THE GREATEST DILEMMA OF OUR TIME

The greatest dilemma of our time:

Is it Terrorism, and what we might do, to stop men killing one another?

Or is it Corruption, and how we can get leaders to truly and honestly lead?

Is it Religion… how to achieve one universal one?

Or is it Immorality and pervasion?

If you ask me, not all these.

The greatest dilemma of our time…

Is what to do for the child, with the child, and by the child.

It’s a Monday morning:

In hurtling to fix the problems of the world, our country, our states, our families,

Do we do so like Manchester United yesterday, who all advanced up-field in pursuit of victory, only to have their David De Gea at the mercy of Negredo and Aguero?

In other words, do we quickly hand-off our kids to ‘so-called’ teachers, and run off in pursuit of millions?

This week, let us be like Liverpool:

Let us aim for victory, but be defensive.

So that even though the world is a mess today, we can be hopeful that the children we raise will clean it all up tomorrow.

So did I dwell on the Fifth Joyful Mystery this morning.

The right tenets for raising a child could be elusive…

Therefore, let us pray for the disposition of Mary and Joseph, when they found a truant Jesus after three days of searching. The excuse He gave didn’t even make any sense at the time, but His parents kept calm. And after the way they handled the situation, we never heard that Jesus ran off again. He stayed in His father’s shop, diligently learning the art of carpentry. I guess.

Take care of your children, for they are the elements of the future earth.

An empty world will have no trouble.

A world filled with bad people and poorly raised children will be in turmoil.

But a world with good men and women in it… that world will be alright.

I tell you!

Good morning.

PRACTICE - FIVE

I knew Abuja’s corporate life. And, maybe, Lagos’. But nothing of Benin’s. Abuja young men looked dashing in their corporate attires. On good days, I did too. And today was a good day. It was a Tuesday; I hadn’t exhausted my wardrobe for the week. So, in my white shirt and black suit, I looked reasonably impressive. Red tie. I greeted the men – four of them – and they kept staring at me. Censure could have been on their minds, because government could appear in any form. But this was no censure. While the other men gazed on in confusion, Laide’s Dad spoke up with some… relaxed… cheer.

                “Duke how are you?”

I was pleased to hear him call my name. Extremely pleased.

                “I’m very fine, sir. Thank you. And how are you sir?”

                “We’re fine…” he replied.

                “Laide told me you were a little ill over the weekend… How are you now?”

                “It was nothing… serious… We old men fall ill sometimes,” he joked.

“These are my colleagues,” he said and, turning to the men he said “this is Duke…” And then he faced me and said, “Duke, what are you to me?” He was smiling mischievously and I felt cornered.

                “I am… I am… your… I’m a friend of the family, sir.”

That was the best I could come up with. He laughed; and I did too.

                The mood in the room improved. The other men took the cue…

                “I targeted coming at lunch time so I wouldn’t really be… getting in the way of work…

“I could go and wait somewhere for a better time…”

One of the men on his way out quipped, “Every time is lunch time here oo!”

He was the roundest of them all.

They laughed as they exited the room.

Now that I had my ‘father-in-law’s’ attention, he asked me when I came into town…

                “I understand you don’t live in Benin…”

                “I just came in, sir,” I replied.

                “From Abuja?” he sounded surprised… perhaps not at the speed, but at taking a full-fledged working day for a gamble trip.

                “Yes sir. I had to skip work… I flew.”

                “Okaaay… I was wondering.

“So… have you seen Laide?”

                “I didn’t come to see her, sir; I came to see you…”

“Me?!”

“Yes sir! To continue to seek your favorable consideration of me. I know I’m a stranger, but in a matter of time you’ll get to know me… and probably trust me…”

He thought awhile.

                “You know Laide’s in school… and nothing will happen; nothing will even be considered until she’s through!”

                “I know sir…”

                “But the… the intensity of your… your… request suggests otherwise,” he protested.

                “Sir, I’m… kind of… asking your permission to date her…”

                “To date her?”

                “Kind of… Sir.”

                “Aren’t you already dating her?”

                “I… I don’t live in Benin, sir.”

                “Yes! But you two know how you have been doing it!”

                “Sir… I… I want to… I want to…” I was staring at the desk now, not the man… “I want to… start the process of asking your permission to… let her travel for a week.”

