Sweet sixteen

SWEET SIXTEEN 

 

 

            1

 

The Letter

My name is Aliya. I am the only child of my parents. I turned 16 last month, two days

before my end of term examinations. I had waited so eagerly for that day to come. When I was 14,1 read a book titled 'Sweet Sixteen', which
made me realise that at 16. one is no longer a child but a young adult.

For as long as I can remember I  had always hated to be called a child. To me, child means the same as stupid. So, children's stuff never interested me. Instead,l found myself drawn to grown up things. I felt more comfortable relating with people who are many years older than me. My father thought this was because of my size.

I am what you might describe as plus size. If you like, you could say I was plump or chubby; but never say fat. l started wearing bras at 10 and at 14, I was

 

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already a size 16. My father would say, “Aliya, don’t be deceived by your size, you are still a child and you should enjoy being a child. "To this‚ I would counter that I was not a child, but an adult trapped in the body of a child. He would shake his head and give

my mother a long stare,which I never understood. 'Young adult' therefore, sounded like a fair compromise between being a child, as my father would insist, and being an adult, as I would insist. My mother was a nurse. My father was, well, many things. At the time I was born, he was a journalist. When I was in primary school, he was working in a Public Relations agency. He then went on to work for an international organisation that helps poor people in Africa. When I asked him what

exactly his job in the organisation was, he said it was

still some kind of public relations.

 

The very day I turned 16, I was still in school. Even if I was home,I knew better than to expect any parties. My father believed that the only thing worth celebrating was a major achievement. In his eyes, a birthday was not an achievement at all. My mother said she agreed with him. I suspected she was just

 

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going along With her husband. For this, I have very strong evidence in the form of several photographs I had seen of her, standing all decked up behind birthday cakes. But to be fair, that was before she met and married Mr. Bello. 

 

 

Whatever the case, birthdays were not a regular event in my home. My father even hardly remembered birthdays, including his own. Mummy however, would never, ever forget. She even remembered the birthdays of children in the extended family. But there would be no parties. The 

 

 

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closest to any form of celebration were the slightly more elaborate dinner and the much more elaborate prayers. This is not to suggest that my parents were some sort of boring people. Not at all. My father was actually very funny. Mummy would often joke that he should consider another career in standup comedy. We also hosted parties and attended some, mostly weddings. Birthday parties were just not our thing. 

 

But something changed since I left home for the boarding school. My father, who never remembered birthdays, would not fail to send me greeting cards on my birthdays. I turned 12 when I was in JSS 1. The birthday card was handed over to me by the principal himself after the morning assembly. “Happy Birthday, my First Lady. Remember that only God is greater than you, ” my father had scrawled boldly across the blank space inside the card. Even though I didn't understand what he meant by “only God is greater tban you”, it made me feel very important, as if I was some kind of God's deputy. 

 

Sometimes,l wondered why he called me First Lady since I was an only child. I didn't think you

 

 

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could have a first unless there was a second. Maybe he was hoping for a second. How much I wished I had a sister though. And maybe a brother too. But my friends told me that brothers could be very annoying. Well, that was not so diflicult to believe. I imagined having a brother like Akin in my class, who called himself the king of boys. Even though he was very smart, Akin was the most unserious human being in the whole world. He specialized in making fun of everything and playing pranks on everyone. I remembered what happened last term in the Geometry class.The mathematics teacher wrote the topic, Mensumtion on the board, but Akin read it aloud as Menstruation! Who does that? The whole

class erupted in laughter. It was only the teacher, Miss Salako, who didn't find it funny. '

Quiet, all of you!” she screamed. “I wonder what was so funny. And you...,” she said, pointing at Akin, the culprit, “. . ‚must you always be a jerk?” She asked menacingly.

But Akin stood up and answered calmly, “No ma,” and the class exploded in another round of

laughter. This got Miss Salako even angrier and she

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sent Akin to the wall. Still, Akin got an A in Mathematics at the end of the term. 

 

It was a Tuesday, the day I turned 16. I woke up expecting to feel different, to feel 16. But I didn't feel 

 

anything. In fact, I had slept off the previous night not thinking of my long awaited birthday, but about 

 

the examinations that would start later in the week. Well, maybe one was not meant to feel anything. Or maybe it was the thoughts of the coming 

 

examination that was affecting everything. I had always been a straight A student, until I entered the 

 

senior class and started Chemistry. I still scored A in all the other subjects, including Mathematics and Physics which most of my classmates struggled 

 

with, but I never scored higher than a C in Chemistry. As it happened, it was my first paper in this examination. 

 

There were two blocks of eight rooms in my hostel and there were four of us in each room. We had ten bathroom cubicles, five for each block, so we took turns to have our bath. But this was not a problem. Usually, you only had to wait for one 

 

person to finish up. I took a quick glance at my 

 

 

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bedside clock. I still had more than an hour before the assembly. Of my three roommates, one was about my age, even though she was slightly older. 

 

Her name was Grace. The other two were junior 

 

students. 

 

They had all wished me a happy birthday that morning. 

 

As I made my bed, Grace returned from the bathroom. She had a towel wrapped around her chest and another one on her head like a turban. I turned to her and asked, “Grace, did you feel anything? I mean when you turned 16, did you like, 

 

feel different in any way?” 

 

“No. It was like 14 or 15. Couldn't feel any difference, to be honest,”she answered with a shrug. 

 

Grace was not a great talker. It was as if someone was going to charge her for the number of words she used each time she spoke. Many people thought she was snobbish. But I knew she was a nice and generous person. I wouldn't say she was my bestie, 

 

but we got along well enough, even though we were not in the same class. 

 

 

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"But. .," I started to say, but changed my mind. “Never mind‚”l added. I knew Grace liked to be left alone. In any case, I thought I should rather focus on my Chemistry. I had worked harder this term. And this Was reflected in my continuous assessment results. Still, I was more than a little worried. The main problem was that time was never enough for me to answer the questions and do all the practical tests. I had tried to improve on my speed by taking live minutes off the time allotted to each question. On one occasion, I managed to finish about 17 minutes ahead of time. But I still wondered how I would hold out in real examination conditions. 

 

As we sang the national anthem that morning at the assembly, I was already looking forward to the birthday card from my father. But when I walked up to the principal later, he only asked me to see him in his office at break time. 

 

“Ho-hope there-there is no problem, Sir?" I stammered. 

 

“Not at all," the principal answered curtly. 

 

Before I could say anything more, he was already talking to one of the teachers. He appeared upset by 

 

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something. I noticed he didn't say a happy birthday to me. That also never happened before. Usually, as he handed me the card from my dad, he would say, “Happy birthday to daddy's angel and my superstar.” And we would both laugh. I wondered what could have happened this time. Maybe he was distracted . by whatever had upset him that morning. As I walked towards the classroom,l glanced back at him and I could see he was gesticulating wildly. 

 

The teacher looked thoroughly chastened. 

 

My mind raced through all kinds of possibilities. Or, did something happen to my dad? He travelled a lot. Had he been involved in an accident? Now,1 got really scared. I remembered a couple of my classmates who suddenly lost their fathers and how they had struggled to remain in the school afterwards. I even got my dad to help some of them. 

 

. But my worry at that moment was not about how to remain in school if anything happened to him. 

 

I loved my parents, no doubt about that. But I was 

 

particularly close to my dad. I could even say he was the only true friend I had. Even though he could be 

 

very strict on some things, he always made me feel I 

 

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could discuss anything with him. And in most cases, 

 

I did. 

 

I recalled what happened earlier in February, on Valentine's Day. A boy in my class gave me a teddy beat and told me he liked me. Everyone called him Bobo, but his real name was Tokunbo. I was walking back to the hostel from the school shop where I had gone to buy some toiletries. I looked up and saw him coming towards me on the narrow concrete walkway. I held my shopping tighter. I had a pack of sanitary pads among the newly bought items in my bag. I wouldn't want him to see that. He was also clutching a small, blue gift bag. 

 

“Hi Bobo, What's up? Happy Valentine's Day,”l greeted him. 

 

“Happy Valentine's, Aliya.” He fidgeted a bit, looking rather nervous. 

 

“Are you okay? I see you have a Valentine's gift already. Did someone give that to you or are you giving someone?” 

 

“Actually. . . It's actually for you,” he stammered. 

 

“Me? Oh, thank you.l took the bag from him.” 

 

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“You know, I have always wanted to tell you that. . . that I like you,”he said.

“You like me? Wow! I... I don't know what to say.” It was my turn to be nervous. This had never happened to me before. No guy had ever said he liked me. I didn't even know how I was supposed to respond. “Anyway, thank you,”I managed to say, and continued towards the hostel. Not once did I even look back, but I could feel that he was still standing there, watching me. I felt so conscious I even stumbled on something and wondered if he saw that.

When I got to the hostel, I opened the bag and found a red teddy beat. "I love You 'was written on a heart-shaped embossment on its tummy.l liked the teddy, but I was not sure I did the right thing by accepting the gift from Bobo. The following week, my dad came visiting. I took the teddy hear with me to show him.

“A cute thing you've got there,” he said as I hugged him.

“Daddy, story, story,”l said in a sing-song as we sat on one of the concrete benches that were
 

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arranged around a black and white chequerboard on the floor. It was not really a board, but a raised cement platform on which giant black and white chess pieces mounted guards on opposite ends as if waiting for their marching orders. This was where students, mostly boys, gathered to play Chess during the weekends. I told Dad how I got the teddy bear. “This boy, what is his name?” he asked, smiling. “Bobo,”l answered.

“Bobo, is that his real name?” “No, his real name is Tokunbo,Tokunbo Alabi.” ‘ “Okay. Where do you think Tokunbo got the money to buy this gift for you? Did his parents give him a special allowance to buy Valentine's gifts for girls?” I said no, I didn't think so. . “,So could it be that Tokunbo took part of his pocket money to buy the teddy bear?” “Yes, most probably,”l answered. Dad got up slowly and walked towards the chess board. He picked up one of the pawns and moved it

two steps forward. Then, he turned to me.
 

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“You see, Aliya, there is nothing wrong in giving or receiving gifts. But usually, especially in this kind of situation, when someone feels he has done you a favour, he would normally feel you owe him something. Sometimes, he could even, maybe,

expect you to return the favour. ”

He walked to the other end of the chess board and moved the knight. As he retraced his steps, he asked, “So, this boy, what do you think he wants

from you?” I said I didn't know. “He said he likes me. Maybe

he wants me to like him back?” “So, do you like him back?” He moved another pawn.

“Nooo,” I answered, drawing out the '0' and shaking my head. The truth is I liked Bobo also. He was very funny, so I liked talking to him. But that was all. I never thought of him as more than a friendly classmate. He was not as smart as Akin, but certainly not as rascally too. In that department,

Akin was the clear gold medalist. Dad smiled broadly as if he knew more than he was actually saying. Then he came back to sit beside
 

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me. “You see, Aliya, maybe you don't know yet what that question really means. But that is not even important now. What is important is that you should never put yourself in a situation where you would feel obliged to do anything because you feel indebted to someone. Anybody who gives you something because he wants something from you in return is not good for you. No money in the world, no gift in the world is enough to buy you; because you are priceless. _ In any case, the two of you are still too young to understand what that kind of relationship entails. But I will want you to remember, Aliya, that no relationship between two people can survive if it is based on material benefits. Do not give things to people with the expectation that they will like you

because of that. In the same token, when people give

you things, it does not necessarily mean they love you.”

He got up again, and walked up to the other end to counter the move he made earlier as his own opponent. He had tried to teach me to play chess.

