I work with a student organization in my
university which, among many other things, aims
to break racial stereotypes, foster an all-inclusive
world by training youths on leadership with
international exchange(volunteering) as a major
tool. In my various roles in this organization, I
have encountered single stories about Nigeria and
about many other countries. I am more interested
in the single stories about Nigeria because I am
Nigerian and I love my country dearly.
But this story is not about Nigeria. I will discuss
the single stories I’ve heard about Nigeria
sometimes in the future. This story is about
Pakistan, it is about friendship and how far we
are from an ideal global village where everyone is
not just technologically interconnected, but
tolerant and open-minded.


Few weeks ago, I visited the DHL office in my
university; not to redeem a parcel(sorry to
disappoint you) but to make enquiries about
sending some books to a friend of mine in
Pakistan. This friend is female, so that greatly
limits the chance that we met in a terrorist camp
somewhere in Syria, Yemen or the
semiautonomous regions of Afghanistan. Myself
and Romasa met through AIESEC and have
become quite close ever since. We make video
calls via Skype, sharing life experiences, sharing
our individual cultural experiences and, most
importantly, discussing books and authors—from
Hawkin’s “A brief history of time” to
Chimamanda’s Americana.I once shared a link to
Chimamanda’s TEDx talk on Gender inequality
and for a while our discussions revolved around
the themes of Chimamanda’s works— gender
inequality, racism,and most importantly, single
stories.One day we decided to exchange books;
She will send a book from her country and I will
do likewise. After so much wranglings with
myself, I decided to send two copies of
Chimamanda’s books because I have lots of them
and my Romasa was already in love with her.


After a long day of work, I decided to make a stop
at the DHL office to have an idea of how much it
will cost to send two copies of Chimamanda’s
books to Pakistan. The office is a very small one,
hewed out of the base of a larger auditorium with
the yellow and red colouring that characterises
most DHL properties.Because of its small size, it
had few staff—A gentleman flirting with a younger
lady.


I walked in, said hello to the two of them amidst
their loud giggles and jokes. After few seconds,
the lady acknowledged my presence with that
characteristic faked smile you see often in
banking halls and other public offices. Then they
began haggling on who will attend to me; after
few harrowing moments of more giggles and
jokes, the young man conceded. I walked up to
his small desk, exchanged greetings and told him
why I was there.

“I want to send some items to a friend of mine,
so I just wanted to find out how much it will
cost” I said. He gave me that broad, fake office
smile—the masculine version of the lady’s.

“What country are we talking about here? ” he
asked

“Pakistan” I replied.

The fake grin disappeared, there was a
momentary silence in the small room.

“Pakistan?” he asked and I said yes. He shifted
uncomfortably in his small chair, picked up a pen
and asked:

“What do you want to send to your friend in
Pakistan?”

“Books.Two copies of Chimamanda’s novel” I
replied.

He was obviously displeased, he didn’t hide it; I
could see the frown spread across his face. Then
he heaved forward towards the edge of his desk. I
could feel his eyes on me,ripping me apart,
scanning me from head to toe, turning me inside
out. At this stage I was already getting amused.
The office was silent save for the sound of the
young lady typing away on a computer keyboard
and the momentary click of a mouse.

“Are you sure it is just books you want to send to
PAKISTAN? ” he asked, placing so much
emphasis on the “PAK” in Pakistan.

“Yes of course” I replied with a half assuring, half
amused smile. Then he began murmuring, I could
only make sense of words like Pakistan, young
man, Nigeria. Then he asked the lady to hand
him a chart in the most indifferent way possible.

He got the chart, picked up a calculator and
began pressing some numbers in between
murmurs.For over a minute, he seemed engrossed
he didn’t look up for once.

At this stage I was already aware of my overtly
overgrowing beards. I was still amused, with a
smile hanging at the corner of my lips. While he
took took his time on the chart and calculations, I
was feeding my eyes with the sparse items in the
office while gently stroking my beards—-A map of
the world in yellow and red, a poster telling you
how fast and reliable DHL is, another poster
reminding you they have been in existence for a
long time and how boundless their reach is.


Then a tart voice gave my mind a jolt. It was the
young man.
“Hello Sir.” And almost immediately, a louder,
more tartly “Hello Sir”.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you were done” I
apologised, feigning a mild shock. Then he asked,
pretending I had said nothing:

“What is the weight of the books?”

By now, I was looking both confused and
bemused. I didn’t realise I had to weigh the
books. I told him I sincerely had no idea and tried
making an analogy with a book on his desk.I
asked if he is familiar with Purple Hibiscus and
Half of a yellow sun, all by Chimamanda Adichie.
He gave me such a blank look that I really felt
sorry for asking such question.

He turned to his mate to whom he has not said a word to all this while except when he wanted a chart, spoke some words in Yoruba I didn’t understand.

“It will cost you twenty thousand Naira Sir” he
said to me, throwing a pen into the air with
sudden glee. That amount is roughly $116. With
that I could buy at least 10 copies of the books I
intended sending.

“Twenty three thousand Naira for what Sir? ” I
asked helplessly.

The reply was quick, tart:

“For sending Chimamanda to Pakistan”

I was still trying to suppress the laughter that
was already bubbling in me when the lady let out
a loud throaty laughter. I could not hold back
mine any longer.I laughed out, not as loud as the
lady who seemed obviously more amused
suddenly.

“When you are ready, you come back” the young
man said to me loudly.

“Okay Sir” I replied and left the office feeling
amused.

And a week later when my friend Romasa told me
she was having beer with her friends, I could not
help but recall this event and the young man I
met at DHL—How flattened his perception of
Pakistan and its people is; I could not help but
imagine how stunned he would be if I told him
about my friend Romasa—a young, intelligent,
open-minded Pakistani Muslim girl from Karachi
who also struggles to understand the Taliban and
terrorism like the rest of the world,who is modest
even without a veil,who goes to the club with her
friends for the laughter and lightheartedness it
offers, who drinks beer, falls in Love with a Hindu
from India, takes trips to Nepal. I imagined how
he will struggle to come to term with the fact
that, above religion and geographical placement,
we share a common humanity with those in
Pakistan, a common desire for peace, for
happiness, for fulfilment;And that bombs, hate
speeches and guns aren’t the only things that go
in and out of Pakistan;that perhaps even the
Talibans can also love good authors like
Chimamanda Adichie.


For more, you can visit my small blog on
Kelvinodanz.

after reading this long story, i didnt find a moral lesson, no hero and no villain, chei I just wasted my mb and time.

masterchi:
after reading this long story, i didnt find a moral lesson, no hero and no villain, chei I just wasted my mb and time.

Moral lesson----You didn't search hard enough.

Hero/Villain----Not all stories are about a battle between good and evil.

Sorry for wasting your time and MB :-D