Black Sunday

Chapter Two

Papa  returned just  half  an  hour  after  we had  been back  from  school  and  had just finished  our  afternoon  meal.  He came  home  dancing  and swinging  the briefcase  he used  to carry  his  certificates. Onyinyechi  was  the  first  to reach  him.  “Papa  welcome”  she said. “Mmm,  Onyi,  my  pride,  thank  you,  where  is  your  mother?” “Papa good afternoon”  I  followed “Indeed my  son” He walked straight  into  the kitchen,  thrusting  an envelope into  mama’s  palm.  “What  is this?” “Nwinye, my  wife,  Read” She  opened it  and  for  a little while,  she stood  still  and  then  she  began  jumping  and shouting  “Chukwumela”,  “Thank  you God”.  Then  they  hugged and they  danced. Papa  had gotten  a job  with the Anderson’s  Petroleum  group,  the  first  petroleum  group to have moved in  to  our  town  just  two decades  ago.  He seemed so happy  that  afternoon. Papa  wasn’t  the  type to show  emotion easily,  at  some  point  when I  was  seven;  I  had thought  papa  had  lost  his  ability  to  smile  when he  was  younger.  I  still  recall  flipping through family  picture albums  of  him  as  a child,  smiling;  none  of  his  grown-up pictures ever  seemed to be taken with  a smile on his  face.

When I  was  but  eight,  I’d  watched John Rambo,  and  Papa  had  said that  Rambo had lost  his  ability  to  smile  from  doing  his own stunts  all by  himself.  Papa said Rambo  tried to jump  over  a cliff  and  had wounded himself  but  survived only  to having  lost  his  ability  to smile.  I  wondered if  Papa  had gone through same,  if  Papa  had  performed stunts  as  a child and had  too  lost  his  ability  to smile,  to laugh  from  a fall. But  today,  Papa  smiled the kind  of  smile that  showed  his  teeth  that was  part  at  the middle  and his  nose  scrunched up with that  smile.  His  eyes  had  a certain kind of  pride  I had seen  only  in the  movies  when a woman  told her  husband  she was  pregnant.  Papa had  those eyes.  His  dark  skin  which  was  wrinkled at  his  forehead seemed a  lighter shade. The Anderson’s  had  been  tasked when they  had  moved into  our  village with the obligation to provide steady  electricity  and jobs  for  the village  youth.  Papa  who had studied Electrical  engineering  was  employed.  Getting  that  job  meant  a lot  to  papa. Mama  hugged him  and  that  evening,  she  prepared  rice  and  pepper  soup  with  catfish, the kind Papa  liked.  Papa bought  some palm  wine to celebrate with.  As  we ate,  I  looked at  Papa  and wondered  if  he had  cooked the  food or  if  I  would choke  again  that  evening. That night,  I went  to bed sleeping  faced up because  I  could not  lie  on  my  bloated tummy.