He said it would make me to think strategically. He
 

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said the black and white pieces represent two armies ranged in battle, the mission being to capture the opponent's king. Well, I was not so interested in fighting any battles and certainly not interested in capturing any kings. But before he gave up on me‚ i had already known the names of all the pieces and how each of them moved.


 

I suspected he always chose this part of the school to meet with me so that he could play against himself as he was doing now. A group of students walked past us towards the hostel and said good afternoon to him. In my school, it was compulsory for every student to greet any adult they came across.

He returned their greetings and picked up another piece, a castle, from the board. 

 

“Do you know the kind of girls that most boys like?” 

 

“No,”l answered. 

 

“Dumb girls. Boys like dumb girls.” 

 

“Really, but I am not dumb,”l said, frowning. 

 

“Of course. But this boy, e-r-r, what's his name, Bobo, does he know that?That you are not dumb?” 

 

“He should. We are in the same class and, I always beat him in exams." 

 

“Aliya, it is not all about exams. You can score A in all your subjects and still be dumb." 

 

“Daddy,l don‘t understand?” 

 

“A dumb girl, the kind of girl that boys like, is not necessarily the one who cannot pass exams. A dumb girl is the one who thinks she needs to live up to other people's expectations; a girl who feels the need to belong' a girl who thinks she needs to have sex with a boy to prove that she loves him, or who thinks that having sex and generally misbehaving is the 

 

way to show that she is a grown-up; a girl who is not 

 

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smart enough to know when she is being manipulated or exploited; that is a dumb girl. ” 

 

“Okay, well, that sounds really dumb to me,” I said. 

 

He returned the castle to its position and picked up a queen instead. By then, the pawns on the white side had marshalled out into some kind of triangular formation. 

 

“Daddy, do you think I should return the teddy?” 

 

He kept quiet for a while. Then he shrugged and said, “Well, that is a decision you would have to make for yourself. ”He looked at his wristwatch. “By the way, do you still have your inhalers?” 

 

I knew this was his way of saying the conversation was over and he would like to be on his way. I still 

 

had my inhalers and he knew. I had been asthmatic since childhood and the Vento  inhaler had been a ' constant presence in my life. 

 

Soon after, I took the teddy with me to the class with the intention to return it to Bobo. As I entered the class, he saw me first and walked up to me. “I can 

 

see you like your teddy‚”he said, looking very pleased with himself. 

 

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“Bobo, actually. . . yes, I like it,”l stuttered. Seeing how happy he was,l could not bring myself to hurt him. He was probably just being nice. If only my 

 

father had told me what to do. “I am glad to hear that,” he said still grinning 

 

from car to car. 

 

“But Bobo, can I ask you something?” I had 

 

regained my composure. 

 

“Yes, of course.” 

 

“Do you want something from me? I mean like, you gave me the teddy and I know it must have cost you some of your pocket money. Why did you do that?” 

 

“Nothing. It was Valentine's Day. Some of my roommates were talking about gifts for their 

 

girlfriends and l don't have a girlfriend. l could only think of you. So. . .” 

 

“But I am not your girlfriend. . .” “Yes, I know. I just. . .” Someone sighted the duty master coming 

 

towards our class and everybody scurried back to their seats. After that day, something happened that 

 

involved another girl in my class. so Bobo and I

 

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never had the opportunity to finish our 

 

conversation. True, my intention that evening was to 

 

give him back the teddy, but when I realized I 

 

couldn't do that without hurting him, I was going to make it clear that if he expected anything more than 

 

a thank you from me, he was in for a 

 

disappointment. But somehow, I never got the opportunity. When we resumed school the following term, I 

 

learnt that Bobo had relocated to Ireland with his parents. I was surprised by how unhappy I felt when 

 

I heard the news from other classmates. I was not even sure if I was unhappy or angry or both. He should at least have told me he was relocating. Daddy was right after all when he said you should not believe that someone loved you only because 

 

they gave you a gift. 

 

That was the kind of relationship I had with my dad. How I had eagerly looked forward to turning 16, when he, of all people, would no longer consider me a child and formally recognize me as a young 

 

adult. But here I was, With not even the usual 

 

birthday card from my father and the principal 

 

acting all strange! The idea that something might have happened to my dad truly scared me. Suddenly, I was no longer so sure that I was ready to be the grown-up girl I had always wanted to be. Without my dad, I would be lost like sheep without a 

 

shepherd. The moment the teacher signaled the end of the 

 

first period, I ran out of the class. I could hear Bisi calling after me that I had dropped a pen. “Keep it for me,” I shouted back and continued to run. Afterwards, she said she thought I was rushing to catch a flight or something. In actual fact, I only managed to sit through the class. I could not even recall a word of what was taught that morning; even though on a good day the Geography class could be terribly boring. 

 

I ran all the way to the principal's office and was still panting when I got there. To my pleasant surprise, the principal's face dissolved in a big smile the moment he saw me. He asked why I was 

 

panting. “Did you run all the way here?” I said yes. 

 

 

“Well, happy birthday,” he said. “I guess your boyfriend has a special present for you this year,” he said as he brought out a gift box With a pinkish wrap 

 

and a bright red ribbon that had a full multicoloured bow on top of it. When he said my 

 

boyfriend, I knew he meant my dad. The two of them had forged some kind of friendship that I 

could not understand, especially as they had little in common, or so I thought. My dad was much younger than the principal, even though I didn't know the principal's exact age. The principal was Christian, my dad was Muslim. My dad was Yoruba, the principal was Tiv. 

 

“Oh, my God” l exclaimed as I collected the box. But it was not the gift that excited me so much, but the utter relief in realising that all my fears were unfounded after all. 

 

“Why don't you wait until you see what is in the box before you get all excited,” the principal said. 

 

“No. Not that sir. I was so scared before I got 

 

here.” “Scared of what?” 

 

“It was just unusual sir, me having to come to your office to pick up the card. So, I was kind of afraid 

 

that something terrible might have happened.” “To whom? Your father? No. Nothing's happened. I still saw him yesterday.”The principal chuckled. “Thank you sir.' Thank God.” 

 

«You are welcome, and happy birthday!” he shouted after me as I practically hopped out of his office. The relief that I felt at knowing that my father was okay was quickly overtaken by curiosity. I 

 

couldn't wait to see what was in the beautiful box. 1 

 

ran back to the hostel and tore the parcel open. I almost felt bad with the way I ripped off the ribbon. Someone must have taken the trouble to tie it so beautifully, I thought. Oh well, gifts are meant to be opened no matter how beautiful the wrapping, right? In the box was a portable digital camera, a birthday card that said “Happy Sweet Sixteen”, and a spiral bound document. But it was the camera that 

 

got me. 

 

“Oh my God... oh my God,” I muttered breathlessly as I fiddled with the camera. I loved 

 

photography and had always wanted to own a 

 

camera. My dad had promised some months before 

 

that he would buy me one. I thought he had forgotten, butl also knew that it would be a mistake to remind him. He did not like being hassled like that. Now, I had my camera. He didn't forget his promise after all. I did not even bother to take a second look at the card. It used to be the main thing on previous birthdays. But this year, it had been 

 

relegated to a mere add on. 

 

The camera had all my attention. It was a compact 

 

digital camera with an LCD monitor. I loved it.} was tempted to try it immediately, but I decided it was better to wait until I had the time to read the manual. But what about the spiral bound document? I wondered what it was. It had a blue cover that bore the bold inscription, “Letter to My Daugbter”. I once read a book with that same title, written by Maya Angelou. I was not sure I understood everything that the author was saying. But I wondered why my father would now make a photocopy to send to me when he could have sent the book itself if he thought I needed to read it again. ' 

 

I soon found, when I opened the document, that my father had only copied Maya Angelou's title. It 

 

was his own letter to me, his daughter. 

 

He started by congratulating me on my 16th 

 

birthday. 

 

“How time flies,”he began. _ 

 

He wrote of the joy he felt when I was born. He also recalled how my birth meant he had to take life more seriously and live up to the task of being 

 

responsible for another human being 

 

“For every day of the last 16 years,you have been a major reason for me to work hard so that I would be able to give you those things I never had as a child, and make it possible for you to have those things I never enjoyed. I have also tried to teach you those core values and the essential character that I have inherited from my humble parents; my parents who had neither gold nor silver to give me,but taught me to be a real human being, an Omoluabi,”he wrote. 

 

It was a 16-page letter. A page for each year of my life. Trust my daddy to do a thing like that. 

 

 

 

      

THE DRIVE

 

 PAGE 27-45

in the letter that my father wrote to me When} I was 16, he recalled an interesting outing we had some years before. I was 12 at the time. I just returned home for holiday after my ]SS 1. Even though we had had several of such outings since

then‚l remembered this particular one quite well.

It was a cool Saturday morning, not much doing. After a quick breakfast,1 had climde back into bed, looking forward to another lazy morning of rolling around and listening to music. I was about to plug in my earphones when I noticed a presence in the doorway.

“Aliya, are you alright?” It was my dad. He was

still holding the door and I could only see half of his body.

“Yes, Dad, I am fine. You want me to do " something“No. I want to drive around and was just wondering if you would like to come along.” “Of course,” I said, dropping the earphone and jumping up from the bed.

“Are we going anywhere in particular?”l asked as I tried to figure out if I needed a change of Clothing and what shoes to wear.

“Not really. I think you are okay,” he said, gesticulating to indicate that my outlit was fine.

I was wearing a pair of blue jeans and a Chelsea Football Club jersey that had my nickname, First Lady, printed on the back. It was his gift to me when he returned from London some months earlier.

“I think that's fine,”he said, painting at the pair of sandals I had just picked up from the floor. I was actually divided between those and the Nike trainers on the shoe rack. By this time, he had come into the room and sat on the bed. He watched as I stood in front of the minor, trying to arrange my hair.

“You are going to be worse than your mother,”h; saidwith abroad grin.“Come on,let's go.”

“Daddy, I am a lady, I have to look good,” ] retorted with a smile as I applied some lip gloss.

“Where is the lady? You are a child!”

“I am not a child.I am a lady,”l protested.

“You are a child”.

“I am a lady”.

We continued this way as we walked down the stairs and we soon started laughing. Mummywas on morning Shift. If she was at home and heard us arguing the way we were doing just then, she would have said, “What are you two Tom and Jerry arguing about this time?”

It was a pleasant drive. The traffic was light. 'l]1e sun was bright. For me, who lived behind a fence, any opportunity to go out and see other people was always a thrill. At the traffic light, a lorry pulled up beside us with 'No Condition Is Permanent'inscribed on its side in uneven letters. Somehow, the firstword had faded off, and at first glance it now read, 'Condition is Permanent'. Two girls about my age scurried between vehicles and tried to sell orange

and cooked groundnuts to us in transparent plastic

bags. “You want some?”Daddy asked me.

I shook my head.'lhe traflic light changed and we

moved on.

“You know, Daddy, I actually envy those girls,” I said.

“Which girls ?”

“The girls that we saw by the traffic lights, selling things.”

“You envy them? And why is that?”

“I guess they must be having fun. I mean... the freedom to go anywhere you want and meet different people.”

“Well, I don't know if they are having fun or not. But I know they would not mind trading places With you right now‚”Dad said.

I reflected briefly on what he said. I agreed that maybe those girls too would look at me and wish they were the ones sitting in an air-conditioned car. Well, maybe he was right. But I still wondered why we had to stay behind those tall fences all the time. Grandma said the fence made our house look like a prison. I guess that was why she would never agree to come and live with us, despite several appeals from both Dad and Mum. My grandfather was long dead. So, Daddy worried a lot about grandma. To make matters worse, and for reasons no one quite understood, she would not accept to have a house help.

