Literature
It was this time last year they demolished our home, leaving us to wither away like broken twigs. They said it was for development; development needed a breathing space to germinate. Now we are being visited again. It is the local government chairman this time.
The other time it was our councillor.
?We can?t afford to lag behind,? the councillor had said in a meeting at the village square. ?We need to move forward. We can?t remain perpetual villagers to the mockery of our neighbours.?
My father had nodded in agreement like the rest of the elders.
?Look at Edah,? the councillor continued, adjusting his cap. ?A settlement that was a mere hamlet yesterday, look at the way it has grown because of the road. You can?t go to Opanda today without passing through Edah.?
It was a challenge indeed, everyone agreed, a challenge to which personal sacrifices were necessary. Those whose houses were close to the road had to surrender them.
They would be paid compensation, the councillor assured. But that aspect was yet to be approved. And development does not wait for such thing when its time has come. It was time for Akende to tell its neighbours that it was also capable of moving forward.
?We shall all be better for it,? the councillor had concluded.
I don?t like it, I had said to my father after the meeting, the road could conveniently bypass our house. But the old man advised me to like it. No one could stop them.
So the bulldozers came, catching us unaware despite the two years notice. We would have been homeless but for Uncle. We shared his place while we built a temporary home ? two thatched mud houses of three rooms each. My two sisters and I had to miss school now and then to help father and mother with the work.
We will build a better home when the compensation comes, father had said. And to the school principal who came to complain about our perpetual absence from school, he admitted that could kill the Community Secondary School. He then begged for understanding, for us to continue to be absent so that the building could be completed before the fast approaching rainy season.
?He said he recognises the sacrifice you have made,? says the chairman?s messenger, as we sit in my father?s parlour, built barely a month ago. ?That is why he has personally sent me to you.?
It is a private meeting between the two, but my father invited me in. Peeping eyes behind the closed door testify to the family?s curiosity. What have we done to warrant such a visit?
?I thank him for the honour,? says my father, avoiding the messenger?s rat eyes.
?About the compensation,? he says, dipping into his brief case. ?It is a priority, though funds have not yet been made available even for the road construction.?
?Money is hard to come by these days,? says father.
?That?s why he is calling for more sacrifice.? He brings out a piece of paper and a pen.
?Sacrifice is a sacred duty.? He is staring at the items in the messenger?s hand.
?When the road is eventually constructed the village will open up for buying and selling. And money will start flowing.? He speaks now as if from a memorised speech. ?But there have to be things to buy and to sell; which is why the chairman is planning to boost farming. He has acquired vast pieces of land for that purpose.?
?We are quite aware of that,? says father somewhat impatiently. It is a common knowledge that the chairman has acquired several pieces of farmland. They say he wants to retire to full time farming when he leaves office. ?It is a good thing,? father added as an afterthought.
?He needs more land, especially in this village, in order to help develop the village.? He dips into the case again. ?So, that your farmland near Eku river, he wants to acquire it.?
My father adjusts his sitting position nervously.
?But that?s the only farm we?ve got,? I say.
?He knows,? says the messenger, bringing out wads of naira notes from the case. ?He wants just a portion of it. And he is paying twice the price.?
?Twice the price?? says father.
?Thrice, I mean.? He puts the notes on the table and brings out some more. ?Cash down...? He arranges the bundles, one on top of the other. ?But, if you have any objection...?
My father says nothing, looking at the pile.
The messenger turns to me.
?It is for the good of us all,? he smiled.
I keep silent.
Where can I find words when father has no mouth to speak?
THE END.
- Master Harold And The Boys By Athol Fugard.
"Master Harold... and the Boys" is a one-act play which takes place in the St. George's Tea Room in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. The three characters, Master Harold (also known as Hally), Sam and Willie explore the concepts of racism and apartheid...
- Bad Roads: Bassa Community Cries Out To Kogi Gov
One of the broken bridges Infrastructural development is central to every other aspect of development. For a nation to make any meaningful progress, either politically, economically or otherwise, infrastructure such as road and electricity must be available...
- Drama Is The Easiest Way To Communicate
Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan, simply known as Femi Osofisan, was born on 16th June, 1946, in Erunwon, Ogun State. He is a playwright, poet, theater director, university professor, literary theorist, and newspaper critic. He is well known for his critique...
- In The Web Of Poverty (review)
Cobweb in the Sky by Patrick Tagbo Ogbuejiofor is an exciting novel set in Obunagu village, a typical Igbo community in the Eastern part of Nigeria. The story is centred on Anayo, a promising young man who found himself entangled in the web of poverty....
- Ilema (short Story)
It was dark. The darkness was so thick that you could carve it. Dark and wet. Very wet indeed, for it had rained non-stop for over two hours, beginning from 10 p.m. But now it had ceased completely. Everywhere was quiet and still, except for the hooting...
