Please, this essay is just a draft - unedited.
Stoic, visionary, and beyond reproach. That's me. And I know love. I am one of a kind God's creation - talented, but not a careerist. I am compassionate, selfless, and reliable. Like President Bill Clinton, I know little about almost everything. And like Chief Obafemi Awolowo, my integrity is intact - creative, intuitive, knows what works, inspiring, and the ability to identify those with the traits to catalyze dreams and achieve the agenda.
I am lucky to enjoy the surrounding of one kind loving and compassionate sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, and cousins. And I can't thank God enough for the Mother who raised me, showered me with love, admiration, and unparalleled discipline, and yes, imbued me with the traits and essence of kingship, nobility, dignity, humility, and integrity. My mother was such an amazing, phenomenon disciplinarian woman. At fourteen years old, she could still slap me across the face and I dare not cry. And all the youths, and elders in the community, as well as my childhood friends were quite aware of her noble virtues and wisdom, which, of course, made things very difficult for me outside of the house. I dare not misbehave or beat up any deviant kids during a soccer match in the playground like my friends would do. It was always "go and tell his mama."
Once, I kicked a kid's ball into the bush for being abusive. An elderly woman walked by and asked why the kid is crying. He told her "Ehi kick my ball into the bush." The woman asked, do you know his Mom? The kid replied, yes. The next question was, do you know their house? The kid replied, yes. The elderly woman said, stop crying, go and tell his mama. And the woman walked away. Hearing that, I jumped into the bush immediately and fetched the ball for the kid. But he insisted on going to my house to report me to my Mama. I held him and pleaded with him, but to no avail. Then one of the kids who was watching without saying a word, said to the crying dude, "don't go to their house, tell him to buy buns for you at school tomorrow, his mama is a trader and she has money." Without any hesitation, the two of us agreed to the proposal. And that was the first thing I did the following day at school.
This dude became my tormentor for a long time. Anytime someone is crying around me, it is always, "stop crying; go and tell his Mama." It came to a point I had to report myself to my mother about the ordeal confronting me at playgrounds and at school; bribing kids and other students not to report me to my Mom over every little thing. I could do no wrong. It was as if the whole world knew my Mom. That all eyes were on me was an understatement. Yes, I had to report myself to my Mama as a preemptive measure. And that was how I stopped dissipating part of my "small change" for brunch at school.
When I transferred to the boarding system in Form Four when I was in Grammar school, I decided to pay a visit to the aggressive side of me on one occasion. One afternoon, in the company of five other students, we went to the city to play around and do some shopping. On our way back to the campus, the five of us took a single taxi. I sat at the front with another student and the driver and the other four students occupied the back seat.
As we approached the school gate, I told the driver not to stop at the gate, but to proceed a little further. At the time, there were numerous bush paths connecting the highway to the back of all the dormitories. And I knew one of them very well. The moment the driver packed his car at the specified spot, I opened my door, dashed across the road, and bailed into the bush. I didn’t pay the driver. Two other students followed my lead. The other three did not run. But they turned out to be the lucky ones.
I didn't know that the taxi driver knows me and my Mom very well. Not only that, he was not in the mood to accept my fare from me. And the sweet-smelling loaf of bread on his dashboard was to be a gift to me. Seeing me in his vehicle, he kind of saw an opportunity to do a favor for me, which he did anticipate I will tell my Mom. But I ruined it.
The taxi driver declined to accept the regular fare from the other three students who didn't run. He told them to inform the guy with the afro hair (that’s me) that his mother is going to pay for the fare that the six of us were due to pay. He didn’t stop there. He told them that he knows the shed or stall where my Mom sells her wares in the public market. In the end, he gave them the giant loaf of bread that was on his dashboard, telling them that he wanted to give the bread to me as a gift because of my Mother. Hearing that, I started salivating.
As the other three students recount their stories, they much the bread with relish. Though the sweet smell of the bread made me salivate, my mind was on my Mama at home. My mind was beating fast: why did I? What will I tell her? That night, I had difficulties sleeping. But before I went to bed, I made up my mind about what to do - go to my village first thing tomorrow morning and report myself to my Mom before the Driver gets there.
