Crossed Road

Fiction:  By Osamase Ekhator

“Nigeria broke free from the British in 1960,” said Abraham Bolagun.

The dimly lit room was hot. Sweat dripped from Abraham’s dark forehead and onto the leather couch cushion under him. The entire house smelled like ripe plantain and fried rice. His wife had just finished dinner.

“Nigeria broke free from the British in 1960.” Abraham repeated to his eighteen year old son. “Daddy,” Jacob answered. He sat across from the leather couch. His nappy hair made him itchy and sweaty. “Your breath reeks of alcohol.”

Guinness to be exact. Abraham’s favorite beer. “Are you are drunk again, Pa?” A poster on the purple room wall showed Abraham’s beloved homeland, Nigeria. A village called Lagogo was circled on the map.

“No. Even, even if I was, why does that matter?” Abraham asked defensively. “Listen to what I’m trying to teach you, boy”

Jacob Balogun was short for his age. Too short. He looked like a twelve year old who had gone through puberty way too early.

The teen had never been to Nigeria. And he never plan doing so, anytime soon.

He sighed; he was not in the mood to learn another life lesson. His father was terrible at giving those.

 “And what is that you’re trying to teach me this time, Dad?”

Abraham burped. An aroma Guinness, plantain and fried rice danced in the air.

“I am trying to teach you the history of Nigeria.”

Plates were put onto the dining table by Abraham’s wife. Usually the Bolaguns ate dinner individually, at different times, but today was special. Jacob wanted his family to start practicing more American customs, like watching television together, having weekly movie nights and planning daily family dinners.

Abraham sluggishly sat down at the oak dining table. His pregnant-looking beer belly pressed against the table. The beer-baby in his stomach could barely breathe. His head tilted at an angle as his forehead continued to drip with sweat. “Woman, fetch me another beer! Make sure it’s cold too, alright,” He yelled to his wife.

“Baba,” Jacob said, staring at his father’s red eyes. Abraham’s wife entered the hot dining room. Their apartment wasn’t big. It was too small like the love between Abraham and his wife.

They had been married for eighteen years. “Dad, you need to stop drinking,” Jacob said.

Abraham and his wife met at a food stand at a Boston Haymarket.

She wasn’t very good looking. She had a thick brow, the size of an early 1990’s cell phone. Her belly was enormous; a whale could have lived inside of it for years, without anyone knowing about it.

She had a terrible attitude; one which made you wants to curse her out for every word coming out of her wretched mouth. And yet, she was the perfect girl for Abraham. She was desperate enough to marry him. She was perfect. She was desperate. And so was he.

Abraham needed to marry an American citizen in order to gain his green card.

The same day they met, Abraham proposed to her. She jumped with excitement and said, “Yes!” The scene was romantic. The sky was black like the ice on dirty pavement, the roses were dead and an aroma of stock fish filled the air. How Romantic.

Abraham always dreamed of marrying Vivica A. Fox. And now he was eloping to Fat Albert. But he was desperate for his beloved green card. Who he called his wife for the rest of his life was a small sacrifice for it.

“Why should I stop drinking, Jacob?” Abraham asked.  “You want me to be more like your white friends’ dads right? They drink too. So let me drink dammit. Now listen Nigeria broke free from the British in 1960.”

Jacob didn’t want to hear this anymore. He wanted to hurry up, eat his dinner and play football with his friends. It was the middle of May and the sun was melting anything in its tracks. He needed to take advantage of it. Besides, he rather be with his friends, than listen to a drunkard try to teach him something he didn’t care about.

“Our first president was Nnandi Azikiwe in 1963 when we became a republic. And in July 1967, a war broke out between Nigeria and Biafra.

“And despite some success, Biafra ended up losing and we ended the succession. The civil war had set us back as a country for a couple years but due to the introduction of the petroleum industry, we started to rise again.”

Abraham took a bite of the plantain. His wife was never good at cooking. When she was a small, chubby girl, her parents never taught her how to cook; simply because they always bought her McDonald’s and Burger King.

When they first moved into their apartment, a month before Jacob was conceived; Abraham told his wife that she would need to learn how to make dinner. All women back at home knew how to do this.

He told her, “I don’t want to eat McDonald every day. And I don’t want my son eating that damn crap either. ”So for the past eighteen years, Abraham’s wife had been cooking every day. And each day, it tasted like dog shit. But Abraham was fine with it. The Guinness made everything taste better.

When Abraham put his fork down, he looked at his wife. She had already finished her plate. And then his red eyes stared at Jacob. “Did, did you even hear what I said, boy?” Abraham asked. Jacob replied, “I’m not listening to a drunk.” Oh Jacob was lucky.

If Abraham had said that when he was a little boy, his mother would have slapped him across his dark, sweaty face and his father would have done something even worse. But his wife did not smack Jacob.

She was too busy choking on her second plate. And Abraham was too impaired to beat his son and teach him about respect.

Besides, this was America and not Nigeria. Jacob knew if he ever got beaten, he could call the police and have a social worker take him away from the hot, small apartment.

Abraham yelled “Jacob what, what have I told you about disrespecting your elders?”

“I don’t care what you’ve told me.” Jacob stood up. He threw his spoon at the plate of untouched food in front of him.

“I don’t care if you’re my father! You drink and drink and I’m tired of it!” He started to run towards the door. “I’m going to see my friends now.”

Abraham stood up. He threw his plate at the apartment door. Jacob could hear the wind of the throw by his ears. It could have hit him. He opened the house door.

“Don’t go Jacob!” Abraham screamed. He walked closer. He dropped his bottle of Guinness. “Listen to when your father is speaking. I haven’t finish telling the history of Nigeria! Don’t you want to tell your kids about their grandfather’s country? Don’t you want to know about your family history?”

“Noo.” The boy shouted. He didn’t care for the history of Nigeria. And soon, his kids wouldn’t either. And then their kids. And so forth. They would no longer associate themselves with their Nigerian blood. What a shame.

This was the beginning of losing the history of where we came from. And if we, the younger generation, do not take time to learn about the country of our mother and father, we will lose a part of ourselves. And as the years go by, we must remember the future of a nation lies on the future of its children.

Osamase Ekhator is a sophomore at Boston College, studying English. 

Alltimepost.com congratulates Osamase for this excellent literary piece and welcomes more contributors.