“Can I see you for a minute, please?” Eno asked.
My heart skipped a beat, my stomach churned, and my face struggled to wear a smile all at the same time. Anytime anybody in Ebiet asked if they could see you for a minute, your heart couldn’t help but skip a beat.
I hadn’t been to Ebiet for about ten years, not because I didn’t like Ebiet or wouldn’t want to visit Ebiet, but because the two key players who would have motivated me to visit Ebiet regularly had transited to the great beyond. The rest of the key players were global villagers who would transit through my turf on their way to or from another part of the globe. The digital revolution also made it such that I was able to maintain a healthy virtual relationship with those folks.
The virtual and tangible are worlds apart yet so close. I wanted to feel the essence of tangibility when I made up my mind to visit Ebiet. I dubbed it ‘homecoming’ and asked the town crier to announce my homecoming.
“Summon the elders. Let them know that a true son of the soil was coming back. Let the maidens know, let the youth know, let the robbers know, let the witches and wizards know, let the palm wine tappers know, and let the villagers know. My noble kinsmen, make ready to receive me,” was my message.
From the minute I walked through the international airport of my terrain to board the flight to convey me home, I knew that the dream would become a reality in a matter of hours.
“You are wearing such a lovely smile,” the air hostess sat in front of me announced.
“Thanks,” I responded.
“You must be quite elated,” she said.
“I think the English dictionary doesn’t have the right vocabulary yet to describe how I feel right now,” I said.
“Wow. That must be special then,” she went on.
“Cabin crew…” the voice of the captain interjected.
The huge bird gathered momentum and sped up. I felt it lifting off the ground. I heard a baby scream from the bassinet seat to my left. I saw an elderly man cup his hands in prayers, some people bow their heads in humility, and one or two folks go to sleep straight away. I looked out of the windows and saw the ground, the habitat. I saw the landscape get smaller and smaller, and the roads interconnected with small cars crawling on them like a mini-model version of a city. I saw my terrain being left behind me. I smiled, then laughed.
“Is this your first time visiting Ebiet?” she asked.
“Noooo.”
“Regular visitor or business trip?”
“Naaah,” I replied.
“You must have hit a real jackpot, judging by how you have been smiling,” the air hostess declared.
“Yes, you are right. I have hit the jackpot. My kinsmen!” I beamed.
“Alright, enjoy your flight,” she concluded, as she unstrapped herself to go and prepare to serve the passengers.
The drums rolled out. The villagers poured out to the village square to receive a son of the soil who had returned.
Minstrels, jesters, poets, dancers, drummers, flautists, instrumentalists, you name them, gathered under the moonlight to welcome a son of the soil. Fresh palm wine was served and a cow was slaughtered. Pestles pounded yam in the mortar, and bellies were filled. People wrestled, sang, danced, and perspired. New relationships were formed that night. Babies were conceived that night. In the air of excitement and merriment, things happened.
My wallet was severely injured, and I was looking forward to my return journey. People had seen me in camera countless times, and it always ended with a cry for help.
‘But how many people can you help? How many school fees can you assist with? How many medical bills can you support? How many lawyer’s fees can you pay to try to reclaim a family land that was bullied away from the family? How many people can you help with payment for their bride prices and the completions of their homes? How many, how many, how many?’ These thoughts troubled my mind.
So you can imagine how I felt when another invite to speak with me in camera came in. I had started preparing my defence mechanisms in my head: ‘I have spent a lot of money on this item and that item. Leave your request with me, I will see what I can do. I am not promising anything just yet’. Those were the thoughts forming in my mind as I walked over to the side of the building to speak with my distant cousin, Eno, and her husband, in camera.
She swung around and grabbed me, embraced me tightly, and wouldn’t let go. She sobbed and sobbed, as I tried to calm her down.
“Whatever it is, we can deal with it,” I said. “But please, relax.”
“Ekpe Ikot, thank you for coming. I really appreciate your coming. You have shown that you are a true son of the soil. I can’t thank you enough. You don’t know what you have done for us. But thank you.”
I was stunned. I stood speechless. I stood in total awe at the fact that my visit could rekindle such a sense of warmth in a family member.
“Eno, listen. I know I have been gone for a long time, but I tell you what.”
“What?” she asked.
“I won’t be gone for too long again like this. I will be back soon.” I smiled as I made my statement.
“I will be here waiting for you when you return. I will be looking after your cows and goats, and sheep. I shall farm that plot of land by the river. I will not let anybody take over the other plot of land in Ikpat. My husband and I will take care of it for you till you come back,” Eno concluded.
“Yes, we will,” her husband concurred.
We embraced and stayed in the warmth of it.