NAKED COIN

To Onome my muse and dove,

So brave thy love

It makes me whole.

1

At the age of nine, Nna would make us sit close to him, tell us stories of his village, how they conquered the whites as a result of their resilience and unity, then would complain how those two were now in lack. Those nights were usually calm and serene. Nna liked nights because we were expected to have finished our homework, eaten dinner, taken our baths, and come down to hear him tell his tale. Yes, tales. Sometimes they were nothing but fictions told from the figment of his imagination, at least so they seemed. Like when he told us of how ‘Odegwu’, their village champion, wielding just a machete faced a group of soldiers with guns that came to harass his mother who advocated for their village women to stand up against the British rule, demanding that the market women paid tax to government officials. That was hard to believe, how one man could fight off three trained soldiers, more importantly, how a common villager could fight off the British and go unpunished. Those were one of Nna tales’ that chockfull our ears.

I was nine at the time, young and attentive, probably too attentive for my sister’s liking as she always did complain. Nothing pricked her more than seeing me with neighbors, never talking or doing aproko as that was common in our village, in our compound, and amongst market women. Even though I occasionally contributed forcefully, I was never or barely interested in what was being discussed, I was only their ear. I was the boy everyone knew would listen no matter how busy I was. Sometime, it was reprieving for some to know that someone out there was willing and ready to listen to them talk, poised, not contradicting their thoughts, or arguing with them. We were growing up in a world where everybody had something to say, felt like saying something, all that was needed was a listening ear, so I decided to be that ear. It was simple logic which endeared me to many, and even though I laughed it off any time my sister brought it up, it was probably true. I got use to telling people “you know I have a big ear” just to get them to talk. That was my pitch and it wasn’t far from the physical truth.

As Nna would entertain us with his stories, Nne would sneak in to sit with us, lean on the wall and motion Igbane to come over. He would then sit on Nne’s lap all through the evening especially when his eye lid were beginning to cramp each other.

Igbane was Nne’s favorite, humble and caring. Wasn’t every child? He contradicts the axiom “last born are spoilt brats”. Hardworking wasn’t the word to term a five year old boy, assiduous sounded matured for an infant of his age. Although Nne never talked about it, she sometimes wished he was her child, came from her womb. Everybody thinks he is. We are too attached to tell the difference most times, actually all the time, we forget he is Nna’s nephew. The story goes that his parents were killed over a land tussle between their village and the neighboring town. I one time overheard Nna say grandfather had willed the land to the family and Igbane’s dad being the first born kept the land all to himself. It didn’t surprise me that even after much family quarrels as who to build upon the land, Nna didn’t turn away from his brother and family. He didn’t join in the fight though, he supported in many other ways like when he was begged to take Igbane under his care just in case something went wrong, and it eventually did few days after Igbane came to live with us. His coming pleased Nne a lot; it was exactly a year after her miscarriage. I never did ask Nna what did happen, I was too young then to know and Nna never felt the need to tell. All we knew was that they died but not the manner in which it happened, and that ended everything. Nobody talked about it, not with Nna, he was too strict and principled to enjoy conversing with, and Nne— too scared to talk.

Nine years has gone past and everything seemed to have changed, the most pleasing to me is Nna’s storytelling. We moved from a two room thatched flat in Uriegha to a bungalow in the city. Our tea became brown and thick, our bread always buttered, and the meat on our food gained weight. Our new compound was wide enough for Nna to build two mini-flats for rent and a month after; we had our first new neighbor. Nna’s new job had some strong financial backing; he was recommended by someone, to occupy one of those big positions left vacant by the whites as they departed for their homes, we never knew who. That was an example of a miracle, mostly to me, for we were not deep believers and so never got to talk about God and his wonders. I did a little, only never talked about him in the open, just me to my conscience.

