By Lechi Eke
The hostess swept past Chidi acknowledging neither his presence nor his greeting as he came through her gate. This added to Chidi’s self-consciousness and conviction that he had lost favour with her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw her greeting this guest and that guest. As he made to go into the house, Chidi met the host and sensed that he averted his eyes from him. Chidi’s absence would have been more welcomed, yet he was invited!
Chidi met the hostess again as she was sweeping past him, again, in her usual energetic manner. He handed her a wrapped present and a card. She grabbed it, not without greed, and for a minute, that was, sixty whole seconds, her attention rested on him.
“What’s this?” she enquired, “Wine?”
“No,” he replied with a short embarrassed laugh.
“What then?’’ she probed.
“Do people ask that?” he asked defensively for he was ashamed to say what it was. It was a bottle of roasted peanuts. He later regretted buying that because he saw peanuts all over the place. And why was she so interested, she had more than enough. He was just trying to be civil.
After that, nobody paid him any attention. He sat forlornly in an obscure corner and watched as other guests were received with hugs and kisses, with oohs and aahs. Choice drinks and foods hurried over them.
Humbled and hungry, and draped with inferiority complex, Chidi wanted to leave. However, his leaving would mean nothing to his hosts; this added to his humiliation. He decided to stay.
After a long neglected stay, he found out that some not too important guests go to the caterers’ corner to get themselves food, so he got up reluctantly to get himself something to eat and perhaps drink. He got both in negligible quantities lest someone should ask him to put them back. As he returned to his seat, he took a look at himself while pretending to look at his food. His shirt was not too bad, although he had been out of work for six months! His shirts and trousers were still in vogue; his shoes and wristwatch still good fashion. Nonetheless, he attributed the reason he lost favour with his hosts to telling them the week before that he needed a job badly. He opened his mouth too widely to say how difficult moving around the city without a personal car was since his office car went with his former job. He thought them friends of his so he told them how he lost his job at a very wrong time. He had gathered all his savings to reroof his mother’s leaking roof, and changed her old car. His rent was due, but he didn’t tell them that. And his storeroom was empty, no food. He didn’t tell them that either.
A figure slid down beside him on the settee. He turned; it was the figure of failure: one, whose outfits begged for retirement; a faceless figure; a nobody. The figure started a conversation; Chidi reluctantly joined not wanting to appear rude. He didn’t want to be seen conversing with such a fellow. He felt superior to him. Then he realised that was what others were doing to him, and he had a rethink and a change of attitude towards the figure. He only wanted something better in life, to be seen to be progressive. He realised that was a human problem, everyone wants something better, to be seen to be progressive; that’s why folks ignore folks. Folks are afraid to be seen to be unsuccessful.
When Chidi took his leave, he could see relief on the faces of his hosts. No one walked him to the gates or thanked him for coming.
Saturday, another invitation: a wedding. ‘Why are people so pretentious?’ Chidi mused. Why do they invite you when they hardly mean it? One must devise a means of protecting oneself from such invitations, and from possible humiliations.
It was a church wedding. Photographers were all over the place, snapping away at important-looking people. Chidi was expertly cut off.
People he knew were all over the place. Men shook hands warmly and sometimes exchanged bear hugs. Ladies hugged and kissed. Laughter everywhere; faces shinning, shoes shinning, teeth gleaming, car keys jingling, and GSM ringing… No one hugged Chidi and no one shook hands with him. Few people nodded to him. It dawned on him that only successful people were being sought after. Chidi realised his current status read failure. His mates were doing better than he. Jobless people are failures, period. Any disputations dispute with yourself.
Reception followed at the La Campagne Tropicana, a long distance from the church. Chidi made efforts, one yielded fruit. Someone gave him a lift, a very important looking old man. On the way he chatted about something Chidi cared not about, about hidden riches and treasures of darkness, including lost treasures. He told Chidi how there was no lack on earth because the Creator God spent five days creating resources, and using a day to create man. He said King Solomon’s wealth was still on earth. He talked about sunken cities of old and treasures that went down with them; houses with treasures hidden in them whose owners died long ago, abandoned vehicles whose owners jumped into the sea, and so forth. The best he said was the brain wealth. Chidi just suffered him. What would he do? He listened half-heartedly; he was riding with him.
The hall had filled to capacity when Chidi arrived. Those with cars had gone ahead to fill up the hall. His benefactor proceeded to the high table because he was a dignitary. Chidi found a half-broken chair which no one cared for, and sat gingerly on it.
He felt foolish sitting there, waiting for a plate of food, like a hungry person. Actually, he needed food. Truth be told, receptions had become lifelines. During his better days when he was still working, he never attended receptions although his sister always admonished him to attend saying that if everyone stayed away it would be a curse on the celebrants because their food would waste. An advice he found useful when he became jobless.
A former colleague of Chidi’s wedded. Chidi had no present to give. He took an A4 paper and scribbled, Man, I wish you well as you dump bachelorhood today. He signed it and put it in an envelope addressed to the guy. He knew they would think that the envelope contained money. He intended no deception, but that was all he could afford at the moment and he really wished his former colleague well. He also wished for his own life partner.
