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.

Morning after the Night Before

Last night I hardly slept. Too much was on my mind.

I sit up on my bed and begin my prayers.

When I was younger mum made it clear to me and Peace that we must ALWAYS say our morning prayers. No matter what…even if the ceiling was collapsing; you must still pray.

The bulk of my prayer was about the issue with me and my father. Peace also.
I get out of bed and go straight into the bathroom. It’s a mess!

It seems some of Peace’s habits haven’t changed since I left. Her towels are on the floor, which is very damp. She’s left the cap off the toothpaste, the mirror and window are steamed up, and her shampoo and hair-care products are scattered near the sink.

I brush my teeth and go downstairs into the kitchen. I greet my family. My sister and mum are having hard-dough bread with butter and Milo. My father’s eyes make contact with mine. He doesn’t look angry, nor does he look happy either. It feels as if he’s been waiting for me. I look away and my eyes fall on his bowl; he’s just finished his Quaker oats.

“Would you like breakfast?” my mother asks sensing some tension.

“No thanks; I’ll just have some Milo”

I make my Milo with cold milk; that’s how I like it. I sit down and drink slowly. The silence in the kitchen is close to agonising. My father must feel the same ‘cos he decides to speak.
“Mikel, don’t think last night is over” he voice sounds deep but tired. I guess he didn’t get much sleep either.

“Over? We’ve barely started” I say with total abadon.
Mum looks slightly shocked. “Obi!..Are you mad?! Don’t speak to you father that way.”

“Sorry mum…sorry dad.”

My dad laughs softly. It’s the kind of laugh that he does when he wants to hide anger.

“Well, seeing as you’ve made it clear that you no longer want to listen to me, I’ll leave you.” He says calmly.

I’m surprised. I was expecting more of a challenge like the night before.

“My son has now become the parent, it’s as if he wants to throw away years of good upbringing.” My father continues.

One thing my father had a habit of doing was trying to play on emotions; it was his way of trying to make someone feel guilty.
“Biko, I want there to be peace between us…”

My father interjects. “There will be peace, once everyone knows their place.”

I know he is referring to me.

“I know my place definitely isn’t being suppressed by you” I say.

“Suppressed?...So me your father is now suppressing you” he says poking his chest.

“Yes. Ever since I was a child you have done it. I have NEVR been good enough. You have always found fault in what I do.” I say this all in one breath.

My mum gets up to speak. But I get my words out first.

“…And it’s affecting Peace too”

All heads turn to her. She sits looking at us nervously.

“She feels like she can’t exceed in anything with you; all she does is just good and nothing else.”
My dad now looks confused. My mum looks sad and confused. I try myself at playing my father’s game.

“All the negative attention you placed on me has had very negative affects on her.”

I feel like I’m exaggerating a bit, but hey, I guess I get it from my father.
Peace looks more worried now. I don’t like seeing my sister upset. But things needed to be sorted out.

“Adannaya?” my father calls Peace by her Igbo-name. “Adannaya, Have I not done my best with you? Have you now joined your brother to…”

Peace cuts him off.

“Dad, he’s right. Everything I’ve done has been good to you, but you never tell me how I could make it better. You push Obi in everything, even when he doesn’t like it. But not with me.”

Peace stops speaking and gets up. She places her plate and mug in the sink.

“I’m going to clean up the bathroom.” She says. She walks out; I hear her quick and light footed steps on the stairs.

I know it took a lot for my sister to speak out. It took me a lot too.

Anything that comes close to challenging an African parent was never a good idea. Even being grown, things like this brought back that fear of a child.
“All I want is a happy family! Is that too much to ask?” My mother says looking upwards as if praying. I hear the tones of frustration and sadness in her voice.

I leave my cold Milo unfinished and attempt to walk out. My mother calls me back.

“Mikel Obiora Nwadiké! Come here! What has gotten into you?!”

“Nothing mum. It’s just that I’m tired. I do love dad, but he needs to change his ways.” I talk as if he isn’t there.

I hear my sister’s footsteps again. Peace comes back in. I look to her.