                “Travel to where?”

                “To Abuja… and we can take a vacation together…”

I didn’t know where I got the audacity to voice my request from. But then, I thought, what was the big deal? The worst I could get was a no.

His eyes grew round.

                “Are you… are you insane?! You’re asking me… to allow my daughter… you’re asking me to let my daughter loose? Where are you from?! Is that how you operate in your place?!”

                “Sir, I know it sounds stupid…”

                “It sounds more than stupid… it sounds disrespectful!” he yelled.

                “Sir, I know it sounds stupid, but I have the audacity to ask because I know that I would never ever hurt Laide in anyway whatsoever. I give you my word… I will not even touch her… We wouldn’t even lie on the same bed… Not just because you won’t want it so, but also because I won’t…”

                “Then what do you want her to visit you for?”

                “Sir… oh… so we can be together… share our company; dream together, plan, grow… put our challenges into perspective… I bring to the fore the unfavorable conditions here and the ones at my place, we analyze them… determine our chances…

“Because, sir,” I looked squarely at him, “if you foreclose abruptly this opportunity we’ve found… to spend our lives together… you might be doing an eternal damage to both our hearts…

“Sir, let us see reasons, if any, why we can’t be together – especially in our own way; let’s not just be systematically kept away from each other…”

                “Hmm!” he heaved.

                “Yes sir,” I continued. “It will be like a convention for her and me… to either buoy our determination, or kill it; whichever, in the end we’ll know… If love, and commitment, and honor, and trust are not a sufficient foundation upon which we can build a home… a marriage… we’ll not need anyone to tell us to stay apart.

“If there are other things we must have that we don’t already have, then we’ll understand. We’ll know if distance and tribal or religious differences are strong enough to crush the unification of two souls occasioned by deep love and affection… and respect…”

                “Young man… young man,” he intervened. “I will not lie that your speech is not touching, no. As a matter of fact, it is impressive… But don’t forget that I was once a young man, and I know how love intoxicates… Believe me, it can turn a stammerer into an orator. I’m not saying… don’t get me wrong…I am not… downplaying your gentlemanly qualities. As a matter of fact, I extol them. I am only saying that love is mostly a momentary thing… a phase thing… it soon blows over, and when it does, the reality it leaves behind is different. Our people say the drunk should go and sleep, when they wake, then they can attend to the real business of life with clear eyes. It’s the reason why alcohol is served only after serious matters have been addressed in a meeting.” He laughed. I chuckled.

“Time and experience have taught our people not to bank on love alone when marrying because, in following the lead of love alone, serious issues are not taken into consideration. And, while the two people in question love each other, what about their families? Marriage is not just about the man and the woman, you know… it extends to their families, their backgrounds, their histories… This is the real world, young man, not your fantasy ‘Abuja marriage’ world. I’ve heard a lot of stories about that your Abuja. We’re not like that here. Here we’re very circumspect.” He finished.

                “I’ve heard all you said, sir.” I cleared my throat. His long, conquering speech had subdued me some.

“The depth of your wisdom is intriguing. I expected nothing less, anyway. Your daughter herself has the body of a twenty-two year old girl, but her mind is that of a forty-year old woman. A real chip off the old block!

“I do agree with you, sir, that love wanes… that the drunk have nothing meaningful to accomplish other than sleep… I agree sir. As much as I do not believe that my love for Laide will ever fade, I do not want to leave anything to chance… or fate. That is why I want to consummate my love for her sooner than later… to invest this… this… huge… deposit… of affection I have for her. I do not want to leave it there and have it fester and grow cold and become indifferent… I don’t want it killed by the dispositions of our families. That is why I am taking this road… that’s why I seek to invest it… so that in the future, even if I don’t have any interest on it, at least I’ll have my capital – whole and entire – and that’s a whole lot.”

He smiled.

                “She did mention that you’re an accountant.”

                “I read accounting, sir.”

                “That makes you an accountant, doesn’t it?”

                “Well, I don’t work as an accountant, sir.”

                “What do you work as?”

                “I’m more into the initiation and development of projects…”

                “I see…” His gesture suggested he needed some explanation.

                “Well, my accounting background is often quite detrimental to project initiation and development work…”

                “Detrimental you say?”