That morning, as the "day students" were arriving at school, I was already on my way to face prosecution. I got home early as planned, and luckily for me, my Mama was at home. Seeing me, she jumped up, asking "bekhin?" I told her everything is okay. Then, why are you home? I sat down and told her everything and described the driver and his vehicle the best way I could. My Mama remained calm and didn't say a word. She asked, have you eaten, I told her no.
She then proceeded to the kitchen to fix me yam and vegetables – my favorite. The culture in the community is that you don't question my Mom. Her words are final. You only talk when she wants you to talk. She wasn’t aggressive or dictatorial. She was innately blessed with wisdom. And like Caesar's wife, she was above board.
As she was cooking, I gathered some strength to ask her about the driver, because I didn't have much time to spend at home waiting for my crucifixion. She went ahead to inform me that the driver grew up in the same house as her immediate elder sister (Aunty Ile). His mother died when the boy was very young, and Aunty Ile took care of him. And my Mama, been a frequent guest at her immediate sister's house, became very fond of the little guy. The little grew up to become a taxi driver, and on my Mom's recommendation, he was hired briefly to drive and teach my Mom's eldest sister’s son (cousin Spaco) how to drive. Hearing that, I took a deep breath, without saying a word, but telling myself, wao, he really knows who I am.
As I began relishing my meal, I knew it wasn't over between me and my Mother. She came over sat opposite me and asked me if it was financial hardship that prompted me to jump into the bush without paying the driver. I replied no. Why then did you jump into the bush? As I was searching for an answer, she asked, you jumped because you saw your friends doing it, did you? I said, no. Additionally, I was the first to jump. You were the first to jump? She asked. And I replied in the affirmative. Hearing that, my Mom got up from her chair. Were it to be a few years back, when I was a little bit younger, my Mom would turn my face bloody. Seeing and feeling her helplessness, I stopped eating, got up from my chair, and told her that I am very sorry for what I did, promising her that it will not happen again.
I could feel her anger, as she asked over and over again, "why did you jump into the bush without paying the driver?” I was staring at my mother, not knowing what to say or tell her. I didn't really know what to tell her or why I did it. At that juncture, I consider it safer for me to keep quiet than to lie. So, I just remained silent.
She came closer to me and said, next time, if you don't have any reason to do anything thing, don’t do it. I could feel her anger degenerate into disappointment and frustration. And that was worse. I repeated that it will not happen again. She accepted my apology. And told me that I did the right thing by traveling to the village to report myself. I will take care of the driver when I see him, that was her final response on the matter. She gave me some money and off I went back to school.
I was about eighteen years old when this incident happened. My Dad died when I was fourteen. My stepbrother did not drop out of Grammar School. So, that I was expected to do better and excel in the village was not a topic for debate. At that time, she was already telling me "I want you to be a businessman.” She would insist on that repeatedly. The nature of her business, which involves chartering vehicles to transport her goods from one city to another, brought her in close contact with a different brand of businessmen. She was grooming and nurturing a King and not a Prince. Most of my classmates and close friends knew that, and they were very supportive. No one wants to disappoint my Mother.
One weekend, I accompanied one of my closest friends home from school. While in the house, a minor disagreement developed between my friend and her Mom. And I heard my friend telling his Mom to shut up and get out of his room. Hearing that, I was in total shock. He noticed my reaction and his Mom noticed it too. When we left the house, my friend said, "I saw your reaction just now; let me tell you, my Mom is not like your Mom. Everybody respects your Mother, but my Mother is like that." And I remember telling him, but, telling your Mother to shut up is abusive words; this is the first time I am seeing any of my friends abusing his or her Mother. Yes, it was a rude shock to experience.
On the issue of becoming a businessman, my mind was already made up of becoming a Lawyer and taking after my Mom's political idol, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, and becoming a political leader. To do that, I must have a law degree and a graduate background in Business Administration or Public Administration. Today, I have achieved more than that – a Bachelor of law degree, a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer, a Master of Laws in Energy and Environmental Law and Policy, and a graduate-level certificate in Administration and Management.
