Introductory Verse

     Come here, Child

     Let me hold you

     Let hope overcome fear

     Too many mountains to climb are there

     May your nature cripple you not!

     For you are the real deal

     A rare, dazzling gem

     A true offspring, a Native Child.

Odera Chidume

Prof. Festus Aghagbo Nwako Library

Awka, Anambra, Nigeria.

To all my readers, lovers of Literature and especially all those who strive to survive during hard times.

Ikenna would continuously scratch his left leg as if to erase the itch sustained from the insect bite; and gradually, he would watch his skin swell in response. It did not bother him, for all he wanted at that period was to be at ease. The daylight slowly left the atmosphere and except for the fire his father, Udezue had made at a corner, their hideout would have been covered with darkness. Ikenna knew the fire might not last, for his father would put it off once they hear footsteps approaching. It happened countless times, making them change hideouts day after day, sometimes in three to four days to avoid been traced by people his father said were unusual persons. The last time he put it off, two days before, he re-ignited it because it was one of his friends who lived in their neighbourhood, Odinka. He hardly recognized his face in the darkness but his voice reaffirmed it,

     “Udezue, its me Odinka”.

Odinka was a bachelor, though Udezue’s age mate. He joined the troops to fight in the war but stayed back for some days after sustaining a serious leg injury. He would tell Udezue,

     “I’m not in the military but I’ve got absolutely nothing to lose. My parents died in the beginning of the war, three years ago. I’m fighting to the finish”.

     Ikenna could sense the painful strength in his tone even as he limped when he came to their hideout. Udezue had joined also, fighting throughout the second year of the war but stopped abruptly because Ikenna told him how their mother always cried all through the night whenever he visited them. The son would always narrate how their second and last child, Kaira, would not stop behaving weirdly until she saw him again, also when two random gunshots broke down the loosely fixed doors of their hideout. The last story shook Udezue terribly, more so when his wife Ndidi had told him,

     “I do not ask you to stop fighting but I do not want to lose you. I’ve not imagined myself in the painful club of widowhood. Kaira talks about you from dawn till dusk. We know she is just thirteen but she knows there is war and people are lost in it. Ikenna fully understands what is happening but his seventeen years of age doesn’t make him an adult. He doesn’t know everything about you and the…”

      “ozugo. I understand. A ghotago m. I’ll consider staying back”. He ran his palm over her cheeks. Kaira rushed to him, “Papa, you’ve been fighting for a whole year!” Udezue hugged her immediately so she would not see the tears that welled up in his eyes. But Ikenna saw it anyway, and wondered if the war was ever going to end. Then he consciously closed his eyes and thought about his friends at college. He wondered where they would be and how they survived.

      “I feel them so much in my heart”, Udezue told Odinka, pointing to his family, “I can’t concentrate fully in the warfare, especially when I remember them. I’ll lose myself if anything happens to them”.

      “Don’t you have any siblings?” Ndidi asked Odinka. She wondered how he actually said he had nothing to lose.

        “No. I’m the only child. My paternal uncles had always been envious of my father’s lands. We were not in good terms with them. My aunts are with their husbands. They can take care of them”.

        “Your maternal side nko?”

        “They are from a far place. A very far place. And I don’t relate with them especially as my mother told me they didn’t want her to marry the man she loved”.

  Ndidi pitied him. The fatal wound on his leg; the quick, painful way in which he became an orphan, how his entire being was a picture of misery. She lamented, “I can feel the plights of thousands of war orphans”.

  Odinka wiped the tears that welled up in his eyes. Udezue held him firmly, assuredly. The tears came out even more.

  Ndidi nursed the hope that they would win the war, at least things would begin to get better especially for the Southerners. Odinka’s passionate commitment was what she thought, was needed in their forces.

                                            ———————————–

     Udezue was not with the family when Odinka came to give them news that the war had ended. He said it was announced the previous day.

            “Where is Udezue?”

            “He went to see a close friend. He’ll be back before tomorrow runs out”.

            “We surrendered. I can’t even imagine myself making this statement. It’s finished”.

            “It isn’t, Odinka. You still have a life to live”.

            “What value has a meaningless life?”

            “Life is meaningful. It gives you opportunity to prepare and come back stronger”.

   He sighed. He knew there was nowhere to start from. No family.

            “Would y’all wait for your husband?”

            “No. I spoke with him when we were perceiving the end of the war, about a month or so. We’ll leave immediately. Aba isn’t far from here. He’ll catch up with us or even meet us at home”.

      And it was true. Aba wasn’t far from Umuahia. Though the roads seemed some sort of damaged, they would join others who went the same dimension.