“It looks to you like they are having fun," Daddy was saying about the girls as he changed lanes. “But if you had to stand in the sun for hours to sell what in

the end amounts to very little money, I doubt you w0uld still consider what they're doing to be fun.I know rather well, that kind oflife.”

We ran into a pothole and he had to swerve quickly to avoid falling into another, much bigger one. “Sorry,” he said, casting a quick glance at me. “Do you know I was once like those girls?” he asked. But he was not asking a question. He had told me several times how growing up was difficult for him. His mother was a petty trader. He and his elder Sister, the one I called Big Mummy, had to hawk some of their mother's wares after school. Sometimes, it was the only way the next meal could be guaranteed.

“But it was in spite of that experience that I got to where I am today. Thanks to education. I believe if those girls are able to get good education, they too can climb out of poverty and even become important people in the future.”

We got to a junction, he made to turn right, and then he changed his mind and turned left. 'the car behind us blared its born in protest and daddy raised one hand in apology. It was a pointless gesture

though, because the rear window of our car was tinted.

“For you. . .” he continued. “You are of a different background. Your story is different. But don't ever take what you have for granted. Ordinarily, we should expect that you would end up better than those girls at the traffic light. But you know what, darüng? It does not follow. You also have to work hard, if not harder, because it is easier to climb up on an empty stomach than a full one. You know what that means?”

“Yes,l do‚”I answered.

“Sometimes, hunger is what you need to drive you ahead in life. I don't mean food hunger alone; I mean that deep desire to improve your condition in life and be a better person. That type of hunger was what most of us, children of poor parents, had. Unfortunately, after we have achieved success, we are not always able to pass the same hunger to our own children.”

As we approached Aunty Gigis, a popular fast food place, he asked if would like something to eat

or drink. I said I wouldn't mind.We stopped and got ice cream and orange drink.

We returned to the car and continued to drive around. By then, the traffic had begun to build up slightly. It was approaching noon, and I could see many elegantly dressed people, some of them tightly packed in different cars, the number plates said, 'About to Wed'. It made you wonder if all the people in those cars were the ones going to marry themselves. But then you would see another car with ribbons and balloons flying around on the roof and you knew that was the one carrying the bride and the groom.

I greatly enjoyed seeing all these, the hustles and the bustles. Daddy and I went on to discuss a lot of other things. When we returned home shortly before one o'clock, Mum still hadn't come back. At the time,l didn't think any of the things we talked about meant anything more than random conversations. But here he was in this letter, telling me that the casual drive on that Saturday morning

was deliberately arranged by him just so that we

could have some of those very discussions I thought Were random.

“Can you imagine!” I blurted out to myself as I Sank further into the bed. I propped my head up with a pillow and settled to read more.

“A few days before the day we went for that driVe, your mother informed me that you had seen your menstrual period for the first time. I was not sure

how a father was supposed to receive that kind of news. I was a bit anxious as I wondered what responsibility this new phase of your life imposed on me. I knew I had to have a conversation With you sooner or later, but I was not sure how to approach it or even what to talk about.

After trying several approaches in my mind, I decided that the best way to go about it was to make the conversation as informal as possible. If I was able to make it look unplanned, there was a good chance that you would be relaxed and be in a proper frame of mind to understand what I was really going to say. Even then, I did not know how to start the

conversation until we got to the ice cream place.

That was my opportunity."

I remembered everything now.When we stopped at Aunty Gigis, I had ordered a combination of vanilla and chocolate ice cream. He ordered fresh orange juice. As we walked back to the car, he asked

me, “Do you know that sugar affects some women during their menstruation?”

I had paused for a second, wondering what that
was about. “No, I don't,” I answered in-between

mouthfuls of ice-cream. “Well,” he began, “what do you know about menstruation?”

“Mummy and our hostel mistress have taught me

how to menstruate‚”l answered, even though I did

not feel that was something I wanted to talk about.l Was even taken aback when he looked at me and

burst into laughter.

“Why,what's. . . funny?” “No, nothing,” he answered as he tried to calm

down. “I am sorry. It‘s just that, no one needs to be taught how to menstruate,” he said. “Mummy and the hostel mistress must have taught you how to take care of yourselfwhen you see your period.”

I recalled feeling a slight embarrassment after that. Now, he wrote in his letter that the ice cream actually provided him the opportunity he needed to start the conversation he had planned all along.

“The ice cream helped me to break the ice,” he wrote.

I recalled that most of the conversation centred larger on issues around sex and things like that. He said menstruation was normal and natural and it was nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of. He said it was my body's way of telling me that I was biologically ready to be a mother. I remembered asking him if what my friend told me was true.

“What is that?”

“She said her mother told her when she started her period that if a boy touched her, she would get pregnant."

“Your belt,” he said, pointing at my seatbelt as he fastened his own and started the car. “Her mother told her that?”

“She told me that her mother warned her to stop playing with boys because if they touched her, she would get pregnant.”

“Well, I think I understand what the mother was trying to say, but that may not be exactly contect,” he explained. “You don't have to stop playing with boys just because you have started menstruat'mg. Also, no one gets pregnant from a handshake,” he said and

laughed at his own attempt at a joke. I didn‘t fmd it

funny though. “I know, Daddy. I am not stupid.”

“What do you know?”

“Daddy, I have heard 'sex' before,” I said and rolled my eyes at him.

"What? You have had what. . .?”

“Come on, Daddy. I mean heard, as in heaaaard‚”l said, pulling at my eat.

“Phewl”

We burst into laughter and he held his chest‚ saying he almost had a heart attack.

“But.. . tell me, how did you know about... sex?”

he asked. “Of course, everywhere. On TV, from some of my Classmates... it is also in some books, magazines...

Whatever.”

“Which magazines?”

“Well, like Cosmopolitan‚”l answered as I bent to pick up the plastic bag to dispose of my empty ice cream cup.

“And where did you get that. . . Cosmopolitan?”

“I found some copies in my Auntie Molara's room after she left for school,”l said. I regretted this immediately. Maybe I shouldn't have said it.I didn't want to put anybody in trouble. Auntie Molara was my mother‘s younger sister. She was in the

university, but she stayed with us during the holidays. I liked her a lot and always looked forward to having her around.

“But you know some of these things are meant for adults only and you should not really be reading

them,”he said in a low and sobervoice.“l will have to

talk to your mother about that.” “I am sorry, Daddy. I will not read that kind of
stuff again."

He did not say anything. He still looked upset.

“Ha-Ha, Mr. Bello, I said I am sorry,” I tried to put an arm around his shoulder.

“You better don't get us killed," he said and smiled as he tried to keep his eyes on the road.

He seemed to like it when I called him Mr. Bello. I called him that whenever I wanted to get him to do something. Mummy sometimes even got jealous that I was able to succeed With him where she had failed to get him to do some things.

“Daddy, I hope you're not angry with Auntie Molara? It was not her fault. She didn't even knowl

took the magazine.”

He shook his head and said he was not angry with my aunty. He would only tell her to be mindful of what she left lying around.

“Sex is everywhere these days, sad to say,” he lamented. “All over the place. Even commercials and

advertisements do not appear complete nowadays

without the trash... I heard that even some children's cartoon now contain references to Sex.  even these things that you call Hannah Montana [ High School Musical or whatever. . .” “Hannah Montana? That‘s like, a zillion Years ago. Besides, nobody watches TV anymore these days‚”l said. «What do you mean, nobody watches TV anymore?”He asked,looking genuinely curious. “You can download and watch everything On Netflix. . .”

“What is Netflix?”

“You don't know Netflix?”l was surprised.

“No. Never heard of it,”he said.

“Daddy, how would you not know Netflix? They stream videos online. They were the ones who did House of Cards.”

“What? You have watched that?” He sounded

ge nuinely horrüied.

“Hmm, kind of,”I answered cautiously.

“What do you mean 'kind of '?”

“Daddy, I know what you are worried about. but i don't watch those things. Whenever I see that it is

getting like that, I just fast forward .”

He looked frustrated and worried at the same time. “This is on the computer in the study? Or, do you have access to another one that I am not aware

of ?”

“No. It isjust that,”l answered, wondering if I had not put myself in another trouble.

"You see, Aliya, your mind is like a beautiful room. You have to be careful what you let in. And I am not just talking about sex. All sorts of vulgarity, bad language, violence, they are all as bad. Watching those things is like dragging filth into your beautiful room. You have to avoid them. I mean,your mother and I also have a duty to guide you, but we cannot be monitoring you all the time.”

He did not sound as upset as I feared.l hated to make him angry for any reason. I also liked the example he gave about a beautiful room and dirty things. He reached for his bottle of orange from the cup holder and gulped down what was left of it.

Then he switched on the car radio as if to signal the end of the discussion. He fimbled with the dial for a While. then he switched it off again.

“I also want you to be careful what kind of company you keep in 'school," he continued. “Some of these classmates that you said were talking about sex, who knows? It's quite possible they have started doing bad things with boys. Don't emulate them, don't be like them. They may try to pressure you to join them. You should not do something simply because other people are doing it. The majority can be wrong. They may even call you a 'bush' girl if you refuse to follow their way. But as I have always told you, pressure from friends is never a good reason to do anything. You also don't need anybody to approve of you or the kind of person that you are. You should never be afraid to stand alone as long as you stand for the right thing.”

He reached for the radio switch again. Music streamed out this time, and he quickly turned down the volume. the mood in the car had changed since the issue of the magazines and television came up. I knew he was not really angry with me. It was possible that he was even angry with himself. He always wished he had more time to spend with me, especially before I went into the boarding school.

“And one more thing,” he said. “Please don't allow anylmdy, and I mean anybody, to touch you in your private parts.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

“And I believe you know what those are ?”

“Yes‚l do.”

After that, we barely spoke until we got home. That was four years ago. He had always tried to teach me things. Sometimes, my mother would even complain that I was too young for some of the things he wanted me to learn about. 'The letter he wrote to me for my 16th birthday was like a recap of everything he had taught me since I was old enough to understand what he was saying. It was like a textbook on life. I recalled the story of the prophet, Lukman, who was sent by God to teach his own son. Maybe he was my prophet.

Despite the coming Chemistry examination, I read the letter twice. ] didn't realize I was crying until I saw teardrops on the paper in front of me. I dabbed at it gendy, careful not to blot the ink. At

that moment, I felt nothing but pure love for my father. I was very happy with the camera, but this

letter was the greatest birthday gift I had ever received. I was determined to keep it safe, and if possible, show it to my own children one day. Even after two readings, I still did not fully understand everything he was trying to say to me. If anything, the letter had actually raised a lot more questions in my mind. I resolved that after my examination‚l would read the letter again and underline those

parts that I wanted him to explain further. For now i have to face Chemistry. 

 

 

WORK

 

It wasn't until a week after I returned home from school that I finally got Daddy to sit down with me. I thanked him for the camera and the letter. I also told him that there were parts of the letter thatl 

 

did not quite understand and would like him to explain further. He nodded and said he had expected this. . 

 

It was a Saturday morning. We just said our morning prayers. I went down to the kitchen to make tea. Mum liked to boast that she was the only one who knew how to make her husband's tea. I once challenged her and insisted on making Dad's tea. He took a sip and said it was really good. Mum took one look at the tea and said that couldn't be true, that he only said that to make me feel good. 

 

“Too much milk,” she said. It turned out that she 

 

was right. About an hour later, I went to clear away the tray but the tea was still there. It had gone cold, with the milk congealed on its surface to form a pattern that looked like the map of someplace. I doubted that he went beyond that first sip he took in my presence. l asked him why he didn't drink his tea, and he said exactly what Mummy said earlier, that the milkwas too much. 