_______________

“Popular faith in genuine democracy was compromised from its birth,” I heard Nna make a point to Mr. OyIgbo our neighbor. Nna never argued, rather he spoke calmly as if he counted his words in his mind before letting them out. I pushed aside the cotton and peeped at them through the window pane of my room. Mr. OyIgbo’s visage was respectful. I was more fascinated at Nna’s countenance. It was firm and well-founded, didn’t budge even though his views were the contrast of Mr. OyIgbo’s. I smiled as my gaze shifted to Osaro who was coming behind them. I enjoyed staring at her, not for her beauty, which was far from her grasp, it was the unevenness of her teeth, scattered like the hills spread over Ibadan. Her smile dey make my smile to smile.

“Good morning sirs”, she greeted almost on her knee. She was too cordial in her manner, I scoffed.

“Osaro Nne”, Nna answered in his fading Igbo intonation. Many years away from one’s native land could cause that. He shifted his gaze to her father.

“I would be pleased to have your daughter for an in-law, you know”, Nna said jokingly.

Mr. OyIgbo smiled politely, seemingly not flattered by the joke Nna just made.

“He should”, I thought out loud. “His daughter would be lucky to marry a handsome young man as myself, but that would never happen,” I grinned.

I crawled back to my bed. Saturday mornings’ were my lazy days. Ndidi and Igbane did the major house chores. She would sweep and mop the tiled floors while Igbane did justice to Nna’s car then would join Nne in the kitchen. Sometimes he’d take it upon himself to rid the compound of grasses. All I did was climb down when called upon to come eat. Most times, Nne would complain of my laziness, questioning what modern evil had crept into me.

“Ogini!” she’d exclaim. “Can you see the importance of growing up in the village? No one grows up to be lazy as this. What are you a man for? You better stand up or your peers would take you for rags”. Those were her words, almost like she crammed them but flowed freely especially when her Igbo tone came to play.

_________________

Everything in the city was bigger unlike in Uriegha. Buildings were nearly no different in height from Iroko trees, roads longer and fine unlike the dust ridden footpath that enclosed the way to the local Uriegha stream where we would trek several miles threatened with dust before we got to the stream. Coming back, our feet’s would look clean, because we had been drenched by the same water on our head from the stream. Those weren’t good times; they were times neither Igbane, nor I nor Ndidi would want to remember. What worsened things were when we arrived home, Nne would still allot portions of minor house chores for us to do. Those days weren’t worthy of remembrance, not to anyone it wasn’t.

I sat by my window, gazing far into the archaic ancient city, and at the same time perusing through my memory. Benin’s landscape was a sight to behold. The lands were massively large, greeneries covered the empty highlands of Bendel, large portions of lands empty and wanting wear, trees spread their green leaves with pride, and the palm trees, singing, maybe to the wind or probably to the god’s. Tale of palm trees singing to the god’s at one point in time were told by elderly men, at moonlight, but that was centuries ago, when it was believed warriors hid in those trees to spy on enemy fighters raiding our lands. Those tales were too good to be true, but then again who were we to doubt, the Benin kingdom was and is still populous for its deities and black magic.

Market days were busy and rowdy; one could barely hear himself over another’s voice. Today was the same as other days, worse actually, the red sands reaped more strength from the rainfall that wet the sands in the early hours of the day.

I and Nne treaded cautiously as we squeezed ourselves through the rowdiness, making stops at every open store that had bags of beans and rice to sell. I watched Nne Price the bags, her bargaining technique had improved over night. She called her prize in full confidence, the kind possessed by a woman who had the money to buy whatever she wanted but was trying to make sure she wasn’t cheated.

It reminded me of Uriegha’s rural market days, Nne would make me come along with her and Ndidi to the market. All they needed me for was to carry the heavy bag, but the bags were rarely ever heavy. We would spend time in the market, moving from store to store comparing the prizes of the same commodity, and then finally we’d settle for the one that was lesser, and by lesser it was nothing short of a naira lesser. It was frustrating for me, walking under the hot scorching sun and at the end of the day the essence of our visiting every shop was only visible in two naira.

