VIRATI

VIRATI

REFLECTIONS OF AN AFRICAN CHILD

A SHORT STORY

BY

ODIGWE GLORIA kitanaa

It is my first day at the Academy with my friend, Mitchell. We both decided to join the military Academy- we were the only ones that did though my set made the best result the school ever recorded in its entire history- the day Major General Isaac came to our career fair. He had dropped by accident, to visit his daughter who happens to be Mitchell and walked straight in for the Career Symposium in the school hall.

General Isaac is a very huge man, huge by the few standards I have to measure him against. He is tall enough to have to bend before he got through the door, not that the door of our school hall is low but I think he stooped because he is used to stopping before he gets past any door. He is also very broad, across his chest and shoulders, enough for it to look like someone shut the door when he was standing in front of it with that stupefied look on his face when he saw the huge crowd and the serious looking students on uniform with our stiff officious looking collars and smartly polished shoes. I saw him first and I knew he was clueless. Someone must have mistaken him for one of the speakers for the career talk and directed him proudly with the knowing smile that this could be one of those ‘world view’ our new principal, Mrs Oshim always spoke to us about. I nudged Mitchell. We were sitting on the same table but at either end of it but she was concentrating very hard on a piece of paper in front of her- questionnaires that one of those men in shiny jackets and brave Italian shoes were passing about.

“Mitsh, look!” I called. She grunted distractedly at me and bit harder into her biro cover. I was sorry for her like I was sorry for myself. Her effort was pathetic. We both wanted to be great women in the future, to be household names. We knew we would inspire hope and dreams in girls all over the world, that we would travel the world to burst a borehole in Haiti, to build a dam in Sudan, to donate computers and solar panels to India. We were going to trudge through jungles with lions at our heels, we were going to escape a shark by a hairs breath and we will wear bikinis and date rich dudes. But the big question was, “how is that going to happen? That simple question was the single reason why I have scribbled Medicine in my most careless writing on the paper in front of me and why Mitchell has bitten the top of her wrinkled pen cork off.

“Mitsh!” I whispered fiercely. She looked up this time with an anxious look on her face. She was still stuck and I could tell that she still has not figured out what to put there. The night before, she had said Astronaut, this morning, it had been engineering philosophy, at the dining hall, she said Jungle theoretical physics and I did not bother to ask where she got that. Mitchell always had a twisted way with words. Before we entered the hall with our straightened blouses and flimsy lip-gloss, it became Nature drawing and Sculpture or Fundamental Biology. Before the questionnaire arrived, she was back again to Astronaut and was asking me the course for someone who studies how the world was created. With no answer in sight, she muttered Jungle Physics and Musketeer Engineering. She was really good in Engineering drawing and science. Once, she had designed an aircraft from a textbook she saw in the library meant for professors and has built a small telescope from simple binoculars. Rumors had it that she was going to be the best student in Physics and Engineering Drawing but I think she will be the BGS meaning Best Graduating Student.

“Nothing yet?” I asked

She shook her head. “No. I am seriously considering being an astronaut. But I think it might be boring.”

For a moment, I forgot that I had meant to call her attention to her father. I screamed, “What! Are you crazy? Astronomy is adventurous. It is fun. You will be flying around the universe and landing on the moon and other planets and you will be designing rockets and space probes. How is that supposed to be boring? Try being a medical doctor, just surgeries and ward rounds, I will not survive the boredom.”

She made a face at me, I made one back at her and we started laughing quietly. Then suddenly she said, “I give up! I am not going to stress myself over this anymore. What’s up with forcing kids like us to choose what we want to be now? It is like forcing us to be adults already and we do not even get to enjoy being kids anymore. When I finish my WAEC, I will figure that out… Now Jasmine, what is so funny?”

It was actually funny the way she was ranting and especially the way she drew her lips together and rolled her eyes a little to the sides when she said we were kids. We were not kids and we were almost adults. In the next two weeks, we will be starting our final school leaving exams and by this time next year, we should have just one hour left to becoming fully-fledged citizens with the right to vote and be voted for.

“So what are you going to say when that guy asks you what you really want to do with your life?”

She put the poor pen cork again to her mouth and began chewing again.

“You know what I will say?” I heard her say and from the corner of my eyes, I saw Mr. Bridge go up to the high table where the principal was and whisper to her ear. She looked astonished, surprised then excited. I dragged my attention from them and turned to Mitchell.

“What would you say?”

“I will say that I just want to be allowed to be the girl that I am and that I will take any job that is dangerous, unpredictable, patriotic, philanthropic-“

“Adventurous and fun,” I added.

