A short story by Charles Ejikeme Umeadi (Abana)
In the beginning there was light. It could not be different. It’s enlightenment that counts. Before enlightenment, there was state of mere being, and being having become continues to be as it would always be, just being. A dead eternity, or like a blind walrus or murmurous seas lying in place, willing nothing. Light is the threshold.
Silver picked up his iPhone, googled a topic and read out, “When protons and electrons meet, they form hydrogen, releasing light. This is how the first light in the universe was born, about 380, 000 years after the Big Bang” Silver chuckled and added, the big bang, same chicken and egg conundrum, what was before the Big Bang, not even an idea? Anyway, by the records, there was this thing that existed all along after the big bang before light materialized.. That light was the turning point or not quite, he said as he read again from the phone, “As hydrogen gas further accumulated, it formed a dense cloud which obscured all light. Over a period of hundreds of millions of years, the universe developed in total darkness. Within it, the first stars, star clusters, and superstar clusters formed. A type of radiation known as the Lyman continuum is emitted from the stars and over the next billion years, this reionized the hydrogen, which eventually lifted the “dark” period, allowing light to travel freely once again.” So in this darkness, being was like in the womb, not being or becoming until it was revealed. And there is no revelation in the dark, ejiro anyasi alo anya – one cannot wink in the dark. Dark is forever, 380, 000 years before light first dawned was forever and the hundreds of millions of years when darkness re-entrenched was forever. It was dark and indifferent forever until light dawned. It is thus well said that in the beginning was light. We count with light, we pray for light. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in the land of the shadow of death, upon them a light has shined.” At this, Chim and Muta reached for their teacups as if loosened from a spell by the earthy sweet quotation from the Bible. They were drinking some Chinese herbal tea. Silver said it cleansed the blood and was conducive to sound sleep. It was really memorable Chim thought as he put down his cup back in the saucer. The tea had a life of its own as it filled the mouth and senses with a sensual aroma that was soothing and transformative. One could sense about four different strands of aroma in a sip, so it must have been a combination of different herbs each of which was dominant enough to register its own flavour on the palate. It was soothing and strange to say, quietening. Lovely. Chim looked at Muta and both nodded, and it was obvious they were having the same feeling. The tea was served in a long gold plated jug on a silver tray with porcelain cups. There were slices of lemon and honey to go with the tea and the snack was cucumber and peanuts. The tea mixed very well with Mr. Silver’s silvery tone and light topic.
They were sitting in Mr. Silver’s Obi. Obi in Igbo traditional architecture is the outhouse where the head of the family receives his visitors well away from bustle of the main house where madam and her children held sway. It’s also the man’s retreat, where he could retire to, hang up his legs and nurture his thoughts. The women and children barely went there without invitation or some urgency, though with evolving culture, one could now go to the obi and find Adaeze reading in the easy chair and hear that Silver was asleep in the main house. However, whenever there were male visitors, they were received here and Adaeze would retreat to the main house, but family visitors were received in the sitting room in the main house. The compound was pretty and tantalizing, Adaeze is a horticulturist.
Except in name and location within the compound, the obi bore no further resemblance to the traditional obi, the floor was of polished wood and it was a small hall with large mirrors on the wall, more like a karate dojo and indeed, Silver had designed it for workouts. There was one living room at one end with accessories. By the door to this room was a low table with four low stools. The stools were the traditional obi stools – oche ngbo, made of wood with carvings of traditional motifs on them. There was a short central stem that split into four stands supporting a concave seat that potted the buttocks as one sat. The slight modification here from the traditional stool, was that Silver put round cushions in the concave face. There is air-conditioning and whenever as has happened repeatedly power was cut from the grid, a generator automatically switched on. Each time there was this transition from the grid to the generator, Silver beamed a wry smile and you could tell his thought; why could they not hold their light steady for any length of time.
Sitting on this stool with the knees higher than the buttocks was very comfortable. It was after Chim had been sitting a while that he commented on the comfort and Silver smiled and said that our forbears surely worked out the perfect height for a seat when they designed the oche ngbo. Too bad that we are not patient enough with what we have before switching over to what the glittering Western culture brought. Beside the low table and stools where Chim and Muta sat were two bar stools with arm rests and foot rests. Silver sat on one of the bar stools, looking down on both of them as he spoke. A shelf against the wall held his own mug and cup of the herbal tea.
He was a lanky man who habitually wore long silky robes. Today he was wearing a long silvery robe with black lining down the middle of the front. He was gaunt, shockingly gaunt, his cheeks and temples were sucked in, like dry raisins in the sun, his eyes were brilliant, receded and sparkling, and he gave the impression of a person on a perpetual fast. He had a pointed graying goatee. When Muta joked that he was looking like a scarecrow, he laughed and said that part of the problems of his countrymen was sucking his flesh from within. Chim and Muta laughed and Silver beamed a tight smile. He was a compact man. They had sat on a panel in a workshop on grassroots mobilization organized by MAMSIR. After the event, Silver who was impressed with the vibrancy of the young men had invited them to visit with him.