“Everything’s fine Peace…come on, lets go; I’ll help you clean up the mess YOU made in the bathroom.”  i tell her.

Me and Peace walk out. As we walk upstairs we hear our mother voice.

“You see what you have caused?! Albert! I said this will happen! I told you in the beginning that if you don’t change something like this may happen!” she ends by kissing her teeth.

The slip-slap sounds of my mother’s slippers sound out through the kitchen and she cleans the rest of the table.
I guess mum has some issues she needs to sort out with dad too.

A Moment of Peace

A moment of Peace

I came out to my garden for some quiet time but my mind is full of thoughts which just cloud my head. My mind won’t shut-up. I’m alone and it’s still hard to get some peace.

“Mikel, are you alright?” my sister asks grabbing my arm trying to scare me.

I’ll admit; she does take me by surprise.

“What are you doing out here?” She asks smiling triumphantly

“I’m just thinking…trying to clear my mind and get some quiet time.”

I’ve been standing out here for 20 minutes; the small argument with dad just plays over and over in my mind.

My legs begin to get tired; so I sit down on the grass; my sister sits next to me. She has changed into her purple-baggy silk pyjamas; they match her nails.

“I heard the convo between you and daddy.” says Peace.

“Seems like there are a few issues that need to be sorted out.”

“There is nothing to sort out.” I reply boldly. “Do you honestly think anyone can get through to our family-dictator?!”
Peace looks at me then takes my hand.
“Dad just wants the best for you…he may seem harsh, but you know him, that’s how he shows his affection.”
Instantly I get frustrated and try to keep my cool. Peace senses it and she leans on my shoulder. She used to do that with our parents too; when they were angry with her.

She squeezes my hand tighter. “You know how African parents are… especially dads. Tough love is what they…”
I cut her off before she can finish. She knows little or nothing about tough love! The golden child cannot tell me anything about tough love.

“Peace, please don’t go there” I say releasing my hand from hers. “You’ve had it easy compared to me. You’ve rarely had your decisions made for you.”

My sister opens her mouth to say something but then changes her mind.

“Has dad ever made a decision for you without even asking how you felt about it?” I ask rhetorically. Peace doesn’t answer.

I turn and look at her. Though it’s dark out here, I can still see her slightly from the light coming through the kitchen window.
“Has he ever scrutinised every piece of work you’ve brought home?”

Peace remains silent.

“Has he ever, even once said to you ‘You didn’t try hard enough’ when deep down you know you tried your best?”
“No…not really” she replies hesitantly.

“There you go then. Dad rarely shows displeasure in what you do. You’re as good as gold. If I could have had have half of your treatment….” I end my sentence there.

I love my sister a lot and I don’t want this convo to cause any bitter feelings between us, so I wisely end it. My grievances lie with my father, not with Peace.

“Mikel? Have you ever wondered what it’s like for me?” she asks.

Her question is sudden and slightly confusing.

“huh?...what do you mean?” I ask back.

“For years dad has always focused on you…when you’re not around it’s only you he talks about. He goes on about how you’re gonna make him proud, how you’re gonna do this and that, blah blah blah…”

What Peace has just said has thrown me into a slight confusion. I try to say something but now I’m the one who is lost for words. Peace continues to talk.
“You know sometimes…” she pauses for a second. “Sometimes I wish dad could fuss over me the way he does with you. Dad is just content with what I do. With you he’s always trying to make you better, trying to make you achieve more; but with me, what I do is just satisfactory… and nothing more.”

I cast my mind back to when we we’re younger and our school reports came home. Dad would go through Peace’s report, nodding his head approvingly; then he would say something like “Very good Peace, you have done well”. I realise what she just said is true.

With my report, he would sit up in his seat and his face would turn serious. After reading it he would say “It’s good but...” from there he would just break me down piece by piece.

I’m tired of the garden now, so I stand up and stick my hand out to pull my sister up. I’m sleepy now and I know my sister is too. I pause for a second before moving and hug my sister.
I hold my sister tightly. I never realised that the affects of my father’s action on me also affected her.

Peace was right; there are definitely things that need to be sorted out.

My father, Peace and I will need to have a serious talk...