            “Okay,” Odinka said, “Go well. I’ll see if I can return”

            “Please return. This isn’t the end. I hope to see you in the neighbourhood”.

            “Thank you. Take care. I’ll also tell your husband when I see him on the way”. He left.

      Ndidi turned to look at the other two, they were still seated, looking at her like they demanded an explanation. The loose condition of Kaira’s braids exposed her natural hair. Ikenna sat as though he didn’t know whether to sit or stand. She still looked at them. What did these children expect her to say? Anyway, whatever.

            “It’s alright now, the war is over”, she told Kaira, lifting her up to embrace her, “We can now go home”.

            “But we lost Mama”, said Ikenna, “We did not get the sovereign nation”. He stood up. Kaira simply stood without talking.

            “I know, but there are no more pain or suffering”. Ndidi answered. She knew the pain went nowhere, that it was just the beginning. And then Odinka, whose pain would be unimaginable, not only for losing his parents or sustaining a fatal leg injury, but for losing the

War that robbed him of his family.

            “But I heard people lost their loved ones”.

            “I know. That’s what you see whenever there’s a war”.

            “And you say there is no pain?”

  She could no longer answer the questions and went to pack the little things they evacuated with. Kaira helped her. He still stood there. She looked at him at intervals to see if the question had cleared from his mind. He still looked like a confused person. Whatever.

      When they arrived home, they were surprised to meet Udezue who was already arranging some scattered items. Kaira hugged him first. Ndidi imagined how much of an eyesore the house would have become. She knew it. She expected it. These cruel Northern soldiers must’ve turned her home to ruins. Ikenna stood. And as he looked around the neighbourhood, he saw people disposing spoilt properties.

            “They destroyed a lot”.

            “I know”. Ndidi replied, throwing out the torn clothes as he disposed the radiogram.

            “They even broke the door of our middle sized refrigerator”. He sighed.

            “We can’t dispose that. We’ll find a way to fix it”.

  Ikenna could not bear the sight of his elementary school result booklet torn almost to shreds, drenched in liquid that smelled like urine, dumped in the backyard. A booklet he had promised himself to show his children in time to come, in which he came first twelve times in a row, then traces of second and third. Ndidi came over to the backyard to check her little farm. It was a total mess. The Orange tree lay lifeless on the ground, also were the vegetables and flowers, the neatly made ridges were now some scattered unequal lumps of sand. It was so much that she couldn’t even weep. She turned and saw him as he bent over those torn sheets. He was not packing them neither did he stand to leave them. He was just there, quiet. She came close,

            “Nna m, dispose them”.

            “Eh?” He felt like one whose certificate was burnt , “They’ll dry. I’ll tie them in a nylon”.

            “No you can’t do that”. She raised him up and looked intently at the papers as if to check for something. Oh! It was his result booklet. She also got confused. Should the boy pack the papers or just go inside? Well, whatever. She left him, some things still needed to be arranged. He still stood there looking at the papers, wondering. What kind of people would’ve done this to such valuable document? ‘They probably didn’t go to school and don’t know what this is. They must be illiterates’ he concluded.

      Their neighbour, Ifejirika had come over to greet them in the evening. He had returned with his family the day before. His fine, smooth, chocolate skin had darkened and become less shiny; a firmly tied bandage was on his right hand. He had slimmed down noticeably, but still had the tall physique, the broad shoulders and fine white eyes. He came in smilingly, shook hands with Udezue, lifted Kaira playfully and tapped Ndidi on the shoulders. He did not see Ikenna.

            “Where’s my boy?” He looked at Udezue.

            “He should be in the study room. Hope you all returned, unu ncha?” They sat down.

            “Yes, we did. Anyi niile. Just that my wife’s colleague at the post office lost her two sons”.

            “What?”

            “Yes. Two of them”.

            “Did they fight? Fa anulu ogu?”

            “Probably”.

            “They might have gone missing”.

            “No. They returned to her this year. But they were badly shot. They died few days later”.

            “Chai” Udezue looked at his hand, “Your hand, they shot you?”

            “Yes. I initially evacuated with my family to Cameroun in the beginning of the war. In the third year, we were losing terribly, I returned and fought briefly before the war ended. That was when I sustained this. It bled seriously. I narrowly survived. My family returned by themselves. How they managed to meet me is history”.

   Udezue smiled. The story was similar to his.

