THE VILLAGE SCHOOL
BOY by Ohimai Daniel
Holidays period was a period of rest and
enjoyment for our counterparts in the city, ours was full of hard labour in the
farm and at home. I truly had not noticed how hard my father worked until now.
Papa, everyday, woke up before all of us. He did not have any alarm to wake him
up, yet he woke up almost at the same time every morning. He woke up before 5am
every day.
When he woke up, he checked around the house, possibly to see that
everything and everybody was intact. When he came to our rooms, he pointed his
touch light on our faces. He moved the brimming ray of the touch light from one
face to the other like a doctor examining his patients. After Papa had examined
his ‘patients’, and was sure they were in good condition, went back to his
room. He would later go to the kitchen chimney to get his bitter leave dried
root which he used as chewing stick. Papa would bring out this cane-like
chewing stick, dip one end into his mouth, chewed this end for about five
minutes like young grass cutters battling with cashew stem with their tiny
incisors. Once Papa had successfully ground one end of his chewing stick into
usable sponge-like form, he started to brush them rigorously against his
cola-nut-stained teeth. At various intervals, Papa hit the chewing stick against
his seat and blew out particles of the stick. He first stuck out his tongue
like when my primary school teacher wanted to pronounce theater sound.
Papa always did his
teeth brushing outside with his big wrapper over his neck down like the Muslim
woman I saw the day I followed Mama to Sabo. Once Papa finished brushing, he
gulped in a hand-full of water, rinse his mouth, and pour it out; took in
another, poured it out; hit the chewing stick against anything available-
stool, wall ,etc. papa went in after to put on his farm wears which included a
shirt, pair of jean trousers, and a pair of boot. Papa said he preferred jean
trousers because it lasted longer than the material trouser. Boot allowed Papa
for easy movement in the thorny and stumpy farm. Papa went with a hoe hung on
his shoulder, a cutlass on his left hand, and a keg of water balanced on his
head; and a burning coal in his armpit, while a bag dangled on his right
shoulder.
‘Ejere, Ejere!’, Mama
called my elder brother who was still asleep at this time.
‘I don’t know why my
husband would always leave to farm without this boy.’, Mama quarreled.
Papa did not bother
us when he went to farm. He allowed us to sleep until we were tired. Was it not
Mama, we would not know, possibly, the road to the farm. Although, Papa pointed
out that his first son, Ejere must learn the act of farming, ‘but it must be at
his pace’, Papa explained. Mama never liked seeing us sleeping while Papa was
in the farm. Even if we did not followed Papa to the farm, we should be awake
doing house chores. Mama was sweeping the house surroundings with a long broom
made from several canes. She usually did this every morning, and I have had to
wonder if Mama would sweep all her life.
‘Is your brother
awake?’, Mama asked.
‘No ma’, I replied.
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