2004
-----
The Nobu civil war raged and raged for longer than it should have. As with all wars, there were no real winners. It could all have gone on for ever, as some of these things unfortunately do, but for the timely intervention of the grand old man - Grandfather Nobuka.
In his younger days, Grandfather Nobuka spent half his time in London, a quarter in Spain and the rest of his time in the eastern parts of Nigeria. He was a writer, businessman and intellectual, and to Zibby's great pride, an active participant in the fight for Nigerian independence. He was a man with great pride in his country and his culture, and by all accounts, a complete gentleman.
The old man had come to London for a brief holiday, and chose to stay (as was his regular custom) in the comfort of the vast Nobu house. It was only 24 hours later that he noticed that all was not well within those freshly-painted cream-coloured walls.
Grandfather Nobuka acted swiftly. He called everyone together, including cousin Ama, who had made a point of visiting the house to see him. Zibby initially stayed up in his room, burying his head in an Intellectual Property Law textbook. He was summoned by one of the younger cousins, and entered the large sitting-room to Grandfather Nobuka's quizzical frown.
"Zibby, didn't you hear me call?"
"Sorry Grandfather."
"Did I not call a family meeting?"
"You did Grandfather."
"And are you not one of the family?"
"Yes Grandfather, I am."
Grandfather Nobuka's eyes followed Zibby as he moved towards the edge of the room and sat down.
He began a speech - oh how he loved his speeches. He spoke endlessly of the broomstick which was easily broken on its own, but was unbreakable as part of a broom. He quoted the Bible, specifically the part which says that a house divided against itself can not stand, and then preached a full sermon on the topic. He even lectured them on the fight for Nigerian independence and the Nigerian civil war, showing how discord between brothers could bring about tragedy, death and destruction.
Two hours and ten long minutes later, the whole family was willing to kiss and make up just to end the speech. Grandfather Nobuka asked everyone to break away into sub-groups and talk more candidly, Zibby included, about their grievances, perceptions and suggested solutions. By the time the day was done, everyone decided to start on a fresh page and call it a new day for the Nobu household. The clan trooped to the sitting room to thank Grandfather Nobuka for his timely intervention, but found him slumped in a chair, head back, mouth slightly open, snoring gently. They all smiled and chuckled quietly, as Aunty woke him up and escorted him upstairs for his afternoon nap.
Things were much better at home from that day forward, for Zibby, Ama and everyone else. When he walked out the door the next morning, Zibby was filled with a new hope, a fresh zest for life and the calming assurance that he was no longer alone. Whatever challenges this new life would throw at him, Zibby was sure his family would be there to support him.
Saturday, 27 June 2009
Saturday, 20 June 2009
A Window to the Future
1992 & 1995 (12 & 15 years old)
"Your cousin Chema's getting married!"
Chibby's mum made the announcement one bright Saturday morning in 1992, as Zibby and his brother trudged downstairs for breakfast. They let out squeals of delight.
"Wow!" "Really?!" "When?" "Who?!" "How exciting!"
They liked weddings, you see, particularly weddings of close relatives. The party was always good, the food even better, and you got to see loads of people you hadn't seen in a while.
"Her fiancé’s a doctor in America" their mum said, "The wedding will take place there."
"Awwwww" they both moaned. Ah, well, there would be others.
It turned out that cousin Chema had met this dashing young doctor while on holiday in California a couple of years earlier and fallen madly in love. They had maintained their relationship through letters and phone calls, and now the decision had been taken for Chema to move out to America to be with him.
She was based in the east of Nigeria and in those days, the only place to make visa applications was in Lagos. Consequently, Chema came to stay with Zibby's family for about a month, while going through the necessary applications. Zibby was pretty fond of his cousin, so was pleased she was coming to stay. Despite the 10-year difference between them, she would chat frequently with him about mundane things that he was interested in, from Fraggle rock to world politics! On one particular afternoon, about one week before she was due to travel, he decided to discuss her future plans.
"Chema, are you excited about going to live in America?"
"I'm excited about going to be with Tunde" she grinned.
Zibby rolled his eyes and smiled. "Of course you are, but aren't you going to miss your family?"
"We can always visit," she said, "it's not as if I'm going away forever."
"But Chema," he said, "Do you worry that you might become a second-class citizen in another man's country?"
Chema attempted a light-hearted laughed. "I don't believe in all that" she said, not very convincingly. "You know what," she said, "ask me these questions again in a few years."
"Okay," said Zibby, and then went on to discuss his views on Saddam Hussein, Bill Clinton and the recent Gulf War.
Three years and two beautiful kids later, Chema came to Lagos to visit with her young family. They all had a good time discussing her adventures over the last three years and doting over the two young ones. After one hearty lunch, Zibby drew the short straw and was relegated to washing up in the kitchen. Chema came in to help him tidy up, and he grabbed his chance to ask his questions.