 

Even then, I didn't give up. But all my subsequent attempts ended the same way. If the milk was not too much, the sugar would be too much or too little, or the tea itselfwould be too flat, and so on. One day, Mum took pity on me and said, “Aliya, you better stop wasting your time and let me show you the secret.”l asked her to show me. She laughed and asked how much I was willing to pay her for the coaching because she stood a great risk of losing her husband to me if she showed me how to make his tea. I said I would ask my dad to pay her. “That one? He has Araldite in his hands. He won't pay," she sneered. 

 

She said the first thing to do was to ensure that the water was gently brought to a boiling point. She 

 

said it was always better to use the kettle, because if I used a pot, the water would lose most of its oxygen, and oxygen was important. I wondered what that meant. 

 

 

 

She said I would add two tea bags to the mug. Everyone had their own mug in our house. Even mug they were the same size, Daddy's mug was lue‚ Mummy's was red and mine was orange. We nad other colours and sizes, but those were for guests. I recalled once Mummy and Daddy were standing in the kitchen, and Mummy was complaining about something. Then Daddy held up 

 

ad 

 

her mug in response to whatever she was saying without uttering a word. 'This got  Mummy even more upset and she said, “Oh, you are saying it is my cup of tea, right?” They could be like that sometimes. 

 

'The tea bag would go in the mug first, then I would pour the bolled water over the tea bags and leave it to brew for about five minutes to draw out 

 

the Havour. After that, I would add two cubed of sugar. As for the milk, even though she did not need any measurement to get the quantity right, she said i should add only five teaspoons. After the attempts, I became an expert in the chemistry making Daddy's tea. If I got it right, the tea wo have a golden colour and it would taste almost t strong for me. But that was how he liked his tea. Since then, I had taken it upon myself to make ' 

 

tea whenever I was home. 

 

That Saturday morning,l made his tea and mad hot chocolate for myself. When I got to his door, l shouted for him to open up. As I walked in, he grabbed his tea from the tray. A small glass table sat 

 

between two single chairs. He hurriedly cleared the 

 

table, but there was still a remote control on it,which tipped the tray to one side as I set it down on the table, almost uptuming my beverage. He reached swiftly for my mug and lifted it off the tray. 

 

“Thank you,” he said as he took the first sip at his tca.“You have now mastered this thing,”he said. 

 

I grinned and said thank you. The two chairs at the foot of the bed normally faced the television screen on the wall. He had rearranged them that moming to face each other. 

 

‘Yes‚I am ready for the interview,” he said jovially as le sank into the Chair. 

 

"that reminds me. Daddy, I don't think l want to be a doctor anymore.l think I want to be a lawyer,”l said as I sipped at my drink. 

 

If he was surprised, he did not show it. When i was about to enter the senior class, he asked me what career I would like to pursue in future. At that time,l was so sure that I wanted to be a pilot. I liked their mart uniforms and the freedom to travel around he world.'then there was a plane crash that killed so many people and I didn'twant to be a pilot anymore. I thought I should be a musician, a songwriter. I 

 

loved music. I still had a big notebook where i copied the lyrics of different songs and some of my own Soon after, I could not think of a better occupation than fashion designing. I made Daddy pay for an App, which enabled me to create different designs. Then one day, after a particularly serious attack of asthma‚ l resolved to be a doctor. I wanted to be able to help children who suffered from  asthma. But now, I didn't think I wanted to be a doctor anymore. I hated the sight of blood. 'then‚l found John Grisham's books in our library. Since] started reading them, I began to think that may be i should be a lawyer. “Is that a way of solving your Chemistry problem?"he asked “Nope,” I said. “Oh, you have not seen my results?"l set down my mug and ran to my room get my third term results. He hardly bothered to Check my results. i believed he just took it for granted that I would do well. “Guess what I got i Chemistry‚”l said as I got back to the room. “Well, I can guess that it was much better this term, giving that you look all excited,”he said. 

 

 

 

i handed the results to him. 

 

‘What? How did you do it?" he said, obviously impressed. 

 

“I just worked harder‚ that's all,” I said, feeling good with myself. 

 

“I told you. I always tell you.'there is nothing you 

 

cannot do if you set your mind to it. You see now?” 

 

Even I was surprised when I got my results and I saw that I got an A in Chemistry. 

 

He studied the results closer as ifhe was looking for something. 'Ihen he put the results sheet on the tray. “Good job. Welldone." 

 

"thank you, Daddy. But it was difficult.just like Further Maths.” 

 

“Well, you have proven to be up to the task Like I have always told you, there is only one way to success, and that is the way of hard work There are no shortcuts.l am proud of you. I am delighted'that you finally got the results that you deserve. But I am more impressed with the efforts that you have put 

 

into it; the determination, the hard work. Sometimes, these are more important than even the 

 

results.” 

 

“Thank you, Daddy. You know, when you said there is no short cut, you reminded me of a girl who cheated in Physics. I saw her copying from a piece of paper.” 

 

“What now happened?” 

 

“Nothing. It's like I was the only one who saw her. Of course, it was none of my business. She got away with it. that's her luck." 

 

“That was not luck. My father would say that it was better to die in poverty than to be a prosperous thief. I guess the same thing applies here. It is better

 

to fail and fall and fall and keep on trying than to 

 

cheat and pass. Sooner or later, her dishonesty will catch up with her. Passing an examination is never enough in life." 

 

“She knew l saw her. After the paper, she came to me looking embarrassed. She thanked me for not exposing her and said she was not proud of what she did.l asked her why she had to do it. She said her parents would be mad at her if she didn't do well. She said they were always comparing her with her younger sister, which makes her feel bad. I wonder if she cheats in other subjects too.” 

 

“Well, that still did not justify what she did.” 

 

"Of course, it didn't, and I told her that. But Daddy, l also think that her parents were wrong to make her feel that way. I mean, it is not nice to be comparing people like that. . . well, thank God that I don't have a sister. Yes, and why that?” 

 

“Why what?” 

 

“I mean, why don't l have a sister, or. . . a brother?” 

 

“Well, God knows i love you so much and He doesn‘t want me to share the love with anyone else, that's why‚”Daddy said and laughed. “I mean. . .,” he 

 

started to say again, then his phone rang. He picked it up and peered at the screen. 'hey, how you day naw?‘ He said in pidgin. 

 

Whoever was on the other side must have said something quite funny to which Daddy laughed so loud, showing all his dentition, which had been missing a canine since I was born. I could see a remnant of something he ate had been caught between his teeth. It mustbe the reason he had been working his mouth in a particular, funny kind a way‚ hoping the thing‚whatever it was‚would come off. A simple foss or toothpick would have solved the problem. But I know Daddy could be like at sometimes. And I liked him whenever he was like that. Ordinarily, he seemed to be incapable of doing anything wrong. Instead of admiration however, hid perfection only terrifed me. But when he had food particle Stuck between his teeth, or he missed a belt hole on his trouser, or spilled tea on his caftain , evidences that he was not perfect after all‚I felt am comfortable with him. 

 

'Aba‚What was I saying?”he asked as he hung ' phone on the bed. “Yes, I mean, we tried. But it didn't just happen. And, with a daughter like you‚l wouldn't have asked for anyrnore.” He laughed again.'the particle was still there, helplessly wedged between his teeth, looking like some caries. I was tempted to tell him. But no, I won't. No one had the right to be so proper all the time. Instead‚l thanked him for his compliment, covering my face with my hand in mock embarrassment. 

 

“But I agree with you. No parents should make a child feel that way. We all have different abilities. So, it is wrong to use one child as a standard for another. Besides, when a child is not doing well at all, or not doing well in a particular subject, that is when the child needs all the support he or she can get.” 

 

“I really feel for her. I think she regretted what she did,”l said. 

 

“You see, once a child believes there can be an alternative to hard work in achieving anything in life, then there is a problem. I mean, where do you draw the line? Today, it is about cheating in an examination to pass Physics, but life is full of all sorts of challenges way tougher than merely passing an examination. What other fraudulent devices 

 

would she come up with on encountering those other challenges? I am really worried for the young girl. It is even worse that she did that because she wanted to impress her parents.'lhat's ba .” 

 

He looked visibly worried. He peered into his mug, then picked it up and put it to his month. Sometimes‚ he got so engrossed in whatever he was doing that he would have to do that to remember that he had nor finished his tea, by which time it would have gone cold and thick, looking more like mud water. 

 

“No one likes to fail,”he continued. “But failure is not always a bad thing.'l'here is a redeeming side to it. Failure can actually empower us in ways that success cannot. Failure can teach us humility, strength and perseverance. It can also teach us to ask for help. All these are qualities that can be applied to all other aspects of our lives even when we are no longer in school.'lhat is why quite often‚people who struggled through school tend to end up doing better in real life than the super bright students.” 

 

He picked up his tea and took a very brief sip.l didn't think he was still interested in the tea; it was 

 

just a reflex action. 

 

“That reminds of me of one of the greatest poems ever. Ulysses, by Alfred Lord Tennyson, an Englishman. It says, 'that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and

 

fate, but strong in will. To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. ”He punched the air with his mug. “Never to yield, that is the key.” 

 

“Never to yield‚”l repeated. 

 

“Exactly. You would find that you probably learnt more from your struggle with Chemistry than any other subject that you passed easily. 'To strive, to seek, and not to yield '. That is it. You know, this poem was actually adopted as the motto for the 2012 summer Olympics in London." 

 

I really liked that line myself. And I quickly wrote it down. It could also be my personal motto. With each passing day,l became convinced that my heart was actually in the arts subjects, especially Literature and History, than the sciencesflhere was away these subjects made me feel that sciences were not doing 

 

for me. 

 

“So, Daddy, you don't mind that I want to be a lawyer?”I asked. “Now that you know it was not a way to avoid Chemistry." 

 

He smiled. He removed his eye glasses and poIished it with the edge of his caftan, more out habit than necessity. “My clear, it does not really matter what career you choose,”he said. 

 

“It does not matter whether you're a doctor or a journalist, a lawyer or an accountant, an architect or even a painter. The most important thing is that you must do only that which has your heart in it. If you love what you do, then your work becomes easier. Look at footballers and musicians, the first thing you notice when you watch them is that they enjoy what they're doing.When you have passion for what you do, the passion would drive you to success in your work. It is important also that whatever you do, you should strive to be one of the best in it, if not the 

 

absolute best. Even ifyou are a cleaner, let it he said that anybody looking for a very good cleaner should come to you. As a father, I can only guide you. I cannot choose your career for you. 

 

“But a boy in my class, Sogo‚ said his father wants him to be a lawyer like himself, but he did not want 

 

to.” 

 

“It is normal for parents to want their children to follow in their footsteps, I suppose. However, it is important that parents allow their children to choose. If Sogo wants to be a lawyer like his father, there's nothing wrong with that. But if it is just because that's what the father wants, then the son would only be pursuing his father's dreams, not his OWn. His heart would not be in his work. He may eventually abandon his father's dreams to pursue his owu. That would be a waste of everybody's time, you know?” 

 

“But, I thought you said children should always obey their parents.” 

 

“Yes, it is important that children should always obey their parents because the parents have more experience about life and they would always want what is best for their children. However, we parents also have a duty to listen to our children. We need to realize that the reason we send you to school is so 

 

first lady of Philippines, who was said to have °Wned more than 3000 pair of shoes. Mum would insist that she was better than him, after all she didn't clutter her bed with her shoes and bags the Way he did with his books. Even that morning, Daddy had a couple of books open, face down on the bed. He 

 

was the only person I knew who read several books at the same time. 

 

 

 

“By the way, it is time you read this book,"he said as he returned to his seat with Gibran's book, the Prophet When I first saw the book in the library, I thought it was about Prophet Muhammed. But Dad 

 

said it was not, and that I should read it myself someday. 