                “Yes sir.”

                “That’s a negative word, isn’t it?”

                “It is sir. By that I mean… a project developer is supposed to just keep initiating and developing projects. It is the job of the financial departments to consider the viability of such projects and decide if the organization should embark on them… and they suggest the best approaches the organization might use. So, in my case, in the processes of initiation and development, I worry a lot about costs; and the implication is that it reduces my speed and drive. It is good to consider costs when making any plans, but the financial departments have the full apparatuses to extensively analyze costs against expected short and long term benefits. So… if I’m there at my desk, getting discouraged at every turn because of “high costs”, the financial guys wouldn’t have much developed projects to analyze; and so less work is done. On the other hand, if I could get myself to ignore the costs, the financial guys could see a lot of sense and viability in a project I might consider too expensive to embark on… So… that’s that sir.”

                “Interesting!”

                “Thank you sir.”

                “Erm… what do I offer you?”

                “Oh, nothing sir. Your attention is a lot already.”

                “Really?”

                “Yes sir; really.”

                “Well, your coming here has really helped your cause, I must admit. We’ll see how things go.”

                “Thank you sir. Just a week… no harm whatsoever.”

                “Oh… that… Well, we’ll see.”

                “Thanks a lot sir.”

                “Are you going by the house?”

                “Oh no sir. Seeing you was my sole purpose for coming.”

                “So… you’re going back to Abuja?”

                “Yes sir.”

                “Right now?”

                “Yes sir. But if I can’t make it I’ll just pass the night in a hotel somewhere and leave in the morning. It’s either a flight now, or a hotel and a bus trip in the morning.”

                “We can shelter you for the night… if that worries you so much…”

                “Oh, don’t bother sir; I’ll be fine.”

                “Sure?”

                “Yes sir. Thanks for the offer. I’m really grateful.”

                “You’re welcome.

“You say you don’t want anything?”

                “I’m fine sir. I have to go.”

                “Okay Duke…”

                Blur.

Straight to Abuja that same day, and I showed up at work full of excuses and apologies. If I continued like this my days were numbered.

PRACTICE - SIX

At the weekend I went to my parents’ house. Everything was normal. No one asked me questions. Not even Dad… He didn’t ask me how things went with Grandpa or what I’d been up to. Lately, he and Mom had become quite distant and hard to reach. It made me think they were unhappy with me or something.

                Usually, if married couples take a vacation – or whatever exercise prescribed to rejuvenate their love – the first signs of success are usually spotted in the ways they attend to their children. It becomes often shabby. They take the love and attention meant for the children and shower on themselves. All of it! The children’s affairs take back stage: The crying baby would have to make do with the attention of the nanny; all the children would have to cope with long stretches of hunger; the maid would have much more work to do... all the while, Mom and Dad would be in their bedroom looking into each other’s eyes and laughing at their unfunny jokes. Having retired and moved to a quiet part of town, it was as though Mom and Dad were newlyweds now. What they had now was an everlasting vacation. Every time we came around, it was clear where their priorities lay – in each other. It was difficult to connect with them.

                Beyond that matrimonial preoccupation, however, it was possible that my Dad wasn’t happy with me. A friend of his had fed him a million fascinating stories about chattered accountants, and he wouldn’t have me be anything else. It always seemed I was going to get involved in the race there… in a matter of time. But now that my immediate academic future lay in purely artistic fields in the US, he must have felt I would never become a chartered accountant after all. I was going to study classical literature… and I nursed a personal ambition of merging it with modern to create a writing style of my own. I didn’t seek to get into it in Nigeria because I didn’t want to always come home to his disappointed and disapproving countenance. Moreover, how could a venture like that put food on my table in this country? Now I was switching careers. As if that was not enough, I was talking about getting married… and marriage pigeonholes a man’s path, leaving little or no room for risky career adventures. Simply put, if I didn’t become a chartered accountant before I got married, I would never become.

                I imagined Dad’s inhaler would be running out, so I bought him a new one. I bought him a new tin of coffee too. As he always did when I bought things for him, he refunded the money I expended… against my wish… said he didn’t want to bother me. That wasn’t how I saw it.