Since my first day in Government class in Form Three in Grammar school, I made up my mind that I must be a lawyer and become a political leader like Chief Obafemi Awolowo. So, being an obedient and respectful kid to my Mom and the elders in the community was not negotiable. In the process, I became an avid reader of the Tribune Newspaper, owned by the Awolowo family. I didn't know about that then. On the road and on campus, my friends and classmates took the time to police me, with a view to ensuring my adherence to the role model status expected of me.
On the other hand, my Dad was the opposite of my Mama. Very stern, reserved, and intimidating. Most often, my Dad would tease my Mama for her unparalleled kindness. He would declare, I have never seen a situation where someone who has a single item would readily give out that single item freely to someone else. He just couldn’t stop expressing his reservations over my Mama’s proclivity for free giving. Don’t get me wrong; my Dad was relatively kind, but he was quintessentially a capitalist in the American model. He believed that you must work for your pay.
His grown-up children from his two wives happened to be all female. As a farmer, he couldn’t use them on the farm. I and my stepbrothers were very young. So, my Dad devised a mean modeled after the old trade by barter economic theory. During the planting and harvesting seasons, he would rent or hire some of his mates and the younger guys to work with him on his farm. In return for their labor, he would offer them his excess seed yam for their planting needs.
My Dad exposed me to stoicism and what it requires to be resolute. Contrary to every expectation, as a kid, I was the one, most often, picked by my Dad to accompany him to the jungle at night for hunting. And most often, I was left alone, while he went about hunting. As the youngest of all the kids, I was always the one most often selected to go on errands in an isolated area or to the river to fetch water where the possibility of seeing another soul for hours was zero.
The most dangerous of all was leaving me alone on the roadside to wait for my Uncle after the close of the day job on the farm. Once a month, Uncle Jacob would leave the farm early to travel to Onitsha through Onitsha-Ugbo and Asaba with his Bike to buy clothes for his shop. Yes, while my Dad, my other uncles, my brother, and my cousins would leave the farm and go home at about 5 p.m., I will remain in one spot on the road leading to the farm, waiting for Uncle Jacob to return.
Our farm is halfway between our village and Asaba. And Asaba is next to Onitsha just after the Niger River. So, while on the farm, it is more economical for my Uncle to take some hours off and drove to Onitsha to buy the clothes he would need for his shop the next market day, down to take public transport to Onitsha from the village. That was the reason for the monthly journey from the farm. Because he normally returns at night and is too dangerous to continue his journey to the village, someone must wait for him by the roadside for him to arrive.
He would come at about eight p.m. at night, pick me up, and the two of us would ride on his bicycle back to the farm and spend the night together inside the hut. As always, both of us would ride home the following morning. While me? I just could not understand, even at this moment. My only assumption was that my Dad didn’t do it for the hate, but to counter my Mama's meekness towards me. My Mother, being a Princess from the royal family, and my Dad was visibly worried that she was treating me as a Crown Prince. That fear heightened his toughness in dealing with me. Not only did I become stronger than most of my mates, but I was also visibly smarter and more intelligent.
My Dad came home from the farm one day, and after taking his bath and the evening meal, he sat with us (his two wives and kids) at Oto-egodo (the space between the main house and the women's section) for the usual random gist. After a brief discussion, unexpectedly, he looked at me and declared, “I do not have any problem distinguishing what Ehimhantie did on the farm from those of his brother – mentioning the name of my stepbrother who at the time was stronger than me, older than me and was already in Grammar School. My Dad made a profound judgment that night, describing and defining me and my older brother and our crafts on the farm. He said, 'amid many "ugbagbe" (traps), I can easily distinguish the one set by Ehimhantie (that’s me) from those set by his older brother.' And he went ahead to describe my ingenuity and tactics in setting up my traps. Ungbagbe is a trap - a rope, wire, and stick contraption that male guys normally set in the bush or at a specific spot around the farm for animals.
Hearing that unusual compliment, I looked at my Mother and I could see grins all over her face. That was the first time, my Dad ever complimented me or any of his kids openly. He died a few months later. And I am glad that my Dad did acknowledge my signature before he died. Above all, I am glad that he knew that his effort to toughen me and make me a real man turned out to be an amazing endeavor.
