sweet sixtine

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.”