Familiar Strangers

During the drive to our Nigerian-home, my father began talking about the family, trying to familiarise me and Peace with our aunts and uncles. As my father talked I began pondering about the family members.

My father had three younger siblings, two brothers and a sister.

Uncle Ikenna was the second born after my dad. My father once mentioned that uncle Ikenna was a managing director at a bank.

Aunty Nnenna was the third born.

I remember as a young child when she came to visit us in London. 

I was around 8 or 9 years old then. Peace had been getting on my nerves so I hit her. As usual she went crying to my mum, who then came charging into my room with the wooden spoon. I could still see the little smirk on Peace's face as she looked on expecting to see me get beaten. Luckily aunty Nnenna saved me!

The youngest of my father's siblings was uncle Ikemefuna. 

Uncle Ikemefuna lived in Port Harcourt, where he worked in an oil company.

My aunty and uncles had their own kids, but Peace and I hardly ever spoke with them, apart from the brief phone calls at Christmas and Easter. We usually tried to avoid those calls but mum would usually catch us before we could sneak out of the room. I didn't really like having forced conversations; I could barely think of anything to talk about.

The drive was excruciatingly longer than it needed to be and the heat was unrelenting. It was such a relief to finally arrive at our destination. I looked around at all that I saw. It was like something I had seen in Nigerian-films, with high-walls and large gates.

Uncle KC beeped the horn a few times and within a few seconds the gates were opened up by a gate-man. We slowly pulled-up into a compound and stopped in front of a large house.

The outer walls of the house were painted a cream-colour with neatly cut shrubs and hedges running across the edges of the compound.

We all got out of the car and uncle KC helped us carry our luggage to the house.

The inside of the house was nicely set up with beautiful décor; the furniture was almost like something out of a catalogue.  I was filled with a bit of warm-pride to see the efforts of my father's hard work.

As I stood looking around, a house-boy came up to help carry away our luggage. He was a young boy of about 18, but looked older. He smiled politely at me as he walked over to where our luggage was.

"Chike! How are you?" my father asked nicely.

"I'm fine thank you, sah! I hope your journey was pleasant"

"It was fine, thank you...we arrived safely, that it was we prayed for"

Chike had a bright smile with a neat gap in his bottom set of teeth. He seemed to have a spring in his step as he came over. I stepped forward to help him but was startled by a loud voice. Aunty Nnenna. Chike had started taking our things away as I turned to give my attention.

“Wow! Obiora, you have grown! Dimkpa. Look at you! And see Ada! Adannaya!”

My aunty Nnenna came rushing with eagerness to me and buried me in her bosom as she hugged me. Within moments my mum also became overjoyed with excitement and hurried over. As expected the exchange was loud and fast. The joy they both showed must have been contagious because my father joined in with them; he didn't rush over but you could certainly see the joy in his face. I and my sister were quite surprised at this, as this was something we rarely saw from dad. Peace decided to take advantage of this moment and took a picture.

Just when we thought the moment couldn't get any more joyous my two uncles came over and saluted my father; their deep voices echoing across the hallway. Uncle Ikemefuna embraced my father and the two of them hugged tightly, patting each other on the back. Uncle Ikemefuna was a tall as me but naturally larger in size. He had a thick beard and low-cut hair. He was dressed smart but casual in shirt and trousers.

My mother and aunty were still exchanging pleasantries and catching up on time passed as they made their way into the parlour.

Uncle Ikenna came over. He was a tall figure, slightly taller than my dad. Dressed in traditional Isi-Agu and red-cap, he walked with an air of importance which kind of reminded me of my dad.

It had been quite a while since I saw my aunty and uncles. I still vaguely remembered them.

Uncle Ikenna stood facing my dad and the two greeted each other with salutations, slapping each other’s palms.

"Odogwu!"

"Agu!...Agu-Nwoké!"

"Okosisi!... Nwanne'm nkem oooh!"

As Peace and I stood watching, my father turned to us, gestured with his head, 'Come and greet!' and like the well-disciplined children we were, we went over to greet.

"Hello Uncle Ikemefuna." We shook hands with the usual click of fingers that Nigerian men love to do.

 "Obi, Ada; ke ka unu mere?" My uncle asked.

I just about understood the question, but I couldn't respond. My father and uncles just laughed knowing neither I Peace could speak Igbo. We just smiled in response.

"Obiora, Adannaya, come; don't you want to greet me? Am I a stranger?" My uncle Ikenna asked as he put his arms around me and my sister.

I wasn't used to being called by our Igbo-names by people other than our parents but for some reason it didn't feel strange. I hugged him back.

"My children, welcome back home;" Uncle Ikenna said happily. "Ngwanu, come. We have to catch up."

With his arms around our shoulders, he led us towards the living room; the sounds of laughter and loud voices from family members could be heard chiming across the hallway.

I felt my father pat me on the arm as he hurried past us towards the living room.

I guess meeting the rest of the family would help me understand more about my father, and the strange relationship me and him had. 

