Edima Udo Usoro: Odeke

Sometimes, we are faced with events in our lives; some we try to forget and some, we choose to forget. However, how often are we able to forget the things we choose to forget? My name is Tunde and I am sitting in an office I call my own, tapping my pen on the oval desk and staring at the supposed hot coffee. I have tried so hard to forget things, events, and people. In my short life, I have known betrayal, untold hardship, and pains of all degrees which have left scars on my already deeply scarred heart.

I grew up in Odeke, a very small village where farming was and still is the major occupation. My life was joyous and things were good, I thought it was going to continue until I returned home one day to hear my father was struck dead by a tree while hunting in the forest. It was not that the tree fell due to structural defect as we observe the architectural masterpiece. The rains have often been ritualistic in some ways when it comes with a heavy downpour, accompanied by heavy whirlwind and thunder strike. Perhaps, while it rained, my father would have deemed it necessary to hide under a tree. That same tree was the one struck by thunder and a branch came down on my father. He died on the spot. It was a blow, it was painful and traumatic. As if that was not all, equally striking was that Providence thought it wise to make my mother follow the same course two days later.

There I was, left alone with my sister of twelve. One morning, I was getting set for my routine farm work when my uncles barged into the room we occupied and dragged my little sister out. My uncles just could not wait for the burial to be over and took away all we had: our farmlands.  I still remember clearly how many odd jobs I had to do so I could feed my sister. I was just seventeen years and it would be an understatement to say that I was bitter at the cruelty of the world. Some days, I had to sleep hungry especially when the planting seasons were over. It became that bad and the little I gathered, I gave to my sister.

Tragedy became our surname or was it pain? I really could not tell. My uncles arrived at our doorstep and dragged my sister out. All I could make out of the words they spoke was that my sister was getting married; the rest was gibberish. I could not help it. The bond between me and my sister was deep. I felt my world crashing as she was being taken away. The force on her was brutal. I ran after my uncles, I begged and begged for my sister to be spared, but my plea fell on deaf ears. My life had literally come to a standstill. I could hear the wind around the trees and the rustle of the leaves while my sisters wailing haunted me. I was helpless. All I could see was the cruelty in the world.

Day and night came and went, sunshine and rainfall passed as well. I labored from daybreak till dawn on people’s farms until my back ached. On one of those days, a vehicle came to my village carrying books for the village primary school and hands were needed to offload. I willingly helped because I had hoped to be paid, but the man asked that I come with him seeing the zeal in me to work. What did I have to lose? I ran back to my small apartment took my only shirt and entered his vehicle.

Here I sit today with a thankful heart to that man who helped me, trained me and made me but I am still here tapping my pen on the oval desk wondering where my sister is and what became of Odeke. I might as well bask in the success and achievements I have accomplished and hope for the best.

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By Edima Udo Usoro

Extract from Shalom Truths Magazine (Family Edition)