There's this man who recently got into Aladinma from Baltimore, United States of America, who tries mimicking the American accent but sounds unintentionally funny sometimes.
His name is Akudinobi
He would come to the shop once everyday since the past week to say,
"Nne, give me that same type of Heineken you give me. I don't take the fake. Back in Baltimore, we take the original.
The unadulterated."
His constant mention of Baltimore, his children, wife and his success annoyed me. I would sit and allow my younger sister serve him instead when she's around.
He came again yesterday.
I served him a bottle of not-too-chilled Heineken and he made no complains at all unlike the other rich customers who would shout and tell me how much chilled my drinks should be.
He had gulped down half of the bottle and from the opening in the door where I peeped from, I saw he was lost in thoughts or, he was feeling alone because he is one man I know can never sit, lips sealed. He loved telling his stories too, giving advice and tips to leaving 'Here to There.'
I got out from the shop into the awning he was sitting under and said,
"Please Sir, can I disturb you for a while?"
He raised his bowed head, his brown eyes stared at me from the medicated glasses over them and he asked, "Alright. So, what is it?"
"Sir, I'm interested in the Biafran War. I have too many disturbing questions to ask."
I watched surprise run through him from his toes up to his brain. He stared at me for about a minute and gestured me to come closer.
I took his permission to get my pen and paper but returned with another bottle of Heineken too because Father said it is important - that it is important to give to get. That even when it doesn't seem you should give, you would receive more when you eventually give.
He said when I asked him how it all started, "You've met the right person. The stories I will tell you are the real stories. Unadulterated stories. My own part of the story. I will tell you this story because I am smart."
I held my lips from parting to let out the laugh it was suffocating, I smiled instead and said to myself, "Amara, it's sure the way he tells his own stories. You have your own way and you laugh because he knows big words and you don't. He doesn't wait for anyone to tell him he's smart, brave, but you do."
The laughter died immediately.
I took down notes as he told his story and at a point, tears crowded my eye sockets.
I pushed them back and remembered the unresolved argument I had with Oga Lambert the previous night on who actually planned and led the first coup on 15th January, 1966.
Oga Lambert insisted it was Aguiyi Ironsi while I laid my argument from a book I was reading.
Oga Lambert was right anyway.
Akudinobi 1 told me stories of the betrayals and briberies in the Biafran Wars. He threw more light on the Aburi Accord and poured out his anger and disappointment for Goodluck Jonathan, for our youths, for Nnamdi Kanu and when he mentioned 'the Britains', his voice was thick with hatred.
"Britains! The most wicked country. They kept the crying voices of the innocent Biafrans in the dark just because of their selfless interest."
And then he would mention the Organization of African Unity (OAU) and say how much disappointed Biafrans grew. How much they disappointed when their disappointments were least expected. He wanted to cry - he said the story was a memory that would break a man.
A Muslim friend back in Baltimore had told him that never in the history of Nigeria would a president emerge from the East. And he mentioned the contributions from the Western Nigerians during the war and he said our youths wants History to repeat itself again.
When he threw more light on it, I began to wonder if this man and Oga Lambert and Franklin Amandi had sat round a table of bottles of Heineken and Hero to discuss this.
He said, "With the way our youths and pro-Biafrans are coming on, Biafra might never be actualized because because there's no stronger power leading the force. And because we Igbos are not always our own brothers, who would let the capital of Biafra leave his state? Who would be the president?"
"Our youths needs to prepare secretly for Biafra, having strong leading force for Biafra to be actualized else, history might repeat itself again and this time, it might be bloodier, scarier! Our youths should be calm for now." He said 'almost' amidst tears.
His stories gave me pages of my exercise book and I am glad and also because I began to love him instantly; a man whose honesty, softhearted nature lies underneath his outside face, his many told stories.
I laughed really hard when he said,
"Amarachi, I never thought you human because the many times I have been here, I have only interacted with your sister while you sit in there wearing a no-smile face and earphones as though you don't interact with humans. I wish we had began to talk earlier because I still have so many stories to tell you."
Those words melted my heart and my tears began to show themselves when he finally said he would be leaving the next day, that is, today. He would be going back to Baltimore and he doesn't know when he would be back to Nigeria, to Aladinma for now but he knows it would be soon.
He stood to leave, turned back and said to me those words a father would tell his daughter behind closed doors, away from prying ears, that would make her cry and forever live to make her father proud.
I wanted to tell him I still have so many questions to ask, so many confusions in my head about the war to clear.
He asked for my contact and afterwards left.
I watched him leave and I beat myself.
You see, so many times, I have thought people proud and I quickly stayed away from anyone who I have thought proud but then, we all have our different ways of telling our stories. Most times, we tell our stories without telling ourselves that we are brave, that we did well and we have succeeded and the other times, we tell our stories and tell ourselves we have done great without waiting for people to first tell us that.
Whichever we can, we should tell our stories to save a life, lives!