Silver continued and quoted off by heart “And the earth was without form and void and darkness was upon the face of the deep and God said let there be light and there was light” Light he intoned, this was now our light, in the progression of light, and that was a turning point light out of a radical beginning. It had been dark forever “upon the face of the deep”, unknown, unknowable, but then light came and a procession emerged, sight came, definition came, being became and this light was the source of life. Under the reign of this light, springs became springs as such and flowed, fields became fields, things sprouted, animals, birds, trees, bees and breeze. A community of these arose and became the Edenic garden that the earth remains to this day.
It was at the instance of light, the all seeing fiery eye that undressed darkness bare. And light! What magicality it was, what potency, what panacea. It kick-started photosynthesis. Animals roamed and occupied, brutes working and living their circadian lives on automatic, powered by light. And life flowed and divulged, diverged, splintered and multiplied, teeming. And their organs grew by trial and error but always seeking the light, lured in the direction of light. Gaining and failing, fumbling and stumbling, the unstoppable push surged under the watch of the bright eye. And some did better than the others in the imponderable march until lo, one of them rose to its feet. A new dawn – it can be better this way, the first thought, the first enlightenment. And as he stood he looked up first at the sun and having understood, he bowed and worshipped. It couldn’t be different, he was a product of light and thence he hungered for light.
Silver picked up his phone again, googled and read, “But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healings in its wings. And you will go out and leap like calves released from the stall” This was the second birth, the dawn of enlightenment on the leader of the pack, anthropological transformation into a godhead. Silver repeated his earlier quote “The people which sat in darkness saw a great light and to them which sat in the region and shadows of death, light is sprung up” And it was a great awakening, for like tongues of fire it fell upon many messengers, bringing hope succor and release from the bonds of inner darkness. It was there with the Buddha, it scorched the Arabian deserts through Mohammed, closer home it arose in Eri and nearer in time on Martin Luther King Jnr., bearers of a new passage, lighting up and lightening reality. The transformations were intense and immense, Lenin and Mao turned great sods and everywhere, light was lighting up. “In him was life and that life was the light of men”
Did we not partake of the light? Of course we too rose to our feet; we are part of the Edenic garden, bona fide sons of light. There’s no lateness in time. Everyday is a new beginning – ta bu gbo. But we were counted for dead by the accursed merchants, dead in their darkness and dark deeds. But the immortal missionaries made up for lost ground and laid the foundation for today, warts and all. And why are we tottering? Silver asked and proceeded to answer, it’s the foundation, you must master the basics, critically important and the mastery must be oiled with understanding, without this oil of understanding, the transition will jar, will scrape and will wear. He picked up his phone again, googled and read, “Neither do men put new wine into old bottles, else the bottles break and the wine runneth out and the bottles perish, but they put new wine into new bottles and both are preserved.”
“That is it friends”, he continued, “there was no complete makeover. When you make akpu – cassava fufu, you put the bag containing the dissolved cassava in between two boards and you tighten the presser on the boards and as water keeps dripping from the bag you keep tightening the presser on the boards until enough water is expelled and the akpu is well formed. Without putting it through this mill, you are unlikely to obtain akpu in the ideal state.
There’s a limit to what another person will do for you. Our light is inside us as sons of light, it can only be kindled. They came and brought their somewhat more progressive systems and ideas and sprinkled it all over, but it was only a thin crust, it was us who had to take it from there and run. It was the cream that received the baton that were supposed to roll back their sleeves and dig back inwards and compress it upon the mass, upon the cassava sack until the tenets penetrated and became the norm. But what did the elite do? They were struck crazy by what they deemed a “booty” at their disposal. The very and every aim became to live like the Lords of other climes and pillaging our common resources became a free for all even as we speak. They know how many holidays they must have in one year, how many cars they must have, how many choice homes they must maintain and in what right tones they must blame the colonialists. Of course all around them are the old accursed merchants of dark deeds of yore onto a new scam, goading, flattering and stealing.
Let me make this statement Silver intoned, stepping down from the bar stool, arms slightly raised and in his long robe looking not unlike the Christ The Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro, still towering over his two new friends seated on the low stools and declared, meeting the challenge of collective self-discipline, love of neighbour and prioritization of community interests can only be achieved when we obey traffic lights, only when our motorists voluntarily obey trafiic lights would the light of enlightenment have dawned on our society. Only then would we have begun to march in the grace of light.
