“The heights by great men reached and kept
My father first read these words to me when I was five. Surprisingly, I was somewhat enchanted by these big words I didn’t understand. “Please read the great men to me again,” I would beg him, much to his astonishment. By the time I was six, I knew the quote by heart.
I worked hard to be top of my class from first grade till I completed university because of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s words.
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I knew he was the one the moment I met him. We were freshmen in college, making our way to the library when someone bumped into me. My books and research papers were scattered all over the steps. My chivalrous Kwame stopped in his tracks, bent down and helped me to pick them up.
Our eyes met and there was magic as they melded into each other, our lips longing to meet in passionate embrace, our hearts beating as one. Wedding bells chimed in my head as I peered into his soft hazel eyes.
I knew he was my man.
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Odili Samalu narrates the story of a post-independent country, ruled by the People’s Organization Party (P.O.P), that is riddled with political bias and graft. Having become disillusioned with the present government due to unchecked corruption and inept ‘public servants’, he ironically finds himself in the good graces of one such politician – Chief the Honourable M. A. Nanga. Micah Nanga had risen from the post of a humble teacher at Anata Grammar School to become a Member of Parliament and subsequently, by means of shameless opportunism, the Minister of Culture. Nonetheless, he is the most affable politician one could ever come across.
No one can deny that Chief the Honourable M. A. Nanga, M.P., was the most approachable politician in the country. Whether you asked in the city or in his home village, Anata, they would tell you he was a man of the people.
Chief Nanga offers to help Odili obtain a scholarship to study a postgraduate course in England as he, Nanga, is a close friend of Chief Koko the Minister for Overseas Training. Nanga invites Odili to stay with him in his mansion at Bori, the capital city, where Odili’s eyes are opened to the opulent lifestyle their so-called ministers lead. He debates the phenomenon of rising from grass to grace as he enjoys the plush self-contained room he is ushered into:
We ignore man’s basic nature if we say, as some critics do, that because a man like Nanga has risen overnight from poverty and insignificance to his present opulence he could be persuaded without much trouble to give it up again and return to his original state.
A man who has just come in from the rain and dried his body and put on dry clothes is more reluctant to go out again than another who has been indoors all the time. The trouble with our new nation – as I saw it then lying on the bed – was that none of us had been indoors long enough to be able to say ‘To hell with it’. We had all been in the rain together until yesterday. Then a handful of us – the smart and the lucky and hardly ever the best – had scrambled for the one shelter our former rulers left, and had taken it over and barricaded themselves in. And from within they sought to persuade the rest through numerous loudspeakers, that the first phase of the struggle had been won and that the next phase – the extension of our house – was even more important and called for new and original tactics; it required that all argument should cease and the whole people speak with one voice and that any more dissent and argument outside the door of the shelter would subvert and bring down the whole house.
And so they did by convincing the masses through initiatives like Our Home Made Stuff (OHMS) – a gigantic campaign to promote the consumption of locally made products, urging every patriot to support this great national effort which supposedly held the key to economic emancipation without which their hard-won political freedom was a mirage.
A fall-out between Odili and Chief Nanga after the latter has a night of intimacy with Elsie, Odili’s girlfriend, drives him to search for his long time friend and former classmate Maxwell Kulamo, a lawyer in Bori. That night, Odili is conscripted into the Common People’s Convention, a party Max and a few other disillusioned friends are starting to check the corrupt, mediocre politicians at the helm of state affairs.
With a sum of eight hundred pounds, Odili goes to his home village, Urua, to launch the party and contest for Chief Nanga’s seat in parliament. Max and the other founding members show up to convince the village people to vote for the C.P.C.
Max began by accusing the outgoing Government of all kinds of swindling and corruption. As he gave instance after instance of how some of our leaders who were ash-mouthed paupers five years ago had become near-millionaires under our very eyes, many in the audience laughed. But it was the laughter of resignation to misfortune
The people’s myopic perspective on the issue is summed up by the defiant ex-Corporal or ‘Couple’ as the villagers called him.
