ShortStory I Unwelcome Good News (I)

UNWELCOME GOOD NEWS

      As Chidi lay in his foam at his humble abode situated in Awka, the Capital Territory of Anambra State, he couldn’t wait till daybreak. He kept rolling from one end of the outdated foam to another as sleep ceased to come at that ungodly hour of the night. All he was focused on was the job interview that lay ahead of him, which was scheduled to take place at 9.00am the following day being Friday 28^th March 2014. As he rolled and rolled on the foam, he stylishly glanced at the well-ironed black suit he was to wear on the D-day as it hung by the wall sited directly opposite the foam. He quickly returned his seeming vigilant sight to the pathetically-looking multiple-coloured carpet spread on the room’s floor, felt like shortening the remaining five hours he was supposed to spend on the archaic foam but all the wishes were obviously to no avail.

       Mr. Chidi Okafor who graduated from Federal Polytechnic Auchi, Edo State, Nigeria over eight years back, precisely in November 2005, had earnestly been job-hunting ever since he concluded his National Youth Service programme a year after his graduation, but it seemed his best was not good enough in spite of the fact that he finished with Upper-Credit in Electrical Engineering. Since four years back he relocated to Awka from Benin-City, he had almost toured round the city on foot in the name of searching for a white-collar job that was apparently not forthcoming.

        However, he couldn’t despair as he had vowed to remain resolute and resilient regardless of the circumstance. All he depended on was the menial jobs he had been into right from his school days. As one who hailed from a poor parental background, while in the Polytechnic, he catered for almost sixty per cent (60%) of his needs yet was able to graduate with promising grade.

       “How long would I wait for the day to break?” he thought amid the restlessness, fumbled his weary pillow. “Please, I can’t wait any longer.” He added as the wall clock in the room read 11.56pm.

       He got the notice of the interview the previous day, and since he received the information via Short Message Service (SMS) he hadn’t rested emotionally, thinking that would mark the end of his job-hunting era, not minding that he had been invited for such occasion for the umpteenth time yet nothing fruitful was recorded.

       In the last interview he participated, he was asked to undergo a certain professional programme that could cost over half a million naira, before he would be eligible to be employed by the firm; each time he recalled the experience, he kept pondering over what the country was turning into. According to him, if HND/B.Sc wasn’t enough to secure an employment for the bearer, then it was needless to delve into the four-walls of a higher institution in the first place let alone spending about four to five years therein, as the case may be. Nevertheless, he wasn’t deterred by the lingered challenges surrounding the seeming endless odyssey.

       Indeed, there was still a longtime to cover prior to the awaited daybreak. The electric bulb hung on the old ceiling was on, thus its brightness enabled him to see each of the few items in the small room as sleep frankly refused to visit his eyes. He calmly stood up, took his time to walk round the room, taking note of each of the wears he was to use for the interview. He went to the black plain shoes positioned on the floor directly below the hung suit and plain trousers, raised and re-dusted them with a very clean rag kept beside where he stood. He looked at the clock once again – it was 12:15am. He sighed as the night appeared to have already taken over twelve hours, went back to the foam, and grabbed the pillow while keeping his eyes closed. In few minutes time, he was eventually caught by the sleep that was earlier not forthcoming.

       Five hours on – at exactly 5.00am – he was awake as if he was working with an alarm. He rose, went for his towel, soap and sponge, and dashed outside to have his bath. It was a public yard, so someone was already in the bathroom, thus he had to queue up and await his turn.

       “Who is there?” he shouted after fifteen minutes of wait. “Please, do quickly.”

        “Abeg, wait joor.” A lady’s voice replied from the bathroom. “Did you rent this bathroom?’ she rudely added.

        He was quiet, couldn’t utter a word towards avoiding further delay. He had planned to be at the company’s premises latest by 7.00am about two hours before the scheduled time.

        After all said and done, at exactly 7.10am, he found himself at the firm’s premises.

       “Good morning, sir!” He greeted the gateman, standing.

       “Morning, my brother.” The gateman responded cheerily. “Are you for the interview too?”

       “Yes sir.”

