Bike repaiiring unappealing The sun shone brightly in the horizon, and there were smiles on the faces of people around me. But for me, in comparison with people around me, there was dullness and a gloom that arose from problems about uncertainty of the future. I had just emerged from a discussion with my father over whether I would like to
be apprenticed to learn bicycle repairing. He had said he had no money to pay for my high school education.
A seeming darkness pervaded my sensibility even though it was midday. I could not comprehend why he wanted me to learn bicycle repairing when my oldest brother was in a middle
school and my immediate brother was learning photography. I did not see any future in bicycle repairing. I knew my father would not have deliberately set me on a path that I viewed as unpromising.
I thought there were better trades or at worst, he could have asked me to wait until he could provide the money for me to proceed to high school.
The mere thought of imagining myself becoming a bicycle repairer baffled me. I wondered silently why my father mentioned it to me. I did not blame him, having no reason to. I knew he was a hard working man who loved his children, and who did not allow the poverty of food in his household. I did not know what to immediately tell him other than turn down the request
.“I am not learning bicycle repairing.” I said emphatically. He was surprised at my response. He looked up into my eyes like he tried to confirm if the statement he heard came from me.
“If you are not learning bicycle repairing, tell me what you want to learn. I don’t have money to send you to college.”
“If you don’t have the money now, you may have later. I will wait to go to school.”
“You must be out of your mind.” he said and quickly added, “If you are not ready to learn a trade, then you will join me in my laundry work, and work in the farm.”
“It is alright for me to join you in your work and work in the farm. But you will have it in mind that I am waiting to go to school anytime that the money is available.” “If money is available, I would not have asked you to learn
work. Laisi is learning photography. I did not have money to send him to college. I could not have two children in the college at the same time. Dele’s school fees were deducted from my salary at source. The college has turned our employment into a contract. We are paid based on the number of clothes washed. You may be lucky like Laisi who has been promised by Dele that if he gets a good job after leaving school he would send him to
college, because he did not want to be the only educated fellow in the family.”
“It was why I said I would wait. I don’t mind if I have to repeat the final class. I want to go to school." While I was I growing up, Musa-my father, worked as an independent washer man, washing in a stream far away from
home, his only source of income for the needs of the family. He was not a man about town who socialized and forgot he had a family. Only once I saw him went to a party. And when he returned home, the whole house was thrown into a reverie nearly a whole night. Result of an occasional alcoholic drink that
made him stupor.
One day, the situation turned around, and his fortune changed when he got a job in a high school as a laundry man. It gave him the opportunity to enroll his first son in the school, and his wage was deducted at source for the school fees. Expectedly, life became sweeter. With the sweet life, he suddenly found himself wrapped in an affair with a woman who lived next door, said to have fallen in love with him. It marked the beginning of Ai-my mother’s worry for his future and the future of the children.
She raised a stout opposition to what she called an illicit affair. Then Musa decided against an illicit affair with the dark colored woman with tattooed body and buttock pointed as an arrow capable piercing a man’s souls, to settle for what seemed like a gamble for our lives. He went back to his village for a wife, a second
wife, a demand from his family which he had earlier rejected. Suddenly, he announced a decision to travel to his hometown, while Ai was pregnant with her sixth and last child. He took Awa, my immediate younger sister with him, to live with his aged mother. On a Sunday of the week left, Ai went into labor and delivered a baby girl. And because of a difference in dialect between the people of Etsako, Musa’s homestead and Ile-Ife, the ancient city of Yoruba land where we lived, Awa lost the opportunity for her life’s education, because she was intermittently
made to live in both areas as a young girl.
“Go call Mama Jose for me.” Ai instructed. I did not know she was in labor. But I knew there was urgency in her voice, and so I ran out of the house to the home of a tall, light skinned old woman whom I identified the message was to be delivered. I did not have the knowledge of a woman in labor. So, I did not tell the woman my mother was in labor.
”My Mama is calling you to come.” I delivered the message and went into play with my mates on the spot. I sensed that the old woman thought Ai might be in labor based on her experience that when a heavily pregnant woman sent a message of sort it must be urgently attended, given the way she left me behind with my peers to our home. It took me sometime to get away and ran toward home. I arrived home and saw my mother had been delivered of a bouncing baby girl. Mama Jose stood with a smile of joy on her face. A look of relieve on Ai’s face, like someone who had just put off a big load, and was sipping from a cup of water in her hand.
Musa returned from his journey on Monday before dawn and a knock sounded on the door.
“Welcome,” he was ushered in to the cry of a baby. He knew Ai had delivered a new baby. I wondered why the baby did not sleep that hour of the night. Perhaps she had an instinct her dad was arriving and she decided to keep awake. He too must have aimed to come around to witness the birth, knowing the wife was close to giving birth, having been away for just a week and God may have decided to deliver the wife before his arrival with
a new wife.
“Alihamudu lillahi.” he chorused. He was happy. He beamed with joy, went toward the giant sized bed, he lifted the baby up in his hands, turned round and gave an instruction to Laisi- my immediate elder brother and me.
“Go to the gas station and bring the load, the woman and the young boy home.” He did not tell anyone the identity of the woman and the boy, and no one cared to ask him. Ai must have known but she did not say
anything. She was cool. As children in the house, we did not have to ask questions of our father’s resolve. We were expected to obey instructions. Our important needs as children were food on the table, new clothes and shoes for the Moslem festivals and a ram to kill to mark the Ed -El-Kabir.
In obedience to his instruction, we stepped out of the house. We arrived at the gas station at the end of a foot path across the road, from a bookshop in front of a story building, where Dele- my eldest brother - lived with his childhood friend, about a hundred and twenty meters to the house. We carried the loads, asked the woman, tall and dark in complexion; and her brother, dark but short, to come along.