The ex-policeman put it very well. ‘We know they are eating,’ he said, ‘but we are eating too. They are bringing us water and they promise to bring us electricity. We did not have those things before; that is why I say we are eating too.’
Odili becomes blatantly aware of the arduous task ahead when his political aspirations are met with one stumbling block after another. First, he is fired from his teaching job at the Anata Grammar School, then he is ostracized by the previously friendly Mama, Chief Nanga’s wife; he finds himself at odds with Edna, a young woman who his promised to Nanga with whom he, Odili is infatuated with, and is finally harassed by the misguided youth supporters of Nanga or the Nangavanga. Although he tries to stick to the ideals and tenets of political decorum, he finds himself more and more swayed to play dirty like his rival Chief Nanga.
As Boniface, Odili’s Chief of Security put it:
‘Look my frien I done tell you say if you no wan serious for this business, make you go rest for house. I done see say you want play too much gentleman for this matter … Dem tell you say na gentlemanity de give other people minister …? Anyway wetin be my concern there? Na you sabi.’
Odili’s father had quite an intriguing and somewhat axiomatic view of his son’s political aspirations:
My father’s attitude to my political activity intrigued me a lot. He was, as I think I have already indicated, the local chairman of P.O.P. in our village, Urua, and so I expected that his house would not contain both of us. But I was quite wrong. He took the view (without expressing it in so many words) that the mainspring of political action was personal gain, a view which, I might say, was much more in line with the general feeling in the country than the high-minded thinking of fellows like Max and I. The only comment I remember my father making (at the beginning anyway) was when he asked if my ‘new’ party was ready to give me enough money to fight Nanga.
Against his better judgment, Odili decides to attend Chief Nanga’s inaugural campaign meeting in disguise, but is inevitably discovered and roughed up by the crowd.
Days later, he regains consciousness in the hospital and learns from his father that the charges leveled against him for ostensibly carrying dangerous weapons has been dropped. He remains in hospital on election day, the day that ended with Max Kulamo’s death.
The P.O.P. is re-elected without breaking a sweat, yet their victory is short-lived. The very thugs they hired to intimidate and subvert the will of their opponents refuse to be disbanded. It starts with Chief Nanga’s miscreants who go on a rampage as a demonstration of their displeasure at being dismissed. Other political thugs, after hearing of the success of the ‘Nanga rebellion’, also take to the streets and vent their spleen on innocent market women and passers-by.
Even though the Prime Minister assures the people and foreign investors that his government stands ‘as firm as the Rock of Gibraltar’, the military would have nothing to do with it. They stage a coup and lock up every member of the Government.
Some political commentators have said that it was the supreme cynicism of these transactions that inflamed the people and brought down the Government. That is sheer poppycock. The people themselves, as we have seen, had become even more cynical than their leaders and were apathetic into the bargain. ‘Let them eat.’ was the people’s opinion, ‘After all when white men used to do all the eating did we commit suicide?’ Of course not. And where is the all-powerful white man today? He came, he ate and he went. But we are still around. The important thing then is to stay alive; if you do you will outlive your present annoyance. The great thing, as the old people have told us, is reminiscence; and only those who survive can have it. Besides, if you survive, who knows? It may be your turn to eat tomorrow. Your son may bring home your share.
No. the people had nothing to do with the fall of our Government. What happened was simply that unruly mobs and private armies having tasted blood and power during the election had got out of hand and ruined their masters and employers. And they had no public reason whatever for doing it. Let’s make no mistake about that.
In this novel, Achebe paints a picture of how a country’s leadership can either make or break the nation depending on the agenda of the ruling class. In this case, the ruling party had no real agenda for the nation, but only for themselves. Even the wisdom of the politicians had been compromised, allowing the intoxication of political power to manipulate their advice to the younger generation.
Achebe’s vivid description of the intricacies of corruption in an increasingly impoverished country makes A Man of the People a case study of the politics of many African countries. He expounds, probably, reasons for the failure of some post-independence African governments and the cause of the rampant military coups in the 1960s, 70s and 80s.