I mentally prepared myself about what was to come. 

One thing I needed to do if I was to understand anything, was to acquaint myself with my other family members... these familiar strangers.

A Journey Home - Part 2

We had finally made it to Nigeria. After a long flight from London to Lagos, we then had to take a local flight to Enugu. At that point I had already become tired of planes and had become very irritable.

After the stress of handling our luggage and trying to avoid bumping into other travellers, we made it out of the airport to a vehicle waiting for us. 

A slim man stood by the family sized car; he looked like he had been waiting there for some time. The man saw us and began approaching; he beamed a bright smile and let out a shout of joy. 

"Oga! Madam! Welcome! Welcome ohh!"

My father laughed and the two shook hands and hugged briefly; he came over to my mother and greeted her too. 

"KC?! How are you?" my mother said smiling.

"I dey ooh! I dey! We thank God." KC replied smiling as he turned to me and my sister.

Being the well-trained children that we were, Peace & I greeted KC before he greeted us.

"KC, so you're still this slim...like a chewing stick! Aren't you eating enough?" my mother asked jokingly.

KC didn't reply he just laughed as he and my father began loading our luggage into the boot.

KC was our driver...well; he was actually the driver for my family in Nigeria and he had been their driver for some time. I couldn’t say I remembered KC. I only knew his face from some of the photos we had back home in London.

After my parents and KC were done exchanging pleasantries, we all got in and begun our journey. KC and my parents were chatting away about the usual things: politics, the differences between ‘home’ & UK, how much me and my sister have grown and haven’t become spoilt like those other ‘useless children’ back in London; …that bit was something my mum often pointed out when talking about my sister and I.

I was already starting to sweat from the heat and Peace wasn’t making things easier. She was starting to dose off as she leant on me, and she was starting to sweat also; whatever anti-perspirant she was wearing wasn’t working very well.

“Peace! Lean off me man! You smell.” I said impatiently.

My sister didn’t even budge. She just kissed her teeth at me.

“You shouldn’t even be talking about who stinks; your b.o is just making me dizzy.”

I tried to nudge her off, but she was proving stubborn.

As my camera was packed in my luggage, I decided to take some mental pictures of the sights of the city. Everything seemed so interesting; the cars, the noise, the people even the trees...everything felt new… as if I hadn't seen such things before. 

Back in London I hardly appreciated such things, but here in Nigeria I seemed to be intrigued by them.

A little smile spread across my face as I looked at everything around. I then looked over at my father who was at the front looking out of the window. I could just about see a small smile on the side of his face too. He seemed quite happy to be back.

As child I remember some of the stories he would tell my mum, about where he grew up. Some of the stories were sad, like when he was re-telling the things he could remember from the war; and some amusing like the time he and his brother were in the village and they saw a masquerade being chased by two-dogs.

My father never really spoke to me and Peace about these things. We used to sneak out from our bedrooms and eavesdrop while my mum & dad spoke in the living-room.

As KC was driving, an Okada pulled up in front of us; KC impatiently pressed down on the horn and threw insults at him through the open window. 

"Abeg, comot from de road joh! Non-entity!...anuofia!" 

I began laughing. My father smiled a little and gestured for KC to calm down. KC kissed his at the Okada driver as we over took him. The Okada simply ignored him. My mother however didn't find it funny at all...she was more concerned.

"Biko, Kelechi! Take it easy, you know these Okada men are sometimes irresponsible drivers."

"Madam, I'm sorry, no vex oh; but that na de only way these yeye people go fit understand...everyday they'll be riding stupidly on the roads. If to say de driver get helmet, I for just jam am wit' dis moto." 

Though Peace was half asleep she heard that last comment from KC.

"Hmm. KC, you're a joker." she mumbled.

At that point my father turned to Peace.

"Ada, call him 'Uncle Kelechi', he's not your mate." my father said calmly.

KC didn't seem bothered. 

"No mind ya papa...it's fine. Just call me Uncle KC." he said happily.

As time went on Peace had drifted off fully into sleep, but this time she was leaning on mum, who had also dosed off.

My father and ‘Uncle KC’ had finished their conversation, so he decided then to speak to me.

“Mikel, look around you; these streets are where I grew up, where I sold goods to help support my mother and siblings; where I saw and heard various things. As I look around I see the dramatic changes this city has gone through.” My father’s voice had a solemn tone to it.

As he continued my interest slowly grew. The traffic around us seemed to be getting less and less congested; cars and other vehicles started flowing a bit more freely.

“Obi, this place holds a lot of memories for me…many, many memories. While we’re here I will share some of them with you. You’re growing into a man, so I know you may appreciate what I’ll tell you.” My father stopped talking. He seemed to be lost in thought.

I began to wonder what things he wanted to tell me. Part of me wanted my father to continue talking; to continue and tell me everything he had to say; but he just remained silent, causing me to be swallowed up by curiosity. I reminded myself that this wasn’t going to be easy for my dad. Although he wasn’t saying a lot I knew this was probably the most he had opened to anyone. My heart felt warm with appreciation for my father’s efforts; and of course I knew that I also had to put in effort if me and my dad were going to make any progress together.

