Somehow, I have become a tourist in my motherland.
I did not plan to; I have dreamed and will continue to dream of visiting exotic places outside the country, where the air is fresh, the skies blue and waters peaceful. I dream of lazing around, feasting on exotic meals, fruits and veggies and writing up a storm. Oh...and as for shopping, that’s an entirely different story. But somehow, the popular phrase, “Charity begins at home,” constantly stares me in the face, and I wonder why. And as I wonder, my newly invented slogan “I have learned not to struggle with things I do not understand,” rears its head, and I relax...perhaps sometime in the near or distant future, I will understand...
Anyway, the city in question is Enugu. The tourism component here may be one of the greatest mysteries ever. It’s a mystery to me because it was in this city that I spent most of my childhood days and its scenic beauty was most definitely the last thing on my mind.
Looking back now I know there were good memories and some not so good. Perhaps I will talk about this in more detail but not just yet. As far as this piece goes and as ridiculous as this may sound, I am a tourist in the Coal City.
My ‘first tour’ began with a passing. It’s interesting how the end of one journey becomes the start of another. My ‘accomplice’ at the time my buddy Maurice, who for reasons best known to the Almighty God, from being some faraway acquaintance a few years back has since become my ‘twin brother’ and media mentor...but...me thinks I am still smarter than he is...tee hee hee!!!
Anyway the drive to Enugu was not spectacular by any standards especially for someone like me who had been down this road several times. We went through Umuahia and I noticed that there was some improvement albeit slight. However, as we approached Enugu, I looked at it differently. For the first time, I noticed the land’s topography. “This is a beautiful city,” I said to Maurice. I think he agreed with me but I’m not so sure. Perhaps that was the beginning of my journey as a tourist in the Coal City.
Five months later, I find myself back there. This time it is a more romantic scene – a romance against all odds. My parents would be married for 50 years. Indeed all through this period, things fell apart and the centre almost did not hold but bottom line is, they are still together. October 7, is a landmark date that had to be celebrated no matter what. So, off I went, the only biological child as my other siblings could not make it and this I understood perfectly. One of the lessons I have learned having spent long and gruelling periods in the throne room of the Almighty God is about the number 50 – it is a number that signifies jubilee, and jubilee should be celebrated all year round. So in my mind, it didn’t matter if my siblings did not make it. There would plenty of time to celebrate.
This time, I went with Pastor Glory and her husband Julius, who is so knowledgeable that I have nicknamed him ‘Prof.’ They had visited my parents prior to that trip and Prof left my very hard to please father with a good impression. “He knows a lot,” my father said to me later on the phone. I smiled...for someone who was very unimpressed with my “Port Harcourt English” back in the day, my father’s words may have been music to my ears...
Okay, back to the Coal City. The ‘Three Musketeers’ take off from Calabar at 12noon. Why it had to be that time only the Good Lord knows but it will indeed all come together. We leave in an electric blue Helux van generously provided by Cross River State Government. I guess being a Media Consultant does have its perks. This time we do not go through Umuahia. We go through Ebonyi State. To get to Ebonyi State, you go through the landmark Calabar City Gate, through neighbouring villages like that Odukpani place...snarl!!! Anyway you get to Ugep, where the famous Leboku (New Yam Festival) holds every August. Itigidi which is the Cross River State Governor’s village is not too far off. There you get to see the parts of the beautiful Cross River. It is said that the Itigidi people migrated from the Niger Benue contour through Abakaliki before settling where they are now. We go through another village Ekwureku and I love the rice farms I see. I wonder who is beneficiary of the bountiful harvest in its due season.
Ebonyi State comes immediately after I think. Interestingly, the boundary between Ebonyi and that part of Cross River State is not more than about 10 metres. Anyway, we cross over into Ebonyi State Abaomege is the first village we enter if I have got it right. At this point the journey is not that smooth. The red sand and very bumpy roads make us do the ‘break dance’ in the car all the way to Enugu. I still have visions of Prof’s head moving side to side...
We arrive at my parents’ house. They are very surprised to see me. My father tells me he did not remember telling me about their wedding anniversary. I tell him I remember and we leave at that. This is most definitely way beyond us. My Uncle Francis is there too. Uncle Francis is my father’s older brother, the first born in the family and the shortest of them all. At 83 years, the man still stands strong. He’s a professor in the US and he’s lived there for as long as I remember. We call him the absent minded professor behind his back because he always gets lost in the house.
“Francis, where are you going?” My father would always ask. “How can anyone get lost just from going from one room to the other?” Perhaps I should tell my father never to struggle with what he does not understand...
I show my mother their anniversary cake we brought all the way from Calabar. “I wouldn’t mind a piece now,” she said to me. So, a day before their anniversary, we all get together and cut the cake. Pastor Glory is in her element and prays up a storm. “Your uncle is a partaker of this grace,” she said. She asks me to pray but somehow, I am led to interprete the colours of the cake. That indeed is my forte. I love colours, I love to play with them and interprete, and that I did with precision and creativity.
