The Diary of an African Child

By CHIKA VICTOR ONYENEZI (Nigeria)

          Africa reigns forever; children shall still form our future. Our tales shall live in all odd times. It shall live from generation to generation; in the moonlight, beside the fire, on top of our bed, in the media, amidst whispers, with scoundrels, with moralists, and with all.

August 1997

         It was a season of harshness; the sun shone as though to remove melanin from people’s skin. The rain fell to flood the country. The government of Nigeria left only their deaf ears with the compatriots. It was the reign of the brutal General Sani Abacha, the only candidate nominated to contest for presidency by all parties in Nigeria. In this harsh economy and weather, patriotism was left for the media to waggle their mouths with. Hunger, pestilence invaded the nation.

        Upon this harshness, some people still found themselves living in squalor ghettos. One of these squalor ghettos was in Owerri; a place called Mint. There when the rain felled the whole area would be flooded. But if you wished, you can go get a canoe and paddle across it or be ready to swim across it. The drainage system of the city has been blocked by debris of used materials. The governor did nothing about this but to drink champagne with his fellow aristocrats instead of cleaning the city. Almost every house in this squalor posed like a dog ready to bite. The aerial view will showed nothing but brown rust called zinc.

            In a house at the beginning of this marshy street resided a boy, Chidi. He was a child full of wit. He did little things in outstanding manners; he could read well, unlike most ghetto-dwellers. He was about to enter secondary school. Upon his Endeavour’s he merited to study at Lampton College, Owerri.

         Chidi opened the wooden window of their house; cracks on the wall testify that it was purely a red mud house before the house was plastered with cement. When the rain fell you could see him putting buckets on every corner of the house, so the trickles would not wet the house. Even with all this caution some water would still come in. With a broom he would sweep the water away. When the sun shined, you would notice glimmers of light from the zinc shinning in the room without ceiling.

         Today is his birthday, but due to poverty he couldn’t celebrate it. In his heart he knew that he was born on that day some years ago. Birthday celebration is only for the rich he said to his poor self. He and his father stayed in the one-room apartment; his father rented the other room to a tailor whose machine barks like puppy till nine every night.

     Yesterday when his father came back; he gave him a book with a blue cover, a gift the father received from a carpenter friend. He thought it useless so he gave it to his only son. Chidi happily took the book from him. As he opened it today, he noticed that the thick cover was an empty one; no words were written in it. He decided to write his own words in it, maybe his writing would live beyond this squalor he told himself. He sat on a mat, opened the first page and wrote:

August 1st 1997
Some years ago, on this date, a child was born. That child is me. I appeared in this world with a smile after all struggles. The sun was shinning; spiritual wise men visited me with their own gifts. The creator opened a book and wrote a script called destiny which I shall act: I took it in good faith. Since no harm befell me that day; none can ever get me outside the creator’s purpose. I have lived for thirteen years on earth: I thank God. Since my childhood God has been taking care of me; he is the best father ever. But mystery still remains mystery in my life. He will raise me up for my nation to see. On Mount Zion will stand; the mountain that nearly touches the sky, were all men shall see me. He will then make me strong, I shall never be afraid of falling.

He closed the cover of the book, raised his dirty bag and tucked the book under it.

       Chidi was a child of difference; most of his mates that grew in this squalor are always wild in character and in manners. But he was well behaved in character and in manners; owing to the fact that he read books instead of whiling away his time learning tricks and odd life of the ghetto boys. He watched how the people in movies behave in orderly manner, lived in good houses and do orderly things. He prayed that one day he would live an orderly life. Their black and white television was his only companion with a little mechanical fault: which could be corrected by beating the television with his palms, it would resurrect from slumber and serve him well.

       The next day; his father took him by hand to walk about one kilometer. He did not complain nor show any sign of weakness in front of his father. Any form of weakness exhibited would be attributed to his weak mother who couldn’t stay alive. His father would say: ‘your mother died a weak woman, she couldn’t even cut cassava stem not to talk of weed the farm.Oh! Happy I am for that woman to die.’

         Something was growing inside of him, something he couldn’t speak to any ear, Hatred. It fermented and brewed in his mind for his father and his callous manners. His father would walk faster than him, expecting him to equal him in pace, till they got to Lampton college.

