Page 66 - The Woven Tale Press Vol. IV #2

“Good food, eh?”
The old man followed his gaze and chuckled. “Listen, my friend. If you have a bit of money, you can marry the most beautiful girl in Nigeria. Are you married?”
The Taste of Home
The event was taking place in a modest two-bedroom the motherland needed such professionals to go home house on Paradise Street, a row of brick houses bat- and build up the civil service the British had put in tered by time and the last war. This part of the east-end place.
of London had been badly defaced by Hitler’s bombs,
and more than two decades later, abandonment and gloom still hung in the air like the early morning smog.
Oyedeji nodded as he tucked into his plate of jollof rice. “Great food. It is good to meet people from home.”
Oyedeji was excited. He had been waiting all week for this party, and from the looks on the faces of the people around him, he wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t be- lieve there were so many Nigerians in this area. The celebrant was a Nigerian Doctor from a rich family.
Mr. Coker agreed. “Listen to me, my son. When you are in a foreign place like this, it is good to stick close to your people.”
His father was some military big man back home. No wonder this chap could afford to spend lavishly on his second son’s naming ceremony, Oyedeji thought, trying some Moi Moi. There was lots of food, good home cook- ing like jollof rice, fried chicken and fish, and assorted alcoholic beverages. Oyedeji had not eaten this well for a long time.
Oyedeji watched as a pretty young woman came up and gave Mr. Coker a plate of food, curtseying as she did so.
He looked up and saw the grey-haired gentleman who had been holding court in the sitting room. He had merry eyes that looked to the future, and a face lined with years of experience and rejection. His unnatu- rally black hair contrasted with his white eyebrows. His name was Mr. Coker a.k.a, Baba London. Mr. Coker knew everybody, and anyone who had been in London long enough knew Mr. Coker. The stories differed as to whether he had fought in the Great War or the Second World War, helping the British fight Hitler. Mr. Coker was what some Nigerians scornfully referred to in those days as an eternal student. One of those unfor- tunate fellows who failed to pass their exams and was doomed to roam the streets of London until he was white-haired and toothless, instead of going home to face the disappointment of family. It was the sixties and
Oyedeji looked incredulous. “I am not even earning enough to look after myself, let alone another person.”
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“That is my wife, you know.”
Oyedeji nodded politely. How did an old goat like that manage to get his hands on such a pretty girl?
“Well, when you have saved up enough money, ask your people back home to send you a good wife.”
The young woman returned with a glass of water, curtsied and left. The old man’s eyes followed her greedily. Oyedeji’s lips curled with distaste. What was
ola awonubi