“Yes and praise-worthy and well paying.”

I laughed. “Money is very necessary.”

“Yes, she agreed.”

“I have to meet a lot of people in this job and travel to a lot of countries.”

“Exactly what I want and plenty of fine b-” she started to say but stopped abruptly. “-Wait, why is Oshim standing up?”

I looked up to find her grabbing the mic with her two hands as she always did when she had some her new ideas to introduce to us.

She groaned, “Oh no. I hope she is not bringing another speaker. I thought this ordeal was over.”

I felt my shoulder go slack from sitting upright for so long and my head was reeling. I had thought we were near the end of the fair so I could quickly get back to the new romance fiction I started the night before.

The Mic made a crackling sound and then stopped. Her voice boomed over the microphone.

“Hello Students.”

There was a weak echo of “Hello Mrs Oshim,” all over the hall. She was undaunted, that woman. “I know that you are all tired and hungry and honestly speaking, I understand your plight. Soon, you will be served some snacks and even sooner after, you will be off to your meals. Is that okay?”

The response this time was more animated. Mrs Oshim beamed. “Alright. Mrs Onose please?”

A heavy set woman with thick bosoms stood and the principal nodded to her. She nodded back and then nodded to someone in the crowd. Few seconds later, there was the refreshing and timely smell of meat pies and cakes wafting into our noses and the friendly clink of bottles knocking against themselves on the crate.

The hall broke into whispers of ‘me’ and ‘I am here’ from different corners of the hall. Mrs Oshim cleared her throat loudly into the microphone and silence descended on the hall. She smiled and cleared her throat again. I was still feeling bad for not telling Mitsh about her father.

“I have always encouraged you students to think wide and far, to expand your mental capacities beyond what has always been to what could be, what will be, what should be. There are a lot of professions that has not been defined as of today. Before scientists like Isaac Newton, who introduced deterministic science, there was not a profession called science. Before then, they were called natural philosophers. From that day till now, science and all sorts of discipline are still branching. There are a lot that are yet to be discovered. So be original and discover your unique gift, passion and talent. Every great man you hear of today, started like this, by asking question and appreciating what the rest of us overlooked.”

When she said ‘overlooked’,  I caught a glimpse of sadness in her eyes but in the next second, it was gone. I have always sensed that Mrs. Oshim felt cheated in life, that she was not supposed to be where she was now and that she could have been someone bigger, better, more known, someone like the women we were hoping to become except the escapades part. Maybe she was a bright young girl; very good in Mathematics, Home Economics and Biology and maybe even too good in them she did not know which was better, which she was best at and so. She had no career preference so she chose Teaching only to look back and realize that that she settled for something less, something more broad and fitted to form, that maybe she could have just specialized in one and made her mark there.  A terrible fear seized me that I could end up like that, full of ‘could haves’ and a well meaning but suffocating mission to make sure none of the younger ones made the same mistake. I do not want to be a mistake they learn from, I want to be a model, an example they look up to copy.

“The future belongs to those who see these things, who listen for them and who reach for them. Without wasting much time, I want to welcome a distinguished visitor, someone neither you nor I expected to see today. When I set my eyes on him, a new idea came to me like a flash and I said to myself, maybe my students will learn a thing or two from him. With a standing ovation, I want you all to welcome to this stage, Major General Isaac Ciroma!”

I do not know who was more surprised. Mitchell jumped from her seat as if she was stung; I sat on my seat like I have been stunned. She was jumping and catcalling and hooting. She raced to the group of seats in front and back for like three times. The applause was deafening as Gen. Isaac’s intimidating military carriage filled the podium. For the first time, I saw Mrs. Oshim falter; she did not have any words to say. She shook his hands and handed him the microphone.

After the applause died down and we were seated, our snack finally arrived our table. From the look on his face, I knew he was not going to say much. Mitchell once said he was a soft spoken man of very few words and murderous stares.

He spoke into the mike. “I appreciate this opportunity given to me today to speak to you children, it is a really disarming and interesting one.” Someone laughed from the high table and that prompted some from the crowd. After that had died down, he continued.

“I have addressed troops and battalions of soldiers, I have stood before bullets and grenades in combats and I have spoken with top political officers and even been assigned command of the guard of the Presidential Villa once but I have never addressed a crowd as eager and innocent and as intimidating as you students…” He coughed a little, cleared his throat and continued.

