I
woke up to the bliss of Sunday morning, a morning that foreshadowed brightness
up in the sky. That morning, if it were the people of Abakaliki town, they would
say it was a morning that birthed a weather of eating the mixture of offe-akwu bangana and white rice.
I
looked up to the wall clock in my parlor and watched the time ticking as if a
hungry domestic dog had pursued it. Just in time, I smelt the decent perfume of
my neighbor’s pot of stew. She was cooking on a tripod stand. Her name was
Ngozika. She looked so slim that I wondered why she liked putting on a mini
skirt instead of wearing clothes that would bring out her natural outfit.
Anyway, my concern was not neither her mini skirt nor her skinny waist, but how
she had managed to prepare such a stew that got my nostrils sniffed. Just then,
I remembered that my elder sister would prepare offe-akwu bangana. She was still making the necessary preparations.
When I
had come out from my room that morning, I looked expectant. I thought that that
morning was meant only for something else that had no definition. I lived in a
public house where people of different behaviors lived. I had realized earlier
before that public house was synonymous to animal kingdom. This was because of
the reason that my neighbors behaved like domestic animals.
I
was still wishing and waiting for my offe-akwu
bangana. I had done my house chores according to my duty roaster. I learnt
that duty roaster helped in executing chores in proper time. I went back to my
parlor and sat down to watch the news on the TV station. I liked watching
Ebonyi State’s EBBS TV station. That TV station gave me accurate news and entertainment.
My immediate younger sister came into the parlor, dressed for church. Her name
was Ozioma. She was surprised to see me in the house, sat to watch TV programs.
She thought I had gone to church.
“Emeka,
what are you still doing in the house by this time of the day? I thought you
were supposed to be in church by now.” She sounded as if she had eaten garnished
abatcha and ukpaka the past night. I looked into her eye balls and saw the
names of our church resident pastor written in bold words like the bill board I
used to see while going to buy snacks for breakfast down the street where I
lived.
“I
don’t feel like going to church today. I can’t just explain what is happening
to me now. My body system is not fine this morning,” I said reluctantly. She
gazed at my forehead, her lips moving slowly. I thought she wanted to scold me,
but then, she sighed and left. She swung hard the door when she left.
I
could hear my mum telling her husband that she was set for church, her voice so
melodious as if she was a western singer. My mum was that kind of woman that
loved the things of God. She did not like to joke with her Ankara dress. Her skin color did remind me of that of Opera
Winfrey. Her thirty-two set of teeth looked whitish and her full-bodied shape
explored that of actress Ngozie Ezeonu. She had told me the other day that
Ngozie Ezeonu was her best Nollywood actress and she loved watching her movies.
That
morning, she came into the parlor, her eye balls going round like a tennis
ball. She seemed to be searching for nothing. She stood for some minutes, made
no clattering sound and then, got seated on a sofa. A few minutes later, my dad
came into the parlor. He sneezed and my mum backed it up with ndugi. They all looked gorgeous in their
church dresses. “Honey, let’s leave. Time is no more on our side,” my dad said
to her.
My
mum looked at me with a kind of countenance on her face, as if to give me an
award merit. I could not figure out what she was about to say, although I tried
to. I looked intently at her lips. I thought she was about to tell me to go
prepare for church immediately. I wanted to say something, but then, she opened
up and words rushed from her large oral cavity.
“Emeka,
we are leaving for church right away. You can see that you and your elder
sister are the only people left in the house until we returns from church.
Therefore, look after the house,” she said. I exhaled softly and looked at my
dad’s dress. His shoes were brownish and had the look of that of Italian. His
plain black trouser was ironed. And his long-sleeved shirt and tie were
properly neat. I bid them goodbye while they left.
News
came on the TV station. A very young pretty lady was speaking. Her voice so
tender that I thought she was crying. Before, I imagined watching the other
side of the TV until my attention was caught. She was announcing the
forthcoming Nigeria presidential election. I heard her clearly. Pictures were
shown as she made announcement. She talked much about the Nigeria political
internecine and how strong the opposition parties were. She had told the
audience that APC rally in Lagos metropolis was like a detonation. How APC got such
a mighty crowed of candidates was something mysterious. “APC presidential
candidate, General Mohammed Buhari says that he will change Nigeria if only he
is elected the president,” she added.
I
was overwhelmed when I saw the picture of the APC presidential rally in Lagos.
I guessed when PDP candidates came for presidential rally in Lagos; such a
crowed had not come to welcome them. I understood that that scenario concluded that
APC was dominating Lagos.
My
friend came into the parlor. His name was Obiora. “Emeka, whose candidate are
you?” he asked, like a school teacher. I had not wanted to answer his question
because I saw no reason to. My mouth was gummed. I had no strength to open up my
mouth and let words flow.
“I
support PDP.” I finally said.
“Me
too, I want to vote President Jonathan for second tenor.” He said. He was
handsome, and I did not think his bald head was good-looking than that of my late
older uncle.
My
elder sister came into the house with a pot of stew. I guessed she was done
cooking offe-akwu bangana. I needed to eat, but with her permission.
Rice was still on the fire. I felt greedy and thought I would eat alone, when
my friend was gone. The pretty lady on the TV station caught my attention
again. I became focused, now with my friend.
“A
source reported that the 2015 Nigeria presidential election has gotten to the
nerves of the resident Nigerians and Diasporas. The popular Nigerian musician,
2face Idibia, with the supports of other Nigeria patriots, have vowed and
exhorted the fellow Nigerians to vote ‘free and fair election’ without destruction,”
I watched the young lady on the TV station like a hunter watching to kill an
antelope in the forest. Her voice was what I enjoyed most. She never knew
people like us were watching her. In the end, she said that: “A very wealthy
pastor that has one of the largest churches in Lagos asks the people of Nigeria
to vote wisely by voting President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan, for second tenor.
That he was the president after God’s heart for Nigeria.”
“Interesting!”
Obiora exclaimed and jumped from the sofa. I gave out a smile.
Obiora
was still talking nonsense when I tapped his broad shoulder, a signal to keep
silence. The lady on the TV station continued and we listened. “It is so
obvious that the 2015 Nigeria presidential election has eaten a lot of human
heads. It has caused blood sharing, annihilation, intimidation, and poor
economy in Nigeria, among others. The political parties in Nigeria are in a war
against themselves. Some of the inhabitants of Nigeria wishes for the
nostalgia. Some has gone a long way to saying that they will not vote on the Election
Day because of some undisclosed couple of reasons. Nigeria is totally in chaos.
General Mohammed Buhari is zealous. President Goodluck Ebele Jonathan said he
must win the second tenor. The individuals are curiously waiting for Election
Day – a day that will bring peace of mind. Nigerian Democracy is said to be
unappealing because of the hatred that has come along with 2015 Presidential
Election. Just within the past few weeks, a very wealthy Reverend Father in
Enugu metropolis said that General Mohammed Buhari is the ordained president
for the Nigerians, so he should be voted. Many of Nigerian past and present
State governors says: “Dear good Nigerians, vote wisely.” The NEPA ceased the
power again.
Obiora
stood to go home. I accompanied him outside the room and saw that the expectant
sky had already shed torrential tears as rain. I could hear the wind blow
slowly, whispering the name of the next Nigerian president to my ears. The cold
hands of nature forced me to say it out but I refused. A few minutes after, I
went back to the parlor, looked once at the wall clock and went to the dining
room to settle the presidential case with my offe-akwu bangana.
Copy right @ Chukwu John David, January 2015
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