From Americo With Love

I have this cousin from my paternal side that is what we call correct guy in late 80s and early 90s. He lived in America through their TVs.

VCR was a thing of class then. Not sure if 30 percent of the families had one. Their father was a bit exposed. So, even though he wasn’t a match financially to my dad, he knows the importance of most household appliances my dad regards as irrelevant. 

So, they had this VCR player then in early 80s that drew old and young to their windows whenever it was on. They were in class of their own.

On first encounter with this my cousin, he looked like those people you see in South Sudan TV. So dark in complexion that you wonder if truly you are one of the so called black people. On closer scrutiny, you would notice that he has this habit of observing his steps as if to make sure they don’t leap longer than they should when he is in motion. 

He was addicted to American movies and Their ways. He was young and totally inclined to aesthetic things of Hollywood.

He would spend hours arguing that the flying cars he sees in movies were real in America. He swore that the cars, the wristwatches controlling them and everything in the house of the actors being controlled by the same watch were all real. Yet to get to other nations. 

Don’t even try to start with him on WWF. He would tell you that it was real never arranged, never rehearsed before hand. Nothing was ever computer generated, arranged or make believe as far as it comes from America. It is were things happen.

I recall reading those African authored novels where many other titles were usually advertised on the back of the each novel. They magnet us them to buy more of those novels that never ends.

One day, he came visiting our house and I was lost in one of those my local authored, lost in my local enthusiasm. I made the mistake of trying to impress him on how good the novel I was reading was. He eyed the book, eyed me and shakes his heads in a regretful way. He must have concluded that I needed further studying in a lab. He was into American novels. 

Try to o tell him that most dogs and rats he saw talking in a movie were robots, he would add you in the list of the those that needs help.

Most see him as outlier of the century. He was to many an odd boy out while many were to him as odd people out. So, you can see it wasn’t easy thing to stay around him or try to find middle ground to meet him. There is no middle ground outside America. 

A year older than me but he sees and relate to me as if I came a decade after him. I decided that softly, softely was the way to go with him.

One of his uncle’s were a Reverend father. This my American movie influenced cousin was usually in the habit of telling us to send Hi from two kilometers away whenever we came in contact with the Reverend gentleman. I usually refused to comply till I was two steps from the priest. That made my cousin to be mad and penciled me down as a village boy who stuck in an African good morning father thing instead of Hi father. 

I never existed in his circle of correct guys. Those in that circle were mainly those from rich families even though in the same orientation with me but are pliable to his American education. His hoity toity ways. Those that are willing to dress, walk and speak like those in American movies.

M-e-n, hi, wanna, yeah, shit, fuck, fade were among words that they kept infusing into their speeches to be up to par with those in the movies they believed made them special. Most convinced their parents to buy dogs they never needed and buying of rats were something they parents refused in all entirety to do. They are millions in the house. Let them teach those ones to talk first. 

They walk the way the people they see in movies walk, approach girls the way people they see in movies do, talk to the girls and their parents the way people they see in movies do. Boy, as far as my young reasoning goes then, the guy had serious problem. 

 Can you rationalize using fork to eat bread when he can easily pick the thing up with his left hand. What type of civilization and way is that?

     “ Why do you like to play soccer instead of football men?” he asked me one day while eyeing me like a thing from another planet.

“ you should go for football not soccer if you must spent hours for sports m-e-n”

I eyed him and smiled to myself wondering when he lost it entirely. I should go for football not soccer for there is more money in football than soccer. I stood in my sweat socked Jersey eyeing the guy and smirking to myself.

“ Do you just realized the tautology you vomited men” I mocked. 

He eyed me like a shit, shakes his head in scorn in seeing my ignorance.

“ what you engaged in is known as soccer men not football. Do you understand me men?”

He spent about two minutes eyeing me up and down with a look you would reserve for your wayward dog only.

“ Men, it’s only this fucking country that call soccer football. In America, they are two mighty different things. Do you understand me men?”

I laughed out loud, and asked if it was in America movie he saw all the thing he is teaching me. 

After another round of eyeing me from toe to head, he went on to explain the difference to me.

“ It’s this fucking nation that refers to football as soccer. Bear this in mind men” he concluded. 

What he was explaining sounds to me like muscles ball not football for I have seen them in TV too.

On hearing the voice of my elder brother he was more into, he dropped me like contaminant and join him in moving upstairs. He entered our parlor and came to a halt in seeing the new bar my brother put there. He rushed to the bar, spent about 30 minutes eyeing it all over from edge to edge. Almost romancing the thing.

He cornered my brother for recommendations.

     “ Men, you need to buy palm flower and place one here,

        here and there”  he said. “this is first class men. It is the in- 

         thing in America now men”

Two days later, my brother was in the flower market haggling on the price of palm plants.