Nigeria Dreamin' Part I

Evi Edna Ogholi- Look Before You Cross

I haven't heard this song in over 10 years, oh it brings back fond childhood memories. It reminds me of waking up on Saturdays, smelling omelettes frying in the kitchen, Bournvita or Milo, Belle Hollandaise condensed milk, which used to consumed in unhealthy volumes, much to the discouragement of my dad.
Being a child was fun, things were easy, and simple. No responsibilites, you were supposed to be courteous to your elders, finish up your food, sleep on time, and that was about it. It is when you reach the ages of 10, 11, 12 that responsibility comes in, you become more accountable for the tidyness of your room, you are chastised for not waking up on time, if you have younger ones, their wellbeing is your responsibilty, to the extent that sometimes you are more conscious of the sibling than they are of themselves.
Tidyness was always a major issue in our house, me and my older brother shared a room, and we subscribed to the maxim: "Tidy-up only when absolutely necessary"...My dad, being a Virgo, is obsessively tidy, and his phrase was "Tidyness is next to Godliness", so it was his job to make his little imps spotless, a task he found to be very...tasking. Of course, there were countless times when my brother and I decided, independently, to clean up our room when we woke up in the morning, however, my dad would constantly beat us to the alarm, we would then be shouted out of bed, and spend the morning sweeping and picking up litter, with tears streaming down our cheeks!
Dinner time, or food for that matter, another big deal in our household. You see, I had, and still have an enormous apetite, to the delight of both parents, and the annoyance of my siblings, as I would usually get a bigger share of the food.
Upon seeing the pile of rice in my plate, they would sometimes lodge complaints, knowing full well that they couldn't dispatch that plate if it was given to them.
My dad used to come back from work after we had eaten dinner, so if anyone was still hungry, the best thing to do was hang around him as he ate, and give out signals that you could do with some more food. These signals usually were subtle: long stares at his plate, while making sure he observed you observing his plate. If that didn't work, there was the more desperate method, this was done by rubbing your belly coupled with a misrable look on the face, this would lead to my Dad asking the question: Are you alright?...leading you to reply: No! the key was not to sound too forceful, make sure all the questions were asked by him. After you reply No, he would then ask: "what's wrong?"...then you reply slowly, but firmly: "I'm hungry"...this method won you sympathy points, and some rice and meat.
However, if that method did not work, desperate measures were called for, this would usually involve standing very close to him as he ate, forcing him to ask: "What do you want?"...without hesitation, you replied: "Food!"..or if you wanted to be polite, you could answer: "Are you going to finish that?"...this method was crude, and did not get you sympathy points, and it only got you rice, but no meat.
Speaking of meat, I remember as a child acknowledging the paradox: My dad used to tell us to eat our food, because we needed to grow, have muscles, become tall etc. However, when it came to quantities of meat, he always got more. This was odd, as surely he had peaked in development, and the folks who by his own admission, needed the food, were getting far less that he did. I guess I accepted it as one of the complexities of society.
Sundays, oh yes. Sunny days. Everyone woke up early for church. I remember running to my parents room to get my shoes tied, or my buttons buttoned (it's amazing how helpless a five year old still is) the room smelled of after shave and talcum powder. We were always in a rush on Sundays, no one wanted to get to church late.
Honestly, as child, church could be very very boring, sitting there as a robed man spoke for what seemed like an eternity, as you looked around, your parents and others nodded in agreement, while you had a puzzled look on your face, wondering what was so good about this 'church thing' that people got dressed and came out in droves.
One way of not going to church was to feign illness, an illness that suddenly hit you in the morning! Another way we as kids thought would get us off church was to pretend to have lost our Bibles, we figured that by misplacing the key ingredient of churchgoing we would be exempt from participation...how wrong were we? As my dad kept a stash of extra bibles for such occasions! We were tossed a bible and bundled to church.