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To Onome my muse and dove,

So brave thy love

It makes me whole.

1

At the age of nine, Nna would make us sit close to him, tell us stories of his village, how they conquered the whites as a result of their resilience and unity, then would complain how those two were now in lack. Those nights were usually calm and serene. Nna liked nights because we were expected to have finished our homework, eaten dinner, taken our baths, and come down to hear him tell his tale. Yes, tales. Sometimes they were nothing but fictions told from the figment of his imagination, at least so they seemed. Like when he told us of how ‘Odegwu’, their village champion, wielding just a machete faced a group of soldiers with guns that came to harass his mother who advocated for their village women to stand up against the British rule, demanding that the market women paid tax to government officials. That was hard to believe, how one man could fight off three trained soldiers, more importantly, how a common villager could fight off the British and go unpunished. Those were one of Nna tales’ that chockfull our ears.

I was nine at the time, young and attentive, probably too attentive for my sister’s liking as she always did complain. Nothing pricked her more than seeing me with neighbors, never talking or doing aproko as that was common in our village, in our compound, and amongst market women. Even though I occasionally contributed forcefully, I was never or barely interested in what was being discussed, I was only their ear. I was the boy everyone knew would listen no matter how busy I was. Sometime, it was reprieving for some to know that someone out there was willing and ready to listen to them talk, poised, not contradicting their thoughts, or arguing with them. We were growing up in a world where everybody had something to say, felt like saying something, all that was needed was a listening ear, so I decided to be that ear. It was simple logic which endeared me to many, and even though I laughed it off any time my sister brought it up, it was probably true. I got use to telling people “you know I have a big ear” just to get them to talk. That was my pitch and it wasn’t far from the physical truth.

As Nna would entertain us with his stories, Nne would sneak in to sit with us, lean on the wall and motion Igbane to come over. He would then sit on Nne’s lap all through the evening especially when his eye lid were beginning to cramp each other.

Igbane was Nne’s favorite, humble and caring. Wasn’t every child? He contradicts the axiom “last born are spoilt brats”. Hardworking wasn’t the word to term a five year old boy, assiduous sounded matured for an infant of his age. Although Nne never talked about it, she sometimes wished he was her child, came from her womb. Everybody thinks he is. We are too attached to tell the difference most times, actually all the time, we forget he is Nna’s nephew. The story goes that his parents were killed over a land tussle between their village and the neighboring town. I one time overheard Nna say grandfather had willed the land to the family and Igbane’s dad being the first born kept the land all to himself. It didn’t surprise me that even after much family quarrels as who to build upon the land, Nna didn’t turn away from his brother and family. He didn’t join in the fight though, he supported in many other ways like when he was begged to take Igbane under his care just in case something went wrong, and it eventually did few days after Igbane came to live with us. His coming pleased Nne a lot; it was exactly a year after her miscarriage. I never did ask Nna what did happen, I was too young then to know and Nna never felt the need to tell. All we knew was that they died but not the manner in which it happened, and that ended everything. Nobody talked about it, not with Nna, he was too strict and principled to enjoy conversing with, and Nne— too scared to talk.

Nine years has gone past and everything seemed to have changed, the most pleasing to me is Nna’s storytelling. We moved from a two room thatched flat in Uriegha to a bungalow in the city. Our tea became brown and thick, our bread always buttered, and the meat on our food gained weight. Our new compound was wide enough for Nna to build two mini-flats for rent and a month after; we had our first new neighbor. Nna’s new job had some strong financial backing; he was recommended by someone, to occupy one of those big positions left vacant by the whites as they departed for their homes, we never knew who. That was an example of a miracle, mostly to me, for we were not deep believers and so never got to talk about God and his wonders. I did a little, only never talked about him in the open, just me to my conscience.