By the way, a few days after that compliment, one of my traps caught a giant snake. Seeing it, I shouted, "Babaooo, me gbu uku-gba" - Daddy, I killed a snake. It was on a weekend. He was on the farm and everybody was on the farm. Where I was in the bush was not too far from the farm and he held my cry clearly. Within minutes he was with me, brandishing the sharp machete that he hardly uses from its shield. Still, trembling, I pointed at the trap and the snake. With just one stroke, he macheted the snake into three. The snake was held tight onto the set of sticks inserted into the ground by the wire that extended from the adjoining rope, which I tied into a protruding stick that I exerted into the ground a few distances away. He grabbed the now lifeless snake, cut the head off, and tied up the remaining part. He looked at me, and said, I knew your trap could withstand the strength of any animal. And I saw the respect and admiration he has for me growing. Suddenly, death came and took him away too soon a few months later.
As for Uncle Jacob, he became my favorite family member until he died. I remember when I was promoted to the final year in Grammar School and was looking for clothing material to sow the recommended trouser for the class as a Form Five senior student. I just walked to Uncle Jacob's stall in the market, not too far from where my Mom's stall was, and grabbed a piece of navy blue material. I remember a gentleman inside his shop saying or asking, "Is that not too expensive for your age?" My Uncle just said, "he is not paying for it." I didn't even tell him to cut a trouser length or size from it for me. I just grab it and took it to my tailor. And I got two pairs of pants out of it. That was the nature of the relationship between me and Uncle Jacob. He died in the first week of January 1989. And may his gentle soul rest in peace.
Growing up, my immediate elder sister was the most brilliant in my Father's house of all his children from his two wives. Next to her was my older/stepbrother. I wasn’t that brilliant; I was just intelligent. My Mama thought me stories about the life and leadership style of all the great political leaders of Nigeria of her time, as well as the life and death of the great men in the Bible.
She was an unapologetic fan of Papa Awo or Chief Obafemi Awolowo. She introduced me to the work and leadership style of the sage. As a kid, I learned about Joseph the Dreamer of the Bible, Okotie-Ebor, Osadebe, Chaka Momodu, Azikiwe, Balewa, and Ahmadu Bello of Nigerian politics from her. And she knew the name of all the political parties of pre-independence. It was not a surprise when Mrs. Atalakpa, one of the leaders of the Unity Party of Nigeria (UPN), asked her to be the women leader of the party in our community in 1979. She declined.
It wasn't about her, but her only surviving son.
One day, during the summer-long holiday, she went to her eldest sister's house at Eguare and noticed some children, my age-mate, communicating in the English language. Hearing them speaking English, she asked if someone is visiting from the city with his kids. They told her no. She then asked whose children are these and where did they learn to communicate in English. And they told her, at school. Saint Mathias Elementary School, being the school that all the children from the Lecturers and workers at Pilgrim Baptist Grammar Schoo, the Oil Palm Company, and the Council attend, every student must learn to communicate in English. Besides, about 90% of the Teachers at Saint Mathias are non-native. Hearing that, my mother made up her mind that she is transferring me to the school.
My Dad asked her why. She replied Ehimhantie doesn't know how to speak English. All the children in that School communicate in the English language. My Dad didn't say a word. At the time, I knew you would have to first obtain Transferred Certificate to be able to send your child to a new school. Even though my Mom was well-traveled, she wasn't educated.
On the first day of the new school year, my Dad sat in the Living Room, waiting for the unexpected, not saying a word. I had my bath, dressed up, and waited in the Living Room. My mother came and asked, do you know Mama Theresa's house, I replied yes. She said, carry your bag and go there and ask for a Teacher. I looked at my Dad, and he didn't say a word. I went straight to Mama Theresa's house. Getting there, it was Mama Theresa who met me at the door. I greeted her, and she asked about my Mama and I told her she is fine. Then she shouted, Obhi-Irhierhe (Irhierhe's child) is here to no one in particular. Suddenly, a tall guy who I was seeing for the first time came out. He greeted me and asked about my mom, I replied she is fine. The next question was, do you know your way to St Mathias Primary School at Eguare, I told him yes. He said, go there and wait for me. I did. I got there and I was placed in a class specified by my mother. And that was how my transfer was executed by my illiterate mother. And that became the turning point in my academic pursuit.