 

He ruffled through the pages slowly, his eyes slowly darting left and right. He soon found whatever he was looking for. “Here, read, from 'Your children. . .',” 

 

He pointed out the spot he wanted me to read from. I read aloud, slowly. 

 

"Your children are not your children. 

 

They are the sons and daughter: of Life's longing for itself 

 

'they come through you but not from you, 

 

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. 

 

You may give them your love but not your thoughts, 

 

For they have their own thoughts. 

 

You may house their bodies, but not their souls, For their soul: dwell in the house oftamorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your 

 

dreams. 

 

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them Iike you

 

For life goes not backward not tarriers with yesterday. ” 

 

I Hipped the page to continue‚but he stopped me. 

 

“That will do, for now. But do you understand What he is saying?” he asked. 

 

“This Ka-hl-il Gibran is a very wise man,”l said, struggling to recall the first name. I had to quickly check the cover again, to get it right. “I thinkl now understand why you always sound like you know everything. lt must be these books that you read.” 

 

“Aww, c'mon, Aliya, nobody knows everything,” he said, laughing as he waved off the compliment. “In fact, the more you know, the more you realize what you don't know. But you are right. There is so much wisdom in books.'through a single book, you could experience many lifetimes and many worlds. When I think of the generation of my parents, l feel sorry for them. Most of them did not have the opportunity to go to school, so they never learnt to read. Can you imagine, so much knowledge everywhere, yet some people cannot access them. This is why i even fear for your generation. Most of you can read, but you do not read. Very sad. Instead, 

 

many of you waste your time liking up yourselves on Facebook instead of reading real books.l shouldn't be surprised though. Many years ago, Albert Einstein predicted this moment. He said a day would come that technology would surpass human interaction and the world would have a generation of idiots.l 

 

thinkwe are there now.” 

 

“But I am not an idiot,”l protested. 

 

“Of course, you're not. And that is why we are having this conversation. But you must never stop reading and learning. That is the point.” 

 

“Yes, I understand,” I said with a nod. “But what did Gibran mean by 'For tbeir souls dwell in the house of tomorrow which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams '?” 

 

“I think he meant that parents should not try to determine the future of their children, much of which they will not be a part of. He also seems to be saying that life keeps changing and the world that our children would live in would be very different from our own in a way that we cannot even imagine.” 

 

“Is that the same thing he meant by 'You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make being like you ’?”I asked. 

 

“Yes, in a way. It could also mean that even We parents have so much to learn from our children. Young people look ahead with hope, they see opportunities that they could explore. On the other hand, many adults look back with regrets‚ they see opportunities that have been missed. We have a different way of seeing the world. Certainly, it would be better for us ifwe can see the world more from the eyes of young people.” 

 

“I get it. But why did Einstein say technology would turn us into idiots? Isn't technology supposed to. . . like. . . make life easier for everyone?" 

 

“You are quite right. Look at the amount of knowledge available on the internet, for example. It is almost impossible to even contemplate. Yet, many young people nowadays cannot even spell words correctly on their own. Social media was invented by young people who re-imag'med the world by outthinking everyone else. Unfortunately‚ many of our own young people found the social media and they stopped thinking.That is the problem.” 

 

“That is itl” l said and snapped my fingers.“ln that case, we cannot blame technology. We can only blame people who use it in the wrong way.” 

 

“Exactly! I knew you would get it.” 

 

I picked up the book again and Hipped through. My eyes caught a couple of other interesting things. Even though it was written like poems, they were not so dichult. I saw something the author said about love: “When love beckons to you, follow him.” That sounds nice. 

 

“I thinkl should read this book,"l said. 

 

“Of course. I want you to read it. It's certainly better than 'Twlight,” he said, referring to the vampire populated romance novels by the American author, Stephenie Meyer, which he knew I liked to 

 

read. 

 

I feigned embarrassment and covered my face with my hands. “But those books are good too, you know. It is not all the time one must read all this 

 

serious stuff.” “I agree.”He burst into laughter. 

 

“I know you don't agree‚”l said, wagging a finger. “No, I agree,” he said, throwing up his hands in surrender. “Anyway. These books are more interesting. Let me ask another question, Daddy.” 

 

“Be my guest. Ask as many questions as you want.”

THE GANDHI TEST

 

 

 

Two bright orange sofas and two green single 

 

chairs formed a semi-circle against a large window that could easily pass for a door if it had been downstairs. A big television screen perched on the opposite wall in permanent sleep. Even though it was called the family living room, it was the most underused part of our house. Hardly anyone ever sat there. The house was another reason I had suspected that my parents did not plan for me to be an only child. Why would they build a house that big otherwise? Certainly, five bedrooms and three living rooms could not have been originally intended for a family of three. On one side of the wall was a huge mahogany cabinet with decorated glass doors. It held tiny memories of Dad's many travels around the world. 

 

A young Arab boy riding a camel and a crystal Burj Khalifa , the tallest building in the world, from Dubai; a Maasai couple from Nairobi; Eiffel Tower from Paris; Ijambulo, the lion cub, from South Africa; two hand-painted ostrich egg shells from Tanzania; the pyramids and the Sphinx from Egypt; the Tower Bridge and the bright red telephone booth from London; the Statue of Liberty from New York and several others. For every country he visited, Dad ensured he brought back something. Mum and I had also made important contributions to what Daddy called his museum of mementos, even though we did not travel as much. Mum was responsible for the decorated plates, which she got from China; and I, the soft camel with a jingle bell that I bought When we travelled to 

 

Dubai some years before. 

 

Daddy had suggested we moved to the living room. Mummy peeped in about an hour earlier to say breakfast was ready. He did not like to eat in his room. He said it would leave the place smelling of 

 

food. He also said he did not feel like going down to the dining area. I followed Mummy down to the 

 

 

kitchen to bring some of the food upstairs in a tray.lt was a simple meal of akara, bread and a bottle of Coke.That was his favourite weekend breakfast. He would tear open the loaf of bread and stuff two or three akara balls into it. He would close it back and squeeze right to crush the balls into the bread. He would say he was making an akara bugger. Mummy would team him and say, “You can take the man out of the village. but you cannot take the village out of the man." He would respond with an indifferent 

 

uhrug und say, "Na you mbi, city girl." Mummy was of a dilferent background from Daddy. Her parents were middle class und relativer 

 

comfortable. She attended a Federal Government Girls College, while he attended the village secondary school. She had a degree in Nursing from & University in the UK, while he went to university in Nigeria.They met when he was writing a story on road accident victims as a cub reporter. She was a young nurse working in the Accident and Emergency ward of the hospital. He told me that at 

 

the time they met, he had only a pair of jeans and two shirts. She also earned more salary than him. But even the meagre salary he earned would not be 

 

paid, sometimes up to three months. It was however, & case of love at first sight for the two of them. They got manied about a year after they met. 

 

“Now, what were you saying?” Daddy asked inbetween mouthfuls of akara burger. Crumbs of akara and bread fell on the floor and he bent to pick them up into the tray. 

 

“In your letter, you said I should always try to do the right thing. And. . . you also said ifl was ever in 

 

doubt about right and wrong, I should apply the Gandhi test. So,what is the Gandhi test?” 

 

“Have you ever heard of Mahatma Gandhi?” He 

 

asked. “Yes, he was once President of India; he had these 

 

Harry Porter glasses,”l said and formed two zeroes around my eyes with my hands. “I wondered why he went around in a white bed sheet though.Was be so poor?” 

 

Dad laughed. “Gandhi could have made all the money he wanted ifhe was so inclined. But he chose to live a life of poverty to demonstrate that a human being does not really need much to survive. A comented person is a very rich person. Also, Gandhi was never a President. He fought for his country to gain independence from Great Britain.” 

 

“Oh yes, I forgot that in India they only have Prime Ministers not Presidents. Was he the Prime Minister?”l asked. 

 

“No, that would be ]awaharlal Nehm, the father of Indira Gandhi, who also became the prime minister. Nehru was India's first Prime Minister after independence. Mahatma Gandhi did not want political power for himself. But he was a great leader 

 

of his people and a thinker. He said so many wise 

 

things. He was the one that said you can tell that what you are doing is good or bad if you want other people to know about it or not.” 

 

“I don't understand.” 

 

“What Gandhi meant was that if you're doing something and you don't mind other people knowing about it, then it's liker that what you're doing is good. But if you're doing something and you would not want other people to know about it, then it's most liker that what you're doing is bad.” 

 

“Ah‚l get it now. Of course, ifI tell alie or cheat in an examination,1 would not want anybody to know about it.” 

 

Daddy took a quick sip of his Cake, which he drank straight from the bottle. He said the gas was better retained when you drank from the battle. 

 

“Exactly. But why? Why wouldn't you want anyone to know?” 

 

“Because I would be ashamed.” 

 

“Exactly the point, my darling. The question we should always ask ourselves, ifwe are ever in doubt, is: this thing I am about to do, would I be proud of 

 

myself if other people knew about it? Would the 

 

people who love and respect me be proud of me and still respect me if theyfound out whatl did ?” 

 

I understood what he was trying to say and I nodded several times to indicate this. But Daddy would not stop. Sometimes he tended to overexplain things. I thought he would make a good teacher. 

 

“I must say though, that I think Gandhi must have had in mind only people who have a sense of shame." He threw up his hands and shrugged. “You know, some people are shameless. They can do anything, without minding what others would think about them. Do you know what I call people like that?"He asked. 

 

“What?” 

 

“Animals; they are animals.” 

 

I laughed. “Oh, Daddy!” 

 

“Yes, they are animals. Because only animals behave anyhow they like, guided only by their instincts. No morals,no ethics." 

 

“Ethics and morals, Daddy, are they not same 

 

things ”l asked. 

 

 

“They are closer related. Ethics have their foundation in morals. Ethics are rules that guide a person's behaviour based on moral principles. Ethics are principles of right and wrong that guide the way we behave. Although there are general rules that apply to everyone, but a group of people or even individuals can develop their own standards of 

 

ethics. But in the end, they are all based on the same universal motion of right and wrong, on the same metal principles. What is considered to be cheating‚ may vary from one society to another. But I cannot imagine that there would be a society where 

 

cheating is considered a good thing.” 

 

“So, what is considered as stealing may not even 

 

be the same everywhere. But every society considers stealing a bad thing.”l added, to showl understood 

 

what he was saying. He smiled.“You are a Smart girl.” “Thanks Daddy, I am my father's daughter after 

 

all‚” i said and we both laughed.

 

DATING

 

PAGE 78-102

 

 

 

Daddy had finished his Cake now and Was lying on the sofa, his head propped up With one of the throwcushions. 

 

“You, are you not going to eat? Madam lawyer.” 

 

“I am okay with the chocolate for now, I will eat later,”l answered. At that moment‚l had something more important on my mind than food. All the other questions I had asked him were easy enough and straightforward. This one‚l didn‘t even know how to start. 

 

“Daddy, you know I am 16,” I said matter-offactly. It was a rather foolish way to start. Of course, he knew I was 16. 

 

He was trying to turn on theTV on the wall with a remote control. The TV refused to come on. He 

 

turned the remote control over in his hand, slapped 

 

it against the other hand and pointed it towards the television again.When it refused to come on still, he opened the battery case of the remote control and took out the two batteries. 

 

One of them dropped and rolled towards me.l picked it up and handed it to him. He muttered a thank you, re-inserted the batteries and replaced the 

 

coverwith a noisy clap. 

