Adaobi Nwaubani - I Do Not Come to You by Chance

‘So how have the children been doing in school?’ he asked.

Teacher shifted in his seat to adjust the extra weight that pride had suddenly attached to him.

‘Oh, very, very well,’ he replied. ‘All of them made very high scores in Arithmetic.’

Engineer smiled.

‘Go on… bring your exercise books. Show him,’ Teacher said.

The children trooped out like a battalion of soldier ants, the eldest leading the way. They returned in the same order, each holding an orange exercise book. Engineer perused each book page by page and smiled like an apostle whose new converts were reciting the creed. Finally, he got to the last child, who was about four years old. As soon as he held out his exercise book, his mother leaned over and landed a stout knock on the little boy’s head.

‘How many times have I told you to stop giving your elders things with your left hand?’ she glared. ‘Next time, I’m going to use a knife to cut it off.’

Engineer jumped in.

‘Teacher,’ he said, ‘it’s not really the boy’s fault if he uses his left hand sometimes.’

‘Children are born foolish,’ Teacher replied sorrowfully. ‘If one doesn’t teach them properly from an early age, they grow up and continue that way. He’ll soon learn.’

‘No, no, no… What I’m saying is that the way his brain is arranged, he uses his left hand to do things that other people normally do with their right hands.’

Teacher laughed.

‘I’m very serious,’ Engineer said. ‘It’s the white people who found that out.’

‘Engineer, it doesn’t matter what the white people have found out. The white people may not mind what hand they use to eat and do other things, but in our culture, it’s disrespectful for a child to give something to his elders with his left hand. You know that.’

‘I know. But what I’m saying is that, no matter what culture says, it’s not the fault of any child who does this.’

‘Engineer, I think you’re taking things too far. You need to be careful that the ways of the white man don’t make you mad. The way it is, people are already saying that you’re no longer an African man.’

‘How can they say I’m not African?’ Engineer chuckled. ‘My skin is dark, my nostrils are wide, my hair is thick and curly. What other evidence do they need? Or do I have to wear a grass skirt and start dancing around like a chimpanzee?’

Teacher looked wounded.

‘Don’t forget I’ve also gone to school,’ he said. ‘But that doesn’t make me believe I have to drop everything about my culture in favour of another man’s own.’

Yes, both men had been classmates in secondary school, but only one of them had gone on to university – to university in the white man’s land.

‘My learned friend,’ Engineer replied, ‘we are the ones who should know better. Any part of our culture that is backwards should be dumped! When I was in London, there was a time I was having my bath and my landlord’s son came to peep at me because he wanted to see if I had a tail. Do you think it’s his fault? I don’t blame the people who are saying that monkeys are our ancestors. It’s customs like this that give rise to that conclusion.’

At that point Augustina lost control of her mouth and broke all protocol by speaking.

‘Monkeys? Do they say that men and women are the children of monkeys?’

Both Teacher and Wife turned and looked at her as if she had broken the eleventh commandment. The children looked at her as if she had no right to interrupt their day’s entertainment. Engineer looked at her curiously, as if he were peering through his microscope at a specimen in the laboratory. This girl was trespassing – a conversation between men.

‘What is your name, again?’ Engineer asked.

By that time, Augustina had repented of her sin. She cast her gaze to the floor.

‘Young woman, what is your name?’ he repeated.

‘My name is Ozoemena,’ she replied solemnly.

‘Go and bring in the clothes,’ Aunty said, as if she wished she were near enough to fling Augustina against the wall.

Regretting all the exotic tales she was going to miss, Augustina went outside and gathered the dry clothes from the cherry fruit hedges. Afterwards she felt awkward about rejoining the group and remained inside the bedroom until Aunty called her to carry out the sack of yams and plantains they had prepared as a gift for Engineer. Engineer saw her heading outside, excused himself, and followed. He opened the car boot and helped her place the items inside.

‘You have very beautiful hair,’ he said.

She knew that was probably all that he could say. As a child, Augustina’s family had jokingly called her Nna ga-alu, ‘father will marry’, because she had been so ugly that the experts had said her father would be the one who ended up marrying her. But Nature had compensated her adequately. She had a full head of hair that went all the way to the nape of her neck when plaited into narrow stems with black thread.

‘Thank you,’ she replied with head bent and a smile on one side of her face.

‘Why did they call you Ozoemena?’ he asked. ‘What happened when you were born?’

She was not surprised at the question. Ozoemena means ‘let another one not happen’. The only shocker was that he had actually cared to ask.

‘My mother died when she was giving birth to me,’ Augustina replied.

‘Do you have a Christian name?’

She nodded.

‘Augustina.’

She was born on the twenty-seventh of May, on St Augustine ’s Day. It was the nurse at the missionary hospital who had written the name on her birth certificate.

Engineer bent and peeped into her face. Then, he smiled.

‘I think a child should be named for his destiny so that whenever he hears his name, he has an idea of the sort of future that is expected of him. Not according to the circumstances of his birth. The past is constraining but the future has no limits.’ He smiled again. ‘I shall call you Augustina.’

Augustina meditated on his words as she walked back inside. One of her cousins was named Onwubiko, ‘death please’, because his mother had lost seven children before he was born. She had another relative called Ahamefule, ‘my name should not get lost’, because he was the first son after six girls. And then her classmate in secondary school was called Nkemakolam, ‘my own should not lack from me’, because she was the first child after several years of childlessness. This method of choosing names was quite common but this Engineer man was a wonder. He said things and thought things like no other person she had ever met.

A few days later, Engineer returned for lunch. Afterwards, he asked Teacher if it was OK to sit and chat with Augustina in the garden. Teacher and Wife looked at themselves and back at Engineer. He repeated his request.

Augustina completed her tasks and went to meet him outside. He was sitting on a pile of firewood by the back fence and had pulled a smaller pile close to his side. As she approached, he looked her over from top to toe, like a glutton beholding a spread of fried foods.

‘What of your slippers?’ he asked softly.

Augustina looked at her feet.

‘Why not go and wear your slippers,’ he said.

She was used to walking around barefoot. But the way he spoke made her rush back in and fetch the slippers she usually wore to the market on Nkwo Day.

‘Augustina, you shouldn’t go around with your bare feet,’ he said, after she had sat down on the smaller pile of wood.

Augustina kept quiet and stared ahead at a large family of fowls advancing towards them. A bold member of the brood stretched its neck and pecked at some invisible snack by Engineer’s feet. A more audacious member marched towards her toe area and attempted to feed. Augustina jerked her leg quickly. The abrupt motion sent the fowls sprinting towards the other side of the compound in a tsunami of fright.