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“Popular faith in genuine democracy was compromised from its birth,” I heard Nna make a point to Mr. OyIgbo our neighbor. Nna never argued, rather he spoke calmly as if he counted his words in his mind before letting them out. I pushed aside the cotton and peeped at them through the window pane of my room. Mr. OyIgbo’s visage was respectful. I was more fascinated at Nna’s countenance. It was firm and well-founded, didn’t budge even though his views were the contrast of Mr. OyIgbo’s. I smiled as my gaze shifted to Osaro who was coming behind them. I enjoyed staring at her, not for her beauty, which was far from her grasp, it was the unevenness of her teeth, scattered like the hills spread over Ibadan. Her smile dey make my smile to smile.

“Good morning sirs”, she greeted almost on her knee. She was too cordial in her manner, I scoffed.

“Osaro Nne”, Nna answered in his fading Igbo intonation. Many years away from one’s native land could cause that. He shifted his gaze to her father.

“I would be pleased to have your daughter for an in-law, you know”, Nna said jokingly.

Mr. OyIgbo smiled politely, seemingly not flattered by the joke Nna just made.

“He should”, I thought out loud. “His daughter would be lucky to marry a handsome young man as myself, but that would never happen,” I grinned.

I crawled back to my bed. Saturday mornings’ were my lazy days. Ndidi and Igbane did the major house chores. She would sweep and mop the tiled floors while Igbane did justice to Nna’s car then would join Nne in the kitchen. Sometimes he’d take it upon himself to rid the compound of grasses. All I did was climb down when called upon to come eat. Most times, Nne would complain of my laziness, questioning what modern evil had crept into me.

“Ogini!” she’d exclaim. “Can you see the importance of growing up in the village? No one grows up to be lazy as this. What are you a man for? You better stand up or your peers would take you for rags”. Those were her words, almost like she crammed them but flowed freely especially when her Igbo tone came to play.

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Everything in the city was bigger unlike in Uriegha. Buildings were nearly no different in height from Iroko trees, roads longer and fine unlike the dust ridden footpath that enclosed the way to the local Uriegha stream where we would trek several miles threatened with dust before we got to the stream. Coming back, our feet’s would look clean, because we had been drenched by the same water on our head from the stream. Those weren’t good times; they were times neither Igbane, nor I nor Ndidi would want to remember. What worsened things were when we arrived home, Nne would still allot portions of minor house chores for us to do. Those days weren’t worthy of remembrance, not to anyone it wasn’t.

I sat by my window, gazing far into the archaic ancient city, and at the same time perusing through my memory. Benin’s landscape was a sight to behold. The lands were massively large, greeneries covered the empty highlands of Bendel, large portions of lands empty and wanting wear, trees spread their green leaves with pride, and the palm trees, singing, maybe to the wind or probably to the god’s. Tale of palm trees singing to the god’s at one point in time were told by elderly men, at moonlight, but that was centuries ago, when it was believed warriors hid in those trees to spy on enemy fighters raiding our lands. Those tales were too good to be true, but then again who were we to doubt, the Benin kingdom was and is still populous for its deities and black magic.

Market days were busy and rowdy; one could barely hear himself over another’s voice. Today was the same as other days, worse actually, the red sands reaped more strength from the rainfall that wet the sands in the early hours of the day.

I and Nne treaded cautiously as we squeezed ourselves through the rowdiness, making stops at every open store that had bags of beans and rice to sell. I watched Nne Price the bags, her bargaining technique had improved over night. She called her prize in full confidence, the kind possessed by a woman who had the money to buy whatever she wanted but was trying to make sure she wasn’t cheated.

It reminded me of Uriegha’s rural market days, Nne would make me come along with her and Ndidi to the market. All they needed me for was to carry the heavy bag, but the bags were rarely ever heavy. We would spend time in the market, moving from store to store comparing the prizes of the same commodity, and then finally we’d settle for the one that was lesser, and by lesser it was nothing short of a naira lesser. It was frustrating for me, walking under the hot scorching sun and at the end of the day the essence of our visiting every shop was only visible in two naira.

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Our Sunday mornings had become different. We drank very brown tea, swallowing well-buttered breads with egg sliced in-between. Igbane ravished his breakfast like fate would never grace him with such luxury again, but he was wrong. The air that morning was pleasant; I guess more pleasing as a result of Nna’s perfume that sneaked out his room into the parlor then spread its wings all over the air. This aura was new, which was fast overtaking the usual Sunday scent in our house.