"So, has it been worth it?"
"What?" Chema looked at Zibby, a confused look on her face.
"How has it really been, living in America? Has it been worth it? Would you recommend it to others?"
"Ah," Chema smiled now, recalling their little conversation three years earlier. "it's been good."
Zibby raised an eyebrow. He would not be satisfied with a simple 'it's been good!'
"Chema!" he whined. His not-so-little face could still scrunch up into his trademark scowl.
Chema giggled and flicked his nose. "Okay, okay, so it's not the easiest life in the world" she laughed, "and yes, sometimes you do feel like you're a second class citizen in another man's country, but that's only sometimes."
"But would you recommend it?"
"Let's put it this way," said Chema, "if you have a good job in Nigeria and prospects, then stay. Though you can make a good life abroad and there are lots of fringe benefits, you'll work very hard to sustain them." She paused. "Very, very, hard. There's no place like home."
Zibby nodded. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, but it was clearly a thoughtful and honest one. They were both silent for a moment until Chema poke him and said, "Hey, I'd forgotten how slow you are at washing plates!" They both laughed and finished up quickly, returning to the happy banter in the living room.
Zibby did his best to keep in touch with his cousin. Observing her was like looking through a window into what his life could become. In a couple of years, however, she had gone so deep into her work and family that he was lucky to hear from her at least once a year.
It only took a few years for Zibby to be sure that he had no intention of following his cousin’s advice.
"Your cousin Chema's getting married!"
Chibby's mum made the announcement one bright Saturday morning in 1992, as Zibby and his brother trudged downstairs for breakfast. They let out squeals of delight.
"Wow!" "Really?!" "When?" "Who?!" "How exciting!"
They liked weddings, you see, particularly weddings of close relatives. The party was always good, the food even better, and you got to see loads of people you hadn't seen in a while.
"Her fiancé’s a doctor in America" their mum said, "The wedding will take place there."
"Awwwww" they both moaned. Ah, well, there would be others.
It turned out that cousin Chema had met this dashing young doctor while on holiday in California a couple of years earlier and fallen madly in love. They had maintained their relationship through letters and phone calls, and now the decision had been taken for Chema to move out to America to be with him.
She was based in the east of Nigeria and in those days, the only place to make visa applications was in Lagos. Consequently, Chema came to stay with Zibby's family for about a month, while going through the necessary applications. Zibby was pretty fond of his cousin, so was pleased she was coming to stay. Despite the 10-year difference between them, she would chat frequently with him about mundane things that he was interested in, from Fraggle rock to world politics! On one particular afternoon, about one week before she was due to travel, he decided to discuss her future plans.
"Chema, are you excited about going to live in America?"
"I'm excited about going to be with Tunde" she grinned.
Zibby rolled his eyes and smiled. "Of course you are, but aren't you going to miss your family?"
"We can always visit," she said, "it's not as if I'm going away forever."
"But Chema," he said, "Do you worry that you might become a second-class citizen in another man's country?"
Chema attempted a light-hearted laughed. "I don't believe in all that" she said, not very convincingly. "You know what," she said, "ask me these questions again in a few years."
"Okay," said Zibby, and then went on to discuss his views on Saddam Hussein, Bill Clinton and the recent Gulf War.
Three years and two beautiful kids later, Chema came to Lagos to visit with her young family. They all had a good time discussing her adventures over the last three years and doting over the two young ones. After one hearty lunch, Zibby drew the short straw and was relegated to washing up in the kitchen. Chema came in to help him tidy up, and he grabbed his chance to ask his questions.
"So, has it been worth it?"
"What?" Chema looked at Zibby, a confused look on her face.
"How has it really been, living in America? Has it been worth it? Would you recommend it to others?"
"Ah," Chema smiled now, recalling their little conversation three years earlier. "it's been good."
Zibby raised an eyebrow. He would not be satisfied with a simple 'it's been good!'
"Chema!" he whined. His not-so-little face could still scrunch up into his trademark scowl.
Chema giggled and flicked his nose. "Okay, okay, so it's not the easiest life in the world" she laughed, "and yes, sometimes you do feel like you're a second class citizen in another man's country, but that's only sometimes."
"But would you recommend it?"
"Let's put it this way," said Chema, "if you have a good job in Nigeria and prospects, then stay. Though you can make a good life abroad and there are lots of fringe benefits, you'll work very hard to sustain them." She paused. "Very, very, hard. There's no place like home."
Zibby nodded. It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, but it was clearly a thoughtful and honest one. They were both silent for a moment until Chema poke him and said, "Hey, I'd forgotten how slow you are at washing plates!" They both laughed and finished up quickly, returning to the happy banter in the living room.
