The resolution to Jamin’s marriage issue, is getting nearer
By Lechi Eke
Continued from last week…
The Wan Tor Tiv, Benjamin Nguuma Torkular, the elder, was embarrassed to pursue the line of action his brother laid upon him. Now, that the Tor said it was a command, it had become mandatory for him to do something about the whole Jamin problem, and that something he knew wasn’t to find out if the Igbo girl escaped death and to finish her. Suddenly, he was angry with Terver for bringing that section of the constitution to the remembrance of the Tor. The Tor was a very soft fellow, very kind. He didn’t even have the mind to join the army as a youth. He studied the humanities up to doctorate degree. If Jamin had gone to him he would have not hesitated to ask for leniency for him.
It was a defeated Big Ben that returned to his palatial Jos home and moved mournfully about his quarters. He fought what he knew he should do for days and lost his appetite. Not only his appetite, he lost at golf also and took alcohol. This last gladdened him for a while but the joy he couldn’t sustain.
Unfortunately, the girl wasn’t killed in the arson, he was told. She must have leapt out with the Dalmatians. Disappointed and deeply sorrowed, Big Ben’s mind became clouded, yet, there was the hollowness as if he was trapped in a limbo, transiting. He felt the urge to ask his wife for prayers, but resisted it. That was how to call for her sermons, he mused. The second day he managed to plod through, but by the third day, he began to get intemperate and knew he had to get help. His thoughts hovered between sending for a psychologist, a psychiatrist, or a pastor. He cancelled all engagements and locked himself up in his study. At a time, unable to bear it anymore, he phoned his secretary and told him he was writing a book and needed to find out who folks would consult in a crisis.
“A pastor,” his secretary said.
“Please, send out a questionnaire. I need answers asap.”
“Yes, your royal highness!” the secretary barked.
ASAP, he demanded, ASAP, the answers came in, even quicker than he expected. 95% of one thousand Nigerians asked from different states said they would consult a pastor. 63% gave their reasons. They said because the pastor would pray for them for the situation to turn around. Fast, Big Ben put a call to Marfi.
“Please, arrange me an appointment with Nigeria’s best Pentecostal pastor. A father figure; wise and temperate.”
Within minutes, Marfi got back to him. “Daddy GO, Adeboye is out of the country, but I got Bishop Mike Okonkwo.”
“Fly him down to me.”
“Daddy, if you’re consulting him, it’s best you fly down to meet him in an atmosphere saturated with prayer.”
“Oh!” Big Ben exclaimed and paused on the phone. Marfi knew he was musing over “an atmosphere saturated with prayer.” He waited knowing that would sound soothing to the big guy whatever he was going through. Also, his pride balloon, Marfi just punctured. “Okay, let my staff know how this can be done. I need to see him today,” Big Ben finally said.
“I’ll be at the Murtala Mohammed airport to receive you, sir.” Marfi hung up wondering what was going on. Could it be the Tor? He put a call to the palace at Gboko. They said the Tor was alright.
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Big Ben flew back to Jos from Lagos the same day with the admonition from the man of God to “do the will of God as he sensed in his spirit”. But that “will of God” or the very impression he was having in his heart, seemed nasty to him.
Princess Dooshima waited and her husband did not show up for dinner. She hated eating late so she began to eat. Although she ate slowly, he still did not show up until she finished eating. His personal staff said he wasn’t letting them in. So, Princess Dooshima went to see him. He was lying supine on his bed wearing a terrible look like one who had encountered an unearthly being, more of @ “seen a ghost”. Dooshima sat down beside him and held his hand.
“What’s it, my darling?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he said his eyes wild.
“You didn’t come to the table.”
“Oh, is it time? Although I’m not hungry. Have you eaten?”
“Yes. What’s wrong? You didn’t tell me where you were going earlier today, and you’ve been acting strange. How’s the Tor?”
“He’s very well. Everything is okay…”
Princess Dooshima cupped his face with both her palms scrutinising it. Of course, everything was not okay. Her husband looked unsettled like a frightened puppy thrown up and allowed to crash land, his eyes terribly dilated.
“How’s the Tor,” she asked again.
“He’s worried about Jamin. Said we treated him badly.”
“Who treated him badly? Not us.” Dooshima was forever on her husband’s side, albeit outwardly. This was what all the Wan Tor kwase were taught, stand by your man.
“That’s what I said. But the Tor has some other ideas. He said I should do something about it.”
“Something about it? Haven’t we tried? We’ve done all we can about the matter. It’s only God Who owns the world that can help him. I’m sure that God Who owns the world and brought us in, must have someone for him to marry.”
Big Ben sat up and then, left the bed and went to look at himself in a mirror. “Why are you repeating God Who owns the world, God who owns the world?”
“Doesn’t He?” She picked a bedside intercom and dialled a number. “Please, get me a mug of cappuccino and some kebabs for HRH.”
“Well, the way you’re saying it is oppressing, like He owns it all, He is in charge and we all must obey Him. But man should have a say.”
“Man does. Man determines if he wants tea, coffee or water. If he wants to be clothed or naked. If he wants to sleep or stay awake.”
“Sometimes, man feels oppressed, like forced to do the so-called God’s will.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Dooshima with a laugh. “We force people to obey us all the time. A child wants to wear cotton T-shirt in cold weather, a parent says no because he’ll catch his death.”
The coffee arrived. The steward placed it on the coffee table and retreated. Princess Dooshima picked it and sipped a little and nodded. “Perfect,” she said and tried to put it on her husband’s lips. “Here, drink!” He took it from her and gulped down almost half. She handed him a stick of kebab. It was peppered gizzards, green pepper, onion, etc. Again, he received it and began to chew. She watched him intently. His countenance was full of thoughts. Suddenly, he put the coffee down and the meat and exclaimed, “Are we oppressing Jamin?”
“Wow!” his wife exclaimed. “What’s that? Oppress Jamin? Naah, not possible. Isn’t it Tiv law that the crown prince should marry a Tiv?”
“Yes, but who made that law, God?”
“God?” Princess Dooshima echoed and scrunched her face squinting at her husband.
“Give a thought,” he said excitedly.
“Why should I? God gave people power to administer the world and …”
“Does He tell man what to do, say, legislate?”
Princess Dooshima was thoughtful. “Mmh…more like it.”
“Do you, as a Christian, feel oppressed by God’s demands?”
“No. never,” Dooshima said. “In fact, I’m most troubled if I don’t know what the will of God concerning a thing is. Knowing God’s will, concerning a matter, makes things easy for every Christian.”
“So, you’ve never felt an urge to resist God?”
“Resist God? That’s stupidity. A Christian resists God to their own detriment.”
“Hmm…” Big Ben went back to his coffee and kebab. “I think I want to eat now.” His wife used the intercom again. “Where do you want to eat?”
“In the garden. I need some fresh air.”
As they sat in the garden Princess Dooshima sipping carrot and ginger drink, while her husband ate, there was no sign of war or rumours of it, everywhere was peaceful and calm and Big Ben dropped the bomb.
“Jamin will marry the Igbo girl.”
“Wwhhaat?” Dooshima quaked.
“I’ve been sick with resisting God. It was to my own detriment. Jamin will marry the girl.”
At that moment, Dooshima actually had trouble breathing and she dropped her drink.
Culled from The Girls are not to Blame