Across a thousand miles
Enugu emits a pleasant petrichor. Hearty laughter splatters across dishes of abacha, semo and ofe nsala washed down with posh palmwine mintly freshed or meticulously kept.
The learned hold hearty conversations about which of the resident Doctors should be awarded a PhD, the depth of research and the impact of his recently published journals. There is a question about the validity of foreign recognition over the local ones, an Oke-osisi will respond with ascertaining authority;
“a paper is a paper, either it is published at Harvard,Yale or Nsukka, it is the work, the facts and the validity that matters, we should be asking if his hyptheses will stand the test of time, and not if he is recognised in Harvard”
His colleagues acqueise - their response, though in English is garnished with enriching igbo language sprawling across the room as they share thoughts in heightened, yet unconflicting voice.
The strained scenario is diluted with laughter as they discuss the upcoming traditional marraige of a professor’s daughter, who is also one of the most reverenced vicar at the chapel.
Nnwane woke, you have done well- the brothers hail as everyone takes turn to say a word of prayer for the upcoming ceremony. This is the beauty of igbo, of their culture and tradition; they are all brothers and sisters, bonded by blood, tribe, lands or marraige, showing up for each other, lifting each other at least until a major dispute dilutes this bond.
Enugu boasts of lucent sceneries, roads linking up like ventrioles carrying deoxygenated blood across the body; the roads are the veins and arteries carrying resources across the capital. The swing at Oaklands reminds you that you only live once, and the spaces at Nike lake shows you life’s possibilities, how the world will always create spaces for your goals to thrive, and how the width of dreams can stand the test of time. Talking of dreams, Nsukka reminded me of mine.
Nsukka is a major monument, a dreamer’s milestone, a pilgrim’s hope. UNN spreads across acres and hectares with mountains and valleys undulating in symphony. The sky stretches the firmament and peel into diverse colours pleasant to a tourist sight. This is the foundation of the gorgeous Waje, the tenacious and historial Dora Akunyili, the regal Pat Utomi, and of course, the resilient Gregory Obi. You are here at Nsukka, touching the birth of humanity.
My friend leads us to a corn-seller, whose accent indicates one thing- she is an indigene, born and bred, and we take pleasure in bargaining in igbo, and pidgin. My friend speaks rapid igbo and ends with a smile that welcomes me to interject their conversation with my yoruba intonated pidgin. She agrees to our price, my friend is happy at a good bargain, and then I ask the seller to keep the change, because I felt a gush of happiness, and I wanted to extend it to her.
This is Nsukka, the one Chimamanda Adichie wrote about in Purple Hibiscus and Americanah; Bello Hall is littered, the colours fading like a tattered bosikoro , and Margaret Cartwright avenue is a long road stretching into an endless tour. Catholics and Anglican guard the city as the institution attempts to restore the dignity of man.
Touring Nigeria is an open door- a mirror displaying your innocuous ignorance about the wealth of your country. In Ibadan, Amala and Abula is a symbol of honor, a minaret beckoning your heart to worship, at Awgu, Okpa is a beacon of light leading you to your roots; In Anambra, Ofe Nnugbu and Ofe Akwu strecthes their hospitable arms, folding your worries into morsels of semolina, and Ekiti reassures you that iyan and egusi is a glimpse of paradise- isn’t this variation what makes our nation beautiful?
Ogbomoso reminds you of Ilorin, the fah and soori laces each conversation and people hold memories precious while taking delight in dishing them into sizzling stories. In the keke napep, a woman is impressed by the depth of Yoruba after you speak in proverbs and idioms, and corrects your akanlo ede with a motherly love-
The proverb: “Ká mú ẹyin sí ọwọ́ ọ̀tún, ká mú ẹyìn sí ọwọ́ òsì, ká fí ẹ̀yìn rìn láti Ìsẹ́yìn dé Ìyìn Èkìtì, ẹni tí kò ní fi iṣẹ́ yin’ni kò ni fi yin’ni”
which simply translates to — ‘It’s impossible to please everyone; do your best and keep moving’ reminds you of how beautiful your language is and how speaking yoruba in a bus filled with Northerners can draw you close to a familiar face and create a camaraderie that reminds you of home.
Nigeria is a land of gold, Nigerians are gold-carriers, and everyone is a moving miracle expecting a wonder. From the hotel manager who speaks three languages and is searching for better opportunities to the ambitous students with eager hearts seeking light and direction, everyone is a prayer away from their desired breakthrough.
Either it is the pace-setter state, the coal city or the centre of excellence, every corner of the country is a cascading fountain flowing with milk and honey enough to end the penury residing with her denizens.