     Ikenna wasn’t in the study room as Udezue predicted. He was in the kitchen, staring at their large kitchen wallpaper now torn to some large and small pieces, effortlessly scattered on the floor. Ndidi had assigned him to pack them up in a sac bag and dispose. It was the picture of an African woman, culturally dressed, a large pot on her head, holding her children as they walked along a beautiful sandy path. He had always imagined to be the boy in the picture while Ndidi took them along and Kaira was one of the girls. The others could be their neighbour’s children, whatever. He so much liked the picture that whenever he looked at it, he imagined a nice looking and sometimes communal life. He had hoped to get to that life in time to come and this hope was nurtured and preserved by the intent, regular looking of the picture. Hence, he would always clean it with a neat dry rag whenever it got dusty; he would also make sure the stove was reasonably far from it to prevent the kitchen smoke from denting its brightly coloured nature. And sometimes, he would run his hands over the images gradually, intently, as if to get in touch with the future. Then swiftly, he would return to the present and continue his duties. But it was no longer that way. It was now scattered pieces of sheets. He felt like his hopes were dashing, crumbling like buildings in the face of violent storms. For him, things were clearly no longer the same. He bent down and began arranging the pieces carefully on the floor like he was answering some sort of puzzle. He tried, but it wasn’t possible because some vital parts were lost. It would be that the Northern soldiers who invaded their house must’ve used them as tissue papers. But didn’t they see the rolls and rolls of tissue that lined up in the passage? Or perhaps they did not know what they were. He debunked the thought. It must have been wickedness, sheer wickedness. He pushed them together and carefully stuffed them in the sac bag. But he did not dispose them else he felt a complete loss. He stood looking at them for a while before hurriedly taking them to a neighbour’s child who lived in the opposite building. The child had attended the same college with him before the war. In fact, the child was his classmate, also one of his closest friends and playmate. Having known each other for years, they confided a lot in themselves and even planned the same academic moves in college. Their mothers were also very close. The child’s mother taught them English in the Senior section while Ikenna’s mother worked as deputy secretary in the education ministry. The connection was that Ikenna’s mother taught in the same college when Ikenna was still in the elementary school. The child, just like Ikenna knew, enjoyed making paper mache, even when it was not given to them as project in Entrepreneurship studies, he would make lots of them in neat, beautiful forms of animals and objects. Ikenna wondered if he actually sold them for money. He would ask him that. But anyway, anyhow, it was better if his friend used them to make something meaningful. He believed that by doing so, it would keep his hopes indirectly alive. That was preferable. Of course the child was a boy. His name was Chukwuma. They were about the same age. Ikenna and other close friends shortened it to Chuks. To them, the name presented him as the funny teaser he was while to the female classmates who admired him, it put him forth as some sort of iconic lover boy.

    Ikenna knocked. The bag was beside him. He wondered if they had returned from the war. He planned to conclude that if the door wasn’t opened at the second knock, then it would be that they hadn’t returned. It could even be that they flew outside the country just before the war, afterall his mother’s rich co-worker travelled to America with her family. He knocked the second time. The door was opened. It was Chukwuma. He was noticeably slim but his colour had not changed; his skin still exuded that smooth gleaming chocolate complexion. Ikenna concluded that they might not have travelled but he was in some sort of good condition.

            “Ah, Ikenna”. They shook hands and hugged in that boyish, playful manner.

            “Kedu? How far?” Ikenna asked.

            “I’m good. Long time”.

            “Did you people fly out?” Ikenna still asked even as he had almost concluded the thought.

            “N’ebee kwanu? For where? We were in Umuahia”.

            “Me too. My family was also in Umuahia”. Ikenna said, kept quiet and said again, “But how come you still look unchanged?” He looked at his new pair of brown shirt and shorts.

            “How?”

            “You don’t look like a refugee. Aren’t you coming back from the War?”

Chukwuma understood and both broke into laughter.    

            “This boy”, Chukwuma playfully beat his chest with the back of his palm, “Who told you? I suffered oh. It’s just that I didn’t go hungry for a whole day”.

    Ikenna too did not go hungry for a whole day. People, though not all, also ate daily; at least once. It was not what they ate that truly mattered. It was the quality; the quality of what they ate. But at least they ate.

            “You must have been eating Chicken and rice non stop”.

            “o sikwa Chicken? There was no such thing oh. I can only remember eating it once a year. We sometimes ate rice and cooked soup and a few other things, but it was mostly ‘Win the war”.

            “What? Ikenna broke into laughter, “So your mother also cooked Win the War?” Chukwuma laughed and nodded in the affirmative.

