UNFORESEEN
CONFESSION
“The Lord is good!” Mr. Amakiri eulogized,
looking at the sky while in his promising farmyard.
“All the time!!” His son Kosarachi added
excitedly.
Mr. Amakiri
was an industrious and well respected farmer in the whole of Umuokanne, the ancient
community where he hailed from. Apparently, between 1982 and 1989 or
thereabouts – the period when his name rang bell most – it was only a day old
child that was yet to be conversant with the name ‘Amakiri’ whenever ‘farming’
was mentioned; needless to state that the name was synonymous with farming or
agriculture.
His prospect became astonishing that his Traditional Ruler, Igwe P.O. Duru
bestowed on him ‘Eze–Ji I of Umuokanne’, which literally implied the ‘greatest
yam producer in the land’ owing to the outstanding yam cultivation invariably
witnessed in his various farmyards that consistently led to harvest of
thousands of yam tubers annually.
Clad in
his not unusual farming attire in the company of his son Kosarachi who put on a
hat made of a wick material, that fateful day Mr. Amakiri had gone to his farm
as usual to inspect the growth of his crops. And luckily for him, they were
doing very well. The aforementioned eulogy ‘the Lord is good’, which came as
soon as they arrived at the farmyard, was as a result of the euphoria attached
to the fascinating scene he just witnessed. They spent over thirty minutes
admiring the flourishing plants as they painstakingly went across the four
corners of the enviable farmyard.
“Kosarachi, my son.” Mr. Amakari called
tenderly while still taking a walk round the said farm alongside the chap who
happened to be his only begotten child.
“Yes Papa.” Kosarachi answered.
It’s noteworthy that ‘Papa’ was,
and still, the native way of addressing a father in Igboland, which was their
place of origin.
Mr. Amakiri stopped, looked at his son. “Do
you know why I always bring you here?” He said while stationary.
“You mean the farm?” verified
Kosarachi who was also stationary.
“Yes,” Mr. Amakiri said. “And
the other farms.”
“No Papa.”
“Sit down my son.” He tenderly
urged while lowering his waist to sit on the farmland.
Kosarachi complied. Both of them quickly sat
on the available farmland within their reach having used bunch of plant leaves
to cover the nudeness of the ground.
“I inherited this farm business
from my late father,” He informed strongly. “Omemgbeoji.” He added, referring to his late
father’s name.
They were facing each other and also closely
seated.
“Being his only son,” He rode on. “He wanted
the best for me.”
Kosarachi nodded twice in comprehension.
“He always told me that he could not wait to
see me being in charge of his farms.”
“He really loved you, Papa.” Kosarachi
insinuated.
“Yes he did.” He asserted. “That’s why I did
everything humanly possible to please him.”
His son nodded. “Amazing.” He dished
out, smiled.
“Kosara, my son.” He reiterated.
“Yes Papa.”
“I want you to know that,” the
great farmer whom was in his late fifties continued. “I always bring you here
because I want you to understand everything about this farming business.”
Kosarachi, a young man in his
mid-twenties, became more attentive.
“There’s more you need to know about this
business.” Mr. Amakiri disclosed.
“Therefore,
you must dedicate all your time to it.”
His son nodded severally, remained calm.
“Farming is a very lucrative
occupation.” Mr. Amakiri enthused. “But it requires enormous time.”
There was a brief silence.
“Kosara nwa m.” He proceeded.
‘Nwa m’ implied ‘my son’.
“Yes Papa.”
“One day,” said Mr. Amakiri.
“You will be in charge of all my farms.”
“I know Papa.” Kosarachi chipped
in.
“That’s my son.” his father
appreciated. “I know you will make me proud.” he added, smiling and paused.
“Even in my grave.” He hinted.
“But why all these, Papa?” Kosarachi supplemented, became perturbed.
“Never mind, my son”
At this juncture, they looked at each other passionately. “I want you to
promise me one thing.” Mr. Amakiri hesitantly tendered.
“What Papa?”
“That you will remain
serious-minded.”
“Ah – Ah, Papa…” Kosarachi
exclaimed. “Of course, I will always be a serious man.”
“You promise?” His father verified anxiously,
looking into his eyes.
“Yes Papa.” He reassured
confidently.
“That’s my boy!” The zealous
farmer excitedly exclaimed. “Is time to go home.” He suggested.
The
dude concurred, hence they immediately stood up and left for their abode.
Two weeks later, being April
13, 1989, unfortunately Mr. Amakiri gave up the ghost owing to a snakebite that
transpired right in one of his farmyards.
Thereafter the burial, life became so unbearable to Kosarachi and his
beloved mother that they hardly knew where and how to start as regards the farm
business. But with their little knowledge and experience, they vowed to make
the deceased person proud in his grave, which was all he ever prayed and worked
for all through his lifetime.
To be continued, please.
FDN Nwaozor
Executive
Director, Docfred Resource Hub - Owerri
_________________________________
frednwaozor@gmail.com
+2348028608056
Twitter:
@mediambassador
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