His usual style of using simple language and transliteration in dialogue makes it easy and enjoyable to read. For instance, he uses the word ‘eat’ several times in his narration. This does not mean the person is eating a meal, but is a direct translation from the Igbo language which means to spend or to enjoy wealth.
Due to his near-clairvoyance in writing this novel, he narrowly escaped confrontation with armed soldiers who apparently believed that this novel implicated him in Nigeria’s first military coup.
Of all the novels Achebe has written, this is my favourite. I really love the part about the cynicism of the people and their resignation to the ‘eating’ of government officials. After all, it might be the their turn to eat tomorrow and their son may bring home their share. This parochial mentality prevails to this very day.
For this month’s Reading Relay, I will give away three e-copies of Achebe’s Girls At War & Other Stories.
Please fill out the form below to have your chance at winning a copy.
Contest ends @ 11:59pm GMT on Monday the 27th January, 2014. Winners will be announced the following day.
This giveaway has no geographic limitations. Everyone is welcome to participate.
THIS READING RELAY IS CLOSED
In the wilderness of my mind, I am conflicted as to what course to take. Door one will take me through the Swamps of Sickness, past the Valley of Terror into the Caves of Confusion. Door two will take me up the Mountain of Doom, through the Path of Pain and down the Waterfall of Tears. The last door will lead to the Plains of Woe, a ride down the River of Sorrow and into the Tributary of Tribulation.
The journey to Eutopia has claimed many a life, but I am determined to keep moving forward. No turning back.
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Granny’s wedding dress was passed on to my mum and now to me. I have only seen photos of the wedding, but it never beats the way Grumps tells the story.
“We were barely twenty when we got married. She was my high school sweetheart,” Grumps would say affectionately, staring into space, completely oblivious to the rest of us. “We exchanged our vows in front of family and friends. When it was her turn to say her vow, your Granny said, ‘I will love you till the end of time’. And she did so until the Lord called her home.”
Friday Fictioneers is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
The story of Umuofia continues…
Two generations after the protagonist’s tragic demise in Achebe’s timeless Things Fall Apart, the British Colonial Administration is deeply entrenched in Nigeria. The descendants of native tribesmen walk in the footsteps of both their ancestors and the strangers they now call their government.
Lagos has become the city of dreams where anyone who wants to be someone lives. From time to time, a war veteran in need of attention will amaze naïve villagers with stories about the big city.
‘There is no darkness there,’ he told his admiring listeners, ‘ because at night the electric shines like the sun, and people are always walking about, that is, those who want to walk. If you don’t want to walk you only have to wave your hand and a pleasure car stops for you.’
Little Obi Okonkwo drank in such stories without a doubt in his young mind.
For many years afterwards, Lagos was always associated with electric lights and motor-cars in Obi’s mind. Even after he had at last visited the city and spent a few days there before flying to the United Kingdom his views did not change very much.
But Obi returns from England to meet a very different Nigeria. Slums are springing up in Lagos and the people’s proclivity for bribery and corruption is insatiable. He is expected to pay back his scholarship to the Umuofia Progressive Union and support his family back in Umuofia from the meager salary he earns as a civil servant in Lagos. Meanwhile, he intends to marry his unwilling fiancée Clara, the young Nigerian nurse he met in England.
Obi’s expenditure inevitably exceeds his income and he finds himself in a quandary that borders on a conflict between the idealism he had learned in England and the temptation of accepting gifts and tokens from his fellow countrymen in exchange for favours.
Though Achebe’s No Longer At Ease is another masterpiece, its brilliance is overshadowed by its predecessor. The novel explores the cultural, sociological and economic divide that European influence brings to Africa. Family bonds begin to weaken. The ‘white man’s religion’ now competes with African traditional beliefs and technology like cars and electricity makes the cities more alluring to the younger generation who in having an affinity for Western culture, gradually forget theirs. Education suddenly becomes the yardstick of prominence instead of the customary titles bestowed on men. The literate are said to have ‘the white man’s power’.
… Obi heard his father talk with deep feeling about the mystery of the written word to an illiterate kinsman.