       Ikenna knew the foods that fell under that category. Strictly speaking, he knew they were foods that were poorly prepared, soups that barely contained fish or meat, or enough oil, or salt, or the right vegetables, soups that were watery, so watery that a baby would think it wise to drink them in cups. Garri was usually used to eat soups, but it was too scarce and expensive that they could barely afford it for the whole family. Even if they did, it wasn’t everyday. The prices of cups of garri grew more frightening. And they had to eat the soups with garri for there was no other cheaper substitute; and the satisfying heaviness they felt in their stomachs when they ate lots of it, hunger would be blocked throughout the day. But there were no lots of garri; hence most people would get a few cups and mix it with lots of maize chaff and submerge it in fairly boiled water and ate it with the soup. This way, they had a lot to eat, quality or no quality. The maize chaffs were usually used to feed the chickens when things were not that bad, but it did not matter during those perilously hard times. Who even reared chicken during the war? That was then. The war had ended after all. He hoped things would get better and at the same time feared the reality of his hopes. And it pained him that even after eating the foods of Win the War, they did not win.

            “Nna eh, we ate lots of it oh. Thank God we survived. Many didn’t”  Ikenna said again. He still looked at Chukwuma intently like there was something in him that needed to be discovered but at the same time talked along. It was his skin. How did he retain such kind of skin?

     Chukwuma noticed, even if not by observing the way he stared at him, at least from the way he was not fast enough in replying the conversations. He chuckled and said, “I know you’re still wondering how my skin survived”.

     It surprised Ikenna but he still wanted to ask the question anyway, “Yes oh. And you’re telling me you suffered. Are you joking?”

            “I did actually. Yours is not bad too. It’s just that my mother’s friend who’s into cosmetics regularly supplied us creams at very cheap prices”.

            “What?” Ikenna felt surprisingly amused, “You mean y’all did not rub Udeaki?”

            “Not really”.  Chukwuma smiled.

            “Inukwa? Are you serious?”

   The slight depreciation in Ikenna’s standard of skin was not because he applied Udeaki after bath. In fact, the Udeaki so much suited his black skin and made him somewhat dazzle. The issue was that he didn’t apply it regularly; or couldn’t. Who even constantly made it during that time? Udeaki was an oil made by steaming cracked palm kernels gotten from palm fruits. The palm fruits were not even that rampant during the time. It was usually the ones they bought for preparing ‘ofe akwu’ that they used the kernels for the Udeaki. It was not all the time. But they managed each one they prepared so that it lasted for quite a while.

       Chukwuma nodded.

            “When did you people return?” Ikenna asked. From the settled condition of their house, they could not have returned that same day.

            “Yesterday”.

            “We just came back today oh. Nna eh, these people spoilt a lot of things. We’ve been on arrangement”.

            “Did you say arrangement?” Chukwuma was amused, “Our house was a total mess. We disposed and disposed. The few things we kept back are still not in sound condition”. He looked at the bag beside Ikenna, “What’s in the bag? You’re going to dispose it too?”

    Ikenna sighed and opened the bag, then closed it bag again, “It’s our beautiful kitchen wallpaper, Fa dokara ya, they tore it to pieces. I’m not going to dispose it”.

            “What then are you going to do with it? Gum it back?”

            “No nah, it’s not possible. I brought it to you”.

            “Me?” Chukwuma narrowed his eyes.

            “Yes. You can use it for paper mache. It’s better”.

    Chukwuma laughed, “You still remember that I do such things?”

   Ikenna nodded, “How does it fetch you money?”

            “Students and pupils come to buy for already made projects. My mother would also take some to the ministry of arts. It’s not booming, but its helpful”.

            “Oh, okay”. Ikenna nodded and handed the bag.

            “Thank you” Chukwuma lifted the bag and peered inside it.

            “Did you go to school in Umuahia?” Ikenna asked.

            “Yes, when the situation wasn’t too bad. I stopped in the third year. The school also stopped functioning. But I heard that other schools in the open areas stopped functioning as early as first and second year, especially Enugu”.

            “I heard Enugu was one of the most difficult places to stay. My father said people evacuated as early as the first six months. It was terrible”.

            “What of you? Did you go to school?”

            “Me? I didn’t oh”. They both laughed.

            “Even the one I attended, my mother said she doesn’t like the standard. She taught there”.

            “I’ll continue schooling at the College. Are you coming back?”

            “Of course, as soon as it resumes”.

            “That’s nice to hear. Chuks! We’ll see later”. They smiled, shook hands and hugged.

     By the time Ikenna returned to the house, Ifejirika had gone, Kaira was reading the Children’s classics, Udezue read the Weekday Papers. Ndidi was at the verandah with her friend, a co-fellow at the Women Liberation Movement.

