk that I envy so much. I love to have them around.
*don’t tell anybody I said that*

I was driving home from Zik Avenue when I saw Ejike and Awa carrying a cooler and a big nylon back. I called them and they said they were heading for my house and hopped into the car. Their presence in my house made us feel like the convention had already started. We all sat on the floor discussing many things ranging from how the young sisters in UNEC refused to help them do the cooking to how tired they were to cook now. They were so fortunate to have my younger brother Chidi at home. Chidi entered the kitchen and prepared the stew with Wisdom and Ejike rendering some little helps. I chattered with Awa all through the night till I slept off. 
It was Wisdom that woke me up in the morning and we did the morning text while two pots of rice were boiling in the kitchen. 

It was the first time I drove myself to an assembly. We went late though. It’s a pity I had to; I had some of my customers that I was supposed to see in the morning. One of them took the whole time bragging and telling me about all his dreams in life. They say the customer is a king you know. I had to wait for him to finish though I wasn’t listening. After all he was not ready to open an account at the moment. *Mtchewww* I just nodded like a red neck and made some throaty and nasal sounds like “mmhm”, “uhu” to make him feel I was listening. Soon my younger brother called and said time was “Agnes”. Then I had to cut the customer short. “A sogide Eze anya ekpuru nkata n’ihu gwa ya okwu”. I ran downstairs and jumped behind the wheels and called my brother and his friends. We joined the traffic at 9:25pm. Very late. I matched the throttle down and my red L sign dangled like a nursery school bell at the bumper and Venter of the car as we sped through Nike Road. “I send? That L has one year tenor to stay on the car. Whoever doesn’t like it should go and block a moving train. 

We arrived late at the assembly ground. As we stepped in, I heard the rasping voice of brother Nwakire(jnr). I thought it was his father. He and his father sounded alike. We met his wife on the walk way near the urinary where she was standing with a baby. Maybe their kid was disturbing. One attendant was standing at the entrance. He gave us the program and shook me firmly. He was my friend’s younger brother. We sought a seat near the right flank, where we could get fresh air. That was my favourite position – near the work way to the urinary. Then I realized we had missed two talks already. Too bad. 

I liked the symposium: Beware of Dangerous Heart Conditions! 
Brother Abel handled “cunning of heart”. After reading Proverb 7:10, 13 and 14, he defined cunning heart as a treacherous one, a tricky one, a deceptive one. When he asked “How can we guard against developing cunning heart? He introduced a “solilokwi”. Maybe it was soliloquy he wanted to say. But what I saw was not even a dramatic monologue they were two people on the demonstration. On the first part the sister was working in an office and her boss asked her out for lunch and she accepted. Maybe the “solilokwi” was when she said no brother has ever called her “angel” nor “sunshine” as her boss did. 
The speaker said that was the wrong thing to do for a true Christian. After all, the boss was not a witness. Now he introduced the right one. The boss came again and asked the girl out for a lunch, calling her different sweet names (u know the kind of names girls like na *winks*). She didn’t even allow the boss to finish before she shouted back; “no stop it!” with her left hand raised bitchily like “talk to the hands” and said “don’t you know I use my lunch hour for bible study”. 
I thought that too harsh and counterproductive for any witness. If I was the boss, I would have given her a query on insubordination and unprofessional behaviour  I thought she would have said “thank you, but I use my lunch time for bible study. Why not join me?” that would have been productive for informal witnessing. 

Bro Silvanus handled “Double heart”. He defined it as a heart that says improper things. When he asked; how can one acquire a double heart? He introduced a demonstration. A man was prepared for field service. While he was about leaving the house, his boss called him on the phone and he abandoned the field service and rushed to the office ignoring the complaints of his wife and children. I felt guilty when the speaker said that was the bad example. Then the right one came. The same man was prepared for field service and his boss called. He picked the phone amid his wife and children’s complaints and laughed into the mouth piece first and then told the boss bluntly “I am not just available now” and added that he wanted to stay with his family. 
I couldn’t help but wondered if the demonstration was ever rehearsed because it was impracticable. If I were the boss, I would sack the man, so that he could have ample time for his family. Why could he have said such a thing? “I am not just available now”; a show of gross insubordination, flippancy and lackadaisical attitude to work. If I don’t sack him, I would give him a strong query on gross insubordination, lackadaisical and negative attitude to work, and abscondment from duty. They needed to get civil servants to do that kind of demonstration and not a brother that has a small shop in Ogboete. It was so impracticable. 

