A visit to Bar beach for a swim. A naming ceremony in Enugu for Christian Junior. A visit to the orphanage to donate a half a bag of rice.  Mrs. Eugenia looses her job, and Regina elopes with Michael. More on Michael Asimnobi.

A sunny day he arrived in good cheer, with a wide smile on his face.

Michael Asimnobi was knocking on the door at the flat on

Chime Avenue

.  He seemed to be perturbed, as he knocked quicker than usual; two days prior, his suit had been out rightly rejected by Mr. Moses Okafor.   He had been told that Regina was, unfortunately, already engaged.  In vain were the reassurances given to the girls father, wherein was stated, that he in fact was there at Regina’s request; the father appeared to not hear, and went on to say that he was not a suitable candidate, and moreover, the girl was “taken already.” All attempts by Michael to persuade the father otherwise were in vain.  He had finally given up and had left.

 Many discussions later it had been decided between the two lovers that they would continue to meet, albeit on an unofficial basis.  And it was during these visits that she poured out her heart to him and he poured out his heart to her.  He chose to no longer co me in the evening, but chose to come when Mrs. Eugenia was out; and they would sit in the love seat in the little living room.     In all fairness, Mrs. Eugenia had no idea that this was going on under her roof.  She was aware of the commotion that had occurred when the engagement to the Chief had initially been broken; but then her niece had seemingly retreated into her shell after the reinstatement of her broken engagement; and from then on she had only said nice things about the Chief, and nothing about the young lover.  As such, Mrs. Eugenia assumed that the girl’s obedience to her father had got the better of her, and that she was now intent upon doing the best for her family.

On this day he was seated by himself on a chair by the café style dining table, and his voice was becoming more urgent in its tone, and there was weariness in his brow, which clearly betrayed the stress he was feeling.

“I have arranged all the details down to the last”, he said totally unable to contain his excitement, “and I think I have it planned; we will have to leave the day before the wedding with a coach for Benin.  I have my cousin who lives in Benin and I know they will never be able to trace us in such a large city.”

“The wedding will have to be arranged after we have settled there, and there is nothing to worry about.”

“What of work, and money and the like? How on earth are we to support ourselves?” she interjected.

“ I have not thought so far, but my father will set us up to open a business of sorts, this is the promise he has made me, all along; a business, even if small should be a way out .”

Michael Asimnobi was a person of great self confidence. He cherished no doubts about his intellectual capacity.  On the other hand he was totally naive about the effect of his physique, and manners upon the opposite sex.  Unlike most dashing young men with a reasonable amount of savoir faire and worldliness, he had no predilection towards profligacy. All these virtues and natural attributes of his, had turned him into an insurmountable foe for the Chief. He knew that he was intelligent, however, he was modest about his physical appearance, seemingly ignorant of the profound effect he had upon the opposite sex.  He was over six feet tall, and he had long well proportioned limbs, which had the right amount of musculature to make him attractive. Although his biceps was well defined, his triceps was not over large, and his chest was broad but not to the point that he was intimidating.  This was combined with a manner and a composure which was gentle.  He radiated a softness.  From his childhood he had been brought up in his father’s village, being the last born of a family of seven, he had been surrounded by unconditional love from his infancy.  At an early age he had been sent away to attend the Loyola Jesuit College outside Abuja,  as his father had worried that the quality of the education in the village would be below the standard required for admission to university. education.

 The story of Mr. Asimnobi himself was quite exciting.

Looking upon him as he was seated outside his bungalow on the outskirts of awka, it was easy to think of him as yet another retired man who had returned to the land of his ancestors.  The bungalow was painted a pale yellow hue which contrasted beautifully with the deep red color of the laterite soil, and the house was framed by a lush array of trees, mango, iroko, and palm trees, created a shade that provided a natural respite from the heat of the mid day sun.  Some of the trees must have been nearly a hundred years old for this was the compound where his father, and his fathers father had been born  it was here he was orn, and in this land that he hoped to be buried, right in this compound beside his father.  For that was the custom, to buiry the dead where the living were living, and in this wasy there was a natural continuum between life and death for death was never far off.

 Yet on speaking to him it was obvious that Mr. Asimnobi, had, known better dyas.  That is not to say that retirement to the village is bad in and of itself.  For here his bungalow was of reasonable size and not altogether without the comforts of modern life.  The structure had elaborate iron bars across all the windows, and had water running in the pipes, due to a stragically placed bore hole, and electricity supplied by a small diesel generator.  The furnishings were genteel enough, being the common wooden furniture, locally made from the local mahogany, with foam cushions placed on top.  All this a stark contrast to the comfortable apartments he had known when working in the Nigerian High Commission in London, but that was before the civil war.  Now thirty years prior, to him, sometimes it seemed as if maybe the London days had never happened, perhaps it was a sick joke of fate to tantalize him with  dreams of a past that was just as brief as it had been sweet.  Then, he had been recalled, to the Eastern region, and the hostilities had broken out.  He could still remember the day of the declaration of independence, he was in Enugu that day, what uncharacteristic unity had united them then, displayed ever so temporally and perhaps never to be seen again, at least not in his own lifetime, with the soldiers driving around in jeeps waving palm fronds, like the jews had done on the triumphant entry of Jesus into Jerusalem.  But that was before the starvation and death that followed in it’s wake.  He had of course  proceeded to loose everything, just as everyone else did, every stick of furniture was removed from his house after his return; indeed the devastation left in it’s wake by the federalist forces was ominous; so potent and effective had their plundering been of the vanquished areas that what could not be carted off in lorries, was burnt. He had lost and his three brothers, and his carreer in the diplomatic service had come to an abrupt halt, and not even the rendition of General Yakubu Gowon, that there was “No victor and no vanquished”, could reinstate him in the diplomatic service.  The sense of loss was real,  But those were all things and careers, and could be replaced, but his brothers’ could not.  And it was this fact that left him with a tinge of bitterness in his soul, a scar which would remain with him until the day he died.  During the civil war he had been in the cabinet of  General Odumegwu Ojukwu, and he had spent the first two years after the war had seized under house arrest by the federalist forces.  He had stayed on in the village, and had farmed his lands to survive.  And it was to this Biafran war time hero that the humble Mr. Moses Okafor had to present himself whilst in search of his daughter.  Mr. Moses Okafor himself, was a veteran of the war, and he instantly recognized the face that went with the name.  He himself was no stranger to suffering having fought in the xxth battalion.  He had narrowly escaped death on multiple occasions, and on even more occasions he had escaped loosing a limb and belonging to the dispossessed soldiers at the war camp of Oji river.