They shared the cake when he went to drop the envelope, so he did not get any. The two successful people on the table in front of him got a bottle of malt each. He got a bottle of Limca. “No more malt,” the waiters told him; perhaps for someone like him. The broken chair he sat on had no table, so people at tables got served first. Finally, he accepted a plate of rice without meat. A waiter told him that meat just finished. He could not fault his former colleague. He knew at gatherings like that wedding reception, guests were at the mercy of those who served. They would rather go home with foods and drinks intended for guests than serve the guests. After picking out important looking people and serving them, the rest of the provision they greedily stuffed into large bags they provided for themselves and cart them home.
As Chidi looked around at the end of the programme, he saw half-eaten plates of rice, big chunks of meat untouched, half drunken bottles of wine, some untouched but uncorked malt drinks. He also saw plastic gift items left behind. All these were given to important people, successful people; overfed people who had no need of them. These were people the waiters preferred to serve, while the needy received nothing, suffering neglect and humiliation.
He noticed a kind of barter going on at the place gifts were received. The couple stationed people who gave out gifts in exchange for the gifts guests brought. One dropped his present and received a plastic gift in return, pure trade by barter! Shameful, thought Chidi: giving to those who gave to you! What a strange Christian practice adopted from paganism! His lips drew away in mirthless grin as he received a plastic comb in exchange for his envelope. He saw that they carefully placed the envelope in a bag where they probably kept cash and cheque gifts. Chidi left the comb on a table and began to walk away his mind filled with some strange happenings at parties and weddings. He pondered on if it was worth his time to attend at all. He remembered vividly one of the weddings he attended of a former schoolmate, the bride flatly refused to take a photograph with him insisting she could no longer continue to stand because she felt faint. The groom so embarrassed for his sake pleaded with his bride for shame, and Chidi stealthily withdrew for sorrow!
He made up his mind never to honour invitations again, even if he would die of hunger. The inconveniences far outweighed the benefits. He decided on going back to his old practice of not honouring invitations. When it would be his time, let no one attend, he would not mind – a private wedding on a weekday attended by family would do. He never used to eat mass produced food served at parties in his hare days, as they said, circumstances bent the crayfish.
As he stepped out of the hall, he ran into the dignitary, his former benefactor who brought him to the wedding reception. He enquired carefully where Chidi was headed. It turned out they were going the same way. He offered Chidi another ride, which was a blessing to him as it saved him transport fare.
On the way, they chatted freely. The man was an amiable old man in his late sixties. At a traffic light, he stopped and opened his glove compartment and extracted an invitation card. He gave it to Chidi. “Here, I invite you to …” Chidi refused to take it. He shook his head and said, “Thank you, sir, but no more invitations for me. I’m drawing a line to such things.”
“Why?’ the old man probed, “this is special. It’s …”
“No, thank you, sir!” Chidi’s voice was firm.
“Young man,” the old man sounded determined. “Jesus is inviting you, not me.”
“I’m not interested,” Chidi said with a note of finality.
The red light changed to amber, and then to green, and the man eased the car out of neutral and pushed the gear into Drive and they began to move again.
“Why would you want to reject Jesus?” the old man asked snatching a glance at Chidi.
“I’m not rejecting Jesus. Is it not to come to church?”
“Something like that,” replied the old man.
“Well, I’m done with them, um..um… not really with going to church…I mean, one needs to protect oneself …” Chidi’s voice trailed off.
“Protect oneself, how?”
Chidi was silent for a long time battling with his emotions. The old man stole a glance at him.
“You go to church, it’s human beings you meet there. It’s even worse in the church.”
“What is?”
“I don’t have a job!” Chidi blurted out. “I’m not a successful young man. I get mistreated and ignored.”
“How?”
The old man’s voice of concern and care suddenly encouraged Chidi to unburden his soul. After all, Chidi knew him not; a total stranger could do him no harm or retell his story to people who knew him. He felt safe with him.
“I get shabbily treated,” Chidi said his voice rising with his emotions. “I’m a failure, an embarrassment; none of my mates wants to hang out with me. They all have income. I have none so they treat me like a leper.”
The old man began to slow down, and finding a good place to park, he pulled out of the road onto the kerb and turned off the car engine and faced Chidi.
“Do you believe in God?” the old man asked Chidi.
“Sure.”
“Don’t be too fast,” he cautioned. “Give it a thought. Do you really believe in God, someone up there who cares?”
Chidi thought briefly and then nodded. “Only sometimes like this when I get bad treatment, when, when…when…I’m in need of a job, a source of income, something to make me feel like a man, at such times, I don’t.”
The old man nodded and patted Chidi’s left knee, and said, “There’s God, believe it. Jesus Christ, the Righteous One died for you, believe it. He loves you, believe it.”
“But,” Chidi began. The old man cut him short.
“The ungodly, the unrighteous, the downright wicked would be judged and punished. There’s nothing that anyone has that’s not given to him. And there’s nothing that anyone sows that he’ll not reap. Go to church, Chidi, and serve God!”
“Chidi? But, I did not tell you my name!”
“I’m sent by God to help you in this tough season. God loves you so much, Chidi. Go and serve Him.”
As Chidi opened his mouth to say something, the old man vanished before his eyes leaving Chidi in the car with the key dangling from the ignition.
The end
