Jowhor Ile - And After Many Days

The two children by the road waved, then ran back the way they’d come. Ajie’s eyes followed them as they ran rolling their tires, but the narrow path and clustering trees made it hard to see the house they disappeared into at the end of the path: a mud house, he imagined, built of mud, wattle, and wood beams, plastered and smoothed with clay; there would be an open veranda with a bench on it, an airy front room with benches and stools where the man of the house would remand a reclining chair for himself; a kitchen by the side constantly exhaling wood smoke. And beyond all that, at the far reach in the back, an orchard of orange trees, tangerines, sour sop, ube and kola trees, a pit latrine with a neat clearing around it.

They drove past the cemetery where Christians were buried. No headstones, just knee-high grass. Nwokwe’s house was one of the few that stood clearly visible from the road. A visitor to town would be mistaken to count these houses and then decide on that basis there weren’t many people about. At a moment’s notice, a band of able-bodied youth could appear from nowhere: to answer a distress call, to question a suspicious stranger, or to welcome someone long forgotten who had returned home. Stooping beneath and behind this moist August greenery, on both sides of the road, were century-old homesteads, each a thatched fiefdom within its rights, laden with legends of its own survival.

“Ogbuku has reroofed.” Ma’s eyes followed a flash from the new roofing, reflecting in the sun. Paul was sitting in front with the driver and rested his head on the window. Ajie knew he wasn’t sleeping. Bibi sat in the back with Ajie, her eyes scanning the space from the front to the middle row, where their parents sat. “It’s beautiful,” Ma said of the stylish maroon-colored corrugated roofing.

“I think it’s hideous,” Bendic said.

“I like that kind of red, it’s not screaming,” Ma replied.

“It doesn’t go with the green paint of the house. It’s a bit much,” Bendic said, winding down his window. “I guess he’s stealing enough money these days to have his walls gold-plated. What is stopping him? I suppose it’s not surprising that his father, Nwokwe, gives him no counsel.”

“I saw Egoyibo the other day at the school board,” Ma said. “She told me if you see the money that young man is spending building hotels in Omoku…obviously, it’s not all his money. Why can’t the Youth Front vote him out as secretary?”

“OYF is not what it was when it started. He has blocked their mouths with money. I hear he plans to run for local government councillor.”

The car veered off the road, and their house was immediately in view — tall, white, alone, and at a distance. They went past the Seventh Day Mission. The churchyard was swept clean. A fruit tree stood to the side with an old car wheel slung on a low branch; an orderly struck it at appointed times to notify members of church activities.

Children suddenly appeared from everywhere, shouting, running toward the car, throwing themselves about. Marcus tooted the horn and the excitement thickened. The smell of carbide was in the air when Ajie stepped out. The four-day festival would commence in two days.

A cannon sounded from another quarter of the village to signal the countdown. The shrieking children scurried around Bendic and Ma, shouting greetings, jumping up and down, as they were rubbed on the head and asked about their parents. It was bedlam around the car while Bibi and Paul’s friends gathered to talk to them, and Ma had to raise her voice to ask Paul to get her handbag from the car. “The house keys are in my bag.”

Marcus opened the trunk, and some of Paul’s friends moved closer to help with the luggage. Bendic was exchanging pleasantries with some of the older people who had just dropped by. He moved closer to the trunk to oversee the off-loading, pointing at items that should be left on the ground beside the car, nodding for some to be taken upstairs.

“Look how they have grown!” Ine exclaimed, slapping herself across the breasts as she gaped at Paul, Bibi, and Ajie. She popped her eyes at the children, then back at Bendic as if the rapid growth had all been his doing. “Come come come.” She beckoned and threw her arms open for the three of them.

“Madi,” Paul greeted first.

“Mmayi,” Ine responded.

“Iye,” Paul replied.

“Ogbowu.”

“Iye,” Paul replied again, completing the greeting, and then made his way back to the car.

Bibi was next in line. There were no shortcuts. Morning, noon, or night, the performance was always followed through.

“Your children speak Ogba like they never left this village for one day,” Ine said to Bendic, looking impressed. Bendic shrugged as if to say it was the least expected of him.

Paul hurried past with another boy; they were holding a sack of beans between them.

“Careful,” Bendic said, turning aside from Ine, “mind your backs.”

Some other grown-ups came over to join Bendic and Ine. Ajie picked up his bag just as another man arrived and shook Bendic’s hand.

“Your wife did not come with you?” Eleza asked Bendic.

“She has just gone inside,” Bendic replied, pointing to the house, “to make sure these things are put in their right place.” As if purely for the woman’s pleasure, he added, “Does a car travel without its engine?”

“It does not happen!” the woman yelped with a clap of her hands, dizzying herself with laughter. More people arrived, saying greetings, repeating questions already answered. Ajie carried his bag upstairs and came back to find Ogunwa saying to Bendic, “It’s good that you bring your children always.”

“At least twice every year,” Bendic said. “All their long vacations are spent here, and Christmas. Sometimes we are even here for the Easter break.”

“You know, Josiah’s children came home last year and couldn’t even greet properly,” Ogunwa said, then shook his head. “They were barking at their poor grandmother in English, saying they hated the village, they wanted to go back to Port Harcourt.”

“You don’t mean it.”

“The question you should ask me is where was Josiah when all this was happening,” Ogunwa said, looking Bendic in the face, ready to deliver his punch line. “He was in Port Harcourt! Dumped his children here and ran back with his driver the same day!”

There was a scattering of laughter.

Ajie walked past and wondered why people found silly stories like that amusing. He thought Bendic should be paying more attention to the off-loading. With all the trouble they went through in Port Harcourt, buying things over the week, packing and labeling gifts for different relatives, it would be a real shame to get things mixed up. Nne Nta’s quarter bag of rice was being hauled past Ajie, the name tag taped to the sack flapping, almost falling off. The two gallons of kerosene had been set aside beside the car, but where were the bags of spices for the women in Ma’s meeting?

Ma’s voice cut through the din. Ajie saw one of his parents’ friends setting his shiny stainless-steel White Horse bicycle securely on its stand. A package wrapped in a black bag was tied on the back carriage. “Application Master!” Ma called out, her own voice exciting her. “Application Master!” Each time he confirmed with “ Mmu-yagbe . That is me.” His face cracked open, and his tongue trembled as he laughed. He was dressed in tobacco-brown trousers and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The red of the shirt had bled out until the color was now a dull brown. He put his hands up and called Bendic several times by his praise name. Bendic gave him a firm handshake and called him by his real name, Mark. Mark turned toward Ma and embraced her.