He walked in slowly after being announced by the steward, who had been reluctant to admit him into the compound in the first polace as Mr. Moses could not concisely state his mission.

“ State your mission sir.’

He had been told on entering.  Then had come the usual preamble amongst war veterans about who was who and who had fought where, and about who had died and who had lived. 

Then, Mr. Asimnobi stated emphatically.

“ No more war, no never, no more war.”

And in these few words he summarized the hopes of his people, who had never even intheir wildest dreams imagined what destruction could happen in a twentieth century war.  This was not in an effort to pretend that the peoples were not a war ;like tribe, no in all probablilty all the towns had known of some war or the other, or of their grqand fathers fighting against a neighboring town over some dispute. But the scope was different, for in those wars one or two bodies were brought back and it was a lot.  No with the arrival of the colonialists had come the effective machinery of war and in it’s wake the interplay of international powers who felt it their duty to side with whom they pleased.

“ No more war,” Mr. Moses echoed after him, “ But it is not the war I have come to talk about, I have come to find my daughter whom my sister in law states has written a letter to say that she has eloped with your son Michael.”

“ Michael?” the man asked. “ Hum, Michael jhas mentioned no lady friend to me, no fiancé either.  So I do not understand why you are saying all this.  Infact, how can he marry, a student just graduated, he has no job, no money either.”

“ That was just what I thought” Moses replied drily. 

       

The sights and sounds of Lagos were overwhelming.  This metropolis of millions sttod proud and ready to bring the unaware to their knees at a momnet’s notice.  The streets were teeming with activity and motor vehicles and large over crowded buses all the while being intercepted by motor cycle drivers and street hawkers darting in and out.  From the street stalls there were canteens with out door kitchens cooking for the tired travelers, and stroes selling watyer in plastic pouches which had been cooled to a desirable temperature.

Even the gutters were overflowing with refuse of all kinds and covered with a green slimy layer of putrid algae.   To the children this was all exciting and they watched the sightjs as they drove thorugh ikorodu road to their aunt’s flat which was in a relatively new area in  Ikeja.

Chinedu and Afam were the same age as Chas Jr. the first child of Mrs Margaret Obiora. He was two years ahead in school and was in the same year of SS6 as Chinedu and was seeking admission to the University as well.  The boys were off by themselves playing table tennis on a table in the back garden which was under a Guava tree which provided shade.  In the evenings the boys were mostly playing a variety of video games in Chinedu’s room whilst the younger girls seemed to have monopolized the television in the living room and were watching a seemingly endless series of movies until the day after Christmas when Mr. Charlie Obiora decided that a trip to the beach was the thing to do.  The children were overcome with excitement, as it promised to be a speactacular and sunny day at the beach.  Overhead there loomed a few ominous clouds, but no one would put off the trip to Bar Beach for the day.

On their arrival at the beach the group found a small locally mad e hut to rent, it was made from dried palm leaf fronds which were held together by raffia, and this was made to form a roof and walls. By the seaside the open expanse of the Atlantic ocean was visible as far as the eye could see.  At the bar beach the waves were large, and came crashing down on to the sand benath their feet in white trubulent surf which lapped at their toes.  None of the group being particularly strong swimmers it was decided to noly roll up their trousers andn to wade in the surf.  The young girls were walking down the beach with the maid and Charlie to supervise them, whilst the boys were deemed old enough to take care of themselves and were allowed more freedom to wander away on their own but only after the admonishment of not going into the ocean above their knees.  The two sisters were thus left alone and at peace to walk along the beach.  Mrs. Eugenia Nwafor felt the sea breeze against her cheeks, and it blew her hair up into an untidy mess.  Yet she flet that here, by the water she could stay forever, and perhaps the heavens could heal her soul here better than it ever could in the dry hot air of Enugu in the dry season.  Out over the sea she saw the sea melt into the sky and the white clouds danced above and the sun glittered down in a scene of unparralled beauty.  It was during moments like this, that she could not but help but reaffirm her belief in zGod, and His Divine purpose.  Although she could not pretend to understand His ways, yet who was she mere mortal as herself, and could only in all humility, accept what little solace He gave her when He pleased.  And as she walked arm in arm with her sister she could npot help but confide this thought to her dear sister.

“ My dearest sister, how happy I am today to be walking here on this beach…and to be surrounded by such beauty and to have you my most favorite person in the world beside me.  It is in moments like these, that I thank God for the little things, because, sometimes I am not sure if there will be anything else, or anything more. To me the redemption is in the colors of the sun and the water, to once again be bale to see beyond the pain has overcome my soul.”

“ When we were young and Papa and Mama would always tell us that one day we would have our day to shine and we would be married.  Infact, now that I think of everything, I think the whole society programmed us in this belief.  Look how it affected us all! Comfort ran away at the age of sixteen and married before all of us!  It was all backwards, I the first daughter, was married the last, and the last was married the first.”

Margaret laughed.

“ Yes, and much good it has done for Comfort, who has no education herself.”

“ I have often thought of that, and I am not certain that my own education has been of much use, yes I have a job, for now at least, but for how much longer? The reality is that at any moment intime I can be recalled, and replaced.  At least Comfort owns her own stall and has more job security than I.’

That is all well and good, and now tell me about the preparations for the wedding between regina and the Chief, tell me about her dress and the plans for the party.  How I wish I could have attended, but Charlie has refused to allow me to go to the east again just now, I think he does not approve of the marriage as e has said that he knows the Chief is a divorcee and he does not really nfeel this is aappropriate for RFegina.  And I know it will be acourt weding only.

Well, she will wear a white dress even though it will be a court weding. However, the reception will be much smaller than the engagement party as the Chief has said that he will return later to do the real thing.

