- Because he married into a family where in-laws were important, he too began to look around for his own relations whom his wife also could call in-laws. That however turned out one search that left sweet-bitter taste in his mouth.
Word had gone round that she married a poor man among his in-laws. He knew by the heavy sighs, slow nods and the deadpan expressions used as answers to his greetings when he showed up at their gatherings.
He came from a small family; a humble background, but his wife had a retinue of relations behind her: grandmas, grandpas, uncles, great uncles, great aunts, aunties; cousins who were mostly grandparents themselves; nieces, nephews who were in school and always expected him to recharge their phones for them or give them transport fare back to school.
“Uncle, I don’t have T’fe,” one would say; “Uncle, I need a raise,” another would quip. As annoying as the latter were, they were nothing compared to the former, the adults whose countenances showed that it was a poor social behaviour not to give them money for transport or to buy them loaves of bread whenever they met at any occasion. Important occasions that would bring everyone together never ceased in his wife’s family. Almost every month, if someone did not have a baby, another would turn 18, or 21 or 40 or 60 or 90 or someone would be doing housewarming or wedding. It was maddening.
The uncles and aunties and grandparents would turn up in their expensive ‘george’ wrappers and colourful laces and gold, asking hapless young in-laws, “Ana e-mekwa?”
This question had no intention of finding out sincerely how one was faring business-wise, and the enquirer never expected a negative reply. So, when you are asked, “Ana e-mekwa?” – your reply should be “Obere obere” which simply means “small, small,” whether you are doing something or not and when you are leaving the occasion, there must be some hand-stretching: “Mama, take this for your transportation.”
“O my son, may you not die young. May my God bless you richly!”
“Uncle, take this for yourself!”
“O, my boy, God will keep you. Others will do for you!”
But where was he expected to get the money to give to three dozen in-laws? He was jobless. Sometimes, he would chance upon whispering not intended for his ears:
“I heard things aren’t going well for him?”
“Who is it going well for? To be a man, is it easy?”
“I heard things aren’t going well for him?”
“Well, your daughter likes it, doesn’t she?”
He began to withdraw from them, avoiding many of their parties. However, because he married into a family where in-laws were important, he began to look around for his own relations whom his wife could also call in-laws.
Not long after, he got his cousin, Alexis’ number. Her mother married well and from Alexis’ address, she married even better. She lived in Victoria Garden City (VGC). His father and Alexi’s mother were neither on seeing terms nor on visiting terms. She was high society; his father was the petty bourgeois. They knew where each other lived and from long time to long time, exchanged phone calls but never visit.
The first day he took his wife to see his cousin Alexis in her expansive VGC home, she had come out with her security to see who this cousin was. She confessed that she suspected it must be he but thought it very unlikely since they never mixed. They were well-received, but he could not help feeling shabby and out of place in her big house.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Alexis asked.
“I’m on my own. Read Fine Arts. Ife,” he replied in mutilated speech.
“Nice! Have you done any exhibitions?”
“No, not yet.”
Any exhibition? He almost laughed. Where’s the money for such a thing? They told you that a white man got burnt and you are asking if the fire burned his beard. However, he could not tell her that he taught Fine Arts in home lessons since no ‘school agreed to employ him because he possessed not a certificate in Education.
The second time they visited, her husband was around and her smile was a bit frozen. Her husband was a soft spoken, very polished aloof kind of fellow who lived all his life in Britain, residing in the ritzy Mews of London. On the third visit, Alexis had taken him outside.
“Can I see you on the patio, please?” she requested of him in that tight squeaky polished voice rich educated women used.
“Yes,” he said and followed her outside.
She sat on a deck chair under an orange, green and blue umbrella.
“Sit down, “she said crisply.
He obeyed.
“I don’t have the strength for another relationship,” she told him looking into his bewildered eyes. “We’ve never mixed, why now? If you need to be financially helped, I can arrange for that if you’d let me know the exact figure; but, not these unannounced visits when someone’s trying to rest. Besides, our backgrounds…”
He stood up.
“We’d leave immediately,” he said, agitated.
“Please, don’t take it badly; it’s just that I couldn’t take it any more lest it fill my body with toxins.”
He was walking away already, through the French doors; back to inside the magnificent house. She followed him, distressed.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
He did understand, far beyond what Alexis meant. It affected him badly, almost knocked him out of faith – that was Alexis’ treatment of him, plus his inability to get a well-paying job that would give him a bit of prestige. He lost his enthusiasm for God. Why? He seemed to be partial, everyone seemed to have a job but he.
What was a young man supposed to do? It made one look like a leper, ostracised. He withdrew from his in-laws; he withdrew from his brethren in church; he withdrew from painting and relinquished the family altar to his wife, little by little estranging her. The only thing he did was teach those little boys in home lessons.
He couldn’t have stopped; their parents were interested in his paintings and always admired them. But he stopped painting entirely. What was the use? Why waste energy on something that did not fetch money? His marriage suffered. His relationship with God suffered. He became wise in his own conceits.
“Let’s face it,” he would argue, “I’ve read the Bible several times; I’ve prayed and fasted and I can hardly be called a passive Christian, but what has it fetched me?”
This argument went on in his head and manifested in his actions. One day, his wife picked up one of his unfinished paintings and pointed at it. ”See, this is good, though you call me a philistine but I know this is good. Why did you stop? Everybody started at the first rung of the ladder, all the Alexis of this world, nobody started at the top. Let your talent bless people; don’t bury it because it’s not yielding money now.” She placed it back on the wall and walked away. But he saw the tears in her eyes: she was hurting. He had estranged her. He too hurt, but love plus lack, equals frustration.
One of the men whose children he took on home lessons was always interested in his paintings; he would give him to admire, but he would not return it. Still, he was grateful that a man of his calibre showed interest in his painting to the point of admiring and keeping them. In fact, he was one of the reasons he bothered to paint from time to time.
The next time he saw Alexis, he was walking away from a failed bank interview. She made her uniformed chauffeur stop for him. She got off the car to say hi, surprising him.
“What are you doing in this part of town?” she asked.
He told her. She looked shocked.
“But you‘re an artist, you can’t work in a bank!” she said, alarmed.
She made him ride with her and told him she was on her way to an art exhibition and persuaded him to go with her.
“After you left, I felt bad. I said to myself, we need ourselves, no man can survive alone. It’s good to have a relation,” she told him.
The exhibitor was not an artist but an art collector – he collected art works from around Nigeria. The exhibition hall was the Goethe Institute, Lagos and art lovers crawled everywhere. As they went around looking at the paintings, he came to one that looked very familiar; he stood still.
Then he called Alexis
“This is my work,” he told her.
She looked at his face and knew he was serious.
“You sold to Mr. Abbey?” she asked.
“No, I gave him to admire.”
Soon, Alexis and he were searching for Mr. Abbey. They found him chatting with two Germans. When he saw them, colour drained from his face. Alexis who was a lawyer threatened to sue him and drag the issue to the press.
He never knew that the small back wood painter could cross from the slums of Mushin to the glitzy world of the art loving super rich. His wife said, ‘Never despise the days of small beginning. Do that which God has called you to do, lifting is in His hands; He lifts up the diligent.”
