THE FATHER THERE IS A GENERATION OF MEN in Nigeria, born two decades before Nigeria’s independence (1960) and during the period of independence, they subscribe to the belief that labor, builds character. It is a principle that they place above all else and they are not wrong, labor does in fact build character – at least some aspects of character. No amount of labor has thought these men to keep it in their pants, not even when it invites more labor and hardship for them. However, I believe that something may have been lost in the translation or application of this principle by a good number of these men because somewhere along the line, the word labor was subconsciously substituted for masochism in their psyche until suffering came to equal labor in their minds. ( It explains for instance why these men consider eating three meals a day, living with your parents or attending school as the height of luxury). Tade was one of such men. Of the many snacks availa...
MERCY IBEKWE
An artistic bully
This is one person whose name I
wish I didn’t have to hide, her art was so incredible and made you want to
believe you could draw too and I have little doubt that her art would someday
be evaluated than people other than her peers.
I wonder why in every almost every
school I attend, there’s a bully who is my friend. Thankfully, this girl
was the nicest bully I ever met – I needed some kindness thrown my
way being kind of the new girl in school.
I say, kind of because I had been to this
school before but like I said earlier, my dad wanted me to mix up with other
kids. So he moved me and my siblings to the school
where I, met ‘the stalker’ and moved us back to this school after my brother
messed up ‘to mix up’.
She was lovely and nice and kind
and sweet and-
Mercy; remember?
We were talking about her.
Of course it made it quite horrible
and devastating whenever she broke your heart. She drew people and not only to
herself but on paper too. I’ve never met a more gifted writer/artist. And it’s not
that I haven’t met a lot of artists. Of course I haven’t!
Back then even though we were kids,
her drawings were incredible and she sold them to us – but not me I was much
more special to her and it’s not just speculation. People were jealous, as you
will discover if you read on.
I say her drawings were incredible
because a lot of kids – not me - ordered for her drawings and stories. It was
really hard for kids to part with money back then, most kids got just 50 kobo
and they would save till it was ten naira to buy her works.
Imagine that!
No sausage rolls.
No baba dudu. (a local candy made
from caramel by Hausas)
No coaster or number one biscuit.
No Okin short cake biscuits.
No pito. (A cold local soft drink made by Hausa/Fulani women who hawked it in a
large calabash and sold it in nylons to kids)
No Big Bite. (A reasonably priced
Chocolate and caramel covered whole peanut bar)
No Oyacaca Biscuit (A caramel covered rice biscuit)
Even lolly – and I’m not talking
about sweets. You remember that iced colored water mostly red, green (what
flavor did we think that was anyway?) or yellow – yeah that was it.
The kids gave up all that, just to
buy her works.
Yes! We knew how to support an
upcoming artist!
She didn’t give me her completed
art works and stories neither did she sell them to me, instead, she taught me
how to draw and don’t bother asking how
well I draw now. It was such a long
time ago.
She was our head girl and a much
revered one. We competed for her attention most of the time and of all my
rivals, I came out tops and of all she tutored, I was the best. Without
a doubt!
But she could be a little firm
sometimes though, and I dreaded those times.
I hope wherever she is now, she is
writing and drawing comics. I would have loved the opportunity to talk to her one
more time, maybe get to write with her. With our brains and abilities combined,
we could probably come up with something completely and absolutely unique. Wherever
she is, I’m thankful to God and to her for opening up my imagination. It’s the
greatest gift she could have given me.
She rode with us because she lived
close to where my after-school lesson was. There was however one unfortunate
incident that caused a falling out between us.
It was Christmas and we were buried
in preparations for the school Christmas party. We were to decorate our class
so we were given a weekend project to make Christmas cards.
Cards!
I mean, COME ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I was just eight and I had very
little conception of the word ‘fine art’.
Okay so maybe I knew a little about art – I’ve been known to draw a really mean stick
figure; my childhood closet door could testify to that fact.
But ‘fine’ was a word I avoided using considering my experience with
‘the stalker’ because I really thought he was cute!