 

 

“Now,l command you to come on,” he said to the TV as he pointed the remote control at it again, like a magician waving his wand. But still the TV refused to yield, looking black and dead like those television 

 

 

sets I once saw at a market in Lagos. Big Mummy said they were called ‘No testing' Even though they were very cheap. you were not allowed to test if they actually worked before you buy them. She said, sometimes one might get lucky. But more often than not, one would have ended up pnying to bring & piece of junk into one‘s house. I couldn‘t see the sense in that. 

 

“Maybe the batteries are dead,” I volunteered, trying hard to hide my irritation. Here I was, about to ask the most important question of my life.Yet‚all that this man cared about was his television. 

 

“I hope it isjust that,"he said. "Anyway‚what were you saying?" he said as he laid back on the sofa, placing the remote control on his chest. “I should have some batteries in my room.You knowwe have a match this evening." 

 

By “we”, he meant Chelsea. He was a devout fan of the English football club. One evidence of his devotion was the fact that all the bibs that used as a baby were branded with the club's logo. Mummy would often joke that she was surprised he did not name me Chelsea. In addition to the bib, almost all 

 

my first belongings on earth were blue and bore the club's logo. And this included my feeding bottle. Mummy said she complained vehemently at the time that blue is a boy's colour, but Daddy would not be deterred. All of the artefacts of my Chelsea childhood were still held in abox in the pantry. 

 

I had come to like Chelsea myself. Perhaps, that was inevitable. Mummy would say I was a Chelsea fan by genetic engineering. She was not really keen on football. I was also not so emotionally committed like Daddy. But we would always pray for Chelsea to Win so that Daddy would remain in good mood. I recalled on one occasion, he actually refused to eat because they lost a game. 1 remember, it was a Champions league final against Manchester United. Several days after the match, Daddy was still bemoaning his team's defeat, talking about how Drogba would have scored a penalty if he didn‘t get 

 

a red card for slapping an opponent. I prayed that Chelsea would win that day so that Daddy would still be in a frame of mind to answer my remaining questions. Especially, this very burning question: “Daddy,”l said, “you know now am 16.” 

 

“Ofcourse‚ how can i possibly forget that you are no longer a child but a young adult,” he answered 

 

md laughed. "Daddy,be serious now,”l said, Squeezing my face 

 

at him. 

 

“Bud am.” 

 

“Okay,l mean now thatl am 16,1 am old enough to date,right?” 

 

“Date.What is that?” He asked and sat up slowly. He scratched his neck and suddcnly became interested in the remote control again. I knew my father. I was sure he understood exactly what I was asking him. But if he didn't have a ready answer to your question, he would pretend not to understand, so as to buy himselftime. 

 

“I mean, like. . . a boyfriend.l can have a boyfriend now, can't I?" 

 

“Boyfriend? What does that mean?" he asked, looking straight into my eyes. 

 

Now, it was my turn to look away. I suddenly 

 

noticed some dirt under my nails and began to pick at them. 

 

“But Daddy, I thought you said I could ask any 

 

question." “Of course, you could. I just wanted to be sure I 

 

understand you. that's all. Okay, let me put it this way. You said dating first, then you said boyfriend, right?" 

 

I noddcd. 

 

“Okay, what I would like to know is that when 

 

people say they are dating or someone is their boyfriend, as in your own case, what do they do together? What does that kind of relationship email?" 

 

“Well, I am not sure. But I know, like, they hang 

 

out together and stuff like that‚"l replied. 

 

One thing I learnt about my father over the years was that you should never take anything for granted. Whatever you wanted, you had to be able to justify. And you could not do worse than telling him that the reason you wanted to do something was that 

 

other people were doing it. He taught me what he called the five-why' test. He said by asking why five times, any issue could be clarified and seen for what it really is, I prayed he wouldn't remember that now. 

 

If he did,l wondered how many whys I would be able to answer. I think I should have a boyfriend. Why? Because I am now a young adult. Why? Because most young adults have boyfriends. Why? Because. . . because it makes them feel good. Why? Because. . . Silly. 

 

“What does 'hang out' and 'stuff like that' mean?” He continued. 

 

“Daddy, why now? I am sure you know what I mean.”l said with some agitation, if not initation. But I knew I had to answer his question. i don't really know, but I know they do things together spilt talk and spend time together.” 

 

“That's all, talk?" he asked, feigning ignorance. 

 

“Okay, Daddy. Maybe also. .. like BAK, KOTL and stuff like that,”l added. I was so embamssed, talking about these things with my Dad, of all people. 

 

“What are those? HAK and... what did you call it?” He looked genuinely confused. He sat up and leaned towards me. 

 

“You mean you don't know?” I said, genuinely surprised. 

 

“No‚l seriously don't.Tell me.” 

 

“HAK means, like, Hugs and Kisses. KOTL means Kiss On The Lips.” “But... how do you know all these?" he asked, 

 

almost in consternation. 

 

“Come on Daddy, everybody knows these things, dub!” 

 

“Everybody knows what?” 

 

“As in... it's kind of the way people speak now. People don't have time for long talk anymore." 

 

“You call talking in acronyms a way of speaking? Anyway. So, how much of HAK and KOLT have you been up to?” 

 

“Me? No,I don't have a boyfriend. And it is not KOLT Daddy, it is KOTL.” 

 

“KOTL. Okay. Now, are you telling me that everyone your age knows the meaning of these things you just said?” 

 

“Well, most. It is like social media language. Yes,I think so‚I mean everybody is on social media.” 

 

“Well, we'll come back to that later. So, you want to have a boyfriend so that you would be doing 

 

KOTL and what was the other one?" “No Daddy, that is not. . „”the rest of the sentcnce 

 

got stuck in my throat.l began to feel hot despite the air conditioner and my armpit began to itch. 

 

“You see, Aliya, dating, boyfriend or whatever you call it, are not bad in themselves. But. . . okay, let me even start by saying that I appreciate that we are having this conversation. Okay?” He looked sort of nervous himself. He gripped my hands, gendy but firmly. His touch felt reassuring and I could feel myself calming down. He went silent for a brief moment as if he was thinking of what to say. then he continued. 

 

“At your age, relationship between a boy and a girl is mostly ruled by one thing, infatuation. You know what that means‚l suppose?” 

 

“Of course, I know the meaning of infatuatiom Like you have a cmsh on someone, you think you love the person, but it is not really love.” 

 

“You are right. That's largely what it is.To add to that, I would say that infatuation is when you have 

 

exaggerated feelings towards someone in a way that 

 

is almost foolish. But such feelings are also often short-lived.While they last however, you would find that you were willing to do anything to satisfy the 

 

object of your feelings. You would want to be with that person all the time, and nothing else would seem to matter to you.” 

 

“Wow, but that sounds like some kind of sickness.” 

 

"Not exactly. It isjust that matters of the heart can be emotionally challenging for everyone, even adults. But it is even worse at your age; with hormones running riet, and you still trying to discover yourself. I seriously doubt that any teenager could enter into that kind of relationship and not be distracted from their studies. And anything that c0uld distract you from your studies at this stage of your life brings your entire future into jeopardy. Do you know that?" 

 

I nodded. 

 

“Okay, let me ask you. . . ”he continued. But I was already thinking about what he was saying. Was I infatuated with Bobo? A couple of times afterl tried to return the teddy hear and failed‚l caught myself thinking about him. But I told myself that I only wanted an opportunity for us to finish the conversation we started that day during prep. I also wish I knew what he had wanted to say before we Were alert that the duty master was heading towards our class .that was after had told him i was not his girlfriend. Was he going to agree with me and just walk away? Or would he have persisted and tried to make me change my mind.

 

After i learnt that he had relocated to Ireland without telling me, I was even angrier with myself that I did not shove his stupid teddy in his face back then and warn him never to talk to me again. However, after a while,l was not so angry anymore. In place of anger, there was this sadness, this loneliness that I felt, which I never knew was possible. For a while‚l actually felt like he dumped me. 

 

One day, I waited till everyone had gone for lunch and the hostel was quiet.l brought out the teddy and threw it in the waste bin by the hostel gate. Almost an hour later, when I was going to class for the afternoon prep‚l had to walk past the bin.l could see one of the teddy's legs sticking out, the rest of its body obscured by some stale bread, tom papers and a box of comßakes. I looked away. But at that very 

 

\ 

 

moment, the teddy came alive in my heart couldn't just leave it there, disearded and helpless. It was the first gift I got that was not from my parents and that I did not win as a prize from school. And the person that gave me that first gift was Bobo. Even though I disliked him now, it would not be fair to punish the teddy for what Bobo did. I walked back to the bin and glanced around to see if anyone was looking. I did not see anybody. I hesitated for awhile, trying to convince myself that it was just the teddy that l liked and not that I still cared for Bobo. just then I heard footsteps approaching the gate. No more time to waste. I would save the teddy. I was sure this had nothing to do with Bobo. I dragged the poor thing from undetneath the pile of ruhbish and ran back to my room. I chucked the teddy inside my wardrobe, promising myself I would give it a thorough wash on my return from prep. 

 

“Aliya, what are you thinking so much about?” Dad's voice jolted me back to the moment. He had been talking all along. It must have taken him a while to realize that I was lost in my own thoughts. “No... nothing. Just thinking about what you were 

 

saying.’l stammered in response to his query_ 

 

i asked you a question earlier though?” 

 

“Yes, sir, you did i am sorry,l must have„_  trailed off.” 

 

“That's all right. So I said, let's assume you had boyfriend. Let us say... what was the name of the boy again? The one that gave you the teddy bear?

 

Oh my god l knew what he was to say wished he wouldn't do that. Did he know What i was thinking about only a few minutes ago? 

 

“I know his name reminded me of that thing that drink... Bobo, yes Bobo. „yes that's what you called him. Right?” 

 

I refused to confirm l was still wondering What on earth he was driving at. 

 

“Let's assume Bobo was your boyfriend and you liked him a lot, He paused and gave me that mischievous smile 

 

“Daddy, Bobo was not my boyfriend. And I don't 

 

like anybody, not in that way,” I protested vehemently. 

 

 

“I know. I know. He is not your boyfriend. But let us just assume he was your boyfriend for the purpose of the question I am asking you. Bobo is your boyfriend and you like him a lot. Then one day‚ you see him with another girl, walking around the school? How would you feel?” 

 

“Well. . . to be honest, I think I would feel bad.” 

 

“You means you would be jealous?” 

 

“Yes, jealous,maybe.

 

It had actually happencd before. Shortly before the end of the term,l saw Bobo once with another girl from our class. Morayo. They were walking to the refectory together. i felt so bad Morayo wasn't

 

as smart as me. But she was slim and tall,with big eye balls that she had a way of rolling around and around so you couldn't help but notice them. I could not eat.To make matters worse, Bobo saw mean he did not even act as if he did. When got back to the hostel that night, I swore never to speak to either of them again for the rest of my life. I eventually slept off and I had a nightmare about Bobo and Morayo kissing each other. 

 

Dad's eyes were looking directly into mine. "You would be jealous, right? 'that's exactly what I am getting at. A jealous mind is a distracted mind. Yet, distraction is what you cannot afford at this stage of your life.You now understand me?” 

 

I understood him very well; after what Bobo did to me. Even though it was almost a year before‚l still felt bad each time I remembered him. Recently, one guy, Zak passed a note to me as we were leaving the assembly. Even though he was not in my class, everybody knew him because he was in the school football team. It was a very stupid note. It said, 'Dö you know any cardiologist because my heart skips a beat every time i think of you. i am sure he must have 

 

92 

 

copied it from somewhere. I just tore the note to shreds and threw it into the bin in one corner of the class. Zak was handsome and very popular too. Every girl would like to have him. But that's exactly the reason l die! not want to have anything to do With him. 

