Back in my aunty’s house (and out of the hospital) I struggled to settle into my new life as an out-of- work cancer patient and my thoughts, more than ever before, began to wander to happier times – the years of innocence and the years of high hopes and big dreams.
Ngozi Uche
I recalled with fondness the charmed life we lived at Ikoyi, Lagos, the turbulent civil war years which were paradoxically very happy for many in my circle, my formative high school years, my exhilarating coming-of-age university years and my challenging but professionally-enriching Guardian years. I yearned to contact many friends from these periods of my life and also friends from the many places I have lived in. If I were to disappear from the face of the earth I would like us to have had a chance to rekindle our relationship.
I yearned the most for my high school friends, particularly Elizabeth, my best friend. I will eventually get to writing about our remarkable friendship.
Considering that I have had some truly humbling experiences in America I appreciate more the privileged lifestyle my family enjoyed at some periods of our lives. Just before the start of the civil war (not the American – I often have to remember to add that when speaking to Americans), my family and I lived in Ikoyi (Oroke Drive), Lagos, and my sister, Odo and I attended near-by Saint Saviours primary school – a private school ran by the British. My mother claims their school fees was higher than her university tuition. I think I was one of three black children in my class. My sixth birthday picture features me surrounded by some of my White class mates (I sometimes wonder what has become of them).
Though in Nigeria, we were to some degree living in a White world and enjoying much of the same perks the British colonial masters once did – along with many other Nigerian families. We lived in a large house with, of course, its own “boys quarters”. An architect friend who saw some of my photos taken in that house marvelled at the quality of the wood the floor was made of.
My parents, I’m told, hosted elegant parties, one of them for Commodore Ebitu Ukiwe, when he returned to Nigeria after his naval training abroad. I have pictures of Odo and I in the exquisite dresses he must have bought in London for us.
We ran around the big backyard with our dog and rode our bikes in the front yard. We had a cook (Marcus), a steward (Friday), a nanny (Akon), and a housemaid (Chinyere). They were not supposed to be eating while we were at the table and the cook’s attention was summoned by a ring of a bell my parents kept at the table. To atone for that, I half-jokingly tell the American families I have served as a live-in aide they can summon my attention with a bell – but, surprise, they recoil at the offer.
My mother was studying at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, so my father, functioned like a single father – raising three girls with the help of the house helps. I have happy memories of my family shopping at Kingsway and Leventis stores and receiving gifts from their Father Christmas. My sisters and I loved riding up and down the stores’ escalators.
Occasionally, my father took us to the cinema house, but he insisted we had to say “cinema” and not “cilima” if we wanted him to agree to take us there. My dad took us to Bar Beach often and one day my sister, Odo, was almost swept away by the waves. We took walks to Ikoyi waterside and enjoyed drives past Tinubu Square, which was then a remarkably clean and beautiful spot – with water from its fountain bubbling up and down and reflecting the night lights surrounding it.
We worshipped at the Presbyterian church, Yaba, which was presided over by Reverend Johnson – an American. It was in his home we later took refuge when my father determined that being Igbos we were no longer safe in our home. I sensed a dark cloud was gathering. Suddenly, many horses appeared on our street, but I don’t recall seeing their riders.
Later, my father told us he was going on leave and we would all be traveling with him. I thought that meant we were going to England, because that is where my British classmates went to after announcing that their father was going on leave.
I was excited about the prospect of going to England and showed off to the house servants how I would be speaking when we returned. I didn’t know it then, but soon, we would at some point be taking refuge in the middle of the jungle – as far removed from a charmed life in England as one could possibly be.
Such has been the twists and turns my life has taken – I’ve had many highs and many lows.