The wind caressed her cheeks, and the cool air held her in its gentle embrace, and she could feel the sorrow draining out of her soul.  In its stead there was a lightness of spirit and she seized upon the moment greedily to extract with an unrequited urgence every morsel of joy that could be gleaned from it.  On an imimpulse she ran up to the boy Chinedu, and held him in one arm and Afam in the other and walked down the beach

The boys had found some ponies with their owners and paid to take a ride down the beach taking turns on the rides. The girls returned with their father and had hands full of se34a shells which they were putting up against t their ears and listening to the sound of the sea. Then they went to a shed and bought fresh coconuts cut from the tree and opened in front of them with coconut milk and they bought suya.

The widow Mr Oke Ejiofor.

It so happened that the day before the families departure to Enugu, Charlie decided that he would have a small get together for his in laws , a send off , so to speak.  Mrs. Margaret Obiora  quite liked the idea.  It was a nice way to round off the holiday with a few friends, and some dancing and some music.  A family oriented party was planned, and there were three families invited.  Of note was that  Mr. Oke Ejiofor, the lonesome widow, whose wife of thirty years had died three years prior, and whom Charlie thought would be a decent man to introduce to his sister in law.  Mr.Oke Ejiofor was no spring chicken, but then neither was Mrs. Eugenia, he thought to himself; and he glossed over the fact that though Mrs. Eugenia was old she was barely 44 years of age herself and he was introducing her to a man who over sixty years of age and he was deemed an equitable match.  For his age he was not bad looking, however, his hair betrayed tinges of grey all over, and the beard that he sported was mostly grey itself making one think he was older than his age.  He was a quiet man who said little, and was a retired civil servant.  His loneliness was amplified by the fact that even though he had two children they were both abroad and as such he really had no close relatives nearby except the Obiora’s. Charlie was related to him by being a nephew of his.  The widower sat quietly in a corner and watched the proceedings with interest, without himself becoming directly involved.  Charlie was the dee jay for the occasion, and also seemingly the life of the party; and he danced on several occasions with his wife, and also with the wives of the other guests whose husbands seemed more intent on drinking than on socializing.

 The sights in the room were to die for, with all colors and shades of the rainbow being amply displayed on the dresses of the females guests who were all dressed up in their Christmas finery.  Not to be outdone, Mrs. Margaret Obiora was looking dashing in a bright red George wrapper with a contrasting blouse in a brown lace; Mrs. Eugenia  Nwafor presented herself in a new black dress, not having the courage to wear any lighter color lest it show the size of her frame to a disadvantage.  Mr Oke Ejiofor finally summoned the courage and asked Mrs. Eugenia if she would dance a slow dance with his. She agreed and above the music he introduced himself to her again and asked her how her trip to Lagos had been, and he lamented about the insecurities in the east which had made the party possible in the first place as none of the party goers had been able to return home for the Christmas.

Due to the sobriety of her dress, and her general sparing of use of makeup for some reason he had forgotten that she was actually a dovorcee, thinking that she was a widow like himself and as such he had poised to her the improbable question, “ Now tell me how long have you been widowed for?” Mrs. Eugenia Nwafor had been taken aback by this faux pas and had quickly corrected him. “ I am not widowed, sir, no I am a divorcee”.  Mr. Oke Jideofor had cleared his throat in embarrassment, “Pardon me, I don’t know why I thought you were a widow.” He lied, knowing full well that he had thought so as she was dressed in black.  “ Forgive me, Ma’am,” he had continued, “ But I am mistaken in saying that these colors are reserved for the mourning and the professionals who are neither called to the law professions, or  bankers; now might I guess that you may belong to one of these professions.”

She had proceeded to correct him, and his apologies had been profuse. He had insisted that to be forgiven for his lack of chivalry that she must promise to go out with him to lunch at a future date whenever he came to Enugu.

Comfort was standing above the large cast black cast iron pot in which bubbled a large red stew which was steaming up into the air. She was singing a song and stirring her pot with wanton abandon, on the other side of the compound there were two other pots with their contents being watched over by her cooking mates. She looked up from her pot and saw what seemed to be her older sister Mrs. Eugenia who was walking hurriedly towards her.

Sister, how did you find me?

It was the children who directed me here.

I know you cannot be here unless for a reason, she said half not wanting to hear as it always seemed there was no bad news to learn.

‘I have just this moment seen that Regina left this morning with her friend Micheal.

The young man, you know the one who used to come form her school to visit her.

I know of him, but last I asked you told me that you had not seen him and that she was determined to continue forward with this marriage to the Chief, and now you say this man has come back.

I do not know I have a letter, she has left the ring and the dress to be returned to the chief.

Comfort who was standing in the heat of the sun over the pot felt her knees buckle under and if not for a quick reaction of her sister she would have fainted right into the pot of bubbling stew, instead she was steered clear of the fire  and her sister was fanning her on her face, wake up, wake up ,

She woke up and stuttered,

No, I do not want to wake up; I want to go to the hospital. In fact take me to the hospital right now as I cannot face Moses this time, I will not be the one to give him this news./

And so it befell upon Mrs. Eugenia to become the3 harbinger of the bad news to Moses at home.

As it was a Thursday holiday he was seated on a bench in front of the compound with some of his friends and they were enjoying a lazy afternoon with palm wine and beer and some cola nuts being shared around the men were relatives from Moses village who had come to town for the wedding which was to take place the next day at the courthouse.

A stray dog was nosing his way through a near by pile of garbage which served as the area garbage dump.   

As she neared the group she was met by a young boy with a set of rosary beads around his neck and dirty brown shorts, in his left hand he carried a stick and he was carefully running down the hill beside her guiding a wheel of an old bicycle in a familiar game played by the boys in town. His eyes were quite oblivious of all around him and he was intent on maintaining the wheel upright with his stick and the gravity pulling the wheel down the hill. Carefully he negotiated his ways past the gullies and vanished behind a curve.  The conversations on the bench under the tree which were being conducted in perfect Igbo, seized upon the arrival of the woman, and Mr. Moses who was in a jovial mood stood up to greet his sister in law initially with a smile, but when he noticed the smile went unreturned and that she was motioning for him to follow her he excused himself from the group and went with her into the inner courtyard for some privacy. She brought out the note and handed it to him

For a moment he was close to accusing the woman for all this, then he took hold of himself and said instead,

“ Mrs. Eugenia, you had no idea of this? You had reassured me that after I rejected the young man you never saw him agasin”

“And that was true, I never saw him again.”

So who will tell the chief?  Who will tell my wife.