The rains began to increase in frequency, but decrease in intensity. A few good rains lay ahead, though. September. The ‘Ember’ months were here. The franticness was setting in. Time was running out. I knew I couldn’t take Laide away from her family at Christmas season. The time was now. All the joy they knew in that family probably revolved around her. Even if I could, I didn’t want to be in the village with her at a time when Dad and Mom would probably be there. It might lousy up Grandpa’s schemes. Plus, I could face Grandpa’s tortures – if at all… couldn’t say the same for my Dad’s.

I put in two full weeks at work, calling Laide’s Dad ever so frequently.

THE GRAPH

We called Nabem Mister Eyes, because we said he had the largest eyes on earth. He often went livid whenever we did. We were always alert for when he’d hit out, and we darted away. We were coming up with funny degrees of the joke, so much that Nabem couldn't often help laughing, until it didn't really upset him any more.  We laughed when he wore glasses… we said thirty percent of his eyes remained uncovered underneath the rim of the glasses, and another thirty percent above the rim.

When he stared at the beginning pages of a book, we said it only seemed he was reading from those pages, that the actuality was… he was reading the end pages… That his gaze needed cushioning, so that to read from page two hundred, he needed to be looking at page one.

We said because of his eyes, that Nabem could see the future; and so we asked him to give us clues on what lay in our exam question papers… Exams that were months away. Of course it was all a joke. But when Nabem got an A in Geography in our Senior School Certificate Exam, I thought we might have been right all along.

                It was the view from the window of the room that would be mom's that brought all this…’Nabemic’… thoughts upon me. I was resting from all the work I’d done. Dad’s repeated coughs from the kitchen invaded my reverie. Him coughing wasn't new, but it was growing in intensity these days. What retirement opens you up to…

                   That anything took shape that Sunday afternoon was really because of Chaz and I, not really Dad. The three of us had come to clean up our new home and make it ready for the arrival of the family. A fine, humane apartment in the quieter parts of the city… still green, and still with distant views unhindered by high rise buildings, electric poles, billboards, masts, and all whatnots. Mom and my elder brothers had insisted on the idea of moving here, discouraging Dad from retiring to the village… where old men distractedly anticipated death. We were moving for the first time in twenty years. Back then, we operated at Dad’s pace; and that meant having to jog behind him at times, and getting run over when we stood morosely in his way. Dad was fast, business-minded, and energetic. Twenty years changes everyone… moves everyone along the graph of life. It had set us well along the path to the tip, but Dad had made the bend. Law of diminishing whatever!

                Chaz and I rushed to the kitchen. He wouldn't admit he needed help. Typical! But we tried to see what we could do anyway. Now I wondered afresh if this was nothing but senility… because of what the issue was. I hadn't quite come to know what he suffered from, but he took drugs all the time. His breathing had been laborious for weeks. I noticed every time I stood close to him, but I never knew the right question to ask.

                Twenty years ago it’d be us worrying to call it a day and go home. Today it was Dad said we’d covered reasonable grounds, we should go. We didn't leave the old place until eight days, so he said we could still make some comebacks before D-day.

                In the car as I drove us home, my mind ran around the spectre of what was to come….

       *                                               *                                                    *                                                   *

I'm just discovering that Obinna smokes, but I'm not surprised. To be frank, it discomforted me only a little, given that Chaz, my younger brother, was there. My buddy smoking would definitely paint me in bad light. He tried to be reasonable, though. As if he knew how I felt, he dropped behind to light up. The three of us were walking to the house. It was night already. It easily was here. Electricity hadn't made a full entrance so, once the clock hit eight, a black sky blanketed the world completely. My people say, “It is God that drives away flees from the body of a tailless cow.” And also, “If God would let a rash afflict you, He will give you the fingers with which to scratch”… Here now, the moon was always at its best. Or… maybe not always. But we never saw the moon in the city. If ever we did, we never appreciated it like this. Here we were closer to nature. The sounds from chirping insects were amplified by the green solitude of my native land. Children skittered here and there, playing under the moonlight.