   Ikenna opened the door,

 “Who’s that?” Udezue asked. His eyes were still on the papers.

“It’s me, Ikenna”

“Okay. Come in”.

      ­­­­­­                        ________________________________________

            By the time the federal college resumed, things were beginning to get better, to normalize. People went to work, to businesses; Churches commenced with full swing, inflated prices of items were going down, roads became through for usage, importation of foods especially foreign rice and the free circulation of local food items from local industries made people to gradually cease eating the foods of Win the War.

But even at that, since it was the first day of resumption, they felt the aura; aura of the things that had happened. Ikenna, having luckily found his uniform intact when they returned, had prepared them for school. But it was not the same with Kaira. She searched and searched and couldn’t find a trace of hers in the house. But later, by which time it was already two days to the resumption, she found a large mass of what used to be her uniform submerged in the nearby gutter, a beautiful pinafore she ironed daily, carefully, such that it made her look so slender and attractive. It was there along with her beret. She wept. But she did not feel as bad as that when she went to school on mufti, for many students came to college on mufti too, having one or two stories to tell about their uniforms. The first day of school was quite terrible, a haunting silence overtook the usual lively atmosphere, teachers stammered in class, tribal tension prevailed, bullets were scattered in the field, some buildings would need restructuring. The school assembly did not hold; students prayed in their different classes, silently, fervently. Some looked around to see if their friends had begun school, some asked if others had returned from the war. They did not learn much since the principal had declared more of clean up.

In class, Ikenna was with Chukwuma, Zeruwa, Chidi and Alade, a Yoruba boy. They talked about the recent issues. Zeruwa was solemn; tears dropped down his eyes at short intervals. Originally, he was Ikenna’s seatmate. They pitied him. And without even asking what happened, they knew it was something related with the war.

“Did they destroy your things?” Ikenna asked Zeruwa.

“They destroyed many people’s things oh”, Chidi could not help it, “My mum’s shop was in ruins. We’re almost back to square one”.

“I’m telling you”, Ikenna replied, “My sister’s uniform was found in the gutter”. They broke into laughter, even Zeruwa unknowingly joined in.

Ikenna continued, “My neighbour’s mother’s co-worker lost her two sons. Two!”

That was when Zeruwa spoke, “It’s my senior brother, he has not returned from the war. My family is worried. We are all looking for him”.

“Ah, that’s quite a long time. But don’t worry, y’all will find him, definitely”, Chukwuma patted his shoulders, “Clean your eyes”.

“It’s preferable to have your house in a mess than to look for a loved one”. Chidi commented.

“Whose house wasn’t in a mess? Its double for Zeruwa”. Chukwuma said.

“You say?” Ikenna still replied Chidi, “ Everybody is feeling the heat oh. Our bachelor neighbor lost his parents in the war. He said they died since the first year”. They looked at him. It was obvious that the statement shocked them the most.

“This is very terrible”. said Alade. It was the first time he spoke. Ikenna turned to him, “Your house was in a mess too. Wasn’t it?”

“Not really. We packed most of our things and left when the war was still a rumour”.

“You people flew out?” Chidi asked him.

“Nothing happened to you people at all?” Chukwuma also asked him.

“Fly wetin? We went to my village in Osun. All of us”.

“How did you people manage to cross the roads to that place? They didn’t assault you people? I heard they blocked so many major roads”. Ikenna asked.

“I am not Igbo”. Alade’s statement sounded like some sort of reminder.

“Oh, that’s true” Ikenna nodded.

“We forgot. Yours is better oh”. Chidi playfully ran his hand on Alade’s head. They laughed. But Ikenna wondered if Alade should really be praised for escaping the things they barely survived. In his mind, he didn’t agree. He didn’t know exactly why but he just didn’t agree.

They were still discussing when Chinelo and Obiageri, two girls came by. Everybody knew how opulent Chinelo’s family was; and Obiageri too. Some classmates think it was their parents’ wealth that instigated their friendship. Chinelo’s father owned a big newspaper that operated throughout the country while Obiageri’s father was a powerful merchant in Lagos. Judging by their status, it was obvious that they must’ve flown out. Ikenna wondered. He would still ask them anyway.

“Hey y’all!” Chinelo said when she came closer. She had a long wrapped frame in her hand. They smiled at her in greeting.

“This lady! The conditions of the time don’t bother you. See, you’re on a new set of uniform”. Chidi commented. Others laughed.