The speaker now urged us to unify our hearts to serve Jehovah. When he quoted Matthew 6:24, I felt guilty again. I had wanted to skip the second day of the convention so as to be able to attend one of my customer’s functions. There and then I made a rethink though the customer threatened to close his account with me if I didn’t attend. 
*he can go to the nearest hell with his account*
Bro Joseph handled “half hearted”. He said almost the same thing that Bro Silvanus said on “double heart”. I couldn’t help but wonder the difference. He now introduced a demonstration of brothers that discussed football in field service. That was the bad example. Then in the next demonstration the partner to the brother that discussed football corrected him and they focused on the field service. I learnt from that too because I love to gist. 
*gossip is my number one hobby*
Brother Chigozie Njoku handled “In Want of Heart”. He likened it to the need for a heart transplant. He referred to ‘in want to heart” as foolishness, inexperienced or lacking of knowledge and cited Proverbs 7:7 and Proverbs 10:21. When he asked “what happens when we do not pay attention to our internal development?” he introduces a demonstration. He called it “solilokwi”. I wondered why they all abused that word. ‘Monologue” would have been a better expression since they are related. Some pronounced “solilikwo” and I wandered if they talked about palm wine because holy water remains ayaya. 
The demonstration was a dramatic monologue. A Christian sister had some chykers sending her some erotic and amorous text massages. In the first part she responded positively to the text. In the second one she detested the text and deleted it. 
When the keynote address started I was fast asleep. Don’t mind me; it was hunger that caused it. 
Immediately after the song for brake time, I saw Ejike calling me to give him the key to my car so that they could have access to the food in the booth. I called Chidi and handed him the key. I went to Sister Ike’s stand at the car park and ate free food. I just finished eating when Joy Atuadi, Kindy and other members of their crew came around. I called Joy “Mummy” in the usual manner drawing the last syllable like the mew of a cat. I shook Mary firmly and accused her of dodging me. She smiled shyly and said it was a lie. I then said I was joking and laughed. I liked to see her smile like that. I also liked her twitting voice. I was holding her hand when kindy came. I always feel tempted to call her “Kindness”. That “keendy” pronunciation never formed well in my lips but I call her that anyway. She handed me her red bag while she ate. I hung the bag on my crooked elbow and kept my arm bitchily like I was posing snake in the monkey shadow and walked round for everybody to see and have a good laugh. Some of them took pictures of me. Oluchi threatened to post the picture on facebook and I said “I no send, I no dey owe anybody” and swaggered to where Ude’s family shared food to more of the members of our congregation. Soon the soft tune melody started. Kindy came and snatched her bag from me and said bye. While walking through the auditorium alleyway, I met Gift. I called her. She was the girl I liked from afar. I had always looked at her from afar and waved. This time I called her. We shook hands and I smiled into her face. She smiled back and said I looked younger. My head got swollen with pride and appreciation. If I was a white man I would have blushed. I couldn't leave her hand though I didn’t like the freckles that were now taking full possession of her chins. I was still looking into her eyes without words when she wriggled out from my grip and said, “See you late”. 

The afternoon session was so interesting too. I will tell you more about it in our next issue. People na-eche m ooooooooo!

ACHEBE

Controversy Brews over Achebe’s There was a Country

 Posted by Admin      115 views Articles

Oct072012

 

[Achebe] is a professor of English, a writer of repute and runs regular commentary on socio-political development in Nigeria. He has been nominated two times to receive national honors, but turned down the offer both times. Achebe’s latest work, now available in the UK, is his personal memoir of the Nigerian/Biafran civil war. In the PR the book is decribed as “the towering reckoning with one of the modern Africa’s most fateful experience, both as he lived it and he has now come to understand it.”

Achebe, in an article for the guardian UK stated

But if the diabolical disregard for human life seen during the war was not due to the northern military elite’s jihadist or genocidal obsession, then why were there more small arms used on Biafran soil than during the entire second world war? Why were there 100,000 casualties on the much larger Nigerian side compared with more than 2 million – mainly children – Biafrans killed?

It is important to point out that most Nigerians were against the war and abhorred the senseless violence that ensued. The wartime cabinet of General Gowon, the military ruler, it should also be remembered, was full of intellectuals like Chief Obafemi Awolowo among others who came up with a boatload of infamous and regrettable policies. A statement credited to Awolowo and echoed by his cohorts is the most callous and unfortunate: all is fair in war, and starvation is one of the weapons of war. I don’t see why we should feed our enemies fat in order for them to fight harder.

It is my impression that Awolowo was driven by an overriding ambition for power, for himself and for his Yoruba people. There is, on the surface at least, nothing wrong with those aspirations. However, Awolowo saw the dominant Igbos at the time as the obstacles to that goal, and when the opportunity arose – the Nigeria-Biafra war – his ambition drove him into a frenzy to go to every length to achieve his dreams. In the Biafran case it meant hatching up a diabolical policy to reduce the numbers of his enemies significantly through starvation — eliminating over two million people, mainly members of future generations.

The federal government’s actions soon after the war could be seen not as conciliatory but as outright hostile. After the conflict ended, the same hardliners in the Nigerian government cast Igbos in the role of treasonable felons and wreckers of the nation – and got the regime to adopt a banking policy that nullified any bank account operated during the war by the Biafrans. A flat sum of 20 Nigerian pounds was approved for each Igbo depositor, regardless of the amount of deposit. If there was ever a measure put in place to stunt, or even obliterate, the economy of a people, this was it.