Chaz and I were talking as we strolled… about Pa Onunze and his constant naggings. Funny was the way he gesticulated when he talked. He narrated even trivial stories with the kind of seriousness one would attach to weighty matters such as death. He cast his gaze into the distance, raised his hands and pointed into the air… The pitch of his voice rose unexpectedly. He could be speaking in a very low tone for a time, then, all of a sudden… “AND I STOOD UP AND COLLECTED THE HOE FROM HIM!!!” If you were meeting him for the first time, such burst of adrenaline could scare the crap outta you. Those of us who knew him well, battled with control over rising mirth the whole time. The funniest thing was that, he never seemed to notice that he was being funny. Even when we laughed, he never seemed to know… he simply continued his story, snuff in hand – usually. After visiting with him, we finally gave vent to all our suppressed laughs while discussing the time with him. He was one of our uncles… that was all we knew. How he came to be, we knew not. Nor did we know how Pa Ogbonna was our uncle either. But we were really close to him… enough for me of all people to be pulled to the village to attend his funeral. I had jokingly invited Obinna to accompany me, and he appeared all too willing to do just that.

                From the corner of my eye I could see the red glow of his cigarette, and the scattered smoke he puffed. I wished Chaz wouldn’t see him, but I might have been wishing in vain.

                Amongst the people who have been friends with me over the years, I have found hardly anyone who shares even a tenth of my idiosyncrasies. Not that I know precisely what they are; but I believe I’ll know the moment I spot someone who looks anything like me. Here was Obinna, my friend… he was nothing like me. Now he was disgracing me by smoking in public as if his life depended on it – and in the presence of my “good boy” younger brother. I felt it’d be pretentious of me if I rebuked him now, so I let things lie. After all, I thought, in two days the funeral would be done and over with and we would all be out of here.

The shrill chirps of insects in the glowing night were all over the place. I liken it to something I've heard before: …the stillness of a spinning top; this was the silence of constant noise. What we call silent night isn't really silent. No minute; no second of this life can ever be completely silent. There’s always noise – no matter how faint. But the village was a quiet place… in ways that the city wasn't. Here’s the real pace of man – the ideal pace. Slow. People run up and down in the city; and when they run out of life, this is where they bring them to – the village. Some return before it’s over, to die on their own terms – at their own pace. That was it for Pa Ogbonna. I've never imagined he lived anywhere else but this village. These were the ones who, though the war was lost, never accepted that lopsided reconciliation. They say, ‘he who conforms against his will, is of his opinion still’. We’d arrived the earth to meet him an already ageing man. Wrinkled face with dark blotches… made us think he was angry always. Moreso, when we were up to our little pranks and he yelled, we fled as if we were being chased by an evil spirit. When the whole talk about witches and wizards arose, he was my model of a wizard. He didn't talk much, just sat in his easy chair in his front yard with his hand fan. Never did I see him on a shirt or a trouser; it was always yards of cloth thrown around the body… and his red cap. When he walked he always had his staff, and his hand fan… his chewing stick in his mouth. His movement was slow, his figure bent… and then I thought he was going for a meeting of the witches and wizards.

All this was about fifteen years ago. Now, my own dad has aged, and I've realized that men wrinkle as they age. So Pa Ogbonna was in order… and he was probably not a wizard nor an evil man at all. His son did a stint with us in the city… but things weren't looking up, so he changed base. He was still changing bases when his father died. And when we all converged for the funeral, his father’s house looked neglected. It was his responsibility to fix it, but he hadn't the means to do so.

I took a cursory look at my home town the whole time. In the city we drove cars, saw movies, hung out with pretty ladies, spoke fine English, went to the gym, had contemporary music, met with celebrities, married, had children, travelled the world… All these, I thought, aren't they enticing to these guys? Why would there be life at all in the village! How could anyone want to stay here! These people were not expecting NEPA – even if in days – NEPA had never been here. Little generators were huge luxuries, and only the ‘elites’ owned them. The rest of the people didn't envy, they didn't really want a small machine that pollutes the entire neighbourhood just because it emits light… light that their local lamps could give without any noise at all.