Zibby did his best to keep in touch with his cousin. Observing her was like looking through a window into what his life could become. In a couple of years, however, she had gone so deep into her work and family that he was lucky to hear from her at least once a year.
It only took a few years for Zibby to be sure that he had no intention of following his cousin’s advice.
Saturday, 13 June 2009
Civil War
2003 - 2004
Life with the Nobu clan was filled with its ups and downs for Zibby. He soon discovered that a significant cultural gap existed between him and his cousins, such that they were unable to interact for any extended period of time without their making fun of him for something or other. Initially, Ama joined in with the others, until it became clear that she and Zibby had more in common that the rest of the clan. Zibby later told Ama that he felt this was because she had spent more time in Nigeria than the others, a theory she ultimately accepted.
The Nobu cousins were not necessarily bad people – just people who thought their way was the only way, and any other way was wrong. If you did not come round to seeing things their way; they would frequently resort to social exclusion, ridicule and in-your-face rudeness to push their point. Ama did not always see things the way the rest of the clan did, and before long, Zibby realised that he had walked into the middle of a very unequal civil war. Camp Ama vs. Camp Nobu clan. The latter was comprised of Ama’s sisters, occasionally supported by Aunt Ify. Uncle Nobu remained blissfully unaware of the frequent clashes, his head buried in the Sunday paper or lost in following the progress of his beloved Newcastle United football club. Little Chuki, of course, was too young to pick a side.
When Zibby arrived, Ama was growing increasingly isolated by the internal rifts and perhaps saw in him the potential for a partner-in-arms at last. Or perhaps she saw him as a link to a simpler and happier time. Whatever the initial thoughts, Zibby and Ama got on like a house on fire, and would frequently join forces to oppose the imperialistic onslaught of Camp Nobu. That was at least until Ama decided that she’d had enough of the unending skirmishes and moved out to her own rented apartment. Zibby was devastated! Of course it meant peace and quiet for Ama, which was a good thing. The problem was, it put him squarely in the firing line of Camp Nobu, with no backup whatsoever.
The next few months would see Zibby retreating further and further into his room and into himself. With his faction now reduced in size to an army of one, he did not enjoy much civil interaction after returning from a day of lectures. Often, when sitting up at night and listening to his now-favourite BBC radio 4 droning in the background, he would wonder about all the cousins, friends and house-helps that had lived with his family over the last 20 years. Had he treated them well? Had he isolated them, insulted them or made them feel inferior at any time? His soul-searching would never yield definite answers. All Zibby knew was that there was a time he was celebrated. In his own household, in his own country, he was treated like a prince. How he longed for the dignity of those days.
Life with the Nobu clan was filled with its ups and downs for Zibby. He soon discovered that a significant cultural gap existed between him and his cousins, such that they were unable to interact for any extended period of time without their making fun of him for something or other. Initially, Ama joined in with the others, until it became clear that she and Zibby had more in common that the rest of the clan. Zibby later told Ama that he felt this was because she had spent more time in Nigeria than the others, a theory she ultimately accepted.
The Nobu cousins were not necessarily bad people – just people who thought their way was the only way, and any other way was wrong. If you did not come round to seeing things their way; they would frequently resort to social exclusion, ridicule and in-your-face rudeness to push their point. Ama did not always see things the way the rest of the clan did, and before long, Zibby realised that he had walked into the middle of a very unequal civil war. Camp Ama vs. Camp Nobu clan. The latter was comprised of Ama’s sisters, occasionally supported by Aunt Ify. Uncle Nobu remained blissfully unaware of the frequent clashes, his head buried in the Sunday paper or lost in following the progress of his beloved Newcastle United football club. Little Chuki, of course, was too young to pick a side.
When Zibby arrived, Ama was growing increasingly isolated by the internal rifts and perhaps saw in him the potential for a partner-in-arms at last. Or perhaps she saw him as a link to a simpler and happier time. Whatever the initial thoughts, Zibby and Ama got on like a house on fire, and would frequently join forces to oppose the imperialistic onslaught of Camp Nobu. That was at least until Ama decided that she’d had enough of the unending skirmishes and moved out to her own rented apartment. Zibby was devastated! Of course it meant peace and quiet for Ama, which was a good thing. The problem was, it put him squarely in the firing line of Camp Nobu, with no backup whatsoever.
The next few months would see Zibby retreating further and further into his room and into himself. With his faction now reduced in size to an army of one, he did not enjoy much civil interaction after returning from a day of lectures. Often, when sitting up at night and listening to his now-favourite BBC radio 4 droning in the background, he would wonder about all the cousins, friends and house-helps that had lived with his family over the last 20 years. Had he treated them well? Had he isolated them, insulted them or made them feel inferior at any time? His soul-searching would never yield definite answers. All Zibby knew was that there was a time he was celebrated. In his own household, in his own country, he was treated like a prince. How he longed for the dignity of those days.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
Your Time Will Come
1989: 9-10 years old
"Ma, I'd really like to travel abroad one of these days." Zibby shifted the weight of the grocery bag he had insisted on carrying, as he walked home slowly beside his mum. They had gone shopping in the local market, which was conveniently located only 15 minutes from home.
