16 Jun 2009 |
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On arrival, I began my initiation into what I now call the Owerri Experience. I went to my new guardian’s place of work and trust me, the man is a workaholic. I was well received and taken to the Mr. Bigg’s on Okigwe Road where he ordered a palatable plate of fried rice and chicken for me, yummy. He took me to his place of abode and left me to myself, to familiarize myself with the Owerri atmosphere while he returned to work. In the process of “absorbing” the new lease of life, I made some quite revealing revelations about my host, Oga Henry. He is a married Calabar man who got caught in the whir wind blowing federal workers across the nation. When I went to his toilet to obey the nature’s call that I had suppressed for long, I found several sticks of matches lying around the apartment. I thought him to be like me that throws things around and heaved a sigh of relief thinking I’ve met a perfect match for my rare tendencies of tearing the room apart (I derive so much fun in a disorderly arranged room, maybe I’ll change on graduation) but got disappointed when I moved to the shelf where the TV and CDs were arranged. There is rarely anything that I can’t explain but till today, I can’t say unequivocally what led me to the shelf. Was it the NTA Network News at 9, the amazing CD collections or the inviting closed compartment at the rear side? May be it was God himself that led me there; I can’t, and may never tell. But the discoveries I made at the shelf caused me to realize that tough times are certainly here. Right on top of the Samsung TV was an empty packet of cigarettes and two fresh unopened ones. Through out my life, prior to this encounter, I seemed to be repellent, repulsive and unattractive to smokers but here I am under the roof of a smoker and possibly drinker as they both (smoking and drinking) go hand-in-gloves. The last straw that broke my horse’s back was another discovery I made at the CD rack. You might have guessed right, pornography. I’m in real deep soup. As daddy’s boy, I put a call across to my dad revealing my discoveries and got an unusual response. He said “Welcome to men’s world”. Wetin daddy dey talk? I was expecting him to make another arrangement and hook me up with an ideal guardian. On further inquisition, he said it’s time for me to mature into a man, to gather my own experiences and make use of every lessons I’ve been taught. Right there, I decided to give in all my best to ensure tranquility, serendipity and peace in the house, although I can’t fathom how I will avoid clashes over his libido as a result of the pornography but I know issues would resolve themselves somehow. When Oga Henry came back late into the night, he confirmed my doubts on his drinking status as he was dead drunk. God, help me in this house. Right from the wee hours of the following morning, I embarked on an unfamiliar terrain; one that involved me being very humble, subservient, patient, accommodating and conversant with cigarettes and alcohol, plus occasional sex episodes, no wonder the mattress is as big as the Wembley stadium. The next day, I saw another side of my host who technically cannot cook. The rice he cooked was salt deficient and the soup was really bad. I certainly can’t eat such so I bought some sliced bread. When he saw me taking bread, he felt slighted and requested that I should be free to take whatever I want. On Sunday, I expected him to suggest we go to church, an expectation that wasn’t met as we were indoors but something that I wasn’t quite prepared for happened in the afternoon. While deeply engrossed in an American film, First Sunday, he requested that I leave the room as he is expecting his woman. “Which woman, isn’t your wife in Calabar?” were what almost dropped from my tongue and talking of friends to visit, “don’t you know that I’m a stranger here?” As a medical person I knew better. When a man’s hormones are surging, especially testosterone and other androgens, nothing else can enter the brain so I quietly but regrettably left the house and decided to take a tour around the city on foot, it’s better that way. I started my haphazard journey which took me to Wetheral Road. The road is straight without the conventional potholes that now characterize most Nigerian roads. The entire length is sparkling clean that makes one wonder if such is in Nigeria. The road is home to several homeless banks that couldn’t get space on the sensational Bank Road. While Bank Road was made exclusively for banks, Wetheral Road, it seems, was created for offices and agencies, with some spiritual presence. While approaching a prominent and strategically located junction, some familiar sounds were forcing their ways into my auditory organ. When I payed close attention, I was hearing “Eli, Jah Jehovah, Holy Michael, Holy Gabriel, Holy Uriel, …” and thunderous claps that doesn’t require a prophet to tell me that I’m at the Cele junction. I really long for a Sunday service with the patriotic followers of Papa Oshoffa, east of the Niger. Apart from the songs in Igbo, everything I saw that day had the signatory CCC features that characterize their worship in most parts of the world, Hallelujah! Beyond the Cele junction, I also saw the Apostle Joseph Ayo Babalola-led CAC and the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG). May be this is Owerri’s version of Jesus Highway (Lagos-Ibadan Expressway). After a 20-minute walk, I came to where as now become by getaway place when my head is firing, a place of relaxation, reflection and meditation, the Dan Anyiam Stadium, home of the sensational Heartland Football Club of Owerri. Unlike the Lekan Salami Stadium, Adamasingba and the Liberty Stadium, Oke-Ado, both in Ibadan, the Dan Anyiam Stadium is one that is full of activities, ranging from sports to entertainment. The refurbished gate drew me into the stadium and the attractive sights of young men sweating it out on the basketball court and pretty ladies swinging it off on the lawn tennis courts were too good to resist, so I followed the leading. The stadium has different courts for different sports but five games get more attention- basketball (with 2 courts), lawn tennis (also with 2 courts), volleyball, handball (the Grasshoppers’ stadium) and the fascinating football stadium. Being an ardent football fan, I gallantly approached the grounds of Heartland football club, currently on continental assignment and highly placed in the Nigerian Premier league; not struggling for survival, but for laurels. The pitch is lush green that makes one wonder where the then NFA got the ridiculous pitches that the Super Eagles played some crucial qualifying matches on from. Although not as big as the Abuja National Stadium, the stadium is ok for any standard match. The pitch is not an undulating rolling topography that stops balls on their ways to the net(Kanu knows better) or that gives undue advantage to the host team that is familiar with the slopes and contours that can take ball straight into the net when played at the correct angle. It’s quite unfortunate that the U-17 World Cup Organizing Committee failed to see the stadium, other facilities and fans that beseech the stadium at any given opportunity while it is engrossed in what seems like The Ultimate Search for just 6 additional standard stadia to host the world, come October. I left the stadium knowing that great fun awaits my stay in Owerri. On getting to the road around 7pm, I beheld a beautiful sight that is very rare in the country, functioning street lights. From the stadium to the Wetheral junction were street lights that obediently lined the road and at the junction, the Okigwe Road axis takes over the responsibility of lighting the road from the Wetheral axis. To say the least, both roads are great sites to behold at night. On getting to the junction, I went in search of something to eat knowing that what is waiting for me at home wouldn’t be quite palatable and found the mini market behind the old Garden Park quite helpful. While satisfying my hunger, I had my first experience with Owerri girls. After paying for the bread and began to detour, I was approached by a skimpily dressed girl that muttered some words in Igbo that I couldn’t comprehend but the “O boy, how now?” and her microscopic wears gave me an idea of what she was up to. While trying to fashion out an immediate action plan, God took care of the situation himself. While scratching my skull, a Honda Jeep drove down to where I was and the girl and several others sped and besieged the car and its lucky driver. After what looked like an audition, three out of the lot were picked and helped into the car, what followed is best imagined. But before you come looking for such action, you need to know that the mini brothel does not operate again; thanks or no thanks to the new Stock Exchange that now occupy the space. I quietly went to the room and for the first time, I thanked God for my present insignificant status that saved me from being lynched by the vociferous and desperate-looking Igbo girl that wanted to welcome me, in her own way, to the eastern heartland.
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