I Do Not Come to You by Chance - By Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani Page 0,100
a father to him - to them all - as possible. I wanted to be there for them in ways that my father had never been there for me. The few clothes I had in school - the ones that were not gifts from Ola - had come from the ‘bend-down’ boutiques, where different grades of secondhand clothing that the people in Europe and America no longer wanted to wear were displayed on waterproof sheets on the ground and sold. I made sure that my siblings wore the latest styles and the best quality.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Godfrey apologised. ‘Our car had to keep stopping because one of the passengers had a running stomach. If I had known, we would have just paid for all the seats and had a taxi to ourselves. Kings, where are the things you bought for me?’
‘I wasn’t able to do much shopping on this trip,’ I said.
‘You didn’t buy the CD?’
‘I really didn’t have the time.’
He frowned.
‘Kings, that CD is the hottest thing right now. They haven’t yet started selling it in Nigeria so just a few people have it.’
‘I’m sorry. But don’t worry, I’m travelling again soon.’
We posed for several photographs. Godfrey put the camcorder to work and attracted quite a few stares in the process. For the first time in a very long time, I missed having my father around. I could perfectly imagine him on a day like this. Proud, emotional, optimistic. Matriculation was not such a grand event as graduation from university so my mother had not done any cooking for today. But Charity had made me promise that I would take her and her friends out to a fancy restaurant. It was Godfrey who had given her the suggestion.
Charity went off to find her friends. My cellular rang. It was Protocol Officer.
‘Kings, Cash Daddy said I should tell you to look out for him on TV on Monday night. He’s appearing on Tough Talk.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘He said you should also make sure everyone in the office watches it. It’s at 10 p.m.’
‘OK, I will.’
I noticed Aunty Dimma staring at me in a funny way, as if she had been trying to read my lips. As soon as Protocol Officer hung up, my aunty miraculously found herself by my side.
‘Kings,’ she said quietly, ‘what are you doing the Friday after next?’
‘I’m not sure. Why?’
‘I want to invite you to a special programme we’re having in my church. It’s a one-day deliverance session.’
‘Deliverance from what?’
‘All types. Deliverance from enemies, from your past . . .’ She paused. ‘Deliverance from demonic influences and evil spirits.’
‘Ah. Aunty, I just remembered. I don’t think I’ll be free on that day. I have some things I planned to do.’
‘You can still try and make it. Honestly, it’ll be worth it.’
I promised her that I would try. I knew that I would not. Charity returned with her friends. About seventeen of them.
‘Aren’t they too many?’ Aunty Dimma rebuked Charity in a red-hot whisper.
‘Aunty,’ I cut in, ‘there’s no problem.’
My pocket was more than equal to the task.
Thirty-four
The American Embassy officer scrutinised my documents. She scanned the pages of my passport and saw evidence of my frequent trips to and from the UK and the Schengen region. She saw written evidence that I had my own importing and exporting business. She observed my bulging bank accounts and knew that I could not be planning to remain illegally in her country, flipping burgers in McDonald’s or bathing corpses in a morgue.
Still, the scowling brunette on the other side of the glass partition grilled me belligerently, as if it was my fault that she had found herself in such a lousy job.
‘What are you going to the United States to do?’
‘Let me see your tax clearance certificate.’
‘Fold it!’
‘How long do you plan to stay?’
‘Why aren’t you going with your wife and children?’
‘Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking!’
‘Have you ever been involved in any terrorist activity?’
‘How do I know you’re planning to return to Nigeria?’
After about forty-five minutes, the inquisition was over. The Gestapo officer instructed me to return to the embassy by 2 p.m. the following day for collection of my stamped passport. Hurrah. My journey from Aba to Lagos had not been in vain.
‘Thank you very much,’ I replied. It was always best to repay evil with good. Besides, it could not have been any easier for Columbus; what right did the rest of us have to complain?
‘Congratulations, my brother,’ several panic-stricken visa seekers mumbled as I walked past.