“You’re not serious”. She said in between laughter. She playfully ran her palm over Ikenna’s hair, gently. To her, his hair sounded so delicate that she couldn’t afford a strand falling off. She liked him. They knew. Close friends knew. In turn, he held her hand then descended to her palm and held it gently but firmly. Soon, he held it up to playfully pat his cheeks. He also liked her. They knew. But what surprised him was how what he felt remained unchanged even after the three years they didn’t attend college.

“It’s good to have you all back. I heard many people didn’t survive”. Obiageri said.

“Yes,” said Alade, “and we’re not even complete today. There are absentees”.

“What if they started schooling elsewhere?” Chukwuma asked.

“It’s possible”, Alade replied, “but I hope they returned, or survived rather”.

“Some might still start anyway”. said Obiageri. They nodded.

“Can we see for a minute?” Chinelo gestured to Ikenna in a low tone as if they talked privately there in the group. Others heard it anyway.

“Okay”. He agreed and shook hands with the others before they left. They did not go far. It was the college auditorium beside the school square. They sat on one of the long desks.

“Long time”. Ikenna said. His voice was not that loud, as if there were other people in the same row. Chinelo would answer him in the same voice.

            “Yes. Long time”.

            “You people flew out. Isn’t it?”

            “Yes. London”.

            “Obiageri too?”

            “She went to America”.

   He nodded. He knew they would fly out afterall, “Your father’s newspaper was scarce during that time. His company didn’t publish?”

            “I think. He temporarily dismissed them before we went to London”.

  Ikenna wondered how a prominent newspaper would dismantle because of crises of the time especially as it was owned by one of them. Maybe they couldn’t stand to publish the truth, or they didn’t at all. Well, that’s by the way.

            “You’ve noticeably grown”. She noticed the broadness in his shoulders and the enticing deepness of his voice. She held his palm, he held back, and for the second time, they felt the Chemistry.

            “You too”, he smiled, “Chukwuma said I snatched you away from him”. He laughed.

            “What?” she laughed, “When did he say that?”

            “Today, there in our group, when we contemplated if you would come today”.

            “It’s obvious he likes Obiageri”.

            “He’s just teasing me”.

   She looked at his fingers, neatly trimmed and relatively soft, that stood in a nice row and formed a set of perfect uniformity. His skin was dark, but a shiny dark. A dark that radiated handsomeness and subtle brilliance. And he looked at hers too but she didn’t know what he thought about them. It wouldn’t be bad anyway. It shouldn’t.

            “I heard you were best in Physics last time we closed”.

            “Yeah” He nodded.

            “Again?” She slightly pulled his palm, playfully.

            “Y’all don’t want to take it from me”. He laughed.

            “O sikwa you all? You that is guarding it with your life. Even Issac Newton can’t take it from you”.

            “Chukwuma owns Chemistry, we all know. And you, English”.

   She smiled coyly, “  That’s what I can do, speak English from morning till night”. They laughed louder.

            She raised the frame to the desk.

            “What’s this?”

            “She gently tore the glued paper cover. It was a professionally drawn picture of him. He was surprised.

            “In London, I wondered if you were alright”, she told him, “I told myself that you were. But sometimes uncertainty gripped me. I sent the picture to the person who drew it, and held it, and said you would have it if you survived”. She held it out to him.

            “Yes, I survived”. He nodded and collected it. His gaped mouth showed he was still awed, “How did you get the picture?”

            “Our previous school magazine”.

            “Wow” He nodded.

            “Thank you for surviving”. She told him. He nodded, still looking at the picture, “Mm”, then he teased her, “After you left us and ran away”. They broke into laughter. And before they left he hugged her gently.

     When they returned, Zeruwa, Chidi and Alade remained in the group, but Chukwuma and Obiageri were seen on the pavement, beside the students reading area. They too started returning. Chukwuma was with a flat brown envelope.

            “Ahhh”, Ikenna teased them, “Is that a love letter?”

            “Abeg oo”, Chukwuma laughed, “She just showed me the report of a modeling interview she attended in America”.

    Chinelo went close to Obiageri and whispered to her, “Did he kiss you?”

            “No oh. We did no such thing”. Obiageri defended between laughter.