         The school is a large one; with two big football fields and many classroom blocks. After registration, his father dragged him to his assigned classroom. Before he left him he called him and said to him, ‘now I have done the best I can ever do for you, if you don’t read you fail! I don’t care! My only concern is me and me only. If you like follow the children of rich men, stupid! You better walk with your poor type. You hear me.’ that day Chidi received his limitation; a sign written boldly in his heart: POOR. Anything he tried to do that would uplift him; he would fail because of the emblem: POOR, written in his heart. That was the best advice his father ever gave him; it created the worst disaster in his life, a disaster called inferiority complex. In class if he was asked to answer question, his father words will appear before him: POOR! Others are better than you. So he failed then by and by. It created a negative effect in him. He didn’t mingle with his fellow students.

       Upon a Sunday; after the service he opened his dairy and wrote:

August 16 1997
The log has to be broken, my problem doesn’t have to weight me down, and I will put them down first. My load must be dumped by the riverside. I seem to have crept into my shell, but I have also gained access to wider knowledge, truly no knowledge is a waste. This would one day be called the diary of a great man but if I don’t make it in life, let it be called the dairy of an African child. Slowly I will tender my approach toward life; as is clear that slow and steady wins the race.

He closed the cover and placed it at its usual place. He went to the backyard that was algae garden to do his chores; washing plates and pots.

       From that day, he decided to make something out of his existence, to come out to the world and say: ‘here is Chidi a great man among you.’ His countenance in class changed; from that of a dull person to that of a sharp happy boy. Then he met a boy who had the same spirit as his: to make it big in life, Ifeanyi.

      Ifeanyi was his classmate, the same height with Chidi. He was the son of a wealthy man; and had many expectations. He was highly gifted in thinking; always telling stories of great men. They could spend the whole break talking about the legends of Africa. Like Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe; the first ceremonial president, a nationalist and a patriot. After the discussion he wrote this down in his dairy:

August 20 1997
Today I learnt about Zik of Africa, a great man and a patriot. He fought for the independence of his people. I learnt that he studied abroad in other to gain such vast knowledge that enhanced him to lead many political parties. I wish to study abroad also, so that I can gain the knowledge that will help me lead Nigerians.

          From that day he started to nurture a dream like a new born baby. It grew inside of him. He started to move towards the liberation of the shackled Africa in his little mind. Together he with Ifeanyi started to plan how to leave the shores of this land. Ifeanyi told him of his plan to study in London, he said ‘when I told my father he welcomed the idea and said that he too has been thinking towards that angle. That he would do everything to see that I study there’ he told his friend excitedly, ‘but have you told your father?’ Ifeanyi asked him.
‘No’ Chidi replied quickly as though the question needed no long reply. But it did have a long reply, when he told his father he said: you are a fool, a very big fool, how much do you think I am paid? To waste money on a weak boy like you. Don’t talk to me about your stupid dreams; you better think for yourself. He dear not tell him how negative his father was about the matter. He dear not speak of it. In silence and only silence he walked.

            That night, it rained heavily. He removed his diary from were he kept it and wrote:

August 21 1997
A stage is page in life, I realized that time waits for no one; it only moves forward as it journeys by. Sometimes I wonder if I could turn back the hands of time, I once tried it; but it only made my own clock wrong. Each second a change occur in my body, a new idea comes into my head. Time is passing! Time is passing! There are many things I fear to loss. But time keeps telling me ‘let go of it.’ With time a child is born, with time man dies- many things happen every second. I learnt in church that ‘a little sleep a little slumber a little folding of the arm and poverty will attack…. a plant may not take a second to produce fruit. But it takes a second for it to produce fruit. Time is worth investing.

He learnt about the essence of time in his life. He needed to leave this sick life he is living and do something for his nation. But gradually he must trot down the road of life.

JUNE 2003

            After his secondary education; on an evening that wore dark glasses like sadness himself. His father called him and said ‘Chidi you have now acquired the education that would lead you for life. If you like take care of yourself; if you like don’t. I have done my best to give birth to you. I hope you know that impregnating your mother wasn’t an easy job…’ Chidi didn’t wait for him to finish his statement when he held his father on the throat and pushed him to the wall. Held him firmly tried to strangle him in anger, he said to his father ‘don’t ever, don’t ever speak bad of my mother till you die. You thought me a weak man, but I am strong!’ He dropped him on the floor. Shame and fear gripped his father. Chidi entered the house picked a few of his possessions including his dairy and darted away before the panting man could lift a knife to slash his throat. Like a mad dove he flew into the world of wondering.