‘Our women made black patterns on their bodies with the juice of the uli tree. It was beautiful, but it soon faded. If it lasted two market weeks it lasted a long time. But sometimes our elders spoke about uli that never faded, although no one had ever seen it. We see it today in the writing of the white man. If you go to the native court and look at the books which clerks wrote twenty years ago or more, they are still as they wrote them. They do not say one thing today and another thing tomorrow, or one thing this year and another next year. Okoye in the book today cannot become Okonkwo tomorrow. In the Bible Pilate said: “What is written is written.” It is uli that never fades.’
Achebe is one of my favourite authors because of the versatility in his narration. He is able to blend excellent grammar with transliterations of his native Igbo dialect, making it easy for anyone who speaks a West African dialect to relate to such dialogue and at the same time whets the appetite of those who don’t for a better understanding of the language.
In this novel, he cleverly juxtaposes the benefits of European influence with its adverse effect on pre-colonial West African culture and family values as he paints a vivid picture of life during the Colonial era. Although No Longer At Ease is not as popular as the legendary Things Fall Apart, I think it is every bit a classic as the latter.
Ermilia’s Picture it & Write.
Peter took in the scenery with much amazement. Things had really changed since his last visit. He swooped down from the clouds to get a closer look. His clothes of intricately woven leaves would not do. He had to blend in. Then he remembered that on one of his previous visits, he came across a home for lost boys just like his gang back home. Perhaps, he could get some clothes that looked like what everyone else was wearing. With much difficulty, he snooped around until he finally found the place. Yes! It was still a home for lost boys. All he had to do was to sneak in through a window and get some modern clothes. Within a couple of minutes, he was in and out, looking like a boy who belonged to this new age. With keen interest, he walked along the road and watched as people whisked by in automobiles that looked quite different than he last remembered. He walked by what looked like a window with an invisible wall showcasing stiff people wearing clothes like a spell had been cast on them. He saw many people in trains that looked longer and moved much faster. Several people walked past him without so much as a glance at him. Everyone and everything moved in a hurry. And the buildings were now much, much taller than he recalled. If only Tinkerbell was here to see this.
He would have loved to visit many places, but it was time to fulfill the reason why he came. He had to see her once more. He wondered if she or any of her brothers would remember him. It had been so long since their adventure and he had not come by since then. Despite how much things had changed, he knew exactly where the house was. With a leap and a bound, he was in the air again. As he approached the house, he felt excited. The little boy inside him wanted to play again, but he knew better than that. Regular people stopped playing as they grew older and she must be much older now.
All the windows were shut and the curtains drawn. This had never happened before. He usually swooped in through the children’s window each time he came. He was puzzled for a while until it occurred to him that these were people who couldn’t fly so they walked into their houses through the front door. He glided down gently in front of the house and knocked. An elderly man answered the door.
“Hello. Who are you?”
“My name is Peter. Is Wendy in, please?”
“Yes. How are you acquainted with her?”
“She’s an old friend.”
“An old friend? Boy, you’re hardly fourteen years old. How long has it been since you’ve known her?”
“I meant she’s a friend of my family,” Peter recovered quickly.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Come in. Wendy! There’s a boy looking for you!”
A wrinkled face greeted Peter with a smile.
“I wondered if I’d ever see you again, Peter”
“You remember!” he shouted with joy.
“How could I ever forget you? After all the adventures we had.”
“Wheeee!” Peter lifted off the carpet and sailed around the room.
“You can’t do that in here. Thomas doesn’t know anything about you or magic.”
“The man you met at the door. He’s my husband.”
“What’s a husband?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Later that day, Peter sat on a cloud while looking down at Wendy’s house. He thought about the long conversation he had had with her. She had told him about the interesting life she had lived in this world; about her brothers, her husband and her children. He wondered about may things – if they would have had a more bedazzling life if they had stayed with him to have more adventures, and if Wendy would ever visit him again; if he should have returned to live with Wendy after he defeated Hook; if he could have become her husband and if he would have looked as old as Thomas by now; if they would have had children of their own.
No! He would never trade his life in Neverland for any other.