Though I had to trek three times the distance I use to trek to my previous school, it was the most exciting moment of my infant life. The exposure was amazing, and I became more like a city guy. The following year, I got admission to the Federal Government Unity School. Unfortunately, I couldn’t take advantage of the opportunity, because my Dad died a few weeks earlier. The family and entire community were in mourning mood, and my Uncle could not afford to send me away to a boarding system while still in elementary school.
At the time my Dad went to be with the Lord, my older stepbrother was already in Grammar School. Given the fact that my immediate elder sister did not go beyond Elementary School, my Mother was ready to take any chance with her only surviving male child. W
So, when I was in Primary Six, my Mother called me aside one day and wanted to know the process of securing admission into Grammar School. I told her that, first, you would have to register for a Common Entrance Examination and choose about three Grammar Schools. After the examination, any of the Grammar Schools would invite you for an interview if you meet their passing score. It is your performance at the interview that determines your acceptance or eligibility.
Hearing that, She asked, how much is the fee for the examination? I told her, isele-igbe - One Naira. She untied her agbale from her waist, unfold it, and brought out One Naira for me. I didn't take it immediately. I said, Nene, we are just in the first term. It is not yet time for the enrolment. She insisted I take the money, saying, take it and keep it. If I die tomorrow, I don't want you to declare in the future "I did not go to Grammar School because I had no money to register for the Common Entrance examination." I took the money from her. My Mama did not die as she feared during the enrolment, but something else happened that no one anticipated.
A day after my Mama gave me the money, I took the money to school and showed it to the younger guy who shared the same Bench with me in Class. And told him what my Mom did. He asked, what are you going to do now? I said I don't know what to do with the money. During the break, I approached the General Monitor, who was at the time, richer than all of us. His Uncle was a Pool Magnate. And most often, he would buy launches for us. I showed him the money and told him what my mom did. He looked at me condescendingly and asked, what are you going to do with the money? Not waiting for my response, he asked, you want to buy peanuts and a banana with it? He grabbed the money from me, saying, “give it to me before you go and waste it - you know your Mom, she will kill you if you do that.” I said that's why I showing it to you, Victor. He grabbed the money and placed it in his pocket without saying a word. Then, he proceeded to buy us Fanta and a biscuit.
When the time came for registration, my Mother did not die. I was not at school to register. I was at home for about two months with a severe illness. The guy who had my money, Victor, told another student that Alex’s Mom gave his enrolment fee to him a few months ago and that Alex gave him the money to hold. And that was how the two gentlemen choose the three Grammar Schools for me and registered me for the Common Entrance Examination accordingly.
My trusted guy was Victor Ojiake. He lives in Europe presently. His grandmother and my grandmother were from the same village. And we happened to know each other while both of us were hanging out with our grand Uncles and kids. The first dude with who I shared the same Bench in the classroom was Prince Ojiefoh Enosegbe. He is today, His Royal Highness the Onogie of Ewohimi. And our friendship is still as tight today as it was decades ago. The dude who assisted Victor with my registration is Obhokhan Moses Ukpebor. Today, he lives in Boston with his wife and kids. The three Grammar schools offered me admission. But I accepted the offer from Pilgrim Baptist Grammar School (PBGS) to be closer to home and be supportive of my Mom with her farm work.
Grammar School was very exciting. Except in the Mathematics class where I didn’t know what the lecturers were saying. I tried to catch up, but I couldn’t, and I just quit. Beginning from Form One, I was the top student in the English Language. And I repeated the same feat in Form Two and Form Five. To her grace, I completed the WASC - West Africa School Certificate syllabus in Government and Literature in English in Form Four - a year faster. While in Form Five, I was more like a substitute teacher to some of my classmates in Government and Literature in English. And that was how the Lawyer in me and my interest in Public Affairs started. And I credit my Mom for everything.
She was not educated. She grew up at Eguare with her eldest sister. And their house was opposite Saith Matthias Catholic School, the same Elementary school she later transferred me to. She was raised a Catholic. And that was how she became very versed in the Bible and a little bit of the English language. That exposure came in handy when she started her fish and yam business years later.
She would buy yam from some of the farmers in our village and travel with the yam to Warri and Sapele for sale, the two big cities in the Niger Delta. She would remain there for about a week. And after selling her yam, she would buy dried fish and shrimps from the aquatic farmers in the region and bring them home to sell. She was simply special, and we never lack anything. I and my immediate elder sister grew up knowing how to fend for ourselves whenever my Mom was on the move. It was an upper-middle-class lifestyle she gave us.
