₦airaland Forum

The Snowbird

I will begin the story of my return with a certain morning in the month of June, the same year my father died. The sun began to shine upon the summit of the hills as I drove down the highway and by the time I had come as far as the airport, humans were bustling around the departure lounge.
Mr. Eddy, my father’s best friend was waiting for me by the departure gate, good man! He asked me if I had breakfasted and hearing that I needed nothing; he took my hand in both of his and clapped it kindly under his arm
Well Chima, I will go as far as the ticket booth to set you on your way and we began to walk forward in silence as we both rolled my luggage into the airport building

Are you sorry to leave America? He asked after a while
Why sir? I asked, if I knew where I was going or what was likely to become of me I would tell you candidly. America is a great place and I have
been very happy here, but then I have never been elsewhere, except that one trip to England when I was eight that I can hardly remember. My father and mother since they are both dead, I will be no nearer to in America than in the UK and to speak the truth if I thought I had a chance to better myself where I was going, I would go with a good will.

Yes said Mr Eddy, very well Chima boy, then it falls on me to tell your fortune or as far as I may, when your mother was gone and your father was diagnosed with cancer, he gave me a letter which he said was a very important part of your inheritance, He said as soon as I’m gone, give my boy, Chima this letter and set him off to Nigeria, and to Nnewi, that is the place I came from, and where it befits that he should return, he would come safe for where he goes he will be well liked.

On the afternoon of the second day of my being in Nigeria, I got off the bus as directed. I had travelled to Port Harcourt from Lagos as I was advised and began a bus trip to Nnewi. It was clear it was a village but there were lots of big houses, mansions that I couldn’t reconcile the terrain with. I could distinguish the city and this place and both brought my city heart into my mouth.

Not long after, I came by a house where a farmer by the looks of it , lived and got a rough direction for the neighbourhood of Odinaka and so from one to another I worked my way to the west of the village with most of them exclaiming in igbo o na asu bekee! Whatever that meant. A little farther on, and I was told I was in Odinaka province and began to substitute in my inquiry the name of the house of Chukwudi. It was a word that always seemed to surprise those of whom I sought my way. At first I thought it was the fact that I spoke only English especially in a foreign accent or my appearance, in clean blue jeans, black tee shirt, fresh looking and with a back pack over my broad shoulders. In America I would have cut the appearance of a football player but here, it seemed to startle them. But after two or maybe three had given me the same look and the same answer, I began to take it in my head there was something strange about the Chukwudi’s.

The better to set this fear at rest, I changed the form of my inquiries and spying a full bearded man who looked honest enough coming along the path on a rusty bicycle, I asked him if he had ever heard of a house they called the house of Chukwudi.
He stopped his bicycle and looked at me like the others
o choro ikoro m akuko ochi. He spoke under his breath
Surely I couldn’t understand.

Eh?! What for? He said m na ana nti,
It’s a great house? I asked my accent sounding so out of place.
Doubtless, he said, the house is very very big, mansion
OK! I exclaimed, What of the people in it?
Ajuju gi naa! People He cried, Are you daft? There is no a soul there -to call “people” onye agbataobi
What? I panicked, not Chief Obidike?
Oh I see, the man replied, there’s that one for sure, if its him you are wanting, what is your business??
Well I was led to think I could get a situation, I spoke, trying hard to suppress my accent.
What?? He cries again, well my guy its none of my business o, but you seem like a nice person and if you will take my word from me, don’t go near the Chukwudi’s.

The next person I came across was a well-dressed little man in white traditional attire, he seemed like a drunk and I couldn’t help but ask. I asked him plainly what sort of man was Chief Obidike of the Chukwudi’s.
Aah Americana he said, no kind of man, no kind of man at all o! onye aruruala! And then he began to ask me what my business with him was, I didn’t want to waste time and I shrugged him off and he went away no wiser than he came.

I cannot describe the blow this dealt to my illusions. The more indistinct the accusations were, the less I liked them. What kind of mansion was this that all the villagers should start and stare to be asked the way to it? Or what sort of Man that his ill-fame should be so current on the wayside? If just one hour was enough to get back to America, I would have gone back then and there, but I had gone so far a way already, I was bound by self-respect so I still kept asking and advancing.

It was drawing on to sunset when I met a stout dark sour-looking woman coming down a hill and she as I put forward my usual question, turned sharply about accompanying me back to the hill she just left and pointed to a great mass of building standing very bare by itself. The terrain about was the only pleasant thing to look upon. My heart sank That!! I cried

The woman’s face lit up with malignant anger, That is the house of Chukwudis!! Hei! Blood built it! Blood stopped the building of it and Blood shall bring it down see here! Chukwu na aza ekpere! she screamed, I spit upon the ground and crack my thumb. If you see that man onye uru! tell him that Ada Odimegwu has called down the curse on him!


to be continued