Literature
SACRIFICE
The other time it was our councillor.
?We can?t afford to lag behind,? the councillor had said in a meeting at the village square. ?We need to move forward. We can?t remain perpetual villagers to the mockery of our neighbours.?
My father had nodded in agreement like the rest of the elders.
?Look at Edah,? the councillor continued, adjusting his cap. ?A settlement that was a mere hamlet yesterday, look at the way it has grown because of the road. You can?t go to Opanda today without passing through Edah.?
It was a challenge indeed, everyone agreed, a challenge to which personal sacrifices were necessary. Those whose houses were close to the road had to surrender them.
They would be paid compensation, the councillor assured. But that aspect was yet to be approved. And development does not wait for such thing when its time has come. It was time for Akende to tell its neighbours that it was also capable of moving forward.
?We shall all be better for it,? the councillor had concluded.
I don?t like it, I had said to my father after the meeting, the road could conveniently bypass our house. But the old man advised me to like it. No one could stop them.
So the bulldozers came, catching us unaware despite the two years notice. We would have been homeless but for Uncle. We shared his place while we built a temporary home ? two thatched mud houses of three rooms each. My two sisters and I had to miss school now and then to help father and mother with the work.
We will build a better home when the compensation comes, father had said. And to the school principal who came to complain about our perpetual absence from school, he admitted that could kill the Community Secondary School. He then begged for understanding, for us to continue to be absent so that the building could be completed before the fast approaching rainy season.
?He said he recognises the sacrifice you have made,? says the chairman?s messenger, as we sit in my father?s parlour, built barely a month ago. ?That is why he has personally sent me to you.?
It is a private meeting between the two, but my father invited me in. Peeping eyes behind the closed door testify to the family?s curiosity. What have we done to warrant such a visit?
?I thank him for the honour,? says my father, avoiding the messenger?s rat eyes.
?About the compensation,? he says, dipping into his brief case. ?It is a priority, though funds have not yet been made available even for the road construction.?
?Money is hard to come by these days,? says father.
?That?s why he is calling for more sacrifice.? He brings out a piece of paper and a pen.
?Sacrifice is a sacred duty.? He is staring at the items in the messenger?s hand.
?When the road is eventually constructed the village will open up for buying and selling. And money will start flowing.? He speaks now as if from a memorised speech. ?But there have to be things to buy and to sell; which is why the chairman is planning to boost farming. He has acquired vast pieces of land for that purpose.?
?We are quite aware of that,? says father somewhat impatiently. It is a common knowledge that the chairman has acquired several pieces of farmland. They say he wants to retire to full time farming when he leaves office. ?It is a good thing,? father added as an afterthought.
?He needs more land, especially in this village, in order to help develop the village.? He dips into the case again. ?So, that your farmland near Eku river, he wants to acquire it.?
My father adjusts his sitting position nervously.
?But that?s the only farm we?ve got,? I say.
?He knows,? says the messenger, bringing out wads of naira notes from the case. ?He wants just a portion of it. And he is paying twice the price.?
?Twice the price?? says father.
?Thrice, I mean.? He puts the notes on the table and brings out some more. ?Cash down...? He arranges the bundles, one on top of the other. ?But, if you have any objection...?
My father says nothing, looking at the pile.
The messenger turns to me.
?It is for the good of us all,? he smiled.
I keep silent.
Where can I find words when father has no mouth to speak?
THE END.
- Master Harold And The Boys By Athol Fugard.
"Master Harold... and the Boys" is a one-act play which takes place in the St. George's Tea Room in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. The three characters, Master Harold (also known as Hally), Sam and Willie explore the concepts of racism and apartheid...
- Bad Roads: Bassa Community Cries Out To Kogi Gov
One of the broken bridges Infrastructural development is central to every other aspect of development. For a nation to make any meaningful progress, either politically, economically or otherwise, infrastructure such as road and electricity must be available...
- Drama Is The Easiest Way To Communicate
Babafemi Adeyemi Osofisan, simply known as Femi Osofisan, was born on 16th June, 1946, in Erunwon, Ogun State. He is a playwright, poet, theater director, university professor, literary theorist, and newspaper critic. He is well known for his critique...
- In The Web Of Poverty (review)
Cobweb in the Sky by Patrick Tagbo Ogbuejiofor is an exciting novel set in Obunagu village, a typical Igbo community in the Eastern part of Nigeria. The story is centred on Anayo, a promising young man who found himself entangled in the web of poverty....
- Ilema (short Story)
It was dark. The darkness was so thick that you could carve it. Dark and wet. Very wet indeed, for it had rained non-stop for over two hours, beginning from 10 p.m. But now it had ceased completely. Everywhere was quiet and still, except for the hooting...