_________________

Our Sunday mornings had become different. We drank very brown tea, swallowing well-buttered breads with egg sliced in-between. Igbane ravished his breakfast like fate would never grace him with such luxury again, but he was wrong. The air that morning was pleasant; I guess more pleasing as a result of Nna’s perfume that sneaked out his room into the parlor then spread its wings all over the air. This aura was new, which was fast overtaking the usual Sunday scent in our house.

I watched Nna walk to church with so much authority in his steps. He didn’t smile though, he barely ever did. He responded to every greeting with a simple nod. I knew he practiced the nod since he recognized that the goddess of luck had smiled on him. “Fortune is a fickle jade that often smile on those that need her the most”, he used to say those words with no luster, now they had become his apothegm. Nne’s view on the subject of fortune was somewhat rational yet none wanted to believe her when she said: “Fortune smiles and then betrays”. As I walked with Nna, I felt my shoulders did same, only higher. Igbane and Ndidi had gone ahead, not because they wanted to take the front row sit and listen to Father Mbaka’s sermon; they wanted time to run around the wide grassy compound of St. Prime Catholic Church.

“I'm sure you’ve noticed some changes”, Nna asked as he kept on with his suave firm steps and I trying to keep up with the pace.

“Yes Nna.” I stole a quick gaze at him, and saw his comforting look. I could guess what he was going to say, yet I listened with rapt attention.

“Do you know what happened?”

I nodded my head and said “No, but I have an idea”.

Nna slid his hand into his pocket trousers as he listened to what I was about to say. “The business you have been hoping to get from the government has finally come through”.

“Yes, you are very correct.” His voice boomed richly. “The most interesting part was that I don’t know who recommended the job for me. All I was told was that he’s a high ranking government official and favored me for the job.”

“Wow Nna!, that’s good news,” I feigned epiphany as if I hadn’t eavesdropped on him and Nne Conversation some time back.

“Now your father is a certified government building contractor, importing and exporting. Are you not happy?”

“I am Nna, I'm very happy. It is what you have always prayed for, less work and good pay. Finally, it has come.”

He patted me in the back. I had spoken like his true son. Nne would have complained if she were here. Her words were “You better not be lazy like your father! How would a man, with two hands and leg sit down and say he is "waiting for the government!”

Nna was never the working type, safe to say he was lazy and Nne feared I took after him.

“What is on your mind?” Nna asked perceiving the countenance on my face.

“Uriegha”, I whispered. For some reasons, I had come to miss the village.

“Don’t worry it will pass, or don’t you like our new place?”

“I do, it’s just…”

“Your friends obviously,” he said indisputably. “Osaro our neighbor, you can make her your friend.”

I wanted to laugh. That, I know was a sarcastic statement meant to make me laugh. Nna did good to use her for jokes. I didn’t laugh even though I wanted to. I looked up at Nna’s face, I wasn’t encouraged.

We walked the rest of our way to church in awkward silence. Everything about Nna was awkward.

Always awkward.

_________________

Ikenna Okafor! I heard Nne shout out my name. It was Friday morning and the weekend smell permeated the air. Nna had left for work already, Igbane too. He left with Nna so as to meet the morning lessons in his school, he was preparing for his final exam, the senior school certificate examination.

From the look on Nne’s face, she wasn’t happy. She sat on the dining table, there was no tea cup or bread to sip and bite from, just the green dining table covers neatly settled on six sides. She obviously wasn’t calling me for breakfast. As I climbed down the stairs, I could hear Ndidi rummaging her room, she was probably searching for her apron again, if she went to school without it that would make the third time this week she had gone without it. Ndidi was through with school, but Nna wasn’t ready to sponsor her education, his opinion of women going to school was that it was a waste of money. At first we thought it was because he didn’t have to pay for school fees, but even now that the money flowed in more than usual, his decision hadn’t changed. “Women were born for the kitchen” he would always say.

I landed heavily on the tiled floor; I could see Nne’s unfriendly eyes staring at me. She probably wasn’t in love with how brawny I was. “How could he be this brawny and yet lazy”, I imagined she was saying. But I wasn’t going to mind, I actually never minded any of those times she gave me such inauspicious moot gaze. I loved my body, how burly I was, but most of all my height, I was the perfect fit for a war front foot soldier, but Nne wouldn’t buy into such assumption, she would never even hear of it, I guessed it had something to do with Nna nnukwu, her father.

