Groom from America

By Emmanuel Onyedi Wingate (Nigeria)

Biography - Emmanuel Onyedi Wingate

Nigerian born Emmanuel Onyedi Wingate is the author of three published novels: Memoirs of Jezebel; Captive of Love; and The Reunion, a children’s novel.

He was joint-winner: 2005 ANA/Imo Children’s Literature Prize, for The Reunion, and was first runner-up: 2006 ANA/Imo Prose Prize, receiving honourable mention for Captive Of Love, which has been serialized in the Saturday Vanguard. Major Nigerian educational publisher, Africana First Publishers, Onitsha, has accepted Onukwughaa, a novel written in his native Ibo language, for publication. He is currently of the Faculty of Law, University of Nigeria.

Email: emmaonyiwingate@yahoo.co.uk

Cash strapped as I am, ready to hold on to any straw, the mere sniff of dollars is a great respite. It matters not that my ear does the hearing, and I imagine my nose sniffing. The very thought of dollarsis as good a whiff, not to talk of having heard of it –been promised dollars, technically, by the mother of a guy in America.

"My daughter, i maka. Yes, you are very beautiful.Good fortune has met with you. My son in Obodo Oyibo, Emerica, has sent word that he would be coming back soon. The good news is that he wants a wife. Guess what? He wants me to choose a good wife –one who has received the Whiteman's learning. You will marry him." Was that not Lolo Okala's exact words?

What great luck! I can see fortune lurking around the corner, ready to accost me. My bride price would be paid in dollars. My father has only to change a few notes into naira and money would flow like it was plucked from an ube tree. Money will flow everywhere without even having to toil in the farm. The magic power of dollars will be felt.

Wait a minute. Are not evil-minded neighbours our enemies? Those that do not want our familyprogress; will they not make powerful charms to stop this dollar from flowing into our family? Will they not turn Lolo's heart to their own daughters? I hurry to the latest Pentecostal church in vogue. 'Holy Fire Church’ is a place to do battle against principalities and powers –my neighbours who do not want our progress. Two months fasting and prayer is what the pastor recommends. The key prayer point is: 'Any power against my forthcoming dollars; any power against my marrying this guy from America; all the antics of my neighbours to snatch him from me –Holy Ghost fire consume!’

Anita, my friend, is discouraging me. I know she’s just plain jealous. She thinks she’s the only one who’s lucky. Until this time, I weep whenever I think of how lucky she is, landing a banker for a fiancé. Now it’s my turn, ‘he’s not a graduate; you don’t know what he does in America,’ she says. I laugh at her. America is where I’m heading too. That is enough for me. ‘You don’t love him,’ she points out. Love can go to hell, I think.

The D-day is here. My prayer and fasting for two months is potent. Obiora and his relations have come to pay the bride price. He is indeed a guy from America –ring in his ears, nose, and tattoos all over, his hair heavily braided –Rastafarian style. Despite the fact that it is our customary wedding day, he is dressed in a body hugging top and tight Jeans trousers. No one understands his heavily accented American English. Not even me an English honours student.
"Wassup babe," is the only decipherable language he speaks to me. I wonder if I shall lose grips with the Igbo language and talk like him after two years in America. It occurs to me that Dr. Nanka, my lecturer at school studied in America. What the hell, Obiora's dollars is already doing the magic of sweeping poverty away from our home. Papa and mama are all smiles. My younger brother, Ude, caresses Obiora's Mercedes V boot like a boy-girl thing. I can see the excitement in his eyes. I make a mental note to convince Obiora to give him a ride. Ude is my favourite brother.

Obiora, hugging my slender frame to himself, proudly announces that in a week's time he is taking me to America. The land of milk and honey, where they say there is no hunger. A step on the shores of America is a good insurance. Dollars grow on special ube trees. All one has to do is pick manna from heaven in form of notes. I visualize myself sending money and building a house for papa. I gratefully raise my beautiful face for which I was crowned Miss Campus for Obiora. He kisses me hard, as if wanting to chew off my lips. The old folks look on with wonder, thinking it cannibalistic. Soon they smile abashedly, acknowledging that it is emerican style.

It is time to leave for America through the Calabar International Airport. I am perplexed that our boarding ticket reads Libreville instead of America. There must be a mistake. I hurriedly notify my husband, Obiora.

"Don't worry, Nkechi. Hapu ihe ahu," he says. I wonder at his sudden mastery of Igbo language. He is very brilliant. A few weeks in Mbaise, and he recalls our language. He tells me he is an international businessman. We shall stop over at Libreville, then Paris, and then America, the land of my dreams. He smiles and gives me a strong kiss that leaves me weak in the knees.

No sooner are we in Libreville do I realize I am no longer a campus beauty queen. I am now a serf and Obiora is my feudal lord. He orders me about like a slave. I am not comfortable with this. An ‘acada’lady, priviledged to receive a university education, I consider myself different from the village wife. I shall not bend to the whims and caprices of a man –not when I see that more dollars are not forthcoming.

A month later I learn that Obiora is a taxi driver in Libreville: his America where he makes his dollars. I am saddened and heart broken at the news. Obiora does not make it any easier for me. I am only his most recent acquisition. He kicks and slaps me about. Worst still I am carrying his child – is this the end of the road for me? What can I do? I abandoned my studies at the university to marry Obiora. He had promised that I would continue my studies in America, assuring me that there are many schools in America, ready and itching to admit me. The worst shock is yet to come. A ‘bird’ whispers to me how my husband comes across his occasional dollars. He lures his rich passengers into thinking his car has a fault. Once they step down to help him fix the car, he drives off with their luggage in the pretence of kick starting the car. I shiver with apprehension, like one doped in the sea one cold morning. My heart turns cold. My husband is a common thief –a taboo in our land. Yet I am stuck by the power of America and her dollars. I cannot leave him now. Not with his seed in my belly. Besides, I’m married now. Papa must have finished spending the bride price. Obiora will undoubtedly demand repayment. I wish I’d listened to Anita.