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PLEASE HELP US
PLEASE HELP US
Junction9: #sorosoke
In the first week of January 1968, at the tender age of 11, I was torn from my mother’s warm bosom and tossed into a boarding house.
That was the day my depression started.
And it continues even now, more than fifty years later.
I am not alone. It happened to my entire generation.
My depressive experience is typical of all of us between the ages of seventy-five and fifty.
This depression is typical of all of us who are the “elites” of Nigeria.
Hanging out with Adetola Wewe
Hanging out with Adetola Wewe on the riverboat on Lake Travis, Austin, Texas.
He is visiting from Nigeria as the first fellow-in-residence, University of African Art at Austin.
IV
“The Police Area Commander (AC) is interested in the case,” a police officer with a cellphone said. “He just called to say that he is now at his seat, and wants to see all of you in his office.” The AC’s office was about one hundred meters across the yard, from where we were seated. We all filed into the AC’s office. He was seated, and his large desk was decorated with pictures, flags and small objects with personal sentimental values. He was a handsome middle-aged man who seemed rather too pleasant looking to be a police officer. Not until he stood up did I realize that his gait was forward-leaning, with the robust physique of a football tackler. You wouldn’t want to be in his way despite his handsome mien.
HOW MANY IGBO BOYS HAVE WE SHOT THIS MONTH?
Can someone help me to translate this into as many Nigerian languages as possible, please?Many of the boys I played soccer with in Ile Ife on bare rough grounds in-between houses, using oranges and rags tied together to form balls, all the way from infancy to age ten, were Igbo kids.In 1965, they told me they were leaving, returning home.“When are you coming back?”“Papa says we are not coming back.”
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Fourteen)
“You still have a couple of drops in your cup,” Obaseki observed, leaning over. He held his cup to his lips and drained the last drop. “Drink up, Brother Mo, and I’ll take you to my mother’s joint. The beer is always bone-dead cold, I assure you. And you will always get any brand you want. Together with pepper-soup.”
Personally, I was done. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep off my intoxication. But I was all so confused. Somehow I wanted to know more about Gina and Joshua, and the only way I could keep in close contact with them was through Obaseki.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)
Rape?
That was the last thing on my mind although it was clear to me there was something amiss about Gina. I was lost for words. My body felt numb.
It was an experience I could not imagine as a man. All I could think of was how humiliating it must have felt for a person you didn’t want to pin you down and force entry into your body.
I sat there for a long time and could not utter a word. I could not find any statement of consolation to bring calm to Gina. She looked paralyzed. It seemed the best thing to do at the moment was not to say anything. Perhaps by not saying anything, I could pretend it did not happen.