25 Jun 2009 |
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Since I was born few decades ago, I’ve never any cause to celebrate Christmas outside the four walls of my father’s house talk less of outside Ibadan. But the Christmas and New Year celebrations of 2007, for me, were quite unique as I spent it not just beyond my father’s reach, but outside Ibadan, in a strange land where I can do whatever I like, and I did just that but with a surprise Xmas present. Weeks prior to the festivities, Okigwe Road which was my main axis glittered with the expected paraphernalia of Xmas. The Wetheral roundabout was the main center of attraction as all commuters plying the road at night would definitely attest to the fact that the investments into the Xmas lights and street decorations were quite massive and impressive. My focus however is not about the street (I did that in part two) but the people of Owerri, especially their attitudes to Xmas and New Year celebrations. On Xmas eve, my guardian, Oga Henry, told me that he would be travelling down to Calabar to celebrate with his family and that I should enjoy myself. And for the first time, I was unsure of what to do with the freedom and privacy that he just handed over to me. I wasn’t sure whether I should invite guys like me who got transferred like me over. That, however, was impossible as most of them had returned to their homes leaving me to complete the task of getting us all accredited. Another thought came to my mind but was cast out immediately, although I gave it the second, third, fourth… thought, and that is to “invite” a girl over. With no friends to be with and girls to play with, my only solace would be with the neighbors. And as it seemed to me, they were also part of the conspiracy. They’ve all, except the homeless ones, gone to their respective villages for season and that was my first discoveries of living in Igboland and the Igbos themselves, they are closely and tightly bound to their villages. To the average Igbo man, the village is the main thing. Far and near, sons and daughters besiege their respective villages to not only celebrate with folks, but to also show off the wealth they’ve been able to accumulate over the year. It is an avenue for families to boast and illustrious sons to show off. That made me to realize the reason behind the agility and never-relent-attitude of Ifeanyi, my CD seller back home and his contemporaries in different parts of the world. They don’t want to be found lacking during Xmas and New Year festivities. From what I’ve learnt so far, the Igbos more than the other tribes in Nigeria, love to show off and flaunt what they have. That’s quite normal if the saying that “if you have it, you flaunt it” is anything to go by. The question this raised however is how far can one go to flaunt? With most of my neighbors gone, I was left with just one option, movies. Thanks to the Chinese, and the Alaba International Market who ensure that movies are available to all at reasonable prices, I got myself a DVD containing more than 32 different latest Hollywood blockbuster productions (I’m not a big fan of Nollywood). I watched my films from morning till evening as PHCN was unusually generous that day. In the afternoon, they lived up to expectation. As a hater of idleness, I had to get something underway so I decided to stroll again. This time, I navigated the Mary Assumpta Road where I had another unique encounter. I was expecting to see a holy procession led by the reverend father, the beautiful revered sisters and Catholic faithfuls chanting the Agnus dei in commemoration of the safe delivery of Jesus by Virgin Mary in Bethlehem but met, one-on-one, with masquerades, right near the strategically located church. What a sacrilege! Do these masqueraders know that the church of God and its vicinity must be kept holy? Do they know that the church is meant for those who have forsaken Satan and Satanism? Are they not aware of how easily vexed Jesus can be when our actions are tantamount to the foundations laid in the scriptures especially when we ought to be celebrating his birthday? Haven’t they learned from the experiences of those that were buying and selling in the temple that got the beating of their lives from Jesus? They certainly must be drunk. As I approached, they directed their attention towards me so I paused and decided for my next line of action. I remembered few scenes of Nollywood’s depictions of masquerades and got scared. Images of a hooded half beast wielding cutlass, axe, armlets and charms flooded my memory and with the little distance in between us, I could only utter one phrase and that was “the blood of Jesus”. When both parties however met, there was no cause for such unnecessary invocation of the precious blood of Jesus. The party was made up of youths who went about collecting “offerings” for the masqureades. They never knew that I am not Igbo so they started muttering words that sounded more Spanish and strange to my ears. I only got an idea of what they meant when I saw the crispy Naira notes in the hands of the masquerade. I only wonder what a real masquerade would do with such notes. Has Naira become the official currency in the masquerade world or is this some kind of impersonation? I however parted with N100 when the masquerade won’t accept N50. I never knew that masquerades, especially Igbo masquerades have class. With much fun already, I returned hoping that PHCN had restored electricity to continue seeing my films. I was right. I soaked myself entirely in the film for the entire day and the Boxing Day after which I continued with resolving the registration process. Oga Henry returned with an unusual cold