Chim and Muta’s eyes locked at this comment and the same thoughts were running through their heads, traffic lights? Maybe there was a chink in this man’s armour after all; maybe this is where he begins to unravel. He’d been too smooth and there’d been this eerie and giddy sensation that they were going too fast and might just crash. And this seems to be the point at which the lid comes off; traffic lights? They heard him as if from a distance still intoning – voluntary obedience to traffic lights is the evidence of our social compassion and transition from crass selfishness to enlightened godheads. That is the sole test, that is the sole proof. Obey traffic lights and become the masters of your fate – his voice, now approachin a wail.
Excerpts From Interviews.
I am Chim Mathew. I am a civil servant, I live at No. 16 Oxblood Drive, Amata. My friend Muta Jon and I had been to see Mr. Fan Silver at his residence at No. 2, Bagge Road, Amata. We left his home about 7pm. We had come in my car and I was driving Muta back to Gado Junction to pick up his car from the car wash. As we turned into the exit from the expressway to head for Gado Junction, there was a serious traffic jam. We had been in the traffic for about thirty minutes before we realized that the traffic was barely moving. And we could not go back and take the overhead bridge because other cars had lined up behind us. It was a painfully slow crawl and at times we stood still for over 20 minutes. Muta remarked that it was because the traffic wardens had closed for the day. What! I screamed but the traffic lights were working. We could see from where we were to the distance ahead that the traffic lights were actually working. It was quite frustrating because the only cause of the gridlock would be because a knot had formed at that junction with everybody in a hurry to go first without paying attention to the traffic lights. My system was wrought tight and I was screaming on the inside. Madness, madness, the traffic lights are working and if we only obeyed the traffic lights, we would be out of here in matter of minutes, it’s going on to one hour and we are still stuck in one place, At one time, I wanted to get out of the car to confront the situation but Muta restrained me saying those ahead will take care of it and I stayed back Occasionally, there will be a little movement and that was how we jerked on. Now, we were in full view of the junction and cars were jammed thick from all the four directions. I could not bear it anymore, so I got down with my engine running and went towards the junction. It was a pitiful sight; some cars driving against the traffic had blocked the lane one of the line of cars needed to pass through. Some street boys were doing their best to separate the cars. But every little space they created was greedily swallowed up by the car that should have waited. I joined in banging on the bonnet of one of the cars to stop, are you crazy? We screamed, can’t you see that if that side does not move, no other car can move? That was the bedlam and all the time, the traffic lights at the junction were changing perfectly, from red to amber, amber to green and back again but the commands were not for the hordes beneath the lights, they could not see the lights. There was no movement. It was sometime before I noticed water flowing down from the back. There was a strong stench of fuel. I bent down and touched the liquid and put my hand to my nose, it was fuel. I ran, very fast. I was still running when I felt a flash of huge boom of light at my back. I looked back still running and saw that a huge fire had enveloped the whole junction and the fire was also racing up the exit. I continued to run my heart pounding wildly. Did Muta get out? When I knew I was safely away, I stopped and turned to look – cars were burning like wood. I doubled over. Then I remembered and jerked up and started screaming, Muta was in the car! It was later I heard that a petrol tanker with a full load had lost control and crashed and spilled its contents down the slope of the exit. It had happened so fast and because of the bedlam at the junction, the accident was not immediately noticed and there was no hope for the entangled cars, they were doomed to the infernal fire.
My name is Aja Johnson, alias Naira and kobo. I dey live for behind barracks, our house no get number. Na we dey in charge for Gado bustop. After these traffic people go, na so the place dey jam for traffic. Nobody gree say another person go pass, no, na only him get where he dey go. When we no tire, na we dey help them control the trafiic. And see all of them oo, fine fine cars, na we go come dey help them to pass. Big man, no sense. Anyway that one no matter, the problem be say when you say make them wait, them no go gree, small chance wey you make so, them go rush block am again. You no see wetin come happen, when fire come now, they no fit comot. Anyway for this one, we dey do our best as usual, na him water begin flow come. E never tay when I hear jam for up up. I know say something happen but I think say na normal accident. I notice the water wey dey flow down but I no know say na problem. But I see say one man begin run as if trouble dey, so I follow am, at first I think say na police. As we dey run na him I hear explosion for back, heavy fire. My guy Fati fit be the person wey cause that fire because him dey smoke ciga for that place. The fire burn am, kai, very bad.
At the funeral service for Muta, Chim and Silver met at the porch of the Church and they stood, silent, their eyes locked. As they stood staring at each other, one felt that the lines on Chim’s face were taking the shape of the lines on Mr. Silver’s. Something appeared to be sucking the flesh of Chim from within.