 

“You see, Aliya, there is time for everything. Relationships come with a lot of emotional issues that you may not be able to deal with at your age. And if you were a boy, I would tell you this same thing. You will have plenty time for all that. But at this stage of your life, you can hardly afford it. lf you have to be the best‚you have to stay focused. Have you heard the term, derailment before?” 

 

“Yes, you mentioned it in the letter,"l answered, trying to hide the turbulenoe going on in my mind. 

 

“Of course, I did. And what is your understanding of it?" 

 

i explained that it was a like a train moving in a particular direction. No matter how long the. journey was, the train would eventually get to its destination as long as it stayed on the tracks. 

 

However, once it detailed, that would be the end of its journey. 

 

“You are right. the point is that we human beings are also like the trains running on our tracks. Once we go of our tracks, we may never come back The question is, why do people derail? Why does it happen so often that very intelligent people, people that everyone would agree were destined for greatness, just fall by the wayside? Do you know why?" 

 

shook my head. 

 

“gratification"

 

“Yes, I remember that one too. You said if one does not learn to delay gratification, one may be derailed by gratification.” 

 

“Absolutely. I am so glad you remember that point," he said, grinning broadly, his missing tooth, standing out by its very absence and looking like an unlit passage to somewhere. 

 

“People have desires for different gratiiications. It's quite natural," he explained. “Cars, big houses, expensive jewelry or wrist watches, girlfriends or boyfriends...‘ He paused to point at me. then he 

 

continued. “Sex, alcohol‚ drugs, designer clothing, expensive handbags and shoes, and so on. i doubt if anyone would consider most of these things as bad in themselves. Except for drugs, and maybe alcohol for some people. Most of them are actually very good and naturally desirable. However, they all come with huge price tags. And by this, I don't mean the money alone. Somerimes‚ the price we may be required to pay for some of these go beyond money. lt may be our emotional balance, our self-respect, our integrity, our career, and sometimes, our very life itself. 

 

The question therefore is not whether you am willing to pay the price; the question is whether you fully understand the price you may be required to pay for the gratification and whether you can actually afford it. This may sound daunting, but you know what I have re alised?” 

 

“No."l shook my head. 

 

“What I have realized is that for most of these things, the price you may be required to pay is just the time you have to wait. The time you have to wait, denying yourself these things until such a time that 

 

you can truly and honestly afford them, financially and emotionally. However, if you try to gratify yourself with any of these before you are ready and able to afford them, they may end up derailing you.] pray that your life would never be a warning to others, but a good example." 

 

“Amin, Papa.'thank you.”l got up and gave him & hug. I hardly called him that. But in situations like this‚ l realized he was more than just a father to me. He was my teacher and my BFF too. 

 

“One moment please," he said, and went into his room. He emerged few minutes later with a pack of AA batteries. He picked up the remote control and replaced the batteries. Before replacing the cover, he pointed the remote control at the TV and it in standy came alive, filling the entire house with booming sound. He swiftly turned down the volume and returned to his seat as he Exed the cover back on the battery hold of the remote control. The TV was an Supersport BN. There was 2 live game on, but it was not the one he was Waiting for. He left the 

 

TV on all the same. 

 

“Daddy. You know what happened in our school 

 

last term?" “What? Tell me." He leaned towards me in eager 

 

anticipation. 

 

“I mean, many things happened,"l said, throwing up my hands to confirm that I know what I just said was meaningless. “But there was a particular incident.” 

 

“Yes, what happened?” My father liked to hear stories. Maybe it had to do with his background as a journalist. We would be in the car; he would see something and just shout, “Can you see that? Now, that would make an interesting story.” Mummy would laugh and say, “Mr. Journalist, you are still looking for stories up and down." He would pat her lovingly and say, 

 

“Well, see what looking for stories got me." And they would both laugh heartily. If you wanted my fathers full attention, just tell him you have a story. 

 

“Some students were caught in the basketball court at night, during prep. They said the school Security caught them.“Caught them,doing what?” 

 

"53X," I said, wondering whether this Was somethingl should' actually be telling myDad. 

 

'53X‚what is that?"He looked genuinely lost 

 

"They were doing bad things„. like, they were having sat." 

 

“Is that what you people call it now? Is this another social media language?" He threw up his hands and shook his head. “Any-way, so, what happened?” 

 

“They got called out at the assembly the next day and were suspended indefinitely. 'the boy tried to 

 

put a brave face on it, but the girl was so distraught. 

 

She was so ashamed. Even me, I felt so embarrasscd. You would think I was the one." 

 

“I can imagine. But you know what happened to that girl was more than the humiliation of being called out on the assembly. " 

 

“Buddy, what could be worse than that?" 

 

“Well, let me ask you. Even if they were not Caught? Do you think that boy would even respect a girl that he could have sex within a basketball court? Do you think he would be proud to take that girl 

 

home as his wife in future?” 

 

“NO‚ I don't think so." 

 

“So, she has lost her self-respect and presented herself like an easy girl, a mere play thing that single incidence would probably follow her for the rest of her life. As far as the boy was concerned, she was probably just another conquest. I'm not saying it's the right thinking, but that's how it goes." 

 

“OMG! I can't even imagine." 

 

“Aliya, I don't know what OMG means. But I am not sure I want you to be speaking this so called language of yours in this house. 'that is why you people cannot spell anything.” 

 

“Come on Daddy, you are so old school! OMG means 'Oh My God' .” 

 

“Seriously, I am getting really worried about this new language of yours. The way you people are reducing everything to acronyms and abbreviations. What's that? How would you kids learn to speak or write good English? That is why a majority of you are failing WAEC." 

 

"Daddy, it's nothing to worry about. They are just slangs.l can even teach you." 

 

'Me, l don't what to learn that nonsense. Teacher don't ”teach me nonsense,” he sang. Daddy liked Fela's music. But his favourite was the Malien.n singer Ali Parka Tonne, even though he did not understand a single word of the man's song. once asked him how it was possible to enjoy a piece of music he did not understand. He said I should not confuse the song with the music. Besides, he said, music is a universal language that speaks to your soul and not just your ars. Whatever that means. 

 

“Okay, what does KPC mean?” l asked in 

 

deiiance. ‘K-P-C. I beg, leave me‚l have a match to watch,” 

 

he protected. But l could see he was thinking of the answer. 

 

“Daddy now, we are only playing,” I said, pretending to sulk. I folded my hands across my 

 

cheat. “Okay, cry-cry baby. I know PC means Personal 

 

Computers. But what is the K?” I tried to suppress the laughter that suddenly like a sneeze but I failed. I was soon 

 

, holding my stomach. I 

 

rolling on 

 

laughed so hard that I could feel tears rolling down 

 

my eyes as I coughed repeatedly. “You better be careful. You asked me a question 

 

and I answered to the best of my ability, so what's this?” 

 

“Daddy,you are so wrong.” 

 

“Okay, I am so wrong. Tell me, what is the meaning?” 

 

I tried to suppress the onset of another burst of laughter by coughing repeatedly. 

 

“KPC. Keep Parents Clueless.” 

 

“Keep what!”He shouted in consternation. “Keep 

 

Parents Clueless. Can you just imagine? Wahala dey 

 

„ o

 

I heard my name. It was Mummy. She was 

 

complaining that I had not eaten. “Anyway, go answer your mother. We can 

 

continue after the match,”he said, still wondering at what l had just told him.“Keep parents clueless. Can you imagine,"he said to himself as I got up. 

 

I left my books and other things on the fioor beside my seat, truly hoping to continue the 

 

discussion after the match.1 prayed Chelsea Would win; Otherwise, that could be the end of our convasation for that day.

STERYOTYPE

 

PAGE 102-122

 

 

 

STEREOTYPE

 

Chelsea won their match. Daddy was happy. 

 

But we could not continue our conversation because he had to go out.l did not even know the time he returned home that night. I tried to wait up for him by reading the book he gave me in the morning, The Prophet. It turned out to be a very good sleeping pill.l should have known. 

 

I was never a night person. Once the sun went down, my brain also shut down. I thinkl was solar powered. During examinations, some of my friends would stay up all night to study. I couldn't do that to save my life. I tried it once, and it turned out to be a serious waste of time. I couldn't even go through a chapter and I spent half of the following day Sleeping or sleepwalking. Thank God it was a Weekend. Since I realized this, I tried to study as 

 

hard as I could during the day and free myselfup for a good night's sleep. I once read somewhere that God created the day so we could work, and night so we could rest. God probably had me in mind. 

 

My favourite sleeping position would remind anyone of a full grown feotus that was reluctant to be born. Even after I woke up, I just lay there motionless, booting up slowly like an old computer. When I eventually opened my eyes, I was hit by blinding sunlight streaking through the space between my pinky curtains. I jumped up, rushed for the door, locked it and rushed to the bathroom. The easiest way to get into trouble with my father was for him to know you had not said your morning prayers when the sun was already up. 

 

After the prayers, I slipped into my soft slippers, the ones Auntie Molara gave me, which looked like rabbits. They even had two long cars. I knocked on Daddy's door, but he answered me from downstairs. 

 

“Morning, sleepy head,”he shouted. 

 

i sauntered down the stairs to find him on the din'mg table with Mummy. They were both nursing their Cups of tea.l knelt on the ground to greet them. 

 

 

“Ekaaro ma; ekaaro sir.” 

 

“Karoo o, oko mi Ajike. Se aji daadaa?” Mummy

 

said in response. She was especially fond of the Yoruba morning greeting 

 

“Adupe ma, ”I answered. 

 

“Have you said your prayers?’ Daddy asked. i nodded yes.'thank God he did not ask me what time I said the prayers.„ 'that would have started the morning on a bad note. With my Dad, if you said your prayers on time and did not tell a lie, you could almost get away With anything else. "i went into the kitchen to make my own tea and joined them at the table. 

 

l listened as they chatted away about all sorts of things. Mummy was talking about something that happened at the hospital where she worked.l had not taken more than three sips at my tea when Mum my asked what we wanted for breakfast. After considering a couple of options, we settled for yam and fried eggs. Mummy and i then left Daddy at the table to get the breakfast ready. 

 

As we ate our breakfast, I asked Daddy when he would be ready for us to piclc up where we left off the previous day. He said we should wait until Mummy left for work. Mummy wondered if we were platting against her. 

 

“What are you two planning that you had to wait until ] go to work?”she asked. 

 

“Don't worry Mummy, we are not platting anything,'l anmred. 

 

“Whatever: too bad for the two of you, i am off today

 

“Well we can still execute our plans even in your presence,’ Daddy said and laughed. 

 

Asvwatched them continue with their batter, it occurred to me that Mum was the luckiest woman 

 

in the world; to have found a husband like Daddy. I used to wonder if they ever quarreled at all. But I soon found a way of knowing when they were having any issues, ' 

 

While Daddy would carry on as if everything was okay, especially if I was around, Mummy was like an open book She would become irritable and angry about everything. She would even start to look physically sick. Whenever she was like that, I knew better than to approach her for anything. I would safer tuck myself out of her gloomy way, unless she called for me. In which case,l would try to put on my best behaviour and do whatever she asked. Even then, I could hardly escape her tongue lashing. “You are spoilt. You don't know how to do anything. kii se ejo e. It's because you are the only child I have. Nonsense." i dared not even as much as cough. Similarly, you know that the storm was over when you heard Mummy singing around the house and calling Daddy “Babe”. Luckily, the bad days were Very rare. Most of the time, they were as thick as thieves. 

 

’Ihe TV was on in the adjo'm'mg living room. Even though I could not see what was on the screen from where I sat, the volume was high enough for me to hear everything that was being said. It was a news channel. Another Boko Hamm bomb attack was being reported. Several people were said to have died in the attack, which happened at a local market. 