                People woke up in the mornings according to the promise the day at the farm held. If there was enormous work, then rising was early – to be almost through before the sun made a full assent in the sky. If the day held nothing but weeding and light works, people took their time. But farming was a daily program – there was always something to do there. When families came back, the men had their easy chairs set for them, and their wives who had just returned from the farms too served their food. After that, they picked up gourds and went to the stream for water. And they did all this with a sense of joy and responsibility. Nowhere on earth are women more dutiful than in my hometown. When a man came to marry you, his wealth was measured by what cash crops his family owned. It didn't mean you refused if they had none, it meant you were blessed if they had any. But this blessing was sort of a curse in disguise. All the fruits from the trees would be processed by you, taken to the market by you, sold for a pittance, and you remitted the money to your husband – all with a sense of joy. Then you were applauded as a dutiful wife, and that increased the good reputation of your maiden family. Your sisters would get husbands too… your daughters, their daughters…

                I imagined modern girls in the city succumbing to this kind of arrangement. I often found myself laughing. I thought about how hard and how inhuman some cultures are… and how they have given rise to laziness and a misplacement of values in excuse. Yes, the world has turned its back on such arrangements now but, I thought, aren't we better off with this than with what we have now? Now that all most women care about is how to paint their nails and fix weave-ons that touch their hips? My friend Obinna was another good case in point… he had no values. When we arrived my village everything sucked. I kept nagging; and because I nagged, he did too. I thought it was wrong for him to. Even if I spited my town, I felt he needn't do it with me. I even felt he had to placate me… ask me to take it easy, that it was how villages were worldwide. But no, he nagged along… making me feel guilty for bringing him. Now I was changing and he had no idea. He still came and complained to me about how the women slaved for the men. Did he know I now saw that as duty? He still complained we were so backward we had no electricity. Did he know we didn't give a damn about the whole fuss? He still complained about there being no network. Did he know this was now my cherished retreat?

On the morning we were to leave for the city, Obinna’s hushed up readiness wasn't in tandem with the way I calmly put my things together. In the car his gaze was on the road, and how long it would take to get to Abuja.

My gaze was behind, and I was slowly closing the chapter: if the chaos of the city doesn't take my life, I shall return here upon retirement… to sit in my front yard whenever I feel like, with yards of cloth to cover my body. I shall have packs and packs of chewing sticks. I shall have a staff and a fan. I may or may not be a chief – doesn't really matter. I shall make haste slowly. If children come around me, I shall try to smile, so they don’t get scared… But I am silently aware of the further grotesqueness a smiling wrinkled face would assume. So I realize I may not really be able to keep them from running; so I guess that’s it. When I retire I’ll be back here… to enjoy the calm, the peace, the proximity to nature, and die at my own pace.

                    *                                               *                                                    *                                                   *

When we got home that Sunday evening, Mom heard of how our day went, and what had led to the intense bouts of coughing. From that grey tale, she stringed a robust joke that relaxed my evening a great deal. I guess the best jokes are the ones conjured from very tense and annoying moments and stories. Perhaps that’s why comedians always cut their teeth on political satires.

When Mom turned a matter for which she ought to have been sympathetic into one for which she was amused, Dad didn't find it funny. But the serious look on his face buoyed Mom and, before long, we were all reeling in bouts of preposterous mirth, and she fanned the fire of our mirth with gasps of more and more gibberish. Nor could Dad help it.

                Mom was truly the lubricant of the family as, amidst the gloom posed by Dad’s retirement, our having to pull up stakes, Dad’s health, and the future, she could still make us laugh and love and live.

The jovial ambience lingered through dinner. Next up was the family’s night prayers. After that, we said our goodnights and shared hugs. And then in sleep we awaited the future with the same cheerful disposition that has brought us thus far.

We believe in God.

Copyright (c) 2013.

The First Round: Ef. Nnamdi, George Uzoma, Jude Nnadozie

The Greatest Dilemma of Our Time

Is it Terrorism, and what we might do, to stop men killing one another?

Or is it Corruption, and how we can get leaders to truly and honestly lead?

Is it Religion… how to achieve one universal one?

Or is it Immorality and pervasion?

If you ask me, not all these.

The greatest dilemma of our time…

Is what to do for the child, with the child, and by the child.

It’s a Monday morning:

In hurtling to fix the problems of the world, our country, our states, our families,

Do we do so like Manchester United yesterday, who all advanced up-field in pursuit of victory, only to have their David De Gea at the mercy of Negredo and Aguero?

In other words, do we quickly hand-off our kids to ‘so-called’ teachers, and run off in pursuit of millions?

This week, let us be like Liverpool:

Let us aim for victory, but be defensive.