It was then decided that one of the cousins from out of town would break the news to the chief at his hotel.

Early the next morning Moses was rushed to the University of Nigeria Teaching Hospital via ambulance. He was unconscious having drunk himself into  stupor in the early hours of the morning.

He was vomiting and having a profuse diarrhea, and he was too weak to get out of the bed. His blood cultures came back positive efor typohoid and in the meantime his father came from the village to check on his son .

The father was horrified and he asked repeated questions of the doctor and did not believe a word the doctor said. So the next day he hurriedly returned to their town and he went to visit the village dibia to find out what could have gone so wrong for his grand daughter to have run away and for his son to mow be hospitalized with typhoid fever.  The dibia was an old man and he was in his hut wearing a wrapper and a tee shirt and he had his magical pouch with him that contained all manner of feathers and stones and  potions he started with his incantations and after a while he seemed to enter a trance and started to hold conversations with people who were not present and all manner of things were moving on their own in the room. At one point there was a rope which he had held up which was now hanging freely on it’s own in the air, suspended defiant of gravity.  He threw his stones up in the air and drew marks with his magical sticks and then came the verdict that the problem was from the family of the dead mother of Moses .  Apparently Moses had failed to give honor to the family of his dead mother for the successes of his trade.  He then went on to ask the native man to tell him about his daughter the runaway Regina.  This was followed by a blank look, and the medicine man said he could not find Regina, nor could he find the purported husband Michael.

He was told that he must go the market place to buy a chicken for sacrifice and that it would be a specific white chicken and that when he got to the market he would know which chicken it was.  On arrival at the marketplace as he and his son were walking around the chickens, all of a sudden a white chicken jumped up high in the air and stayed up crowing loud and flapping its wings frantically, crow crow.

That is the one, the father shouted. And the poultry seller, died the legs of the wildly flapping chicken together, which had singled itself out as the one for the ungodly sacrifice.  The chicken was placed alive in a sack and they returned to the dibia, who took the chicken and walked with them on a bush path to outside the town, where the throat of the chicken was cut with a knife and the blood was drained on the ground.

At that moment  in Enugu, Moses who had been asleep in his hospital bed in Enugu woke up for the first time in three days, his fever was gone, and he asked his wife to bring him pepper soup.

From then on his health had returned and several days later when he felt well enough he decided with his cousin to go in pursuit of Regina and Michael.  To make matters even more complicated the only information they had on the young man was that he was a student of the Agricultural college of Awka, and that he had successfully graduated that year.  It was known that his name was Michael, however, Mrs. Regina had never known the boys last name, but had a feeling that his last name was Obi, a more common name could hardly more have been his in Igbo land.  On arrival at the registrars office of the college of agriculture he had introduced himself only to find out that there was no one by the name of Michael Obi who had ever attended the college, he had then been forced to go the police station and to make a missing persons report ignored for the school to agree to open up it’s books as they were protected by confidentiality laws.  It was determined that the only name similar was Michael Asimnobi, who hailed from a nearby village on the outskirts of Awka township/

A visit to Michael Asimnobi’s father at his bungalow outside Awka:

With some of the funds at his disposal from the generosity of the chief, he paid a visit to the father of Micjhael Asimnobi in his retirement in the village.  It was quickly assessed that the young man had not returned home with Regina, and in fact, the boy’s father had never heard of Regina, nor of Mrs. Eugenia, nor even of Moses either.  He knew that his son had finished his degree and that he was to start his youth service corps, but the boy was still waiting for his posting, and had told his father he was going to spend  some time with a friend in Benin but the father did not know the friends name nor where he lived.

“ You know, sir, I may not be a rich man, but I deserve better than this, I must find my daughter, I cannot rest until I know she is safe.  Yet you tell me you have no idea where to look for your son, surely you must have some ideas about who is friends are,. Or where he might have gone.  How can I appeal to you, as a father, a brother, please help me. “

Mr. Asimnobi, was affected by his candor, and promised he would do all in his power to search for the two, although he reassured the man that no matter what his son’s fault’s might be that he was certain that he meant the young girl no harm.

 And so it came about that Moses had to leave and return without Regina, but there was nothing more he could do.  He could not really afford to be off work, and he most certainly could not afford to be travelling all over Nigeria,. Looking for his daughter, ass this was equivalent to looking for a needle in a hay stack.  He trusted she was fine, and sol now with a renewed self confidence he sent a letter to the Chief who had since returned to the U.S. that regrettably, the marriage could no longer go forward as his daughter had officially eloped with another man. 

Mrs. Eugenia returns to Enugu after spending Christmas in Lagos:

The harmattan came late that year, and by the time the family was to return to Enugu, a swarm of dust had descended on the southern part of the country making the air heavy with dust; the sun was barely visible as a round shiny disc far in the distance.  The Lagos airport was forced to close and the flights had to be diverted, and the offices of the luxury coaches serving Eastern Nigeria were overflowing with passengers.  The family was lucky to still get a seat and started the long ride home to Enugu. 

A lot had happened over the past year, and she sat by the café style table and thought to herself how everything was now so different from her dreams and her hopes.  Then she remembered that there was much to be thankful for, and thaty as long as there was life there was hope. True, if she had had the chance to have written the story herself she would have written it to have had a happy ending, for her weakness had been to only read happy books, and  watch happy movies.  In essence, in her subconscious she had relentlessly pursued this very happinees that had evaded her.  She remembered how papa had laughed at her when she was young and she had said she wanted to be happy always, and he had repleied that “ if wishes were horses then beggars would ride.” And she smiled to herself, for so well had her situation improved now that she could smile to herself, and said, “ I may not any longer have a husband, through no fault of my own, and society may well castigate me for this” and she took a deep breath and pulled her shoulders back with a renewed confidence and a gentle smile lingered on her lips…”.and in this rejection I shall find my salvation, and one day joy will return to my soul”.

Dinner in the bishop’s residence:

To receive an invitation to dinner at the Bishop’s residence was a matter that could be subjected to a wide variety of interpretation; on the one hand it could mean that you were being acknowledged for your apostolic work, or that some rumor had reached his Eminence’s ears in regards to heroic virtue, but more than likely, it was that some news had been brought to his attention that there existed a need to reign in unwarranted liberties.