       “Okay, go inside.”

       “Thank you.”

        When he walked in, he noticed an applicant was already there before him. He wondered when the young man left home. “Good morning.” He greeted as he stood next to him.

       “Morning brother.” The colleague responded. “Are you for the interview?”

         Both were well-dressed in their black suits.

        “Yes.” Chidi said. “Are you?”

        “Yea.” quoth the applicant, stretching out his arm for a handshake. “I am Dan.” He introduced.

        “Chidi.” He succinctly said as he reciprocated the gesture. “You really came so early.” He added.

        “Yes I did.” quoth Dan. “I have been in this train for ten years now.”

          He was actually referring to how desperate he was to secure a job.

        “Which train?” Chidi naively inquired.

        “Job-hunting of course.”

        “Are you serious?” Chidi exclaimed, astonished.

         Dan nodded.

         Prior to this time, Chidi thought he was the oldest member of the ‘Job-hunting People’s Association’, not knowing that many had subscribed their membership years before he joined.

        9.00am – the time for the interview – came calling, yet there was no sign of commencement. Two hours later being 11.00am, the littered applicants of about a hundred and fifty individuals were still earnestly waiting for the commencement yet no iota of sign was perceived let alone seen.

       “Are you sure this interview will still take place?” Chidi anxiously asked Dan who was still standing very close to him as they continued to converse about life amidst the hardship. 

       “My brother, I am tired ooh.” quoth Dan. “I don’t just know what is really going on.” He lamented, paused. “No staff has come to address or even welcome us.”

       Within a twinkle of an eye at about 11.16am, a female staff eventually surfaced from the company’s building and stood in front of the crowd. “Sorry, for keeping you waiting.” she said. “I am here to inform you that the interview has been shifted to next week Monday being 31^st March 2014, by same time.”

        The teeming applicants watched with utmost surprise, dumbfounded.

       “Thank you!” she concluded, quickly turned and walked towards her office.

        What transpired afterwards ought to be a narration for another day, so stay tuned.

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ShortStory I A Trip to Italy

A TRIP TO ITALY

       Ada just caught sight of Bunmi afar in the departure room of the Murtala Mohammed International Airport, Lagos State, Nigeria, walked hastily towards her holding a brief luggage, nudged her and kept quiet.

       Bunmi whom equally held a luggage involuntarily turned to her left in response to the nudge. “Oh my God, who am I seeing?” she shouted. “Ada, it’s a lie…!”

       Both were course mates during their university days. Six years had passed, they couldn’t see, nor hear from, each other. They had probably lost contact since after graduation.

       Ada smiled. “Bunmi, so it’s you?” she said. “I can’t believe it.”

       They hugged each other tightly. “So, where are you coming from?” Bunmi inquired as they freed themselves.

      “My dear, it’s a long story.” Ada replied, looked exhausted.

      “Long story?”

       Ada nodded. “And you, where have you been?”

      “I am just returning from Italy.” answered Bunmi. “I have been there for five years now.”

       “Are you serious?’

       “Yea.”

       “That means you left this country immediately after youth service?”

       “Yea.”

       “Interesting.”

       “Let’s not prolong our stay here.” Bunmi suggested. “Please, how do we see?”

        “When are you going back?” quoth Ada.

        “I will be around for about three to four weeks.”

        “Hope your family is still in Lagos?” Ada added.

        “Yea.” responded Bunmi. “What about you?”

        “Mine is still here.”

        “That makes it perfect.” Bunmi enthused.

        “You can say that again.”

        “I don’t have any Nigerian number to give you.” Bunmi informed. “Do you have any?”

       “Hmm…” said Ada. “No, but let me give you my mum’s number.”

       “So, you base abroad too?” Bunmi stylishly inquired.

       “Please, let’s talk about that later, okay?”

       “Nah wah ooh!” exclaimed the Italian babe.

        Ada managed to smile. “Let me give you the number.” She reminded, collected Bunmi’s phone, typed the number, and returned it.

        “So, this is your mum’s number, right?”

        “Yes.” replied Ada. “It’s always available.”