           He wondered round Owerri; when it became dark, he found a shade to sleep in. as he laid his head on the debris of materials that littered there, someone shouted at him, ‘stand up you made man.’ It was a mad man with a big stick in his hand protecting his shelter from an intruder. He stared at him ready to beat darkness out of Chidi. But he realized who he dealing with, quickly he ran into the bush. He slept in the bush. That night he felt like Atlas of the Greek mythology, with the world on top of him: too heavy to carry.

             Dreams seem broken before him like an earthen ware scattered on the floor. If suicide was an easy option he would have committed it; but that would not make him the hero he wished to be. Rather he would only serve as an object of laughter for his father. By and by he determined to make it in life. Early the next morning he opened his diary and wrote:

June 2 2003
Maybe I was born to find my own way. Maybe I was created to be an African boy of suffering. So be it. My father has rebuked me, its time to fend for myself. I have no friend on earth. My only friend has traveled abroad to further his education; he wrote to me once: but I haven’t replied him. He told me how easy it was for the rich to pass through embassies; and how the embassy officials treat the poor with disdain and reject their application even if they have their documents alright. First of all let me find a way to help myself then I would then think about going back to school.

              The Ibo tradition left everything in a way that when your father rejects you. Nobody will accept you; no matter how good you are. So he didn’t bother to seek solace in his relative’s house.

          He went to the park; there he became a bus conductor, till he made money enough to travel out of Owerri. He decided to go to Port Harcourt and live. He went to Port Harcourt with his dairy and a few clothing in his possession. Maybe he would get his lucky six in his dice throwing at Port Harcourt.
     
    Port Harcourt is a Nigerian oil city; were expatriates reside in large numbers, going about their businesses. He didn’t know anybody in this garden city, but he believed he would make it big.

              He got the Port Harcourt around three PM in the afternoon; with his polythene bag in his hand he walked into a restaurant to eat. There he met the strangest character on earth; a man with dreadlocks, heavily bearded, well built and tall. He wore expensive clothing, drinking his liquor in a reckless manner. As he raised his hair up (away from his face) Chidi saw the most frightful face on earth. He looked cold, with tribal marks drawn across his cheeks like whiskers: he looked more like a reptile than a human being. The thought that flooded Chidi’s mind was: this must be a criminal; I rather die than to join this type of a man.

               The stranger looked at him and said to the bar woman ‘give this poor boy a bottle. Order!’ he bent his head again. A cold bear was placed in front of him. He couldn’t reject this gesture from this strange fellow owing to the fact that he doesn’t have enough to buy himself one; he thanked him and drank the beer. The fellow came closer and sat in front of him. ‘Who are you, young man?’ he asked in a polite manner.
‘I am nobody; just wondering with the ship of this earth,’ Chidi said politely.
‘A wonderer; you pose like a destitute without hope,’ said the man smiling at him. ‘Would you like to follow me?' asked the stranger.
‘No, no,’ said Chidi in a harsh manner to tell him that he doesn’t want anything to do with a common thief and would live an upright life till he dies. But the fellow could read his countenance; and knew what he was thinking about him.
‘Young man I am no thief. I am just a victim like you. I decided never to cut my hair again nor comb it a long time ago. Of what use are mine to the society. The rich send their money on useless things and give the leftover to dogs. Our oil money resides in the houses of the aristocrats; leaving the destitute to suffer. Our government has ignored the youths; feeding only their fat stomachs. They left our universities in ruin and sent their children abroad to study. Tomorrow their children will still want to climb the presidential seat. The poor become poorer the rich, richer. Of what use is democracy to the empty stomach? That’s our fate boy!’ he said bitterly, though a faint smile hung on his face.
‘Who are you?’ Chidi asked him
‘A sailor, I live on the sea. I am into deep sea fishing,’ the strange fellow said. Chidi had learnt about men that fish in the deep sea; he felt interested; the urge to join the sailor quickly built up in him.
‘I wish to join you,’ Chidi said.
‘Ah! Out there is fun; you can visit the whole world; see the beauty of the sea. Hear the endless music that plays in the sea. Anchor at London, South America, and Asia. It will take a year before we sail back to Africa again.’