So that even though the world is a mess today, we can be hopeful that the children we raise will clean it all up tomorrow.

So did I dwell on the Fifth Joyful Mystery this morning.

The right tenets for raising a child could be elusive…

Therefore, let us pray for the disposition of Mary and Joseph, when they found a truant Jesus after three days of searching. The excuse He gave didn’t even make any sense at the time, but His parents kept calm. And after the way they handled the situation, we never heard that Jesus ran off again. He stayed in His father’s shop, diligently learning the art of carpentry. I guess.

Take care of your children, for they are the elements of the future earth.

An empty world will have no trouble.

A world filled with bad people and poorly raised children will be in turmoil.

But a world with good men and women in it… that world will be alright.

I tell you!

Good morning.

PRACTICE - FOUR

On Sunday I left Benin. The hotel and transport expenses were beginning to tell on me. I faced my work as best as I could, but I was distracted like hell. I kept thinking about how this was going to play out. I prayed a lot. After venting her disappointment at the entire arrangement, my immediate younger sister became supportive. What are siblings for if not to look out for one another! When we were in the university she often used to guess who, amongst a couple of girls at given moments, my girlfriend was. Whenever her guess was close to the truth, I got startled, and changed. I didn’t want her to see me like that… to see me have soft spots for any girl… so I pushed the girl in question away. I didn’t pick her calls, didn’t reply her texts… on and on… until she faded away. Since we left school my sister hadn’t bothered to check up on my affiliations with girls. She eventually got married and moved out of the house. Now I was thoroughly alone; my brothers were as far as anything. Therefore, my intention to marry was new to everybody. Nobody had ever seen the girl, or had heard there was a girl in the first place. So, my sister, Karen, out of magnanimity, talked to me from time to time about it. She was always careful when she did though… because she knew she irritated me every time she brought the fact that I met Laide on facebook up… as if facebook was hell, or a brothel.

                From thinking deeply in the office, I often ended up writing lengthy letters intended for Laide’s Dad. I never posted them. I spoke with all honesty and humanity… pleading that he trusts me with his daughter for a week; promising never to touch her. Never. Swearing. I poured out my heart on the plane sheets… and then I put them away. Sometimes I felt desperation was the wrong approach… that I shouldn’t go on presenting myself as a man who only wanted to take a woman; there was a lot in me for a woman to dream to have too… for a girl’s parents to dream to have in a son-in-law…so I assumed a somewhat indifferent stance.  At other times, I saw there was no way I’d make the final cut if I didn’t plead hard, so I sunk down to my knees again.

Early in September, I had an unusually protracted morning prayer one Tuesday. Whenever I prayed to God about important ventures I wanted so bad, I avoided ruining my chances by sinning. Ordinarily, I would have called in sick at work, but I didn’t. That would be lying. I simply told the Admin Officer that something came up – family matter – I couldn’t make it to work. I dressed as though for work, but I was going to Benin. Laide didn’t know about this, and I didn’t intend to tell her. I needed to speak to her father – heart to heart – one man to another.

                In order to be certain of meeting him during office hours I had to fly. Such urgency meant more money. But the amount of sacrifice spent in the pursuit of a worthwhile venture always bestows the feeling that success would be achieved. So I went.

                From the airport to Ring Road, left… when I got to the entrance of the premises, I stilled myself and took a deep breath. Then I proceeded with bold steps. I inquired at the reception. Government offices… lousy, obsolete places! I took the directions and came to the door of a room from within which lively laughter emanated. I knew one of the people inside must be him. Meant he was in a good mood.

I knocked.

                In my work back in Abuja, when I knocked on government doors I didn’t wait for any invitation. Government offices are official premises, knocking is even a mere formality. But when I knocked on the door in Benin, I waited. I heard a voice summon me. Still, I waited. My mission wasn’t official, so I had to move apologetically, somewhat.

I opened the door.

PRACTICE - THREE

I didn’t call Laide that night, because I knew she’d be facing… scrutiny. She didn’t call either.