“Your principal, made a very touching point that I totally agree with when she said, every great man you hear about today, is because they did something no one ever thought to do, because they asked questions everyone else overlooked. Can you imagine what our lives would have been like if no Isaac Newton ever existed, or Galileo or Copernicus or let’s say, Leonardo Da Vinci?”” He scrunched his nose up and we laughed. “We would still be stuck in the middle ages so thank God for questions. Questions are what make us the type of creatures that we are; creatures that reason. Question differentiates the human race from every other species in the universe because it is a mark of progressiveness, of advancement. Nothing has ever been achieved by sitting down and just looking but by wondering and asking what, why, how, suppose, assuming... We call America, China, Russia, Japan and the entire European continent, advanced because of what they have, their science and technology and more often than not, we envy them, we want to escape from here there.” He looked at us severely, “How many of you want to live in America?” everyone raised their hands, including Mrs. Oshim.  

He chuckled a little and we put our hands down “But why would you want to go live there when we can do the same things for our country here? You are going to live in a country that has been shaped by the power of people’s questions and reasonings while Africa remains at the backwater of ignorance. Have you ever wondered why none of the people from these countries want to come here except on vacations where they can take pictures of our bare footed, swollen bellied malnourished children, kidnapped, young school girls and vandalized pipelines and go back to their countries to show their friends? You think it is because our temperature is above 40^o C in the North or because of the Mosquitoes and malaria we have in the South or our bad roads and polluted waters?”

I looked at him confused; if he had pointed at me to answer that question, I would have said yes.

He continued. ”No, it is because we are a people that do not ask questions, we take, we do not give. We are always asking, what can you do for me, what will you give me? Our fore fathers got by with what they had until something better came along but  before that, they tried to make sense of their environment but what legacy do we live for the future. Are we going to be the people that will subdue our history and let our future to lay in ruins? What would happen if you and I stop thinking just about ourselves in this lifetime and our families and begin to think like global citizens,; like men women, boys and girls who have something to offer to the world?” he looked at us severely and I found myself staring at my fingers.

“The future of this country, of Africa and the world is no longer in the hands of your parents and their friends but in you, you, you and you and your friends. Get thinking, ask questions! What can we do about Ebola, what can we do to reduce the problem of pollution, how can I be a businessperson with my small income, what services can I provide that will benefit those around me? People only pay for ideas that will make a difference. Yours can.”

He cleared his throat again and it sounded very loud against the dense quietness in the hall. “So you see children, you can be anything even a soldier. Part of the defining principle of any Nigerian soldier, of every soldier all over the world is patriotism. Patriotism means love for your country, for the protection, safety and respect for what your country is. It means you will not see your national flag and step on it, it means you will not join the rest of the world to condemn your country and it means that you do not care what your country will do for you but what you will do for your country. What you are looking for in far away America, is right here with you.”

Mitchell and I exchanged a look, I suddenly had no desire for my romance novel anymore. The tissues that wrapped our pies were wrinkled on the floor and our bottles of soft drinks were empty beside them.

“The army is Patriotism and so if you are patriotic, you may as well call yourself a soldier.” Everybody laughed, including me.

“As a soldier myself, I cannot end this conversation if I do not talk about being one. Soldiers die every day; thousands were lost in Liberia, many more are dying in their numbers from the bullets of our brothers and friends who have chosen, rather than be patriotic, to instead, cause mayhem to the rest of Nigerians. Being a soldier isn’t the best thing in the world, it is not the worst either, it is dangerous but fun, it is patriotic, it is demanding, adventurous, deadly, tasking but in the end, it is worth the pain because someone has to defend this country. We believe in you and we would lay down our lives with the hope that you will cause the change that Africa deserves. When millions of lives are saved because a man is brave enough to lay down his life to do something passionate, that is where true ideals and career choices lie. You don’t have to take up arms to do that, you don’t have to stand in front of the firing line. You can do that by being good at what you do, by doing well in your academics and if you choose to be a doctor, you can be it patriotically, that is what being a soldier is all about and that makes you a soldier.”

He stopped abruptly and the silence was so thick that if I had a knife, I could have cut a large chunk and saved it for those noisy days in the hostel.

“Now, how many of you want to live in America?”

This time, not one hand was raised.

Later that week, Mitchell and I applied for the Nigerian Defense Academy. Everyone says we are both crazy for doing that and maybe we are but I have long come to discover for myself, the transforming power of questions. I want nothing more than to access the resources, space and time to indulge in other scientific and philosophical interests by asking the BIG questions, making discoveries that will start our African transformational process, and I think the Academy will offer me that.

And today is my first day. I hope I look smart already.

Kitanaa2016…..