          They departed for their respective destinations a few seconds after.

      * * * * * *

        “So Ada,” said the 36-year-old Bunmi as they were seated at a public lounge in a popular locality in Lagos State at about 4.05pm. “Tell me the long story.” She landed, staring at Ada.

        It was barely forty-eight hours after their previous encounter at the airport. They sat opposite each other at a white plastic roundtable sited at one of the corners in the lounge. Since their last meeting, Bunmi couldn’t wait to hear the ‘long story’ Ada cited when asked where she was coming from; in fact, the suspense really told on her. They were already emptying a bottle of red wine ordered by the former.

        “I know you can’t wait to get the gist?’ quoth the equally 36-year-old Ada.

       “Wait keh?” said Bunmi, placing her arms on the table. “Since that day you told me your trip was a long story, I haven’t rested.”

       “Sure?”

       “Of course.”

       “My dear,” said Ada. “It’s really a long story.”

       “I am listening.”

       “That very day you saw me,” she began hesitantly. “I was actually deported from the U.S.” she eventually disclosed.

       “You don’t mean it?”

       “Honestly,” she continued. “They just threw me back to Naija.”

       “This is not funny.”

       “My dear, it was really a tough experience.”

       “What actually happened?”

        “They said my papers were not complete.” Ada clarified. “This Trump regime no be small thing ooh.”

        “Hmmm…” Bunmi sighed. “When did you travel?”

        “About four months ago.” Ada answered. “After all the years of joblessness, I decided to try my luck over there.”

        “Nah wah ooh…!”

         There was a moment of silence. “My dear, let’s forget about it.” Ada broke the silence.” So tell me, how is Italy?”

         “Italy is hot.”

         “Hot..?”

         “Yea,” said Bunmi, sipped the wine from her glass. “I mean, very sweet.”
        “You said you have been there for five years now?”

          Bunmi nodded.

        “My dear, you need to help me ooh.”

        “What’s it?”

        “I need your connection nah.”

        “You mean, to Italy?”

        “Yes, of course,” Ada said. “I can’t continue like this.”

        “Is that what you are saying with small voice?” quoth Bunmi. “That one na small thing.”

        “Are you serious?”

        “Am I serious?” quoth Bunmi. “Just tell me when you are ready, and you will see yourself in Italy immediately.”

       “Oh, I no fit shout oooh.” Ada exclaimed elatedly in vernacular, sipped from her glass again and again.

        The two spinsters spent almost two hours in the joint before they left for their respective homes. Bunmi firstly drove Ada to her residence in her (Bunmi’s) Honda SUV Jeep before leaving for hers.

       Two months later, Ada found herself in Italy as planned via Bunmi’s assistance. Days on, she understood prostitution was what her friend did for a living. She was left with no choice than to join the chorus having been persuaded. As weeks unfolded, she comprehended the intricacy of the occupation, thus needn’t be told that she could indulge herself in any other dirty game in addition to the commercial sex-work. “So this is how Bunmi made all her money?” she thought. “I must shine my eyes ooh.” She added.

       At the moment, Bunmi had already built duplex both in Lagos and her ancestral home, and could boast of any car of her choice. Even there, in Italy, she harboured many Nigerian ladies including Ada who just came in.

        Afterwards, the game was all fun till one certain night Ada stole from an Italian business mogul who lodged in a hotel with her. Over five hundred thousand dollars ($500,000) was involved in the scandal. The victim reported the case to the police who went in search of Ada in every nook and cranny of the country with the aid of her portrait that was handed over to them by the victim.

        Few days on, Ada was clamped down at an Italian airport as she was about leaving the country for Nigeria in disguise. The money was recovered from her at the airport. Thereafter, she was charged to court, and four months on was sentenced to fifteen years in prison with hard labour.

        Bunmi who was at the court when the verdict was served couldn’t believe her ears. Prior to this time, she made every possible effort to see that Ada was released unconditionally or at worst serve a less-severe sentence, all to no avail.

        On their part, Ada’s parents almost ran mad the moment the news filtered in. They were totally taken unawares; no one informed them regarding her apprehension let alone court trial, not until after the sentence was pronounced.

