A LAND RENEWED

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I woke up that morning with a smile; Yes, for some time now, I’d been wearing a smile on my face every blessed morning; ever since I came back to my country Nigeria.

I yawned and muttered some words of prayer; “Thank you lord for life and for a changed country”. Shortly, I heard some noise outside and moved to the window to have a view of what was happening. 

A group of young men gathered outside, dancing happily. “These jobless boys are here again,” I said to myself amusingly. 

Ever since I’d arrived in Nigeria with my wife and son, these men would always gather together every morning at the same spot, making lovely sounds; some with talking drums, others with gongs, while the rest stood; watching and clapping. They seemed to have no meaningful lyrics to sing; they were just trying to flow with the Morning vibes. 

I’ll take it that they were always fortunate enough or it was a special skill which they had. Because at some point, their nonsense would begin to make sense and I would hear them chanting some lyrics which most times ended in “ONE NIGERIA!”, or “UP NIGERIA!” 

They would always try to include Nigeria into the picture, as a form of celebration and respect to the peace and unity which had started existing in the country. 

“Good morning Dad” It was Junior, my son, greeting me as he walked into my room. 

“How are you doing son?” 

“Very well dad, Your food is ready” 

“Great!, Bring it here” I replied, sitting back on my bed. 

I pressed the power button on the remote control and soon, the TV which hung on the wall came on. 

Flipping through the channels, I searched for any available news channel. I finally settled for the NTA channel, listening to the Newscaster with rapt attention. A man was being tried in court; and had been charged for Libel. Another was being charged with Stealing chickens from a neighbour’s poultry farm. 

“Chicken ke?!” I asked myself in surprise.

A lady outside the courtroom barked at them with scorn and utter disgust, almost slapping one of the men on his bald head. “Are you not ashamed of yourself?!!” She shouted; specifically to the Chicken thief. He only glared at her for a few seconds before he was moved inside the courtroom. If not for his handcuffs, I’m very sure he would have sent her to her maker; instantly.

The police officers appeared calm and composed. They performed their duties with all vigour and enthusiasm. I had to take my eyes off the screen, to be sure I wasn’t in a trance.

Was this the country I’d counted off before? A place where uniformed men never seemed to be happy with their jobs, always looking so bitter; with hardened hearts and fully loaded pistols, ready to serve justice or even death to some random defaulter.

I paused and laughed, it was a hilarious scene; The chicken thief, the dramatic woman, the calm and composed uniformed men.

Some minutes later, Junior came in with my food; it was rice and beans; my favourite. 

I dropped the remote control and focused on the rice and beans. He always cooked it the way I loved it.

“You cook so well” I complimented.

And though he remained silent -because he was already used to such compliment over and over again- he beamed with excitement and nodded. Just like he would always do.

He stood and watched me as I ate for the first few minutes, and then he left. It was his method of ascertaining that he had made a good dish.

I remembered Jane my wife and picked up my phone to call her; she had left a few days ago to see her parents.

“Thank you for bringing us back to Nigeria; you have done well,” I said over the phone.

“You see, the country has changed for good, I knew you’d love it! I knew it!!”

She was always dramatic, and I could tell she was as happy as I was. 

————————————————————————

Jane had played a major role in convincing me to come back to my fatherland.

It had happened about a year ago, during one of the nights in Paris. She woke me up from sleep that morning, telling me that ethnicity had been banned in Nigeria. 

“Alright praise be to God” I said and turned to sleep. 

“Wait honey, you should check this out please” She held me gently as she showed me the breaking news from her mobile device.

I watched as the President spoke; he was dark in complexion and preferred not to smile.

“The federal government no longer recognizes any ethnic group again; do away with your beliefs and cultures; we are one Nigeria,” he said.

“What difference will it make then?” I shrugged 

“I can’t say, but I know for sure that a lot of things will change in the long run, I’m somewhat convinced” she replied.

Anyway, I felt there would be sudden turmoil in the country, I knew there would be, and sure enough, there was. Barely a week later, a lot of protest groups had been formed and they all marched down to the government house ranting in their usual pidgin English; 

“bring back ethnicity 

bring back our cultures, 

bring back our way of life

We no go gree!”

TRIBALISM. It was one of the reasons I left for France, many years back. 

I had already completed my Master's In Economics and made over thirty applications for Jobs in different areas, But I was rejected by all of them; the Reason being that I was an Igbo man and had no cultural identity with them.

I had no option but to submit my applications to places which I shared the same cultural identity with. 

But it was disappointingly worse than my previous experience. These individuals were surprisingly greedy and expected applicants like me to pay huge amounts of money just for an interview with no guaranteed job in the end. 

At the slightest opportunity I had, to leave the country; I grabbed it, promising myself never to return. 

It was Mr.Femi, my businessman- childhood friend, who helped me get a job in Paris with my credentials. Something which I’m forever grateful for.

————————————————————————

“They’ll certainly grow tired of protesting,” Jane said.

Her voice brought me back to consciousness; I was long buried in my flashback”

“That doesn’t mean that they’ve accepted it fully” I argued.

“Yes honey, but what choice do they have?”

My thoughts drifted to my parents; and how they would react when they learnt about the recent happenings.

At some point, reality began to hit me.

“So you mean there’s nothing like mother tongue or local dialect again?” I asked.

“Brother John,” she said, patting me on my back. “you’re no longer an IGBO man, neither am I still a Yoruba lady; do away with your beliefs and cultures, we are one Nigeria,” she said to me as she tried to mimic the president. 

It wasn’t long before my dad texted me on WhatsApp; “Your country is at it again, every day they keep making and implementing unimaginable Laws” 

Dad was a strong cultural man; as an Igbo man, he liked to dress natively; his way of life was strongly centred on his culture and beliefs. All my life I’d never seen him dressing outside his normal style of Ishi-Agu Shirt and a native wrapper tied around his firm waist. I’d never seen my dad in a suit.

It was going to be strange, seeing him in a shirt and pair of jeans; without any traces of his identity, his pride and joy. He wasn’t going to find it funny; I knew that, but then he wasn’t a disobedient individual. His policy was to respect every constituted authority because they’d been put there for a reason.

Days moved to weeks; weeks to months and we began to see changes in the once dramatic Country called Nigeria. 

From France where we lived, I marvelled at the way Jane followed up on the Nigerian news. She was a brilliant young lady, who loved reading. She could sit on the internet reading and reading; one thing she detested was; not being current. So she got herself a tablet designed specifically for reading up about daily trends.

One day she walked up to me and said something startling.

“Honey, we should relocate to Nigeria”

For some seconds, I stared at her; trying to understand if she was being sarcastic or serious.

“Jane, I hope you’re okay?” I asked,

“I’m serious babe” she replied, holding my hands, and massaging them slowly; the way women did whenever they wanted a favour from their husbands. Deceptive creatures.

“I think you should take a break from following up on Nigerian news, you seem to have been carried away by it” 

“No honey, it’s just that….”

“I’m not going back to Nigeria; Never!” 

“John, are you scared?” She asked.

(To be continued)