             As such it was not without a certain degree of apprehension that Father John made his way to the Bishops abode, which lay neatly tucked behind Holy Ghost cathedral on Ogui road in Enugu.

 In order to access the small road which lay adjacent to the cathedral parking lot he had to first negotiate past the bus stops  which were on both sides of the road causing significant congestion and then drive past the Ogbete market access roads, which was also  very busy.

            By no means could the residence have been described as ostentatious; it was a modest but large two storey building built in colonial style with wooden shutters framing  louvred windows.  The building was painted a nice warm brown hue and large old trees surrounded a neat roundabout where the taxi driver unceremoniously dropped him off.  He alighted from the Taxi thanking the driver and handed him the fare.  In his right hand he held his briefcase which held a change of clothes and a toothbrush as he was going to spend the night in the guest suite as priests often had to do who had come from far away parishes, not being able to return to their rectories late at night.

The large carved wooden door was firmly shut and he proceeded to ring on the door bell.  In due course a young well dressed man came and peeped through a shutter, before ascertaining who it was, and then proceeded to open the door.

“Good evening, father” the man politely addressed him.

Father John nervously smiled,

“Good evening,”

“And how can I help you today father,” he asked, all the while ascertaining that he indeed was talking to a priest by looking over the cassock, briefcase and modest sandals.

“I am Father John Okoye, Pastor of St Johns Catholic church in Agbani, I am here to see the Bishop.”

The young man nodded, and without saying anything: walked over to a little desk by the side of the room and opened a little book and with one finger running over the pages

“Ah, yes… here we are, December 5^th, father John and Father Michael.  Is father Michael with you?”

“Is that Father Michael Onwubiko?”

The man looked down at the page one more time, then nodded slowly in assent.

“ I was not aware that father Michael was coming” the priest continued “ and in any case Father Michael is based over at Bigard memorial whereas I am posted to St John’s  catholic church in Agbani .”  He declared rather defensively.

   It was difficult to impress this young man who dealt with clergy and holy men of far greater importance than a mere parish priest at all times; being a member of the Bishop’s staff may not have been of great pay but the benefits were numerous.  Day in and day out there would be a steady stream of Bishop’s and sometimes an archbishop or two, and who knew if in the future even a pope might make it to this end of the world…

 A row of wooden seats lined the other side of the room from the small table and he was directed to have a seat there and to wait for further directions.

              At this juncture Father John was promptly abandoned to his own devices, in the entrance foyer of the Bishop’s residence.  There was not much to distract him in the room.  It was meticulously clean, the terrazzo floors shone brightly in red black and white, with newly applied polish; on the white washed walls were a crucifix and two framed photographs, one of the pope, and the other of his eminence himself, both taken in their full regalia. On the small table with the bishop’s appointment book stood a small statue of Our Lady of Lourdes in her blue dress and white veil.  Not surprising thought father John as it was rumored that His eminence had an intense devotion to the Blessed Virgin, and that he was on the verge of starting a religious order devoted to Our lady; but then it was often hard to distinguish fact from fiction in these matters.  Needless to say father John did not really have much personal knowledge of the Bishop, and had no intentions of exploring the veracity of these statements in person either.

            With a few moments to spare he opened up his briefcase and brought out his breviary, and went over the evening prayers and readings.  At the antiphon to the Blessed virgin he stole a glance at the statue of the blessed virgin, “My soul doth magnify the lord and my spirit has rejoiced in God my savior, for behold He has regarded the humility of His servant and behold all generations will call me blessed…”

            Whenever he prayed this prayer his soul would melt, a mothers love for her son, a love that God had for some unknown reason denied him, but then he had given even him the blessed mother, as a mother . for truly he had always thought, she was the mother of all orphans ,or half orphans like himself, brought up in the homes of strangers and denied a mothers love.  How his soul ached within him,” why Jesus could you not have given me a mother who had lived who had fried akara for me when I was hungry, who had wiped my tears when the world was cruel?”. Call as he might there never had been a response.  Jesus never said anything to him.   He wept at the tabernacle, wept at mass, and kept asking why, why.  Then one day he had read the Gospel of St. John, where the beloved disciple and the blessed virgin were the only two left at the foot of the cross, as Our Lord died and Jesus had said,” mother see your son; and son see your mother”. From that day on he had wept no more, for it was as if the heavens themselves had declared that she was his mother.  And the mother led him to her Divine Son, and he became a priest.  Hence whenever the Blessed virgin was mentioned his ears would perk up as if they talked about his real mother and hence why he had followed so closely the rumors’ of his eminence’s religious order which was rumored to be devoted to the blessed virgin.

Father Michael was quite different from his protegee, infact it would not be entirely incorrect to assert that they were diametric opposites.  Where father John was the fire and the charismatic whose young soul was afire with the Divine love, Father Michael was more pragmatic he was the scholar, the theologian, the doctor of canon law, who loved God no less but, the difference lay in the expression of the same.   Nevertheless, after being his spiritual director since the young priests seminarian days they had had an affinity for each other which  was purely spiritual. Father John was the young priest that Father Michael had always aspired to be but It had been Gods will otherwise.  Now he was the director of novices and had the unpleasant task of weeding out the sins of the young and determining the lack of vocations  in others.  As a matter of policy or conflict of interest he had always refused to be the confessor of the newly graduated priests.  This was not from lack of caring but because he felt over extended as it was, and being precise and punctual in the performance of his duties did not want to take on a responsibility he was uncertain he would be able to fulfill.  However, in the case of Father John he had caved in; perhaps it was the fact that he was aware that this poor priest had been denied every advantage in life that he felt that he could not say no. there was also something in his holiness and in his simple unquestioning faith in God that he had hoped to learn himself some new dimension of the Infinite God that he had hitherto been denied.

 To him, to look at God was to look into a bright kaleidoscope held up against the sun, first blinding then as you shook the kaleidoscope God could appear in different ways to different people in a seeming infinite manifestation of His existence, an experience unique to each and everyone in his own way.

“Father John Father John, you are here already and I hoped to surprise you by being here first. I know that would have come as a complete shock, I did not even know you were expected here too, do you think we will be alone with his eminence?”

“I have never had the privilege of dining with him “.

“I doubt we will be alone my understanding is that there may be Monsignor Oguike, he is a frequent guest at dinner and I believe he is in Enugu at present”.