I tried to mentally prepare myself for anything that came during our time in Nigeria; whatever happened I would just embrace it.

I prayed a short prayer for me and my father, and then I leaned my head back and enjoyed the rest of car ride home.

A Journey Home - Part 1

It had been weeks since the matter of me and my father’s night-time discussion had occurred. As the weeks slowly went by everything seemed to get back to normal…which basically meant just tolerating everything in silence. To be totally honest things weren't too bad. There were a few moments when my father and I got on but things still could have been better.

Over a month had passed since I came home from uni; and I was starting to get bored of being at home most of the time. The youth-club which Samson was going to show me had closed down to due government cuts and; so my summer plans were now non-existent. The only consolation I could look forward to was the family-trip to Nigeria that we had coming up.

Me and my family had visited Nigeria once before. I was quite young then and barely remembered anything except the immense-heat and running scared for my life from masquerades in the village.

As young a child Nigeria was a place my father only spoke of when mentioned in the news or if the National team lost a football match.

I had always wondered why I and Peace didn’t visit more often. My father and mother use to travel there once in a while and leave us behind; this was when me and my sister were old enough to be left alone though; and of course unlces and aunties would occasionally check up on us.

When the time eventually came to leave Peace and I seemed quite excited. Although we had heard many scary and weird stories about Nigeria, it didn’t phases us…if any of the stories were true we’d just have to see it for ourselves.

Preparing for this journey had been an experience in itself. Relatives kept calling my mum asking if they could bring items to her and help deliver them to their own relatives in Nigeria. My mother had to politely refuse. The stress of being responsible for other people’s items was something she didn’t want.

At the airport, my sister and I looked on at other passengers in amusement as some of them tried to find ways of dodging the excess-weight fee for their luggage. They tried turning their luggage in different positions, moving the contents around inside even arguing with the airline staff. To my mum and dad this all seemed normal.

The call for our flight had been announced and so we headed to the gate to go on board.

On board my father and I sat together. My mum who was already starting to doze off, wrapped herself in a blanket. Peace sat next to her reading a book.

“Mikel, when we reach Naija…I think it would be great if I showed you a few things…I feel this would be a great opportunity for us to…”

my father paused.

“...bond?” I think that's what he wanted to say.

He looked at me.

“Obiora, my son…I only ask you to do one thing for me, if we’re going to bond as father & son I want you to also make the effort…meet down the middle, try to understand me at times also… i na ghota? You understand, right?”

I responded with a nod and just tilted my head back, closed my eyes and let my thoughts carry me off.

I began thinking of how me and my father would actually start to bond. It was the first time I ever heard him mention the word. The word ‘bond’ felt foreign. The relationship we’ve had had never really been like those you see on TV; playing football, play fighting, you know, typical father-son stuff. My father’s main focus was always my education; and as for him and my sister…well their relationship was no better.

I used to hear that fathers & daughters were always close, but I never saw it with Peace and my dad; we were both close with our mother, but with our father? It was a totally different case. Yes we loved him but if you were to ask us if we liked him…I couldn’t answer. I guess if this trip went according to plan that might change…hopefully

So far I kept thinking about ME and my father, but a part of me wondered how he was going to get close with Peace. I came out of my thoughts and decided to address this to him. My father was half asleep, I knew how much he hated being disturbed when resting but I decided to ask anyway.

“Dad? What about Peace? Are you going to try and bond with her too?”

My father yawned and grumbled his answer to me.

“Yes, but that will be between me and her…let me first focus on you first.”

I remember when my mum told me about some of my father’s past; and how he was the bread winner of the family after his father went missing during the civil-war. I tried to think of what my dad went through to make him becoming the man he is today. I wondered if his hard-life growing up was the cause of his sometimes emotionless character.

As my father sat there with his eyes closed, I just looked at him; one thing I just realised is that he rarely ever spoke about his past. Anytime he did mention his childhood was when he was nagging me or Peace.

I remember one time when Peace was around 14 or 15;  my dad had asked her to get him a glass of water and she did get it…but she had an attitude about it. My dad just shook his head in disgust.

“You kids today in this country are spoilt & lazy. When I was your age I had to walk miles under the sun to a river to fetch water. All you have to do is walk to the kitchen and it becomes a problem…it is a shame”

The harshness of his own childhood was probably too much for him to talk about; but whatever the problem was, it was something he didn’t want to share. The only person my dad opened up to was my mum. And one notion my mother believed in was, whatever is discussed between parents is kept between parents; so she didn't tell us anything either.
I guess the trip to Nigeria  was what I should have really been focusing on.

Slowly I became a bit bored of my own thoughts and started drifting off to sleep.

I dreamt that masquerades flogged me & my father. Whilst I cried out in pain, he remained silent not saying a word about it.