The next day, October 7, we dress up to go out. I need to show my friends the town. The weather changes and it looks like it’s going to rain. “You can’t go on a tourist venture today,” Uncle Francis says to me. I am very surprised that he would use such a phrase in this Coal City of ours. Anyway, it does not rain and we do set out. I try and describe the places I remember to my friends. They like the Coal City too. Funny as we drive around, I’m not sure where we are. I’m not sure if we are in Enugu or in Calabar. The place has changed so much. Perhaps I should rephrase those words...I often said that Calabar reminded me of Enugu in the 70’s. Unfortunately somewhere down the line things seemed to fall apart...however, I saw restoration. So, I guess the centre did hold after all...
We take a drive down GRA, and go all the way down Abakaliki Road. It brought back memories...At the end of Abakaliki Road is a school- Ekulu Primary School. It’s also at the end of another road in GRA called Park Avenue. I spent three years in this school – primary four to primary six. I guess it was fun but it was not devoid of its wahala. It was in this school that I learned how to fight and of course did a terrible job at it. Save some Indian girl, Ismaetra Saifulla whom I fought and threw into the waste basket, I lost all my fights. The others I fought were physically stronger, but I never gave up. It didn’t matter whether if I was on one side and the rest of the class was on the other, I never gave up. I think the boys liked me though...tee hee!
There were good times though. Having to represent the school at functions and so on, but there was one incident – an incident I totally forgot about until fairly recently. It was an ugly incident that may have affected the lives and destinies of the pupils at that time without their knowledge. They didn’t start it but were very much steeped into it. Perhaps that story will be told another day. So far, the full ‘beneficiaries’ of that story are Pastor Glory and her husband, whom I call Prof. Indeed that singular visit brought back memories...
From there we went up to Milken Hill. People say it’s a tourist delight but to me it was more of a terrorist’s domain. Before the advent of express roads, Milken Hill was the only route for travellers out of Enugu to parts of Enugu and Anambra State. So, each time we had to go to my village Umuoji I was terrorised. Then to cap it all, my secondary school years were spent in Benin and yet again I had to go down this same route. The numerous accidents I had heard about people who went down this route did not help matters. I hated going up and down that hill with a passion.
But on that day, October 7, the day of my parents’ 50th anniversary, we go. My silent plan simply to stop at the bottom of the hill, but Prof would have none of that, armed with his camera and video recorder to capture all scenes, he is ready for the top. The driver goes up before I know what is going on. “Are you sure you have enough fuel?” I ask him. That was fear talking. The driver says he has. And I keep quiet. Indeed this was way beyond me and I had no choice but to keep quiet and hold my peace.
“It is beautiful,” said Prof. I look through the corner of my eye. Indeed it is beautiful but I am too tense to enjoy the scenic beauty of Milken Hill. I wonder why though. I’d been up the mysterious hills of Obanliku, where the pristine Obudu Mountain resort is. It’s much higher than Milken Hill. In fact I had written a travel book about it so I couldn’t understand my fear this time. To get to the top of Milken Hill you drive for about 10 minutes and in spite of my fear, it is a beautiful scene. Finally, we get to the top. I look at the town – Enugu Ngwo differently. We don’t go too far though. Do these people know what they have? I ask in my heart. And then it hit me, the word of God in the book of Micah 4:1. “But in the last days it shall come to pass that the mountain in the house of the Lord shall be established in the top of the mountains and it shall be exalted at the top of the hills and people shall flow unto it.”
“Do you know what Enugu means,” asked my wonderful sister and mentor Obii Pax Harry sometime last year. I told her I did not know. “It means the city upon a hill,” she said. I really didn’t pay much attention to that statement until fairly recently. Perhaps at that time her words had gone way ahead of me...Anyway, I remembered that scripture as we rode down the mountain. Indeed I remembered...
We do some more sightseeing and end up at the airport. I had not been there ever since it was closed for one year or thereabout. I then remembered that there was a ghastly plane crash in that vicinity. I think this was sometime in 1983. Of course I was much younger at the time but I remembered vividly. One man lost his entire family in just one day, the Governor at the time lost his daughter; so many other lives were lost. I also remember there were a few survivors. One man survived with his daughter totally unharmed. They broke through the emergency exits, some Igbo trader who had never been a plane prior to that time survived, though badly injured. He was interviewed on his hospital bed. Yes indeed, that trip brought back memories...
By this time, we are tired and hungry, so we go to Barcellos a new addition. Indeed in the old comes forth new beginnings. We start with their very exotic ice cream and bellyache endlessly at how tiny the scoops are. For lunch, Pastor Glory the driver and Prof have fried rice, chicken and salad. I have chicken and French fries. Somehow during that whole trip I had this craving for French Fries. That was all I desired and I wonder why...
We chat at length during lunch. I remembered some couples I admired. The foundation of their romance was laid in Enugu. “There’s something about this land,” I told Pastor Glory. I said this with a particular couple in mind. In all my life, I had not seen this type. A couple whose destiny had been determined right from the very beginning have stuck together through the unthinkable. It was a combination of love, pain, strength, dryness, beauty, betrayal, determination, wealth and glamour all rolled into one. It was certainly not devoid of evil elements but love conquered at the end of the day. “This land is a land of love and destiny,” I say to them. I think we are all on the same page on this one.
I think of my parents and I wonder if there are similarities between them and this model couple, but perhaps that story will be told another day and I am not sure it will be my story to tell. However, for now, I very happily preach the goodness of the Coal City – the land of love and destiny!
Enuma Chigbo is a Media Consultant in Cross River State. She has a passion for writing.