 

“I wonder when this madness will stop,”Mummy said in aweary voice. 

 

“Yeah.This one happened yesterday. I heard it on the radio as i was returning home last night. Quite sad‚ ”Daddy said. 

 

“But Daddy, is it true?”l asked. 

 

“Is What true?" He asked this without looking at me. 

 

“A girl in my class, Rebecca, said all Muslims will go to hell, because Muslims do not believe in Jesus and there to kill people. So she said.” 

 

“Really? And what did you say to that?”Mummy asked. 

 

“I told her she was stupid. I was so upset I felt like slapping her." 

 

“Well, thank God you did not,” Daddy said. 

 

“Maybe I should have. She was so made How could she even say a thing like that?” 

 

I felt a new wave of anger rise in me as if my argument with Rebecca just happened. I recalled that day. It was a weekend and we were all in the hostel common room when someone started a conversation about the kidnapped Chibok girls. Rebecca was not even part of the conversation. She was standing by the door, reading something on the notice board. And then she just turned and said, “It is Aliya's people now."l think it was Sade that asked, “What has Aliya got to do with this?” And the rest of us chorused, “Exactly.”l was the only Muslim girl in the room. It was then that the stupid girl said that nonsense about Muslims going to hell because they kill people and worship Allah instead of Jesus. I stood up to challenge her, but I was held back by the other girls, who said I should just ignore her. Rebecca had a reputation for being mean and she didn't have many friends. Even though I was upset bywhat she said about Muslims killing people‚l also found myself wondering if what she said was true. 

 

 

After all, how come almost all the terrorists were Muslims and they all claim to be fighting ajibad for Islam. 

 

Daddy finished his food and pushed the plate away. He grabbed the roll of paper towels on the table and tote off some of it. He wiped his month 

 

and dropped the crumbled towel on his plate. 

 

“You see, Aliya," he said almost in a whisper, drinking the water straight Horn the battle, even though there was a glass on the table for him. 

 

“In all circumstances, you must learn to control your emotions. Only animals respond to 

 

provocationwith a fight. If you had slapped that girl, what you would have achieved was to confirm her nation of Muslims as violent people. I remember, sometime ago, when a Danish eartoonist portrayed Islam as a vielem religion. That was quite provocative. But the reactions of some Muslims who launched attacks on the basis of that and even got some people killed in the process, only served to confirm what the canoonist was portraying, rather than deny it. You see the irony? Now, to your friend Rebecca” 

 

“She is not my friend!"l protested and gave him a disagreeable look, then smiled. “She is just plain Rebecca.” 

 

“Okay. Rebecca said Muslims will go to hell because they do not worship ]esus and because they like to kill people. Right?” 

 

I nodded.“Yes.” 

 

“I wonder where she got that from‚”Mummy said with a frown. 

 

“Let's take the first one,” Daddy continued. “To start with, it is wrong to judge or criticize other people's belief or faith. So, she was wrong on that 

 

score The same way you would be wrong if you criticized her religious belief. You knoww of Muhammad Ali. don't you?" 

 

“Of course, everybody does."l said. 

 

“Ali said, 'hating people because of there colour is wrong. It does not matter who does the hating. lt is just plain wrong. i believe he could have said the same of religion. Everybody is entitle to his or her faith. if God had wanted. he could have made all of us Muslims or Christians, but He did not. Why? Because God knows that the most beautiful garden is the one that has different colours and different types of flowers. So, the beauty of our country, like the rest of the world. is in the diversity ofour people, not only in our religion, but also in our tribes und cultures.” 

 

I liked what Daddy said about flowers in & garden and wanted to write it down. I excused myself and ran to the study. I took a pen out of & Chelsea mug that held several other pens and penc:ils and peeled & sheet ofA4 paper from the printer. As I presumed my seat, I scribbled on the paper, “‘The most beautiful

garden is the one that has different colour: and flowers,“ 

 

repeating to myself as i wrote. 

 

“Good.Now‚ to the second point, that Muslim's like to kill people. . .' “That's actually the one that annoyed me.. How could she generalized like that retorted. "But kind of generalization is called stereotype. You know what that means?

 

“I think have an idea. But I can find out‚'l said. I 

 

picked up Mummy's phone and pressed the button 

 

at the bottom end. A tiny blue microphone appeared on the Google page. i tapped on it and said, “Okay 

 

Google, what is stereotype?” lt answered with a beep. “Stereotype a set a of ideas that people baue about what someone or something is, especially an idea but is wrong: raciaI/sexual sterotypes‚'l read out from the phone. 

 

Daddy smiled broadly. “Your generation is so lucky. In our own time, we would have had to wait until we found the Oxford Advanced Learner’e Dictionary.” 

 

“Or Michael West,” Mummy added, and they 

 

borh laughed. “Anway, now we know what 'stereotype' means, 

 

Daddy Said, all serious again Like you its Usually Based On a Wrong Notion or Ideas. it is absolutely wrong to ascribe to all people what some people do just because they belong to the Same tribe or religion. A Muslim Who Kills another human being would have done the same if he was another christian or believer of any other faith No religion approves of killings, Therefore a Killer Is a Killer and not a Christian or Muslim or hindu

 

“But Daddy, all these terrorist Boko Haram

 

ISIS etc.,they are Muslims. . 

” “Well,  Hitler was a Christian, and 1 have not 

heard anyone blame Christianity for his evil Mummy interjected. 

 

“Well, that is true,” Daddy said. “There are about 1.6 billion Muslims in the world. the majority of us just want to do our thing. We cannot kill anybody it is only a  small minority with their own political agenda that are doing these things. they may see islam to justify their crimes but just like your mummy said, people have also used the Bible  or the Torah to justify all kinds of evil. I believe that no true religion of God supports the killings of innocent

 

people." “Another point to note also is that Boko Hamm 

 

has been bomhing mosques too, and killing Muslims as well. These are just mad people,” Mummy added. 

 

“Exactly,” Daddy agreed. “They probably have even killed more Muslims. Like those ones that 

 

exploded a bomb around the Prophet's mosque in Medina...” “O-oh! Are those ones Muslims too? These are 

 

just bloodthirsty maniacs,” Murnmy interjected, almost angrin 

 

We all kept quiet for a while. Mummy stood up and pulled her chair away slightly, so as to have more room. 

 

I wasn't done. “But why do Christians think their religion is better than our own?” 

 

“There you go, Aliya. Now you are also talking like Rebecca‚”Daddy said. 

 

“But how? How am I talking like Rebecca?” I 

 

protested. “You said Christians think their own religion is better than ours. But Christians do not think their 

 

religion is better. Some Christians you have met, think their religion is better.” 

 

“Oh‚okay‚l see,”l stuttered, slightly embarrassed that he caught me out so easily. 

 

“Now, you can see how easy it is for anyone to fall into the stercotype trap. So, Aliya‚you need to guard against it. Don't make up your mind about people before you have had the opportunity to meet them and assess them fully. Chances are that you might be wrong.” 

 

“ i understand. Butl am not like Rebecca.” 

 

“I didn't say you were like her, I only compared what you said with what she said. Besides, I don't think this Rebecca girl is a bad person as such. How people think is mostly a result of the kind of thinking they have been exposed to. Maybe if you engage her, you can help to correct her misconceptions about things like these.” 

 

“Oh, that one? She will not even listen.” 

 

“Come on, don't be so dismissive. You see, in this life, you will meet all kinds of people. Some people wc think they are bad, but it may actually be that 

 

they need our help. Sometimes what we need is to 

 

rise above our personal feelings and sentiments so that we can help others to see another way of looking at the world. ” 

 

“It is not always easy though,”Mummy said. Daddy plaeed a hand on her shoulder. “I am not suggesting that it is easy.'lhat is why it requires us to rise above ourselves. Okay, I will tell you a story.” “Story story,” Mummy hummed as she grabbed her phone from the table and made to rise. “Sit down now,” Daddy told her. “I thought you said you were not going to work today.” “Yes, I am not. But I want to go to the hairdressing salon.” “Sit down, there is still time. It's not even twelve 

 

yet,” Daddy cajoled her and glanced at his 

 

wristwatch. 

 

“Okay. Let me listen to story,” Mummy said and sat back down. “Aliya, make sure you clean up the kitchen before I come back from the salon a.” 

 

“Yes, Mummy.” 

 

“Okay, Mr. Bello, let's hear your story,” Mummy said as she leaned back and folded her arms. 

 

“M any years ago, during the era of the slave trade. 

 

A group of European slave trades attacked a village on the west of West Africa and grabbed all the inhabitants, men, women, children, and made away with them on their ship. 

 

Inside the ship, the women and the children continued to wall, the slave traders demnded on their captives, beating them mercilcssly into tub mission flhose that had the courage to challenge the slavers were killed and thrown overboard'l'he chief of the slaven was particularly mean. He appeared to derive sadistic pleasure in humiliating amd abusing his victims. Not even women and children were spared from his acts of'cruelty." 

 

Daddy picked up his battle of water and took a long, slow sip. i wondered where the story was going. 

 

”the slavers continued to rape, toruture and kill. 'the ship continued co sail away on its miserable way. 

 

Then one night, in the midst of the unfathomable darkness of vast ocean, a terrible storm began to rage. Thunder clapped and mumbled, sending long lashes of teriffying electricity across the black night, the sea roared and roiled like giant anacondas 

 

 

squeezing the life out of their victims.'the women shrieked, the children cried. And the slavers panicked with termor. 'then‚ in one terrible moment, 

 

one anaconda wave just seized the ship and torn it into shreds, as if it were not thicker than a piece of paper. Every single one of them dxed captives and captors alike. Every one, except two persons the white chief of the slave readers and one of the enslaved black men. 

 

Somehow, the two found themselves an zu isolated island in the middle of nowhere.The chief slaver had. broken an arm under a couple of other bonus. He was in such a bad state that he could 

 

hardy move a finger 'the black man on his part, was hale and heathy, apart from the wounds inflicted on him by the white man, who had now become his companion in misery.” 

 

Daddy paused to ask us, “You know what the black man did afterwards?” 

 

We said no. he then pointed at me and said, “Aliya, if you were him‚what would you do? This was a man who enslaved and tortured and committed all manner of atrocities against other men, women and children that you knew and cared for. Now he was at your mercy; what would you do?" 

 

“Well, I guess that would be a great opportunity for me to revenge‚”l said. 

 

Then he turned to Mummy. “What about you?” 

 

“he would soon be dead anyway. So i would just leave him there and find my way,” Mummy 

 

answered. 

 

“That's what you two would do? Well‚l guess that is what most of us would do. But do you know what the black man did? He nursed his enslaver back to health. And every single day that they were in that unknown island, he would forage for food and

 

ensure that they both had something to eat. One day, when the white man had recovered enough to fully understand the misfortune that had befallen him, he asked his companion, 'Who are you?" 

 

'I was one of your captives,’ the black man 

 

answered. After that introduction, the two men did not 

 

speak to each other for days. They ate whatever they could iind, mostly wild fruits and some rodents, but 

 

each one generally minded his business. Then, one day, the white man asked his former captive, 'But, why did you decide to help me? Why didn't you just kill me, after all the evil things I did to you and your people? 

 

'It is not my place to punish you for whatever sin you may have committed. But it is my duty to help another human being who needs my help.’ 

 

The white man went silent for a long time.'Ihen, he said That makes you a better human being than me.”l To which the black man answered, 'I am who I am.You are who you are.‘ 

 

Soon after, they were rescued by a merchant ship. When the ship arrived its destination, they both 

 

went their separate ways, never to see again, When the white slaver returned to his Country, he resolved to dedicate the rest of his life to fighting 

 

against the evil of slavery and slave trade. That is the end of my story.”