Two young boys made their waydown the winding road from the onitsha expressway to Abagana.This road was more akin to a bush trail, or a path whose very existence

Chapter !:

 The pride of my fathers table.

Two young boys made theri way down the winding road from the Onitsha expressway to Abagana.  This road was more akin to a bush trail, or a path whose very existence

was constantly threatened by the approachment of luxurious branches from the surrounding iroko trees and thick elephant grass.  Thousands of these little paths must have existed throughout the region, having been the main routes of communication between villages for as long as all could remember. These thouroughfares had no signs; to the uninitiated, or to the stranger, these paths spelt peril, or, danger enter at your own risk.  But to the inhabitants of the region, these were friendly paths that led to loving arms and friendly hearths filled with jovial hospitality.

            Food was never far from the imaginations of the two travelling teenagers.  Not unlike teen agers everywhere a considerable amount of their daily routine revolved around efforts of acquiring and consuming healthy quantities of the same.  They liked to eat, and this they did as often as they could..  Being boarders at the teacher training college of St Andrews in Onitsha did not exactly aid in tempering their appetites; as boarding houses would go it was not a bad place, however the diet tended towards monotony.  Egusi soup alternated with okra soup every other day.

            Obi had assured Anene that at his fathers table there would be no sparing of provisions for their entertainment, and that his mother was an astoundingly good cook.

'

Mr Okeke had been enjoying the evening breeze on his balcony.  The balcony straddled the entire front of the little bungalow.

  He saw them approaching first as they had been engrossed in their con versation and had not seen him seated in his favorite chair, which was a little removed from the front of the balcony and  was such a low arm chair that he tended to sink and vanish deep in the cushions.  Bracing himself on his wooden cane which he held in his right hand he jumped up and trotted down the stairs waving his arms all the while to draw attention to himself from his son.  His left hand held onto his wrapper which sat precariously on his hips and was in danger of falling down at any movement.

"Obi, Obi"  he yelled as he rushed forward .  His son on noticing his approach could not help but break into an affectionate laugh.

 "Papa " he shouted back,

"You are so tall now, even taller than I", he said laughing all the while and after greeting him with a hug he stood  back so as to admire him from a little distance which favoured his aging eyesight..

"At home, I am the tallest".  Obi explained to his friend. And continued turning back to his father " But see Papa, my friend is taller than I".

His friend nodded in acquiesence still not saying anything.

Yes, i know"   " I think the next generation is getting taller and taller still.  You are welcome " he said turning his attention to the friend.

He proceeded to lead them up the verandah and motioned for them to be seated on two wooden stools that flanked the cushioned chair he had been previously been sitting on which he now reclaimed.  Introductions were duly made and likewise inquiries of their school work.

 when attempts were made to summon Vincent from the kitchen.

After calling out for Vincent to no avail obi got up from his seat and walked  through the unoccupied livingroom  and into the kitchen without encountering anybody.  The kitchen back door stood ajar but on peeking out there was still no one in sight. On the right hand corner stood a little kitchen table with cups on a tray left to dry, and underneath the table stood the calabash with the drinking water in its usual spot. He used the little dish beside it to transfer water into a plastic jug and returned with two cups for himself and his friend.

" Did you not find Vincent, to bring this in for you?"

"I looked for him everywhere and I have no idea where hes gone to, but what happened to mother and all the girls?"

" Oh dear!" he replied  " Did I not tell you already they left early this morning for Enugu bein convinced that your college was on vacation from next week".

On hearing this his face could not help but betray disappoinment which was similarlt reflected in the hesitancy of his voice.

:"Did they not know that i was coming?"

" You know this was not my idea, and infact I was quite unhappy about the timing, I sometimes get the feeling that they go on vacation when I am home to avoid me."

The two young men burst into a smile at this but dared not laugh loud.

He continued his tirade unprovoked " And infact, I discussed this with her on multiple occasions.  She reassured me that she would be back within the next few days although I have hesard nothing from her since she left.."

At this he shrugged his shoulders, they had been married so long that a day more or less away from each other mattered little.  Not that they were not in  love with each other as far as love goes, no they still enjoyed each others company in the evenings.  Ne vertheless a few evenings without the bickerings of his teen age daughters were a welcome relief and could b e a novelty as long as it did not last too long. 

He con tinued:

" They have left me with this small boy vincent who can neither cook nor clean nor do laundry.  The other day I found myself cooking soup in the kitchen, after he had served me some inedible food.  so we have now come to a mutual agreement that we shall survive on sipler fare as roasted yam and palmoil, garri and sugar.."

The two laughed again , the fare here sounded worse than at the boarding house.

Chapter 2:Mrs Okeke in Enugu.

When Mrs Okeke had arrived in Enugu accompanied by her three teen age daughters who were on vacation from school. She had not cherished very high expectations for the holiday.  Certainly it was a welcome relief for her to get out of Abagana, even if only for a few days.  To say the least, at times she felt stifled by village life in general; and by her husband in particular.  Sometimes she felt stifled by everything.  Admittedly, Abagana was a small town and there was not much to do there, (as such she could hardly be blamed for possessing such a state of mind).  Of course that was not including the housekeeping duties, of which she felt there was only too much of.  Moreover there was never enough water and no electricity at all.

  Not much thought had been given to how Mr Okeke was to survive during her absence in the city With only the boy Vincent to cater to him.  At the thought of this she could not but help herself from having a little inward chuckle; for she knew quite well that the boy, though well intentioned could neither cook nor clean. Men never truely appreciated you until they lost you she thought.  Considering all these things, her visit to Enugu had taken on the form of a panacea for all their ills.  The drudgery of everyday existence was to be replaced by various forms of amusement and all boredom was to be swiftly driven away by the solace of her sisters companionship.  In the meantime it could only be hoped that her dear husband would benefit from the lesson meant for him, and avail himself of the hardship of his present condition to dispel from his mind all inclinations to taking her for granted.  Ah she sighed deeply to herself, even if that were all that she accomplished it would have been time wellspent. She thought furthermore that the quiet silent lessons were the best teachers.  Then she decided that she was on vacation and she would not allow her mind to wander one more time to things pertaining to abagana or to mr okeke either for that matter, as for now at least she planned to enjoy her stay to the utmost.  further thoughts of dreary chores and sullen people in sordid places could be of little benefit.her father had always admonished her to do what you do well, and so when she was at home she excelled in housekeeping and cooking and when she was on vacation, voila, she faced that too.