Why didn't we drive?! He thought, as the bag began to make his tiny arms ache. He tried hard not to show his discomfort.
Noticing that he had not yet received an answer, he tried a different tactic.
"Kunle and his sister are going to London next holiday."
"That's nice" his mum replied, and smiled. "Your time will come."
Now, Zibby was no fool. He knew that it took several months of saving to be able to afford a foreign holiday, and that many in Nigeria could not do this even after saving for years! He was vaguely aware that the Naira was supposed to be a "weak currency" though he could not understand all the implications of that statement. However, he also knew that his family was not exactly deprived, and that his father travelled often enough. As far as Zibby was concerned, a foreign vacation for the kids was not getting its proper place in the family's list of priorities!
"Ow!"
"Is that bag too heavy?"
"No, I think a sand fly bit me."
Silence again.
"Jibade said his parents will send him abroad to study." Zibby was getting desperate.
"You're not going anywhere until you finish your university degree."
Zibby hoped his mum was joking. He looked up at her; she was still smiling, but he could see no sign of jesting in her eyes.
"But why?" he asked, "that's a long time!"
"We want you to know who you are," she replied, reaching down to relieve Zibby of the bag that was now making a light red mark on his little palm. "You need to know who you are."
Zibby was puzzled. "Ma, I don't understand."
"Many blacks in America and Britain have no identity. Even now, many are looking for their roots, tracing their footsteps back to Africa. They are not accepted there, and they don't feel they belong here. They are lost."
Slowly, Zibby began to understand.
"The same applies to those who leave here too early;" she continued, "They get confused, they become unsure of who they are and where they come from. They lose themselves. I know that one day you and your brother will go abroad; you may choose to return, or your may not. When that time comes, I want you to always remember that you are Nigerian first, no matter what other nationality you may acquire. I want you to always remember who you are."
From that day on, every time the strong desire came upon him to spread his wings and fly, every time he heard of another friend going on an international holiday, every time they drove a friend or family member to the airport, Zibby would remember his mother's words. He would smile quietly to himself, humming a happy tune, one thought etched in the forefront of his mind.
My time will come.
"Ma, I'd really like to travel abroad one of these days." Zibby shifted the weight of the grocery bag he had insisted on carrying, as he walked home slowly beside his mum. They had gone shopping in the local market, which was conveniently located only 15 minutes from home.
Why didn't we drive?! He thought, as the bag began to make his tiny arms ache. He tried hard not to show his discomfort.
Noticing that he had not yet received an answer, he tried a different tactic.
"Kunle and his sister are going to London next holiday."
"That's nice" his mum replied, and smiled. "Your time will come."
Now, Zibby was no fool. He knew that it took several months of saving to be able to afford a foreign holiday, and that many in Nigeria could not do this even after saving for years! He was vaguely aware that the Naira was supposed to be a "weak currency" though he could not understand all the implications of that statement. However, he also knew that his family was not exactly deprived, and that his father travelled often enough. As far as Zibby was concerned, a foreign vacation for the kids was not getting its proper place in the family's list of priorities!
"Ow!"
"Is that bag too heavy?"
"No, I think a sand fly bit me."
Silence again.
"Jibade said his parents will send him abroad to study." Zibby was getting desperate.
"You're not going anywhere until you finish your university degree."
Zibby hoped his mum was joking. He looked up at her; she was still smiling, but he could see no sign of jesting in her eyes.
"But why?" he asked, "that's a long time!"
"We want you to know who you are," she replied, reaching down to relieve Zibby of the bag that was now making a light red mark on his little palm. "You need to know who you are."
Zibby was puzzled. "Ma, I don't understand."
"Many blacks in America and Britain have no identity. Even now, many are looking for their roots, tracing their footsteps back to Africa. They are not accepted there, and they don't feel they belong here. They are lost."
Slowly, Zibby began to understand.
"The same applies to those who leave here too early;" she continued, "They get confused, they become unsure of who they are and where they come from. They lose themselves. I know that one day you and your brother will go abroad; you may choose to return, or your may not. When that time comes, I want you to always remember that you are Nigerian first, no matter what other nationality you may acquire. I want you to always remember who you are."
From that day on, every time the strong desire came upon him to spread his wings and fly, every time he heard of another friend going on an international holiday, every time they drove a friend or family member to the airport, Zibby would remember his mother's words. He would smile quietly to himself, humming a happy tune, one thought etched in the forefront of his mind.
My time will come.
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