“Good morning ma,” I greeted slothfully as I drew back the chair opposite her. She gestured that I come sit next to her. I did meekly knowing what was coming next.

“My son,” she began. I knew that tone and definitely what would follow. She only said those words when her restiveness on someone was only worsening, or you had done her proud. In this case it was the former, no action of mine in recent time had made her twirl around the house while her wrapper danced, singing praises at the same time chanting my name in between those songs.

“What are your future plans?” she asked abruptly.

I was stunned and troubled by her question, she had asked for a reason and a wrong answer would mean a… Nne had always been difficult to predict, It'd be hard to tell her reaction. I couldn’t imagine telling her I wanted to be a baskiball player, but if she had asked this question five years ago, I probably would have. Unfortunately, that dream that on Uriegha playground.

“When I grow up I want to…

“Grow up kwa!” Nne retorted. “Aren’t you grown already? Or where else do you want to grow to, ehn! Tell me?”

I bit back my words as quickly as possible. She wasn’t just asking, she was driving home a point.

“I want to be a doctor,” I said acting like I could no longer be hurt by her words, even though they could pierce through anyone and make you rethink your life again and again. Growing up, we preferred she flogged the hell out of us than talk to us. Natural unprovoked tears did flow as a result of her words.

“Doctor at twenty!” she sighed in disappointment. “And have you any plans?”

“Yes Nne. I intend applying for direct entry into University of Ibadan soonest.” I answered proudly, but the look on her face didn’t change. She still wasn’t impressed.

“And how possible will that be? It’s been years since you wrote your advance level GCE, is it still valid?”

“Yes it is. The result is for life.”

It was obvious she wasn’t pleased, she would have wanted something more for me, particularly at my age. Her argument will be that studying medicine would take another seven to eight years, and that would waste her son’s life. I understood, but my still being at home at this time wasn’t my fault. I had finished my higher school certificate class three years back, but Nna had no money to send me to the university, thank God he does now.

“I know being a doctor would afford you the opportunity to provide for the family, but there’s no need for that anymore, thank God your father has been uplifted financially.”

I was going to say something but Ndidi’s hurrying feet ascended down the stairs. She was fully clad on her apron then came to pose before Nne.

“Nne how do I look?”

“Beautiful my dear,” Nne replied with a smile, blowing her a kiss.

“I knew, I was just asking.” She blew back the kiss and let out a wide grin. “Nwannam!” she called as she dashed out. “Later.”

Ndidi left, and it brought back the atmosphere that occupied the dining room. From the look of things, Nne wasn’t done talking.

“You’re an Igbo man. Young men of your age are best at business. Why don’t you tell your father to give you money to start up a business of your choice, you can get a shop along ring road cheaply.”

“I don’t like to borrow.”

“Then you can loan it from him, and when you’re able to stand on your own, you pay him back, ehn.” She advised cuddling my head.

I flinched. What was the difference between loan and borrowing?

“Nne,” I called ardently. “I still want to be a doctor, they’re well respected and…

“Shut up your mouth, what do you know? Your mates, even boys younger than you are doing big in Enugu with their trade business, and you are here telling me doctor. You better get back your senses and follow our tradition.” Her hissing was intense. “What rubbish.”

I was beginning to wonder what Nne disliked the most in the matter. If it was that I wanted to be a doctor, or that I could have made better use of myself in Enugu than here, the ancient Benin kingdom. It’s been twenty-one years now since they left Enugu to pitch their tent here, Nne had still not found love for the city but especially now that our bread has been buttered here, going back wouldn’t be an option for Nna, not that it ever was since he left.

Sometimes one wondered why Nna had come to dislike his hometown so much that he wanted to change our surnames to Benin names, if not for Nne, by now we probably would have been called the “Omorogbe’s”.