Since the article and some reviews of the book were published, controversy has been brewing in the Nigerian literary and political space, with long threads of commentary on social media platforms and message boards. Newspapers are not left out as politicians and parties air their views. Read the statements below and share your own views in the comment section. Biggest question is, should Achebe as a writer need to publish a memoir on the civil war, and will it affect the country for the good or worse?

A political activist and convener of the Coalition of Democrats for Electoral Reforms (CODER), Mr. Ayo Opadokun, took umbrage at the position of Achebe in the new book. He said: “The new write-up is another rehash of the perverted intellectual laziness which he had exhibited in the past in matters relating to Awo when Achebe described Awo as a Yoruba irredentist. What he expected was that Awo should fold his arms to allow the Igbo race led by Zik to preside over the affairs of the Yoruba nation. The fact that the Yoruba people in their wisdom, having found out that the NCNC through Zik and Okpara had established a government of their choice and then wanted to follow up with the appropriation of the Yorubaland as their catchment area. It is a demonstration of the contempt of Achebe and his ilk for the Yoruba nation.

Chairman of the Afenifere Renewal Group (ARG), Wale Oshun wondered why some Igbo, especially Chinua Achebe “find it convenient to pick Awolowo as a scapegoat of all that happened to them during the war.” He asked, “did awo start the war? He was just the Federal Commissioner for Finance with responsibility for coming up with appropriate fiscal and monetary policies. He was not at the battle field and could not therefore be fairly charged with genocide..” The former Chief Whip of the House of Representatives also challenged anyone to come up with any publication where Awo said starvation should be regarded as a legitimate weapon of war. “Neither in any of the books written by him nor on him was any such thing said. It is the work of those who hated his guts. It is not factual. It must be remembered that even when he was not in the cabinet, he tried to prevent the war, but as soon as it broke out, it was between Nigeria and Biafra. He had to come up with policies that would end the war quickly. Those who are peddling this line have forgotten that Awo was in prison when the crisis started.”

Awo’s official biographer, Prof Moses Makinde, who heads Awolowo Centre for Philosophy, Ideology and Good Governance, Osogbo, is the author of ‘Awo: The Last Conversation’. The other two are: ‘Awo as a Philosopher’ and ‘A Memoir of the Jewel’. He disagreed with Achebe, maintaining that the Ikenne-born statesman was a full-blooded nationalist. His words: “I do not agree with Prof Achebe on the statement. It is not true that Awo’s civil war role smacked of even an iota of selfish political aggrandisement. I was his biographer and I can state authoritatively that, though he did not penetrate the North, he had a firm belief in the unity of Nigeria and that was why he wanted to govern the country as an indivisible entity. All the governors and other close associates of his would attest to the fact that he was a believer in the oneness of Nigeria which was why he wanted to govern the entire country for the overall benefit of her entire citizenry.

Dr Awolowo-Dosunmu told Sunday Vanguard, yesterday, while responding to the Achebe claim: “One is still trying to come to terms with the sense of disappointment about the person who wrote what is now a brewing controversy in the country. “While a formal statement responding to the offensive comments of the writer is being prepared by the family all I can say for now is that I feel so disappointed”.

But, Mbadinuju, defending Achebe, said: “I have not read the book. I don’t want to speculate. During the civil war, I was studying in the United States of America. However, I have absolute confidence in Prof Chinua Achebe. He is an acclaimed international scholar and figure; whatever he says about the civil war should be taken seriously.”

Adam'spen: BECOMING A WOMAN

Adam'spen: BECOMING A WOMAN: Nwanne stood in front of their new home at 50 Abam street Aba. She couldn’t see Onu and Otisi again to play with. “They must be big boys n...

BECOMING A WOMAN

Nwanne stood in front of their new home at 50 Abam street Aba. 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 watched some boys playing football in the rain. She had marked this set of boys for their always being dusty. She 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 as they played naked in the rain. She felt like jumping into the rain to play with them but 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 and the ball rolled close to the goal post and stopped locked in a murky water log. The goal keeper dashed towards the ball to kick it off but the ball drifted a little to the left as the water moved it and he missed it, kicked the air in a rapid swoosh and landed with his back on the dirty muddy ground. The other boys laughed out freely and threw themselves on the ground. Nwanne joined with laud laughter from the window 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 ran into the rain to play football. She was sure she could play better than some of the boys but she wouldn’t play now that some little balls were growing on her chest; the kind of balls she couldn’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 some of them 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. She would have allowed them, if not for 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 ran into the rain with her dress on, the football might hit her chest and the balls would start ache her. She couldn’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 and softening 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 bouncingly with her shoulders up 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. She was just a picture of her late father. 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. When would she get to terms with the fact that she was different from the boys?