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.