Of all the lectures that she taught me, the one that she was most adamant about was respect for women. The lessons in this category that influenced my early childhood relationship with women and even now are (1) Do not divulge your sexual encounters with a woman to any of your friends. (2) Do not take your disagreement or dispute between you and your girlfriend to your friend or to me to resolve for you. If you cannot resolve it by yourself, no one can do it for you. And (3) do not be in a hurry to engage in a sexual relationship with any girl. She has to be your best friend and the best girl "in class" or around you. There is nothing like I was in a hurry or I was sex-starved. You must know what you are dealing with and the repercussions. And when anything happens, you must be prepared to say: yes, I did, and I am not responsible.
I followed the advice to the letter throughout my dating life. When it came time for me to marry, I did not marry the best girl in class or my best friend. I traveled to Nigeria to marry someone whom I thought I know after being away from my home country for many years. It wasn't for the love, or for being the best girl in class, or being my best friend. None of what my mother taught me. I just wanted to be closer to my roots or culture and I went home to marry a stranger. And it was dead from the onset. And I thank God for vindicating the "just" in me and my clean hands.
Before I forget, I must add that I am the first University graduate in my family, not just in my Father’s house. One of the first ten lawyers in the community. The first with a graduate degree in law. And the first in the community to graduate from Harvard.
Some years ago, I decided to drive a taxi in Boston, Massachusetts, when I couldn’t get a job and I was desperate to rent my own house. And when the news came, one of my friends looked at me and said, “Alex, when I heard that you started driving Taxi, I couldn’t believe the story, because you are the last person I would expect to take the plunge.” I got that from my Dad. 2008, I was in Nigeria to attend the Nigeria Bar Association Annual Conference, and I decided to take the opportunity to sell my Integrative Educational Model, which I developed as a student at Harvard University Extension School, to some prominent political leaders in Northern Nigeria. After an unsuccessful meeting with the Senate President and the Secretary to the Federal Government of Nigeria, I decided to sell the proposal to the former President of Nigeria, Ibrahim Babangida at his residence in Minna, Niger State.
While I was boarding that Taxi that would take me there, a phone call came from my friend in Japan. He was my classmate at the University and roommate in my final year. He knew I was in Nigeria. And when his call came, I told him that I was about to take public transport from Abuja to Minna. His response was: “Alex, don’t tell me that is where you are going.” And I said, you trust your roommate; where else would I be going in Minna if not to meet and conference with him. I got that from my Dad. The integrative model that I wanted to pitch before them, was how to integrate the teaching of western education with Islamic studies at all the Qur’anic learning centers in Northern Nigeria. That, I got from my Mother. By the way, the model is part of the essay that is number two on this blog, which deals with bridging the educational gap between the North and South of Nigeria. Above all, everything about this Blog, the thinking, the vision, and the theory, I got from my Mother.
It's been a long and tumultuous ride. My major weakness and the greatest mistake I made in my adult life, especially in America, was trusting, loving, and sharing my "world" with those who took me as a competitor. In spite of everything, I am glad for one thing: I didn't flunk out of school. I obtained all the certificates I wanted. The hatred has never been about the wrong I did, but of the fear rooted in what I would do if given a chance. But time without number, I made some sacrifices that that some folks wouldn't consider necessary. I was visiting Europe in 1995 when Microsoft Windows 95 came out. Much as I wanted to follow it in the news, I just didn't know what the story is. I knew it was computer related but had no idea about its functionalities. The fact that I couldn't join or participate in the euphoria that encapsulates was a major setback to me at the time. I knew that computers and the world wide web or the internet will define my generation and the ones to follow. So, when I arrived in the United States in 1996, how I am alive today because of God's Will. And I thank God for His Mercies. His anointing is upon me. His Grace lives in me. And He is watching all over me. Above all, I trust that the best is yet to come. This essay is the end of Chapter Two in my life. This Blog is my Chapter Two - putting to test my education and learning through the years. Chapter Three is in the work. Chapter one gave life to Chapter Two.
