CHAPTER TWENTY

“There was a friend of mine who told me a story. He said somebody had told him the story and that 'somebody' too had said somebody told him the story.” When a story starts like that, then you should know it is either a complete lie or, or , or…,  just know when a story starts like that, then there is a problem with it, maybe for plausible denial in case there was a backlash at the end of the  story. Nandem’s father couldn’t wait to hear that story.

“There was an elder man named Gambo. He was among those who in the day abhorred alcohol consumption but at night and in dark corners cherished it. He is a good speaker with a baritone voice, he had been elected as an elder in his church. How were they to know he still consumed alcohol? Only God knows the heart of man.”

“True,”  Nandem’s father had said nodding his head in accord. “Quite true indeed.” His friend continued as though he hadn’t spoken.

“On a certain Sunday, the pastor was to travel to another town to conduct the Holy Communion service there. It was agreed that elder Gambo would deliver the sermon. Elder Gambo spent the night preparing for his sermon. In the morning he began to have doubts, how would he stand before the people with all eyes on him? He needed something, he surely needed something to increase his confidence level. Gambo called his eldest son and sent him to buy ‘burukutu, a local alcoholic drink. A few minutes before service began, his son had not returned. He concluded his son was among those who wanted to see him embarrassed today, if not so, why had he not returned when the errand he embarked on was not supposed to take a lot of time? But that is what happens when you bring' self' into the things of the Holy Spirit.”

“True,” Nandem’s father was saying again. “No doubt that’s how it is.”

“I might be a drunk and a sinner but I know this very well, God cannot be deceived.”

“I see you’ve read your Bible of late,”  Nandem’s father said and they laughed. 

“As he left for church, he kept turning around whether he would see his son but there was no sign of him. Service began and he soon accepted his fate, let God’s will be done. It was when he mounted the pulpit to begin his sermon that he saw his son coming with a keg. With his son coming through the back door, the rest of the congregation couldn’t see him. He knew he had to stop this, the nonsense that was happening right now. How would he stop it? How would he stop this foolish boy?

When he thought his son wanted him embarrassed earlier in the morning, was he not right about it? He immediately began his sermon. It occurred to him that since his son’s name was Musa, for Musa was the Hausa version of Moses, he had to use it to his advantage. ‘Musa’, he was shouting, but Musa didn’t hear him, Musa kept coming. ‘Musa’, he shouted again. This time Musa heard him and he knew Musa heard him. ‘Musa stop right where you are’ and Musa stopped. ‘That was what the Lord told Moses, stop right where you are for this is a holy ground.’ He continued, ‘right now turn back and return to your father’s house, to the place where you were born. I said turn and go back to your father’s house.’ By stroke of luck, Musa understood his father was talking to him.  Musa indeed returned to his father's house where he kept the localally made alcoholic gin.” 

They all laughed at his story. Nandem wanted to know what happened afterwards. His father’s friend continued as if he had access to Nandem’s thought. 

“His craftiness didn’t last long though; he was caught red-handed after a while, ninety nine days for the thief, one day for the owner.” 

“Indeed, indeed. I agree with you.”

“So you see, I will rather be what I am than pretend to be something I’m not.” They continued until his father’s friend sought his leave to return home since it was getting late. 

 Nandem’s father in spite of his regard for alcohol had  trained his children to be good children, to love God and to love school, to be hard-working and to also look out for those who were in need. He had provided them with farmlands and made sure they were serious with their farm work. For those who were not up to the age of farming, he would pay people to farm their farmlands. Nandem being the youngest enjoyed this, by the age of three his father had begun paying people to farm for him. His mother would be the one to look after it for him and save whatever was made from it.

His mother died when he was four, he still remembered when she died but at that time it meant nothing to him. He had being brought back from school only to see a large crowd gather at his father’s house. People showed him love that day, hugging him, kissing him on his cheeks and forehead, carrying him on their laps, asking him what he wanted to eat and all that.

She had died during childbirth, with slight carelessness on the path of the medical team. It was a government hospital and the doctor who observed her said it was preterm labor and admitted her. A day later he said her time for delivery had not yet come. Her relations suggested CS but he arrogantly dismissed it saying she could deliver herself the baby herself. By the time he thought it was time, she had begun to bleed, she was rushed to the theatre they lost the baby, losing a lot of blood, a few,  moments later she lost her life. It was then that the doctor dropped his arrogance and began to beg, he knew his job was on the line.

Nandem’s father was advised to take the case forward but he shrugged it aside, even though he had loved her very much, if God had decided that was how she would depart from this sinful world, who was he to question that? Even if he pressed charges, would that bring back his wife?