Ngozi was well situated intown.  her husband Joseph was not a very well educated man, but he had finished secondary school lower six with his credentials in order.  Not being bookishly inclined his father who was a trader in the timber buisness in Jos had set him up with the basic finances he had needed to start buisness.  Over the next fifteen years he had dabbled ina whole host of different things.  not because he was fickle, but by necessity, it seemed that every time Joseph found a business and if initiall floundered then just as it began to grow the government seemed to get wind of it and duluy outlaw the buisness, at least that was how he perceived it to be.  So much so that his wife Ngozi had joked, that she always knew which buisness would be banned next by the all powerful and ever controlling government,by the new buisness that her Joseph had assumed.  despite these regular setbacks, joseph had a feel for buisness in a way he had not for book learning, and the family lived well in A large house right off Zik avenue in Enugu.  The house was a three story and imposing structure built ina square with a central courtyard where in the evenings the family and tenants could socialise in the relative peace and tranquility that such an arrangement could readily afford.

Ngozi was overjoyed at seeing her sister and her daughters alight from the taxi from the motorpark, and she had run to welcome the little trrop withtheir bags and yams and udalas straight from the tree.

In the evening the two girls were gossiping with their cousins upstairs and the two sisters were alone in Ngozi's bedroom.  Joseph was as usual out of town on a buisness trip trying to clear some goods from customs in Lagos and did not really have any definite day of return outlined as he would come back as soon as possible.  but there was no predicting how long it would take to " clear " the goods.  Ngozi was used to this, and did not seem to be in a bad mood on that account at all as she fingered a George material in her hand which was of adeep purple hue;

" Ah, sista, I kept this material for you becaues I thought you might like it and I have one already exactly like it>"

Mrs Okeke examined the cloth closely and rubbed it between her fingers to assert that the material was silk, which it was.

" Thank you my dearest, but surely you must know that since I am so dark in complexion this purple will make me look even darkere still?

" Sista, you are not dark."

" You forget my dear because you are the fair one andtook after Papa while I am the dark one who took after Mama and evryone elsew is right in between>"

" Well your georgina is as fair as me and you can take the material for her"

" A young girl does not need george, how exorbitant"

" well, keep it in the bottom of your box until she is married one day and then you can bring it out for her to use."

Of all her sisters Ngozi was the beautiful one, and she was also coincidentally the fairest of them all, and had married the " best" at least in trems of money.  Mrs okeke was on the other extreme, she was the eldest and the darkest, and because of her dark hue had had difficulty in finding an eastern man who would commit to her, inspite of her achievements education wise.  that was until she met her future husband, Mr Okeke at a national teachers conference.  he was a handsome viceprincipal in Abagana at the time, and he had quite charmed her off her feet, inspite of his obvious poverty.  And to top this all off, he had his head squarely placed on his shouders, he was a religious amn, who took duty to state and family seriously and he treated his wife with kindness ever mindful of the fact that she had settled for him, being in aposiiton to have married much better, shoulkd fate has so arranged it for her.

Whenever she remembered thelong and lonely weeks of Ngozi, she would not for all the money in the world have traded places with her.  Sure, at the Okeke's house could not be found many luxuries, but what was lacked of monetary value was more than compensated for by a loving and closely knit household.  Still the family could laugh together, and in the quiet evenings they would sit beside each other on the sofa and read their respective books.  They still attended mass together on Sundays and sitting side by side they were forced to shake each others hands during the peace offering, in the event that they may have quarelled they always made up on sundays after mass.  SDhe may have tried to console herself that perhaps her sisters marriage was not as solid, but this was more how she fekt that justice shoukd berather than reality,  It seemed wrong for God to have given Ngozi everything and as such her sisters had ci=onvibced thenselves that Ngozi though the richest was also the unhappiest, although they always carefully pointed out that she tool great pains to hide her sorrow.  this was a pure fabrication of the sisters, for infact, when Joseph and Ngozi were together, it was obvious that a deep love and affection for each otherb was combined with mutual respect.  The sisters must have mistaken the circumstance of joseph's work with a desire to avoid his wife.  as he spent more aqnd morre time in Lagos attending ti his business there had been b anter back and forth of thye advisability of relocating the family to lagos. TRhen the girls had entered secondary schools and the boys were doing so well in their own school . that it was decided to stay on at least for the time being in the house in enugu.

Night arrives swiftly in equatorial West Africa.  One moment the sun is bright, and over the course of a half hour or less it sets in a spectacular array of colors of bright orange and yellow.  What follows is an intense and impenetrable darkness, rivaling in the opposite direction the brightness of the mid day sun. This is a stark contrast to the magnificent equatorial sun.

 In many ways the setting of the sun brings a sense of imminent yet uncomfortable relief.  There is the relief of shade and hopefully of somewhat lower and more bearable temperatures; accompanying this is a gnawing discomfiture of the mystery of the African night.  For it is in the night that the spirits play havoc with the dreams of man, in so far as the imagination allows them free reign. 

Every sound undergoes a magical amplification to torture the listener and awaken primordial fears. For in the sphere of the imagination the scratching sounds of rats in the backyard sound like the claws of a witch dancing on the tin roof.

 A dropped clay pot shattering on the cement floor next door makes everyone in the neighboring compound jump.

When a neighbor in need bangs on his friends door in the night to solicit perhaps aid, the immediate reaction in the rooms is one of sheer terror.  Could this be their fate, they think, to die a death of ignominy at the hands of the desperate?  The occupants of the room had little experience with the meaning of life.  Their very existence was a complicated drama of trying to elude death.  It cannot be denied that it was life that they desired and ardently sought after, yet it was only too often that they found the opposite.

“Mama Obiora, kedu? I have not seen you in a long time.”  “ What makes you so busy and so occupied that you never come to see us anymore?”

 Eya! Don’t say that! Was it not I who visited you last in your own stall at the market?”

 “Business na business; I never mix socials with business.  Was it not cloth you came to buy?”

“Eee, it was cloth.  I am always buying cloth, cloth for this and cloth for that.  There is no end to the cloths I must buy.”

