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Oil Man

Chibuike Egwu Ogbonnaya

It was the week my brother, Odili, came back from Lagos, that I knew my neighbours daughters were helpful. The day he arrived, I was playing football in the compound when he came down from the bike. He wore a blue T-shirt with the words: MY MONEY GROWS LIKE GRASS, written in bold letters, faded jeans on black shoes. Later in the evening, neighbours trooped into our house to say welcome, and ask for 'Lagos bread'. Some asked questions regarding the work he was doing in Lagos (they wanted to know if he was the same as Mama Aboy's son who hawked on the streets of Lagos. Chief Ejiafor told them this, during Christmas; how youths from the community suffer in the city.) My brother said he was into oil and gas.
The next day, Mama Agatha sent her daughter to help my mother prepare breakfast. In the afternoon, Mama Chinelo's daughter came to clean our house. It became a tradition for Mama Favour’s daughters to come in the evening, to help Mama cook and talk about the things Odili likes; if he likes his food hot, or cold, or peppery.
I was in the toilet when I heard someone say, "You can’t just go like that, you must pick one." My neighbours daughters were standing in the middle of the parlour when I came out.
"Pick the one that has proved to be a good wife," Mama Favour said, pushing one of her daughters forward. "They are not city girls that like to eat oil men’s money." My brother smiled and said that what he sells in Lagos was palm oil and gas cylinders.
My neighbours left, disappointed and muttering to themselves. What they wanted was an oil man. The one that will take them abroad, like Ukamaka’s husband.

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