     He drew Chidi closer to him. ‘I don’t like coming here, it gives me incessant pain. It brings back memories like the death of my parents.' tears like a dark cloud filled his eyes.
‘They died for nothing. Murdered by the military men, my father was an activist whom I wish to make anonymous to all till I die. I couldn’t fight the soldiers. I am the voiceless. I will be happy to be buried in the sea, that’s why I choose to be sailor. That’s why when ever we anchor in any Nigerian port I drink heavily; that’s what I am doing now. When I saw you, you reminded me when I had to run away from my father’s house and live like a destitute. So what your own story?’ he asked Chidi.
           
         Chidi told him every bit of his life; about the father’s maltreatment and how he came to be like this. He told him about his dreams to change Africa. Tears streamed from his eyes as he told him this story of a sorrow-dweller.
‘Be strong boy. Dreams die here. Dreams are trampled upon here. Lokie boy, let me talk to you; those dead bodies you see in Somalia have dreams too- Their dreams die! The hungry boys in Rwanda have dreams too- their dreams die like a burned candle. They die! They die! And serve as nothing but an eyesore for foreign media. Come with me,’ the fellow offered. Chidi said, ‘But I don’t even know your name?’
‘Ah boy, I am nobody. Just call me Sea.’
 
            The strange fellow took him to his room at a hotel. At night he opened his diary and wrote:

September 16 2003
This day I met a strong activist: The silent one. Though he is a fellow of strange character, I understood him well. He asked me to join him at the sea. I am eager to behold this world devoid of land. I am eager to behold marine life. All didn’t work with education. But if I make it as a sailor, I will use my money and train myself in the university. Africa still needs me; Nigeria still needs me. I am a patriot, even when my government is unpatriotic. Maybe one day I will turn into an activist and fight for the voiceless like Wole Soyinka fought for a better Africa. Soon I will reply Ifeanyi, I feel ashamed to talk to him.

           In the morning they left for the sea. At the seaport, the strange fellow took him to a large ship and introduced him to a Whiteman whom he called ‘Captain’. Though there was no vacancy in the company, but for the sake of the strange fellow they offered him a job as a cleaner in the ship. A passport was prepared for at the immigration office by the fishing company.
      
         ‘Bring him next tomorrow. We will sail off,’ said the captain with an air of tiredness. The strange fellow showed him his cabin he would be sharing with him. After they returned to the bar were the met and soaked their head with liquor. The Sea fellow said to him, ‘Once the ship sets sail, boy you are a sailor!’ Chidi was happy to hear that. He read about these sailors in ‘Moby Dick’ by Herman Melville: maybe they would also hunt white Wales like Captain Ahab. He became full of thought about the sea.
‘Yes a sailor. Sailing round the world,’ Chidi muttered to himself.

         A day gone, they returned to the port. Chidi wore the new cloths the strange fellow bought for him. How the fellow wasted money shows that sailors are rich men. On the day of departure; the captain stood on the deck, smartly dressed in white military uniform, with a binocular in his hands, earnestly searching for something. He walked round the deck searching deep into the sea. All the crew stood there waiting, expecting to hear something from him. The strange fellow whispered into Chidi’s ear, ‘He is searching for a dolphin; if seen, it then means we will sail. It’s a permission from the goddess of the sea to sail. But if a squid, he will not move this ship; because it is a bad omen. It is believed that squid are a sign of ill luck to the sailors.’ The captain turned to his assistant and said ‘confirm.’ The assistant said ‘confirmed.’ The captain said ‘hurray! Today we sail again like fraternal brothers. Let’s welcome on board a young sailor. Chidi I want to tell you that today we no longer set sail, we run engine and sail deep into the sea.’ The captain said to him. He wanted to say: aye sir, like old sailors he read about in ‘Moby Dick’. But he said, ‘Thanks sir.’ All the sailors welcomed him onboard.