“When children are growing they need new clothes and sandals.  For that I thank God almighty because it is the very basis of my business.”

“I do not mind the buying so much, it is to find the money to buy it.  We are constantly stretching our “budget” as my husband calls it.  To me it really means we have no money each time he says it.”

“My sister, why do you think the first thing I did was to reopen my stall after Ogbete reopened? Every time you are asking someone for money, they never have any for anything beside their own needs. ‘ Chief the water don finish’. ‘ Chief the food has finished’. Yet every time it comes as a surprise, I don tire.”

“ I am sure if you ask chief he will say that he is tired too.”

“ yes, he will say that he is tired of spending, that the money never stretches long enough.  It sounds like an elastic band that if you pull it hard enough it can go far! Then I said, ‘Chief, even the elastic in my pant if you stretch am long enough he go break.’ But I don’t think he got the gist of that .  So now, I am my own Madam with money from my shop, and I buy food when I want.So now he gives me no money at all; and I feed the house, clothe the children. 

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ.

I like to look upon each and everyday as a new opportunity, a new day to strive forth in the pursuit of Our Lord's buisness.

            I am grateful to Him, to be able to stand here in your midst today.  As you all know, the history of Christianity in our midst is a very recent one.  We had our own beliefs, rife with superstition.  Surely there was a supreme God of sorts namely, Chukwu; but then there were other deities.  And of course each man had his very own Chi.

Even then our society was well organized.  An order existed in the society; our social norms were carefully guarded by taboos and customs.  Elders enforced these and sucessfully passed them down from generation to generation.  In and of themselves they spoke of man as a moral being guided by natural law and with his plac ein the spiritual realm.

The reason I bring all this up is because I want to say that not all that was old was necessarily bad, and the converse likewise holds true, that not all that is new is good.

Our acceptance of christianity implies a willingness on our part to accept this new order, and to simultaneously reject disorder which is the foundation of all sin.Accepting this order means placing man in his rightful place under God, with full obedience to God's law and the law of the church.  Yet we must give to Ceasar what belongs to Ceasar, and this means obedience to the laws of the state.

How far does my obedience to the state go? Does this obedience absolve citizens of their individual and collective resposibility for their actions?  Were the german citizens innocent or complicit with the nazi regime of Adolf Hitler?

The fate of all individuals whose fate is known to God alone.

No, I challenge each and everyone of you.  Contrary to the words of the good samaritan who stated that "I am not my brothers keeper", the very essence of Christianity is " I am my brothers keeper', for in so far as " you did this to the least of my brethren" in the words of Christ "you did this to me."

I have a social resposibility to speak up for the disenfranchised, the poor, the widows, the rejects of society.  infact, if the state orders me to commit sin, to murder the innocent, or to otherwise tamper with justice , my conscience compels me to disobey.

Likewise, if I stir up my fellow man to dissent against the state, and my fellow man looses his life in cosequence to this, I am just as responsible for the mans murder as the state that executed him.  This does not mean that we must not voice our opposition to the glaring injustices of these tyrannical regimes which have "stolen" so to speak the vote of the common man.  But while voicing this opposition we must mot endanger our own people.

With these words said he stopped and made the sign of the cross, and immediately averted his gaz downwards toward the ground.  His outward mark of a deep inner humility.

He heaved a sigh of relief, he had said what he was supposed to say, or at least what he thought that God wanted Him to say.  Life in the Spirit could be tricky; behind shadows lurked other shadows, truths could be hiding half truths and the true intentions of man were sometimes hidden from the very men themselves.  That was where, father Michael had said that an examination of conscience came in.

"Am I doing this for earthly acclaim?  is it pride the root of all sin that motivates me?  His conscience could infact go on and on, so much so that Fr Michael had at one point called him scrupulous.  in consequence of which he was summarily ordered desist on pondering on a certain venal sin.  After successfully fleeing from all grievous sin his whole life only now surreptiousl to find himself at the very heart of a secessionist movement.  By no means was he the perpetrator, but in truth, he was the spiritual leader of the movement.  At times he would fan the flames of dissent, but never too much, because he had to simultaneously hold the youths back from a suicidal youthful exuberance.  From time to time his duties became to provide for their material welfare as best he could from his own meager income.  He was little more than the leader of a rag tag group of unemployed educated youths.  Completing your education was taken as a part of duty, which in and of itself had little or no intrinsic value to the society at large, as there were no hopes of lawful employment.  The options open to these young men were severely restricted, or to put it bluntly they were non existent.  So by default, they could pick up arms as armed robbers, they could pick up arms as freedom fighters, or become traders.  Infact, some of them were freedom fighters by day and by night they became armed robbers.

As father walked home after the semon he thought of all these things and of how sometimes it seemed as if the line between right and wrong became fuzzy. If a man and his family were starving to death, does this give him the right to steal from the surplus of another who refuses to share with his less privileged neighbour?

And if a thief steals money from a thief who stole money from the sate, am I somewhat justified in repossessing what should have been mine in the first place?

These were difficult questions father pondered in his mind, surely father Michael knew the answers to all these things he thought.  But his mind now having turned into this line of thought would not give up; if someone had repeatedly cried out against a morally corrupt regime but the cries fell on deaf ears, what was a lawful recourse?  Here he asked himself if there was such a thing as a just war and he determined that this was aquestion he would have to ask father Michael, as he could not off the top of his head remeber the vatican position on wars in general.

All these issues swirled in his mind as the red dust swirled around his saandaled feet as he made his way on the path to the rectory from the motor park.  Not once did he look up. The edges of his cassock were quickly turning orange by this deluge of eager dust, and his feet likewise.  Everywhere was brown, the grass was brown, as if the very earth itself were shrouded in a sympathetic cover of dust echoing the despair of the people.  harmattan had arrived with its dust storms, overcast mornings of the past had now turned into days and weeks when the sun would never beseen.  Even the harmattan was getting worse he thought, everything was getting worse, at least for the common man.  The rest of the world had chosen to ignore the plight of the poor the plight of Africa.  so the children starved.  In the halls of power the leaders grew fat from the riches of the land, whilst the poor hardly knew where the next meal was coming from.  Such hardship that defied the the imagination and tempted the weak of faith to despair.

Chapter 2;

Dinner with the Bishop of Enugu.