The knock at the door saved me from hearing anymore of what Nne had to say. I quickly stood up to go answer the door. The knock was mild and gentle, suggesting it was a stranger knocking. I opened the door and saw two men standing in well-dressed outfits. Both were manly, beards well shaved and fine raiment’s. The taller was putting on a brown Kaftan, and the other, a white cotton native. They were obviously government workers, but they were top shots, probably the set of people that were promoted to top positions after the British abandoned their position for home before our independence.

“Good morning sirs.”

“Morning young man,” the taller of the two replied cheerfully. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine sir.”

“Is your father, Mr. Okafor home?”

“No sir, he’s gone to work.”

“Okay then, we’ll come back when he is home.” They left without saying another word.

_________________

I held tightly the envelope in my hand containing my G.C.E result to apply for direct entry, delivering the documents would be faster by post. I admired Uselu market as we drove past, though the market had gotten busier over the years; it was still regarded as the best, mostly because the whites visited it every now and then.

“Post office” I called out to the hearing of the driver. He halted the bus. As I came down, I couldn’t stop looking. She didn’t look Monalisa beauty, but was finer than a portrait. The wind took hold of her hair swaying it at all direction, I almost fell having missed my step for my incessant gaze at her. The drubbing in my heart eased as she entered the post office, it was as if we were meant to have come across each other. I went into the office confident of fate, she didn’t look back. She walked on not even knowing that my eyes were fixed on her, or maybe she knew but wanted to play hard to get. Every lady does, but eventually it wears off. Sometimes I want to believe that women resist because they want to be conquered.

She had begun filling the spaces on the form so her letter could be posted, she was applying too. I swiftly got to the counter and picked mine, standing just beside her. I took a peek and saw the address she was sending the letter to, it was same place as mine. My heart leaped with joy.

“Be fast, am about closing,” said the man behind the counter. He was on brown khaki short, wasn’t looking happy, beards quite unkempt.

“Okay sir,” I kept on writing and at every second staring at her. She still didn’t notice me or pretended to ignore me. I hurried my writing and we both submitted at the same time. The man had noticed my gaze on her, it got more obvious when he looked at the destinations of the letter and both were same.

“Did you both come together?” he asked.

For the first time she looked at me, though with amazed triviality, I was so glad she did. I felt like jumping on the man to thank him for making the way, the rest was for me to induce words out her mouth.

“So you are applying to UI, well so am I,” I began as we both walked out the office. She said nothing, but I kept on, with the words “Women love to be conquered” resonant behind my head. “You don’t strike me as a Yoruba girl, but you seem erudite.” I told her.

“Don’t flatter yourself, everybody who sees me say I'm erudite, especially at the first meeting.” She tried sounding not too harsh but did a poor job at it. She didn’t even look. I still wasn’t willing to give up.

“I’m applying for Medicine, what about you?”

“CRK” This time she swiveled a bit and saw the bewilderment on my face, she returned her gaze to the road and said “Christian religious knowledge.”

That was the first time I took a closer look at her. She wore no ear rings, even though gorgeous were her tresses, it was dark and natural. I didn’t mind, and wasn’t planning to, my heart was all that mattered, and it hadn’t stopped thumping.

“I know it’s too early to judge but I do find you interesting…

“You shouldn’t,” she retorted, but I kept on talking.

“And I’d love to see you again, hopefully in a better place so we can have time to ourselves.”

“For your information I’ve a fiancé.” She said icier than the first time.

This time, she took a long glance at me, probably wanting to see my reaction, and it was one not so pleasing. My thumping paused, goose on my skin stood firmly still, my mouth was mute as were my thoughts, it was like the world halted. I summoned courage to say;

“I don’t care. May I know your name?”

She cast her deep blue eyes into mine, and said “You’ve known enough for today. Next time we see, I would tell you.”

“But how do we see again when I don’t know your name nor have your contact.” I asked a bit stupefied.

“I keep to my words.” She began to leave then swiveled back. “Again, remember I have a fiancé.”

“And remember I said I don’t care,” I bite back hastily as she left.