Perhaps another thing you should
consider is the fact that my tutor was an eight year old art guru who was still
fine tuning her skills – excellent though they were.
As if that wasn’t bad enough the
paper we were given for this was an A4 typing sheet.
How many of
you remember those sheets?
Well if you
can’t or perhaps you’re too young to have seen them, they were really thin and
sometimes you could see through them.
This was most definitely a recipe
for disaster and disaster only.
It did turn out to be a disaster.
You should have seen what people came back with. HAHAHA!
What was the school thinking! Years from that time, I still find myself
laughing about the results of this particular school project.
Now I had been surrounded by aunts
and uncles for the most part of my young life; A fact that I’m really thankful
for in retrospect.
So, being the smart and resourceful kid that I
was; I applied to the wisdom of older years and believe me it didn’t fail. All
we needed was a Christmas card I really loved, a bottle of kerosene, the sun
and the precious typing sheet we were given in class.
We folded the paper in two, and put
the specimen in between and with our fingers we gently applied kerosene to the
paper. If I had been alone, I would have just poured the kerosene all over it – you
know, to make
things move along faster - and then of course I would have
ruined it.
Since I was a genius – a
fact which is completely undisputable - I waited patiently for my
really smart uncle who we called; ‘Serubawon’[1]
after Shina Peters album; Experience
because he stammered a lot and we could hardly hear what he was saying.
His ingenuity was taken to be stupidity
by my father. I guess his stammering did not help one bit. No one could begrudge him this; my father had that effect on
everyone living in the house - including his mother.
My sisters
and I still rush through our words when speaking to him. Especially the one who
is training to be a doctor, you should hear her talk! When you talk to my
father, you had to talk fast. Everyone knows that if you stammer, it is better
to speak slowly
Anyhow, this uncle had it really
bad – he was naturally a stammerer but
his speech impediment got worse around my father.
After applying the kerosene, we
started the trace process. We completely traced out an intricate vase design and a really complex flower arrangement, so I
went to school feeling all smug and smart.
Now it must be noted that as smart
as I was I lacked one gift.
Discretion.
I hardly ever, scored cool points.
In fact I never did. Hearing me talk back then was a real treat for anyone who
heard. It was my turn to show-off and boast. I brought out my assignment and it
got the expected reaction - and the right amount of awe and wonder amongst 8, 9
and 10 year olds.
It was a sight to see, my first
moment of glory; I revelled in it!
Then I heard the words, ‘it’s not possible, how did she do it’.
This was Mercy my art tutor; so of
course she knew my capabilities and estimated the work based on her knowledge
of my skill. I proceeded to explain how it happened, after which she just
smiled coyly.
She brought out her own work and I
must admit it was a masterpiece.
She was able to cut out a design,
which was way too complex for an eight year old and skilfully too. Plus she did
it herself with absolutely no kerosene - I smelt the paper - and it was not
transparent like mine had become, due to the copious amount of kerosene used to
get the needed result.
Compared to the work she copied, I
must admit that I still do not know which was better. Her specimen was a
beautiful design on very good paper; it was red and green - real Christmas colours,
unlike my specimen which was a dull shade of purple.
I can still remember the intricate
cut she managed and how beautifully she coloured it. Even now, seventeen years later, I can still see
the design vividly in my head, wish I could draw it so you could see it, but I
can’t. I just can’t – great as my drawing skills are!
This was probably why we were both
shocked when my work was declared the best of all. I’m not sure we remained
close friends after that. We must have but I can’t recall it. I looked through
my Primary School graduation pictures recently and there was one of me and her
smiling into the camera, so I guess we must have made up.
Now that I’m much older and I’m
reflecting on it, I realize that most of her comics were about wicked
stepmothers (and it wasn’t the Cinderella kind of stories) it might have been a
reflection of something she was going through, who knows? Perhaps her art was so
great because it was her voice, her escape from whatever troubles she had. Yet
I seem to remember her writing one or two love stories.
Men! What a childhood we had!
Kissing, Romance, Betrayal,
Jealousy.
I guess we were human.
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