I Do Not Come to You by Chance - By Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani Page 0,52
cut out for this sort of business. I’m a graduate, and I intend to get a good job and later further my education. I’ve always wanted to study as far as PhD level and that’s what I’m—’
I stopped talking when Cash Daddy upgraded his laughter to a guffaw.
‘Kingsley,’ he asked, struggling to regain his breath, ‘what was it you said you studied in school?’
‘I read Chemical Engineering.’
‘Very, very good. That means you must know a lot of mathematics. ’
I did not dignify him with an answer.
‘Are you good with numbers?’
I continued saying nothing.
‘Go on, tell me. Are you good with numbers?’
‘Yes, I am,’ I answered as a matter of fact. ‘I’m very good with calculations.’
‘Do you know how to write one million naira? Do you know how many noughts it has at the end?’
‘It has six zeroes,’ I rattled off without even thinking.
‘Apart from when you were using a calculator in your classroom, have you ever written down one million naira in any single transaction before? Have you ever calculated money you wanted to spend and it came to a total of one million naira?’
He did not wait for me to respond.
‘So, after all this your education - the one you’ve done so far - what have you gained from it? With all the big, big calculations you did with your calculator in school, has it made you to calculate those same amounts of money in your own pocket? Or in your own bank account? Or in different currencies?’
He hissed. The sound was a fine blend of disdain and amusement.
‘You know something? Me, I don’t have a problem with poverty as far as it’s a choice somebody has made for himself. But look at you. Very soon you’ll be standing by the street with a tin cup in your hand - begging. Mind you, no one gets a mouthful of food by picking in between another person’s teeth. All your book . . . is that why you were wearing headmaster shoes the other day? Is that why your sister looks like somebody who hasn’t eaten since Christmas Day? Is that why your mother is wearing the cloth that other women were wearing in the sixties?’
He hissed again.
‘Just look at my sister. Today at the hospital, she was looking almost thirty years more than her age. Has all your book put food on your table? How many people are you feeding every month? How many people’s salaries do you pay every month? Eh? Tell me.’ He sneered. ‘See your mouth. You say you don’t eat rats but you just want to taste only the tail. Please don’t close my ears with all this your rubbish talk about education. Me, I don’t believe in film tricks. I believe in real, live action.’
The more he spoke, the more I found myself sitting straighter in the chair. He sounded almost as convincing as the multiplication table.
My father was learned and honest. Yet he could neither feed his family nor clothe his children. My mother was also learned, and her life had not been particularly improved much by education. I thought about my father’s pals, most of whom were riding rickety cars . . . about most of my university lecturers with their boogiewoogie clothes and desperate attempts to fight off hunger by selling overpriced handouts to students. Yet Uncle Boniface - our saviour in this time of crisis - had not even completed his secondary school education. However, my father’s hallowed words of time past rose up and sounded a piercing siren in my head.
‘Uncle Boniface, you can make all the fun you want, but in the long run, even the Bible says that wisdom is better than silver and gold.’
This time, he guffawed so long that it seemed as if the fat on his face might melt and start dribbling onto the floor. He started choking and struggled to catch his breath.
‘Ah, you think, me, I don’t know Bible myself? Or haven’t you heard the story of the poor wise man?’
I had no idea what he was talking about. Was this part of his infinite repertoire of Igbo proverbs, or was this a story from the Bible? Did he mean the story about The Rich Man and Lazarus? As far as I could remember, it never said anywhere that Lazarus was wise.
He saw the confusion on my face.
‘Ah, ah? I thought you’re the one who went to school. You’re the one who knows everything, including Bible? OK, wait.’