                                _____________________________________

   Hoover, the white boy, was giving some gist to a large group of the class when Ikenna came by. Those who had been listening sat down and paid attention reverently, not as though it was because Hoover as their classmate told them important, amazing things but because he naturally sounded so special. To them, it was a sort of charisma. The way his accent flowed smoothly and made nice sounds like moving water causing sweet sensation. He did not speak like them who dragged the words in bits that always made him laugh and call some of them village champions. But they did not know that they sounded the same way as Hoover when they spoke their mother tongue, that they spoke it so fluently. How would they even know since Igbo speaking was banned in the school? The Principal did not do them any good, for he limited their local eloquence to just Igbo classes which Hoover didn’t care to offer anyway since it wasn’t made compulsory. Hence, he escaped the complete mess he would have been which they were in English classes. Yes, Hoover’s English was compulsory, and they all had to sit and take it bit by bit while Hoover flowed without hitch. It was worst on the days of oral English or intonation, when they not only had to try and pronounce the words but to handle it swiftly and airily like Hoover did. Yet, it surprised them how Chinelo was always best in English. Yes, Hoover did very well and joined those who topped the list in English, but his intelligence was not enough to lead the subject. Some think Chinelo was always on the spot because she spent most of her holidays in London, even the three years of the War. She was not white anyway, but she could do it. They knew. And Hoover did not feel as though he had a stumbling block. “It’s all about me”, he usually said, “take it or leave it”.

    And they clapped for him at intervals because of the remarkable things he said he had done in his life. They also clapped at the comments he made to them since he sounded ‘all knowing’ anyway. Once, he had said that Izuchukwu, a boy, was so dark that he could not be found in the night. They laughed and clapped again, including the boy who was left with mixed feelings if Hoover actually praised or insulted him. He also told them that he hated the South because it was infested with mosquitoes and his family spent a lot of money on insecticides. They also clapped. Ikenna came by. The clapping drew his interest. He did not sit down. He stood with hands akimbo. At that time, Hoover told them a story of how he went to withdraw money in a bank in Lagos and they attended to him first despite the line-up of Lagos indigenes. And at the end of the story, one of them told him openly, “That’s because you’re special!”

            “Yes”. He replied him and smiled coyly.

            “That’s not right”, Ikenna said, such that they all heard him and looked at him in surprise. Some peered at Hoover to see how he would react.

            “What?”

            “Yes”, Ikenna said again, “That treatment given to you was a result of their incompetence. They did not recognize human equality”.

            “Do you think I am the same as you?”

            “Of course. What makes us different?”

            “Get out. Dumb ass”.

            “What did you call me?” he came closer.

            “You heard me”.

  Ikenna pushed him. He slapped Ikenna. Ikenna punched him. He fell backwards with a drop of blood trickling down his nostril. Some shouted. Others from different groups gathered to see what happened. Some sided Ikenna, saying that Hoover was becoming saucy these days. The head boy reported to the form teacher.

      The form teacher, a dark slim lady who looked in her early forties and was fond of putting on wigs and weavons, so fond of them that the day she made braids they had to look twice and intently to recognize her. She spoke swiftly and dressed smartly. She taught them English years back in the junior section. Ikenna knew she studied English. But one thing about her that amused them was that she ate a lot. From the start of a working day till dismissal, she would’ve eaten about four huge meals in four different times. Even when there was a prayer session that lasted from morning till afternoon, she would quietly leave in between time to have her meal. They knew her name, Azuka, but they preferred calling her ‘Ma’. Once, when she told one of them, “You’re a nuisance”, the child smiled coyly and told her “Thank you, Ma’ and she broke into laughter. 

      She summoned the two of them for questioning. But the issue was that she did not ask about the cause of the problem, instead she asked what caused the blood on Hoover’s nose.

            “Ma, he pushed me”.

            “He called me a dumb ass and slapped me first!”

    She looked at Ikenna. There were no traces of slap on his face. It might not have happened, or even if it did, she thought, it would not be as much as he exaggerated it. To her, Hoover looked fragile in his being and she couldn’t imagine him doing that. Well, whatever.

   But she forgot to realize that Ikenna’s complexion did not expose the pain he felt, that it could actually have happened. He was not like Hoover whose skin exposed every bit of red mark. She did not realize.

            “But he did not slap you as much as you punched him”. She told Ikenna.

            “Ma?”

            “He’s not known for behaving that way”.

   The issue escalated when she asked Hoover to come closer so she would examine him. She did not only see the dust on his uniform but the tear of skin on his hand and the little bruises that followed. What? Since she taught them in the junior section till now, she had not imagined him getting wounded. Nobody did anyway.

            “He also pushed me Ma”. Hoover said gently. She looked at Ikenna with an angered sight.

            “Ma, it was when he called me a dumb ass”.

            “Don’t tell me that! What if he slumbed?”

Ikenna was surprised at the way she presented Hoover’s fragility. Weren’t it other classmates who played football under the hot sun and broke their legs and survived? Weren’t it others who fought seriously and sustained injuries and she treated the matter like it was normal and always happened?

   She passed verdict immediately. Hoover was safe. Ikenna was suspended from college for three days.

