COUNTRY ROADS

It was the normal harmattan season and I was spending my Christmas holiday in the village as the normal tradition. We didn’t go anywhere else.

‘The harmattan wind is harsher this year’ the adults always said, but I didn’t understand what they meant all I knew was that there was sand and all my cousins to play with, there were streams to run to and even goats to chase and that was all I cared.

That morning I was having my bath outside behind our house. Bathing outside was usual because the two bathrooms in our small old rickety house were faulty - I never knew them to work since I started to understand things – and the house was really worn, sometimes I felt like I could hear the ceiling creak loudly at night and I even feared that it would all collapse over our heads but thankfully they were building a new one.

My older brother bathed me pouring the manageably warm water over my head as the cold wind slapped against my body carelessly snatching away the few seconds of warmth I could gain and my knees buckled loudly in the cold.

I looked up at my brother as he scrubbed my body quickly, I wondered if he was in a hurry to be somewhere maybe it was the girl Amara in the compound I go to play in opposite ours. I think I saw him there once.

“Chimobi, can I follow our younger cousins to go and play in the next compound after bathing?” I asked sweetly

“No” he grunted firmly

I was sad, there was nothing else to do in the house it was boring “Why now?” I grumbled

“See” he said standing up straight the bowl in one hand and my sponge in the other “when you are done go and ask mummy”

“Okay” I agreed glumly

My mother had refused my going, she said it was too early and I had asked her the time it was just 9 AM. How was nine o’clock too early to have a little dive in sand or play the local game swear – the name didn’t mean it was about swearing though, it was almost like hopscotch – or even chase a few goats and chickens around. I begged and she said she’ll let me off in the afternoon.

I sat brooding on the steps of our small balcony, my hands on my chin. The dry harmattan wind snatched wildly at my skin turning it white and scaly. My brother had forgot to rub me cream and the special ‘udaki’ oil my mother made us rub during the harmattan, she would rant if she saw me like this. Right now I couldn’t care less I just didn’t know what to do; I didn’t read big books like my eldest sister Chukwudalu, I didn’t sleep a lot like Chima my first brother and I am not always helping my father with his work and errands like Chimobi, I couldn’t even do the work. At that moment I wished I was Ella my baby sister, she had no cares for the world.

While I was wallowing in my boredom, my aunt Chineyre walked up behind me and tapped my shoulder. I turned my bored face looking up at her, she was carrying a sleeping Ella.

“Where is Chukwudalu? She’s supposed to follow me somewhere”

I thought she was coming to call me for lunch and then I could go play, my mouth turned to a frown with disappointment “I don’t know”

“Do you want to go out then?” she asked me. I was keen to leave the house and its boredom behind, I eagerly nodded my head already standing up dashing into the house to change. She shouted after me as I ran “Don’t forget to rub cream on your legs they are very white!” I just shook my head, no adult could pass without noticing.

When we got to wherever it was she brought me to with her, I regretted my decision to follow her. I guessed staying at home waiting for the afternoon to come was better but my five year old mind did not bother to question where it was we were going to. She had parked outside a small old building, the red dust the harmattan wind carried from the ground’s red soil was plastered all over the house; its former white paint would be thought for a reddish-brown now. The building was more crumpled than ours, the roof tipping off to a side and panes from the louvre were missing. Amidst all this the house looked well-kept and neat. Two not so old people were sitting outside a man and woman. Relatives, just great I said in my head and I didn’t see any children around, worse.

As we parked the old woman stood up and made her way towards us slowly, her wrapper tied around her chest atop a white shirt hung loosely and her steps were firm, she looked tidy. Aunty Chinyere got out of the car quickly rushing to meet the woman and sat in my seat strapping my seatbelt tighter, reluctant to get out of the car but aunty Chinyere gestured me come and greet the woman, I had to come out. I wasn’t one who liked to be around old people. I didn’t like how clingy some of them where and since I was little they always fawned over how I was growing fast - even when there’s no growth - and made me sit with them.

I walked slowly to the woman and let her pull me into her smothering embrace on her flat breasts, it made me more uncomfortable. She began call me different dearie names in Igbo, I didn’t understand most. Hugging me close to her side she walked me to the house where the man sat.

He did not look all excited to see me, he just chewed absent mindedly on his chewing stick. When the woman brought me closer it was like he just noticed for the first time. Taking out the chewing stick from his mouth, he smile revealing his white teeth. I was shocked they weren’t like the usual old people that I had met he gestured for me to come closer I did so shuffling my feet on the ground. He held me in a side embrace that was shockingly firm.

“Nwa’m, my son. Hey, you have grown oh” he said smiling brightly. In my mind I was shaking my head at the usual statement. My aunt just stood there smiling too and nodding her head in agreement. The old man continued.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked. I never knew who they were, I shook my head saying no.

