THE FIRST MAN IN MY LIFE.

The day had started as my usual work day- full of hectic commitments, meeting, running up and down the stairways in a bid to meet with deadlines.

In between my hectic schedule I tried to find the time every hour to view my private phone, in case there was a call missed or message received.

Then the unexpected call came through. At first it was missed and since it was family I decided to return it as soon as it was convenient. It was then I heard the words I did not want to hear. The words that every time I had looked at him, I had dreaded the day I would hear them.

Yes I had thought of it earlier; not once but several times. Ever since we had struggled with his health seven years earlier, the thoughts had refused to go.

The first man in my life was awesome. That is how best I can describe him. He had the best fighting spirit I knew and made sure we inculcated that. I cannot be certain of the first time I met him but from the stories that revolved around me I knew it must have been soon after my entrance into the world. The bond we formed was instant. They used to say that if he traveled without tell us (my brother and I) his destination, we would fall sick and would not get better until we had heard from him.

In him I saw the picture of everything that was perfect.  I used to think that he was the handsomest man that ever was. Who would not? His set of teeth was white and neatly arranged, and he had a way with his smile.

He gave up himself to ensure that we had a lot more than the basic necessities to go through life as well as the best values any living soul could have. As I grew up, I began to see a few flaws in my all-perfect man. Because I loved him so I began to pray for him. I had found out that he had little spirituality in him so did not believe in going to church for weekly worship. Somehow I adored weekly worship and wanted this love to be caught by him too. He would hear no argument about it so I took it to the Lord in prayer. And the Lord gave answer some nine years ago; he made a full and total commitment to the ways of the Lord. Like everything he held dear, he clung to his new found faith like it was all that mattered. After surviving the test that was put before him, he was more than ready to put aside anything or anyone that would stand in the way of his faith.

But then the trials left him broken and very disillusioned. It was like the beauty of life was being snatched from him. But he stayed strong and faced life with all of the strength that was left in him.

I loved to sing his praises. It was easy for someone in love. I would tell my friends what he had survived and with every story I found strength and pride. If anyone dare to complain I would tell them that they did not know the real him. That did not mean that we did not have our fights, because we did as my ideal man was also stubborn. They were times the fights were even very frequent but beneath each I could see love. I always hoped he did. I did not talk to him about it because I did not want to either upset or weaken him.

Two days after I received the call, I was told an acquaintance that he was the one who got me my matriculation number at the university and he stared. Yes, the first man in my life was committed like that.

I stared at down at his lifeless remains and tried to be strong; for my mother, for my brother, for my sisters and for him. But as I went into the quiet of my bathroom I let the tears flow many times and many days afterward.

“He ought to have known that this would happen”, I told myself.

He knew that even if he could always count on me, I was not as strong as he was.

The tears have not stopped flowing and I know they will not just yet; but each time they flow I say to him, “My daddy, you deserve more than just a few tears”

My Prayer? That he rests in the Lord’s bosom.

Still Keeping Faith.

ANOTHER BORING CONVERSATION?

 I stared at him with ease.  I was no more the little girl growing up in the quiet Ughelli so it was easy. Besides I was sitting directly opposite him. I tried to put my feelings into words- Cockiness, Confidence, Victorious, Strong, Anger, and Pity. All these flowed through me as he spoke. 

“Hmmn! This Indian”, I thought to myself. “Just who did he think he was?”

Time truly has passed. We live in a country where anyone in white skin was glorified and treated with too much respect. I call it backward colonialism. I could not understand why someone would rather than settle for the old colonial rule where our roads were all tarred with sidewalks decide to glorify another mortal who would disrespect you and ill treat you for nothing. 

My thoughts were formed early. Maybe because I still topped my class in spite of the presence of white boy Richard or because I was used to seeing Kelvin, a mixed blood, hawking tomatoes when my family eventually moved to Warri, I simply did not see anything extra ordinary in being white that would allow for first class treatment especially on my Nigerian soil.

I do believe in respect. Anyone; white or black, deserved this. But when the Indian wanted to take me for a ride I had to bare my fangs.

It reminded me of the encounter I had with one of his kind in the penultimate month where I had, in the line of work, gone to demand money owed. The man, feeling superior, had refused to see me initially. Imagine the debtor; but I blame am? The manner of people who give them rights in the street gave him the audacity. When he saw I was having none of that, he came down and after all the talk he felt sorry that this small girl (my apologies to my stature) was talking to him like that. 

Now back to this one before me. He said my words sent him to his sick bed and that if he dies I will be held responsible for his death. At that point I had to control myself and not laugh out loud. My small size must really be deceiving them.

In case you are wondering what the bone of contention is, it was nothing out of a routine as it applies to landlord and tenants in this city. 

I decided to shift from the contentious angle that he was in. So I asked him to invest in Nigeria. He began to curse. He ended by saying he will never do that even if a gun was put on his head. With that word I decided it was time to hit the road and push this man out of my sight. I said my goodbyes and I was off. As I journeyed down the road I could not help but think that I would never even in neighbouring Benin Republic and act like I was a Don.

What effrontery does this man have to speak all my ears heard? 

My Conclusion, we need a shift of values we must move to begin appreciating our own even if it’s the man by the junction who owns little but makes an honest living!

Keep faith.