By
Obododimma
Oha
A friend read
“Talking with My Father” and wanted the blog article longer. I promised a
second installment. And here comes the
installment: it is still about spending some time talking with my father. But
this one is unique in its own way: it is about traveling a distance with my
father, or rather traveling with and as my father. Is this not surprising? For
me it is symbolic. Even though my father had to travel to places, stay away
from home because he was a chief and had to attend several meetings, I got to
realise that, instead of regretting his absence from home, I should try to
insert myself in his struggles, especially his being available to others to
solve their problems as co-travelers in this world. But, most importantly,
since I was him, I was with him, from Eze’s court to the meetings of ozo-titled
men, we were both travelling chiefs! My father and I always traveled together,
traveled as one, talked, and reflected. In that way, we did not just maintain
closeness everyday; I was comfortable,relaxed, that he was there as me.
One incident
about our travelling together in practical terms is this experience of going together
to church, which I would like to relate. Although my father had a large family
being a polygamist, I desired so much to be around him. Perhaps other siblings
did too. But one thing I did not want to miss was preparing while he was
preparing for church, making sure I would wash the back of my ears where he
would surely look, and being dead ready to climb the carriage of his bicycle
anytime he asked us, “Who is ready and wants to go with me?”
Perched on
the carriage with my legs swinging, I would look left and right at the bushes
and the trees. I was amazed that, as he
pedaled and we sped to church, the bushes and the trees were running back, in
the opposite direction, as if they stubbornly did not want to go to church to
pray and show off their new clothes! The trees must be stubborn! They ran back fast
and this amazed me. So, I quickly asked my father (who was supposed to know everything). “Why are the trees running
away from church?” I asked him. “Running away? Who told you that?” Wait, you
will see them standing there when we get back and the ones in the church
compound sing Halleluya too. They don’t run away from it.” “But I can see them
running back. What is pursuing them? Police?” Father saw through the lens of my
childhood thinking and laughed. “Ok,” he said. “They would be forced to rethink
their behaviour later before the end of the day. You just watch.” But I kept
thinking about what was chasing the trees, because I could see them running
desperately in the opposite direction!
When the
church service was over and my father greeted some important people (indeed, I
made sure I came out in time and was waiting for him near his bicycle to finish
with these greetings that also serviced crucial relationships), I was set to
climb the bicycle carriage again, to observe the desperate race of the trees.
When we started off homewards, I noticed that even the trees in the church
premises ran backwards. Perhaps they wanted to make sure other trees did not get
to Heaven before they did. I was even more surprised to see the very trees that
ran in the opposite direction when we were coming, now running back, in fact,
towards the church! What were they looking for? Did they want to compete with
other trees in the church premises in going to meet God? Perhaps, they had a
separate service and were running because they were late! Poor late-comers! I
kept thinking about this unfortunate lateness and the desperate race until I
fell asleep and could have put a foot into the bicycle spokes had I not woken
up suddenly. And the trees were still running in the opposite direction,
minding their own business!
Another
important context of being with my father
was when he was working, mending the wall of palm-frond round our premises and
humming a traditional war song or masquerade tune. My siblings and I had the
task of carrying the palm-fronds to him; actually
driving the fronds like cars to where he was working. This driving really excited
me a lot. The driver had to be on the one side (left-hand steering!), while the
car engine was in the mouth. When the driver was accelerating or revving the
engine, the mouth did all. Our hands were working, but our mouths were, too.
But the greatest excitement for me were the songs that my father was singing. I
was in his classroom, but he did not know. I was his dedicated student,
memorizing the songs. I don’t know whether other siblings did this, too. Yes;
the songs. They got me! They animated me. Don’t be surprised to find them in my
consciousness many decades later, especially in Oral Literature course in
English. In a way, one had to sing these masquerade songs for the trees late
for church and running desperately because they had no bicycle. Further, the
masquerade and war songs facilitated another travel. Indeed, with them, I
travelled with my father to other contexts other than the work, but my other
siblings did not know. They did not see us fly like the trees, leaving our
working hands there in our backyard!
Father was my
model, a great sage and courageous fellow. Now, he has traveled away from the
trees and the songs (and also away from himself ). But I know that he he is
still around running a relay race. He is both the spectator and runner in the
race in which I am holding the baton, ready to run faster than the trees.
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