                           __________________________________________

    Ikenna had resumed school. He thought of hope. Silence took over the better part of him; silence not fear. It showed in the things he did that were unlike him; the way he didn’t answer much questions in class, the way he didn’t join any group to discuss at free period, how he went to the cafeteria alone during lunch.

   He met Zeruwa at the long que of students who came to buy drinks.

            “Ah, Ikenna” They shook hands. And he told him, “My brother has returned!” His face gleamed with genuine happiness.

            “Oh! Thank God. That must be a long story”. He smiled, not because he was in the mood anyway, but Zeruwa was not the cause of his condition.

            “Yeah. Long indeed”. Zeruwa said and left. Ikenna did not ask him to wait so they would go together or join him to eat inside the cafeteria. He just watched him. Afterwards, he went in and sat down. Chinelo came in and saw him. He was also barely aware of the things that happened around him such that by the time he saw her, she had already bought drinks and dropped them on the table. She sat on the chair that was opposite.

            “You decided not to talk to anybody today”. She smiled briefly and pushed one of the drinks to his side.

            “I already have one”. He showed her the drink beside his food.

            “You can have two anyway”.

            “Do you enjoy seeing people drink to stupor?”

            “Two can’t get you to that”.

            “You can dash it out”.

            “If that’s what you want”. She corked the one beside her and poured some into a glass.

   He was done eating, but he did not stand to leave. They still sat.

            “Zeruwa said his brother has returned”. She looked at him in the eyes. He looked at the drinks.

            “Yeah. He told me”.

            “That’s quite a miracle”.

  He nodded and looked at her. She paused a while, then she spoke, “The test results are out. Did you check the notice board?”

            “Yeah, I did”.

            “You led in Physics”. She sipped from the glass.

            “You’re also with English as usual”.

            “Yes, and another three”. She looked at him”.

            “What?” It disrupted his usual rhythm of sipping the drink.

  She nodded, “Yes. This time around I’m going hook, line and sinker”.

  He was quiet. She told him, “You taught Hoover a lesson the other day, almost everybody said it when you were absent. That naughty boy, who does he even think he is? But three days was quite too much. Don’t worry, you’ve started again. And I hope the lesson you taught him can stop his case from giving you sleepless nights”.

             “Mba nu, no nah”, he held her palm, “he’s not giving me sleepless nights”.

            “I hope oh, because you almost lost Physics to that newcomer, Ifeoma. Just two marks!”

            “I know. I’ll definitely do better”.

            “Please do”.

  They stood up. And as they left the cafeteria, she told him, “Oh, my sister’s birthday party is on Sunday. Have I told you before?”

            “Mba, no”, he shook his head.

            “It’s true”, she remembered, “I told them when you were absent. You’ll come, won’t you?”

            “I’ll try”.

            “It’s not just that”, she whispered to him, “You owe me if you don’t come”.

            “Are you joking?” They broke into laughter.

  School had dismissed. Students crowded the field towards the gate. Wealthy ones went home in cars. Some waited for public transport. Ikenna and Chukwuma walked home together.

            “Finally back to school”. Chukwuma smiled and patted his back.

   He nodded and said, “I don’t like Hoover. His behaviour annoys me”.

            “Not only you, many. He insults them a lot. He even said you’re a piece of bad luck”.

            “That stupid little minded boy”. They entered the next street.

            “Chinelo’s sister is having a birthday party on Sunday”. Chukwuma said.

            “I know. She told me. O gwara m”.

            “Who wouldn’t want to go and see their mansion? I heard they even have a swimming pool inside.

            “Rest”. They laughed.

            “If you’ll go, we can plan ourselves”.

            “Of course”

            “Deal?”

            “Deal!” They shook hands.

            “I’ll visit you on Saturday”. Chukwuma said.

   At the point they parted, Ikenna whispered, “This week’s lessons were a bit strange”.

            “Yeah. You missed; quite a lot. Three days isn’t three hours”, Chukwuma patted his shoulder, “Don’t worry, you’ll catch up. Next week will be better”.

      Ikenna nodded, “I hope”.

                                                  AUTHOR’S NOTE

The Native Child is the story of a young boy, seventeen years of age, who learns to survive in a post independent Nigeria, just after the civil war. Having passed through a war that threatened to shatter his hopes, he is faced with heavy challenges which he must overcome in order to get back on his feet and continue his life. In this story, we can learn and grow with him, in the face of pain and oppression and the little ways we can stand up to them. The major events in the story which are told through his teenage eyes also tend to capture the plights of the contemporaries of his time.