attitude and I began to sense the end of my stay in his abode but the when and how I couldn’t fathom right away. The answers, however, weren’t far fetched as they came as my New Year presents. The New Year would have come and gone, spent like the Christmas and Boxing Day if not for the surprise package synonymous with the popular New Year present of fuel price hike Obasanjo dolled out during his regime. The date was Thursday, January 3, 2008, a date that would be on my mind for the rest of my life. As I recalled the events that followed, I can’t help but laugh and thank God for the outcome. He came home rather early, around 4pm when I just returned from school. In what sounded like a joke, he said I need to move out of the house completely that evening. It was the smoke of his cigarette; the blood shot eyes and many words that made me take him serious. His reasons were that I was severing his marriage and encroaching on his privacy. Ewo! After getting over the shocking news, I knew that it would be a futile effort changing his mind plus the fact that I don’t like begging for favors. So I called my dad and for the first time, I cried on the phone when my homeless situation dawned on me. Imagine a whole me, who shares an entire flat with my three brothers now summarily homeless. How can I get an accommodation overnight? Where will I keep my properties? Where I bathe? And more importantly, where will I lay my head at night with no friends around? Different options rushed into my head. I first thought of the Police Station but dropped that when I recapped an incidence reported in the dailies few years ago of a traveler who went to the Police Station at night to spend the night. On arrival, he told the men-in-black that he had a huge sum of money in foreign currencies on him and on hearing this; they became hyperactive and killed him, carting away the money. The Police Station, especially in an Igboland, is definitely out of my options. My dad suggested the church but my inability to get deeply connected with one and the fear of the likes of Reverend King scared me away from the pulpits. I also thought of kiosks but the fear of being used for money rituals wouldn’t let me. So I had to work out something in the more familiar neighborhood. As fate would have it, I found two fellow Yoruba staff in the compound. While one just got transferred to his home town, Ilorin, the other was playing host to his wife who came visiting thus staying with him is definitely out of place as I won’t like to severe more marriages. But I relayed my predicament to him. On hearing my tale, he took it personal. He wanted to confront Oga Henry, an action I vehemently rejected asking for ways out and not problems. He hooked me up with a youth corp member from Benue who asked for the number of nights I would like to stay and without thinking, I said two. How can I say that when I don’t know what would transpire in the days ahead? I told my dad and he said I should try as much as possible to get an accommodation at any price. I moved partially into the corper’s room, sleeping on bare, cold, and hard ground that made sleeping more of a punishment than relaxation. A whole me! The following day, Saturday, I set on a mission to get an accommodation of my own where I won’t be severing any marriage, inhaling cigarette smokes and inches away from porn films. I trekked, without much assistance, around Okigwe Road, Douglas, Wetheral and finally Works Layout. Somebody suggested Orji but the name, Clifford Orji, reverberated in my eardrums and I could clearly hear the voice of Angel Michael telling to take heed of the counsels I get especially in the midst of confusion like the one I was in. so I shut the devil’s mouth speaking my transformation into stick meat like Suleiman-made Suya up in the name of Jesus. My search went fruitless until the evening when I sojourned Work’s Layout. I started a door-to-door search for vacant rooms. On the road, I wandered into a block of flats. I met the security who happened to be an elderly man, Oga Calystus and explained my predicament to him. He happened to be the first Igbo man I encountered in Owerri. He took my case personal, telling me that he has two houses in the area but are all occupied. A gateman with 2 houses in a high rise area like Works Layout? My tongue drooped. He called, using his own phone, one of the agents in the area who told me that there were vacant rooms around. I met the guy who happened to be the caretaker and we went to two houses. The first was an uncompleted building where I almost slapped him. Doesn’t he know that I only have a night left after which I will be officially roofless? He took me to the second house, a room at the boy’s quarters still in Work’s Layout. Although not up to my expectations, I agreed to get it. On negotiation, the owners of the house asked for a whooping N60000 for a dilapidating BQ plus an agreement fee of N10000. I must be dreaming. Because of the no-other-option situation I was in, I had no choice. But as a haggling Yoruba guy, I got the fee down to N55000 and an agreement fee of N5000, not too bad for a starter and novice like me. I promised to come on Monday to pay for the rent. I gallantly bounced back to enjoy my last night with smiles of victory and heaves of relief that it wasn’t hard for Oga Henry to notice, but I kept silent. That night, I had a deep sleep that had deserted me since I received my most unique New Year present in recent times but thanks to the corper and most especially Mr. Calystus, they helped me fulfill the Yoruba adage that says if someone removes his mat, God can spread his own rug.
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