The next day, a Saturday, we spoke on the phone. I’d hoped we’d meet, but as the day wore on, the possibility was ebbing away… like it did the last time. That time, I had come all the way, and literally hid in a hotel, scavenging on the leftover hours from classes, her parents, and her legitimate boyfriend. And what was that? A few minutes after school today, a few between lectures tomorrow… Whenever she was very free, her boyfriend was waiting; or her mother; or both. We’ve come a long way since then, however. Even though I didn’t know how things were between her and the said boyfriend, I knew I’d gained grounds over time. One simply can’t duplicate such commitment: if she was in such high seas of love and affection with me, then she was in a starving lake with him. No doubt. So, her not showing up tonight wasn’t necessarily because I was still lowest on the pecking order, but because I’d upended the peace by stirring the waters.

My work was suffering; it was going to suffer more. I’d planned to resign in December and take two months to prepare for my trip, but now I feared that if my ‘ancestors’ kept tossing me about, I would have to tender my letter sooner. I’d left work midway through Thursday, flew into Benin, had a prerequisite tete-a-tete with her on Friday afternoon, and then went to see her Dad in the evening. I stayed holed up alone in my hotel room throughout Saturday. Sunday, I was on my way back to Abuja by road. Had to be at work on Monday…

                During the week, our phone chats began to regain top form, paving the way for a successive weekend trip to Benin.

                I took an off day the following Friday, to make a road trip to Benin. In Benin, I checked into a hotel, and made off for her house at once. Dad was out; Mom, her cousins, in… no hostility now.

I made myself useful. It was my plan: to get involved in whatever it was they did to support the home. Some frying business against the weekend… if I really wanted to make this girl my wife, I had to make here my home first.

As the day wore on, the hustle and bustle dipped. It was getting dark. I wasn’t quite tired, but my eyes were heavy, though not with sleep: True, I’d had a hectic week; true, a long trip; true, I’d been involved in the domestic chores… but what made my eyes heaviest was my sense of pessimism. I took everything in, as if in blurry slow motion. Her mom, robust and full of life, was a dynamo of energy. In consonance with her fairly large frame, she made haste slowly. Because of that, she was constantly in motion. A woman who had a lot to accomplish, but was slow, had to always be busy.

Efe, Laide’s cousin – about the same age as her; pretty, fair… from my phone conversations with Laide over time, I’d come to know that Efe was usually lively and loquacious. Her silence now was easy to see through: I was here.

During one of my earlier trips I’d met Emmanuel… He shook my hand gleefully that day and welcomed me to Benin. Laide introduced me as a friend then. Now that I’d shown up here wanting more, his glee from that day was simply absent. Nor was Laide herself saying much… only answered my questions and stuff. I seemed to be the only one talking; trying very hard to remove all the ‘officialness’ from my language… trying very hard to impress.

                At about 7pm the man of the house came home, and spotted me at the industry of his hearth. Everybody greeted, especially me, trying to be recognized as the gentleman from the other day, Duke. It wasn’t a very good reception from him, but it was better than before.

I sat alone in the living room, hoping he’d join me. I knew dinner would be soon, and that I needed to have been gone before then… to save the family some dining awkwardness. Too early to seek to dine, except if I was expressly invited.

                The man did join me in the living room, but it was to cause my evening to plummet further. I stood up when he came in and, when he sat, he bid me do the same.

                “You know… young man…” he seemed to choose his words carefully. “You’ve made your intention known… I think… erm… it’s now left for us to ponder it and give you an answer. In my opinion… erm… there is really no need for this… this… show of niceness around my family. You’re probably a nice boy, nobody’s doubting that; but you’ve not been called upon to prove it.”

He bit off a bit of the piece of kola nut he had in his hands and began to chew as if without a single care in the world. He was gazing at the TV in a fashion that suggested I was dismissed. I stood up, thanked him, bade him good night, and left. Outside I flashed Laide, and she came for a hug that was better than the last time. We hung out on Blackberry Messaging till late, and it was clear this was the girl I loved, not her father. Therefore, only her demeanor really mattered. I always knew there’d be mountains, only I didn’t like them appearing like they could never be surmounted. Her sweet company gave me hope. And that was that.

After her lectures on Saturday she came over to the hotel. Sex would be too daring, and would pilfer the moral locus standi of my immediate mission, so we passed it up. We kissed, fondled, pillow-talked, planned, strategized, and generally made light of the mountains we faced, particularly the huge one that lay ahead – my prizing her from her parents for a week and taking her to my village to shew my Grandfather.