I watched Nna walk to church with so much authority in his steps. He didn’t smile though, he barely ever did. He responded to every greeting with a simple nod. I knew he practiced the nod since he recognized that the goddess of luck had smiled on him. “Fortune is a fickle jade that often smile on those that need her the most”, he used to say those words with no luster, now they had become his apothegm. Nne’s view on the subject of fortune was somewhat rational yet none wanted to believe her when she said: “Fortune smiles and then betrays”. As I walked with Nna, I felt my shoulders did same, only higher. Igbane and Ndidi had gone ahead, not because they wanted to take the front row sit and listen to Father Mbaka’s sermon; they wanted time to run around the wide grassy compound of St. Prime Catholic Church.

“I'm sure you’ve noticed some changes”, Nna asked as he kept on with his suave firm steps and I trying to keep up with the pace.

“Yes Nna.” I stole a quick gaze at him, and saw his comforting look. I could guess what he was going to say, yet I listened with rapt attention.

“Do you know what happened?”

I nodded my head and said “No, but I have an idea”.

Nna slid his hand into his pocket trousers as he listened to what I was about to say. “The business you have been hoping to get from the government has finally come through”.

“Yes, you are very correct.” His voice boomed richly. “The most interesting part was that I don’t know who recommended the job for me. All I was told was that he’s a high ranking government official and favored me for the job.”

“Wow Nna!, that’s good news,” I feigned epiphany as if I hadn’t eavesdropped on him and Nne Conversation some time back.

“Now your father is a certified government building contractor, importing and exporting. Are you not happy?”

“I am Nna, I'm very happy. It is what you have always prayed for, less work and good pay. Finally, it has come.”

He patted me in the back. I had spoken like his true son. Nne would have complained if she were here. Her words were “You better not be lazy like your father! How would a man, with two hands and leg sit down and say he is "waiting for the government!”

Nna was never the working type, safe to say he was lazy and Nne feared I took after him.

“What is on your mind?” Nna asked perceiving the countenance on my face.

“Uriegha”, I whispered. For some reasons, I had come to miss the village.

“Don’t worry it will pass, or don’t you like our new place?”

“I do, it’s just…”

“Your friends obviously,” he said indisputably. “Osaro our neighbor, you can make her your friend.”

I wanted to laugh. That, I know was a sarcastic statement meant to make me laugh. Nna did good to use her for jokes. I didn’t laugh even though I wanted to. I looked up at Nna’s face, I wasn’t encouraged.

We walked the rest of our way to church in awkward silence. Everything about Nna was awkward.

Always awkward.

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Ikenna Okafor! I heard Nne shout out my name. It was Friday morning and the weekend smell permeated the air. Nna had left for work already, Igbane too. He left with Nna so as to meet the morning lessons in his school, he was preparing for his final exam, the senior school certificate examination.

From the look on Nne’s face, she wasn’t happy. She sat on the dining table, there was no tea cup or bread to sip and bite from, just the green dining table covers neatly settled on six sides. She obviously wasn’t calling me for breakfast. As I climbed down the stairs, I could hear Ndidi rummaging her room, she was probably searching for her apron again, if she went to school without it that would make the third time this week she had gone without it. Ndidi was through with school, but Nna wasn’t ready to sponsor her education, his opinion of women going to school was that it was a waste of money. At first we thought it was because he didn’t have to pay for school fees, but even now that the money flowed in more than usual, his decision hadn’t changed. “Women were born for the kitchen” he would always say.

I landed heavily on the tiled floor; I could see Nne’s unfriendly eyes staring at me. She probably wasn’t in love with how brawny I was. “How could he be this brawny and yet lazy”, I imagined she was saying. But I wasn’t going to mind, I actually never minded any of those times she gave me such inauspicious moot gaze. I loved my body, how burly I was, but most of all my height, I was the perfect fit for a war front foot soldier, but Nne wouldn’t buy into such assumption, she would never even hear of it, I guessed it had something to do with Nna nnukwu, her father.