           Soon they lost sight of land, the ship sailed deep into the sea. Chidi carried out his cleaning job to the admiration of the White men and other sailors. They came to love him so much for his hard work. One evening the captain invited him to his cabin. There they drank and discussed about Africa, slave trade, the Berlin Conference that led to African’s partitioning, the First and Second World War.
 
           The captain admired his sense of wit and asked him his story. Chidi told him everything; from day one to the voyage. The captain came to love him very much that he swore: upon my blood, I will send you back to school; you don’t belong here. You are better than a dozen professors. He lamented saying ‘instead your rich men will open scholarships for their people; they derive joy in squandering on nothing.’ That was the young mans luck: a promise from the mouth of his master. That night he wrote in his dairy:

September 20 2003
I am overwhelmed at the laudable gesture of my master. He told me today that I can still make it in life. Maybe if we anchor at London he will send me to school. Even with my salary I can fend for myself there. I am full of hopes now that light is coming into my life. Success lies at that port. Oh! How happy I would be to be learned and addressed as such. This day I forgive my father for all he did to me. I hope he will forgive me for my anger upon him. I leave God to judge.

          The ship sailed deeper into a landless world. Something happened. Chidi’s health started to fail. First they took it as normal sea sickness for a first timer. Everyone on board showed him love; the strange fellow cared for him. Soon he was bedridden. The captain directed that everything should be done to see him back to health.

             One day he called his friend the strange fellow to help him see the sun again. He gently helped him to the deck. There he stood; looked into the wonder of the sky. He asked his friend to get him his most cherished possession; his dairy. With the minute strength he had he wrote:

October 1 2003
I can see glory this day. I can see it in the sun. Several wings are there. Africa can be free. Yes they can be free. But we need more men to release the continent. We need men who are ready to sacrifice their lives for a cause. The nations need real patriots, we are not the wasted generation, it’s our fathers; they let corruption burrow into us, they killed our school system, they spoiled our electricity, they taught us bad things. Today they call us the wasted ones; the feel uncertain if we can rule this country: but we can rule. There are still some good Africans left in this world. You are one of them! You are Africa!

           He gave the dairy to the strange fellow and said, ‘Behind it is the address of my friend studying in London. Help me pass it to him. Also read it for the sailors to hear.’ There he breathed his last and gave up to the dead. The whole crew mourned his exit. Owing to the fact that he didn’t have next of kin; they buried him in the sea. The captain stopped the ship in the middle of the sea; to mourn his exit. He spent a day reading his diary.

      On the day they resumed their sail, the good captain called the whole crew and said ‘“today they call for wasted ones; they feel uncertain if we can rule this nation; but we can.” Chidi was a good man. He was a boy full of wisdom, blessed with wit. I shall make sure the diary of an African child reaches the benefactor.’
                                                           
                                                              ~

       In faraway London, Ifeanyi has finished his university education. He secured a job as a banker in London. He still remembered his childhood friend and wondered what will make him not to reply his mail since he has been writing to him. He still remembered the good old days at Lampton College Owerri. But he had long dropped some certain urge he called ‘unrealizable dreams and childish thinking’: like changing Africa, changing his country -Nigeria.

            One evening he was in his house when a postman brought a package for him to sign. He saw that it was from his long time friend. When he opened it, he beheld a dairy and a note. The note goes like this:

 Captain Barry Jack,

Your friend is dead and buried in the Sea. He requested that his diary be brought to you. That was his dying wish. I honoured it to the last. From His best friend from the sea.

       This showed him that his good friend was dead. He died without seeing the four walls of a university. After going through the diary he had kept from 1997 till his death on 2003. He didn’t eat for days; he grieved for this hero of Africa, a patriot, above all a good man. He saw the reason why some men stand in front of the White House with plait cards and posters protesting for the right of others.

            The diary of an African child made him to research more on the African child. He found out that the African child has been abused: physically and emotionally. They have posed as picture of modern poverty for the foreign media to savour.

             Two weeks after he quite quit his job to fight for the right of the African child. He respected his friends wish; he fulfilled his childish dream of becoming an activist. Ifeanyi dedicated his time to this cause: you would see him during NATO meeting with a picture of the African child; you would see him at UN gate with the same picture. Any place the world leaders are gathering, you would see his campaigning. Every paper in Nigeria carried Ifeanyi’s article on the African child. He meditated with the diary throughout his lifetime.