“I am your grandfather, your mother and this your aunty here’s father” he said pointing boldly at himself with his other hand before adding “the first time you came here you were very small, you were only one or so” then he laughed. Aunty Chinyere decided to join in then.

“Mummy, daddy lets go inside” they agreed and we all went into the small crumpled building.

We came into small room, it seemed like the sitting room. The window panes were turned open, streams of sunlight poured in along with the cold harmattan wind. It gave a chilling and warming effect. The room seemed dank but it still had this warm and homey feel to it, the old sofas were still strong and full, there was a beaten wooden table in the center.

I sat in a chair beside my grandfather then immediately my grandmother still standing made to leave the room saying she had to prepare something to eat and my aunty was ready to follow to help her leaving me alone with him. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, I didn’t know what to say to him so we both sat quietly while some goats bleated in the distance.

I looked around the room slowly taking it all in, the sparse decorations with the small cupboard pushed to corner. It seemed abandoned. I turned to my grandfather, he was already nodding off so I began to look at the pictures on the wall, most were those of my mother and aunty Chinyere while growing, my grandparents wedding picture and a few of them in the younger years but one caught my eyes. Standing up I went to take a closer look, it was grandfather and he was dressed in a uniform and a man beside him was with a gun and my five year old boyish mind was fascinated by guns, I wanted to ask my newly found grandfather questions about it. Walking backwards to the short journey to my seat I bumped into his leg forcing him awake.

Groggily he looked around him to see his attacker, I began to quickly blurt out apologies my hand on his leg. He just placed his hand on mine and smiled saying

“Don’t worry, it’s okay” he seemed cool and okay so I decided to ask him my question, still excited to know.

“Grandpa, grandpa. Who is that with the gun?” I asked eagerly pointing at the picture.

He looked up gently, squinting his eyes to see the picture. When he saw it he smiled, ruffled my head and patted the seat for me sit beside him. Still looking at the picture he said

“That was a time long ago, and a good story to tell” he paused and looked at me “do you still want to hear?” I nodded my head, then he started his tale.

‘It was 1967 then when it happened, I was just 18 then, not sure but I was still young. It was a war, the Nigerian civil war, just us easterners against the whole country it was very tough’

‘We wanted our own nation Biafra, we wanted to be a country of our own to be separated from the others but the government did not want that. They did not agree so we decided to take it by force that is what started the war. At the start it seemed like things were turning in our favor then later everything went upside down. The only place safe for us were our states, easterners in other states were killed off except they were lucky to survive’

Pausing he looked up solemnly “that was when we had the mass killing of the Igbos”

‘We all rushed back to our states then it was like they had backed us into a corner, like a trap. They cut off all food supply from us, there was famine in the land. We struggled to find different things to eat lizards, rats anything we were desperate but still people were dying, children suffered from different ailments especially kwashiorkor. They looked like footballs on a stick, bony arms swollen bellies big heads it was horrible. I’ll show you’

As he stood up I noticed his build, he was still tall, slim and he looked strong. He walked slowly to the small cupboard his steps were still firm with little effort he pulled the top drawer open and putting his hand inside he brought out yellowed pieces of paper then came back to the seat. He handed me the papers, they were newspaper cutouts. In one I saw the pictures of children exactly the way he explained it, I cringed with fear and pity.

He looked down at me and me up back at him, we said no words ours eyes just carried heavy emotions and he continued.

‘It was worse than it seems in that picture there, gruesome things happened but thankfully some other countries came in to help feed us’

He leaned back into the seat as he continued

‘Families were separated, torn apart because young boys were taken away to fight the war and most never came back. That’s why I am with the man with a gun in that picture there, I was taken away too my younger brother also. He was too little just 8, what did he know. I lost sight of him when we were taken away, I was old enough to know my way back home but he wasn’t.’

I looked at his face, his emotions glaring, he just stared ahead. Heaving a sigh he continued

‘That’s just the way the time during the war was. I never really had to fight but still most of us died sometimes during air raids or when we were running. I walked everyday thinking I was going to die, truth be told I was very scared’

Then he laughed wiping a little tear by the side of his eye

‘But here I am sitting with my grandson even. The war ended eventually and that was 1970. It’s only God that knows how he helped me find my family again and my little brother, only God knows where he is, that is if he is still alive’

We both sat there staring blankly. Thoughts were swimming in my head, I was really shaken.

Just then my grandmother and aunty Chinyere came in carrying two trays of steaming food breaking the tense air.

And now I am in my room, seven years later those newspaper cutouts in my hands reminiscing memories and my grandfather, he is dead now. God rest his soul, I miss him and these were the only things I had from him, placing them back in the box I turned to leave my room.