https://percontra.net/archive/9unigwe.htmFor weeks, nothing else had been spoken of but of Independence that was coming. On the streets, highlife music boomed from cars, throwing the word, “Independence” into ears. Visitors to the house spoke of how things would change with Independence.
“Life would be so much sweeter,” Agu, Father’s friend said, smacking his lips as if life was the bowl of chin-chin he had just polished off, chewing with his mouth open, the way my mother had said I was never to eat.
“And you, you don’t know how lucky you are. To be here to see Independence,” another friend pointed at me.
“Independence will kick the whites out,” Father said.
“This. We’ll own this!” Agu said, his voice loud, his hand flailing, his good foot stomping the ground so that I wondered if he meant that he would own our house, the furniture, the TV at the corner of the living room. But Father did not challenge him. Just said, “ Independence” in a drawn out way as if he were relishing the taste of it on his tongue. Then all three men burst into laughter and started clapping each other on the back. Independence made my father laugh. I laughed along too. Father lifted me on to his shoulders and Agu said, “I swear, this one looks very much like you. If she were a boy, she’d be your exact copy. You swallowed this one and spat her out one time.”
“Yes, “ Father said. His shoulders sagged, he put me down and sent me off to play, but his voice had lost its laughter, his face had lost its joy.
I went out into the backyard to play oga with the twins from next door who always cheated me when we played. I imagined Independence, a burly bullying man who would kick oyibo out. But out of where exactly? And why? And who was this man that could make my father laugh? And make him carry me on his shoulders? And turn the days preceding his arrival into one long party.
Three days later, when Mama Boy, the woman who lived in the apartment below ours saw me in my tight braids, she smiled and said I was ready for Independence.
I did not know who Independence was, but I was sure that Independence was more important than a chief because my mother took me down to the market to have my hair braided. And Father bought me a new dress that same day. A pink dress with a satin bow. And matching red shoes with white stripes. The dress looked like something out of my mother’s magazines. “For Independence,” he said. I wanted to try them on immediately, but my mother tied them up in a Kingsway plastic bag and stowed the bag at the bottom of the cupboard in the bathroom. “When Independence comes, you can wear them.”
Topic: Happy Madakara day (Read 1139 times)