We arrived back home with the load, the woman and her brother.
be apprenticed to learn bicycle repairing. He had said he had no money to pay for my high school education.
A seeming darkness pervaded my sensibility even though it was midday. I could not comprehend why he wanted me to learn bicycle repairing when my oldest brother was in a middle
school and my immediate brother was learning photography. I did not see any future in bicycle repairing. I knew my father would not have deliberately set me on a path that I viewed as unpromising.
I thought there were better trades or at worst, he could have asked me to wait until he could provide the money for me to proceed to high school.
The mere thought of imagining myself becoming a bicycle repairer baffled me. I wondered silently why my father mentioned it to me. I did not blame him, having no reason to. I knew he was a hard working man who loved his children, and who did not allow the poverty of food in his household. I did not know what to immediately tell him other than turn down the request
.“I am not learning bicycle repairing.” I said emphatically. He was surprised at my response. He looked up into my eyes like he tried to confirm if the statement he heard came from me.
“If you are not learning bicycle repairing, tell me what you want to learn. I don’t have money to send you to college.”
“If you don’t have the money now, you may have later. I will wait to go to school.”
“You must be out of your mind.” he said and quickly added, “If you are not ready to learn a trade, then you will join me in my laundry work, and work in the farm.”
“It is alright for me to join you in your work and work in the farm. But you will have it in mind that I am waiting to go to school anytime that the money is available.” “If money is available, I would not have asked you to learn
work. Laisi is learning photography. I did not have money to send him to college. I could not have two children in the college at the same time. Dele’s school fees were deducted from my salary at source. The college has turned our employment into a contract. We are paid based on the number of clothes washed. You may be lucky like Laisi who has been promised by Dele that if he gets a good job after leaving school he would send him to
college, because he did not want to be the only educated fellow in the family.”
“It was why I said I would wait. I don’t mind if I have to repeat the final class. I want to go to school." While I was I growing up, Musa-my father, worked as an independent washer man, washing in a stream far away from
home, his only source of income for the needs of the family. He was not a man about town who socialized and forgot he had a family. Only once I saw him went to a party. And when he returned home, the whole house was thrown into a reverie nearly a whole night. Result of an occasional alcoholic drink that
made him stupor.
One day, the situation turned around, and his fortune changed when he got a job in a high school as a laundry man. It gave him the opportunity to enroll his first son in the school, and his wage was deducted at source for the school fees. Expectedly, life became sweeter. With the sweet life, he suddenly found himself wrapped in an affair with a woman who lived next door, said to have fallen in love with him. It marked the beginning of Ai-my mother’s worry for his future and the future of the children.
She raised a stout opposition to what she called an illicit affair. Then Musa decided against an illicit affair with the dark colored woman with tattooed body and buttock pointed as an arrow capable piercing a man’s souls, to settle for what seemed like a gamble for our lives. He went back to his village for a wife, a second
wife, a demand from his family which he had earlier rejected. Suddenly, he announced a decision to travel to his hometown, while Ai was pregnant with her sixth and last child. He took Awa, my immediate younger sister with him, to live with his aged mother. On a Sunday of the week left, Ai went into labor and delivered a baby girl. And because of a difference in dialect between the people of Etsako, Musa’s homestead and Ile-Ife, the ancient city of Yoruba land where we lived, Awa lost the opportunity for her life’s education, because she was intermittently
made to live in both areas as a young girl.
“Go call Mama Jose for me.” Ai instructed. I did not know she was in labor. But I knew there was urgency in her voice, and so I ran out of the house to the home of a tall, light skinned old woman whom I identified the message was to be delivered. I did not have the knowledge of a woman in labor. So, I did not tell the woman my mother was in labor.
”My Mama is calling you to come.” I delivered the message and went into play with my mates on the spot. I sensed that the old woman thought Ai might be in labor based on her experience that when a heavily pregnant woman sent a message of sort it must be urgently attended, given the way she left me behind with my peers to our home. It took me sometime to get away and ran toward home. I arrived home and saw my mother had been delivered of a bouncing baby girl. Mama Jose stood with a smile of joy on her face. A look of relieve on Ai’s face, like someone who had just put off a big load, and was sipping from a cup of water in her hand.
Musa returned from his journey on Monday before dawn and a knock sounded on the door.
“Welcome,” he was ushered in to the cry of a baby. He knew Ai had delivered a new baby. I wondered why the baby did not sleep that hour of the night. Perhaps she had an instinct her dad was arriving and she decided to keep awake. He too must have aimed to come around to witness the birth, knowing the wife was close to giving birth, having been away for just a week and God may have decided to deliver the wife before his arrival with
a new wife.
“Alihamudu lillahi.” he chorused. He was happy. He beamed with joy, went toward the giant sized bed, he lifted the baby up in his hands, turned round and gave an instruction to Laisi- my immediate elder brother and me.
“Go to the gas station and bring the load, the woman and the young boy home.” He did not tell anyone the identity of the woman and the boy, and no one cared to ask him. Ai must have known but she did not say
anything. She was cool. As children in the house, we did not have to ask questions of our father’s resolve. We were expected to obey instructions. Our important needs as children were food on the table, new clothes and shoes for the Moslem festivals and a ram to kill to mark the Ed -El-Kabir.
In obedience to his instruction, we stepped out of the house. We arrived at the gas station at the end of a foot path across the road, from a bookshop in front of a story building, where Dele- my eldest brother - lived with his childhood friend, about a hundred and twenty meters to the house. We carried the loads, asked the woman, tall and dark in complexion; and her brother, dark but short, to come along.
We arrived back home with the load, the woman and her brother.
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