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Today is Int'l Mother Language Day!

PROMOTING THE SIGNIFICANCE OF MOTHER TONGUE AS THE 2017 INTERNATIONAL MOTHER LANGUAGE DAY IS MARKED ON TUESDAY FEBRUARY 21

          

Today, the world over is commemorating the 2017 International Mother Language Day. The day was proclaimed by the General Conference of the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) in November 1999. The date – February 21 –represents the day in 1952 when the Pakistani students who demonstrated for recognition of their native language, Bangla, as one of the two national languages of the then Pakistan, were shot and killed by the Police in Dhaka – the capital of what is now Bangladesh.

          

On 16^th May 2007, the United Nations General Assembly in its resolution called upon Member States to promote the preservation and protection of all languages used by peoples of the world. By the same resolution, 2008 was proclaimed as the ‘International Year of Languages’, to promote unity in diversity and international understanding through multilingualism and multiculturalism.

          

A language can be defined as a system of sounds, written symbols, and/or signs used by the people of a particular country, geographical area, tribe, or status as the case may be, to communicate with each other. It can also be described as the human ability to acquire and use complex systems of communication.

         

There are several forms of languages in existence, such as spoken language, sign language, computer language, and animal language. Estimates of the number of languages in the world vary between five thousand (5,000) and seven thousand (7,000). However, any precise estimate depends on a partly arbitrary distinction between official languages and local/mother languages.

          

Mother language or Mother tongue, which is also widely known as dialect or native language, is the indigenous language of one’s parents which is usually the first language learnt by him/her. In the same vein, it is also referred to as the language of one’s ethnic group. Suffice to say that, one’s Mother tongue is an apparent indication of where he/she hails from.

          

Mother language is often regarded as one’s ‘first language’. Therefore by contrast, a second language is any language that one speaks other than his or her first/native language. The Mother language is noted as ‘first’, because it is regarded as the most important language spoken by anyone due to its hereditary value as well as its cultural impact on the concerned individual.

           

No doubt, Mother language or first language contribute immensely in a child’s personal, social, cultural, intellectual, educational and economic life. Personal; in the sense that a child’s first (native) language is critical to his or her identity. Social; in the sense that when the native language of a child is not maintained, important links to family and other community members may be lost. Cultural; in the sense that sustaining a child’s Mother tongue would help the child to value his or her culture and heritage, which contributes to a positive self-concept.

          

Furthermore, the intellectual aspect of it is that, when students who are not yet fluent in their second/official language such as English or French, but have switched to using only the said official language, would have the tendency of functioning at an intellectual level below their age thereby resulting to academic failure. Educational wise; students who learn second language and continue to develop their native language would have chances of higher academic achievement in later years than those who learn their second language at the expense of their first language. More so, economically; there are available better employment or job opportunities in Nigeria and in the disapora for individuals who are conversant with their official language as well as another language – probably a native language.

           

As the global community celebrates the Int’l Mother Language Day, I call on every Nigerian, both home and abroad, to join in the ongoing crusade of promoting the significance of Mother tongue by acknowledging that Mother languages are the most powerful instruments required to preserve and develop our respective tangible heritages.

           

To this end, I also call on the National Assembly to enact a law that would ensure that every citadel of learning in Nigeria, ranging from primary to tertiary level, offers at least one native language relevant to the area or community where the institution is situated. In addition, the proposed law ought to also mandate the various existing examination boards in the country including the West African Examination Council (WAEC), the National Examination Council (NECO), and the Joint Admission and Matriculation Board (JAMB), to ensure that the students compulsorily enroll as well as sit for the said native language or subject as it concerns their respective schools or the institution where they are seeking for admission, as the case may be.

           

Indeed, considering the singular fact that Mother Language helps to create full and thorough awareness on cultural traditions coupled with its role in promotion of solidarity among members of any given community thereby uplifting the level of moral, social and intellectual values of our young ones, it is of no gain reiterating that the ongoing crusade regarding uplift of various Mother languages is a task that awaits all and sundry. Think about it!

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