Against the Odds. Ben Igwe

at the man’s kind disposition.

      Jamike missed a step as he hurried out of the room. He rushed to the gateman to pick up his traveling bag. On his mind was to hurry out of the compound before the consul would find there was something wrong with his documents or that he made a mistake. A waiting taxi took him back to the motor park. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. He ate some bread with Fanta orange drink and spent time wandering in the vicinity of the motor park since his bus would not leave until nighttime.

       Six

      Jamike was twenty-seven years of age when he left for America. Villagers gathered in the compound on the morning of his departure. There was movement of people here and there. Some huddled to talk. It was not difficult for an outsider to perceive that something important was going on. Passersby stood around the entrance to the compound trying to find out what happened. People moved about, some with their hands clasped and others with gloomy faces. Uridiya wept with both joy and sadness as she embraced her only child, now a man.

      Jamike was ruggedly built with broad shoulders. He was a charming young man with a broad face and a full crop of dense hair that reminded older villagers of Nnorom, his late father. Since his childhood, Jamike often heard people say that he was every inch like his late father. The only resemblance to his mother was his large eyes. Jamike’s body exuded strength. As he grew older, especially in his late teens, his height and perceived strength enabled him to ward off people who might have had any intentions of doing harm to his mother.

      With tears in her eyes, hands trembling, Uridiya knelt down, clutching her son’s legs in her hands. Looking up at him, she raised her two open palms to his face, and said:

      “Jamike, look into my heart and into my soul. Remember your mother. My life is in your hands now. Do not do anything that will cause my death if I hear it. I want to stay alive and live long enough to hold your child, my grandchild, on my lap. Remember the headmaster who help ed you. Know that without him you would not have been able to complete elementary school. If you forget everyone else, do not forget him and his family. He saved us many times. I know you will not forget anybody who took me for a human being. Almighty, the creator of heaven and earth, will guide and protect you.”

      Tears welled in Jamike’s eyes. Relatives and passers-by that witnessed this spectacle were moved beyond words. When they learned that he was going to be away for many years, the emotions were mixed. The first son of the village to study overseas was leaving for America. It was a thing of joy, yet some looked sad, as if they wished he would stay in the village with them. As a teacher his presence in the village was a thing of pride and conferred some status on them. Some of the old kinsfolk were downcast because they probably thought they might not see him again. He felt the same way, too, as he embraced old kinsmen and women―some of whom walked with canes.

      Many relatives followed him to walk the two-mile distance to the tarred road junction where he boarded transport. Uridiya would have preferred not to see him board the bus. The trip to Onitsha from Aludo took nearly three hours. At Onitsha he boarded a bus that made the Lagos journey in ten hours. A contact the headmaster had made with an old schoolmate bore fruit. Mr. Kamalu was at the motor park and had waited nearly two hours before Jamike’s bus arrived. It was his second time at the motor park that Friday. The description Jamike had of Mr. Kamalu made it easy to recognize him. It was almost eleven o’clock at night when they got to Kamalu’s home in Apapa. It was the next day that Jamike met his host’s family.

      Mr. Kamalu arranged for the taxi driver who took Jamike to Lagos International Airport, where they arrived at six o’clock in the evening. The driver was a neighbor, and Mr. Kamalu gave him strict instructions not to stop anywhere but the airport. Once he came out of the taxi Jamike was harassed by porters who wanted to carry his small suitcase through the throng of passengers, panhandlers, pickpockets, and thugs to join the check-in line. He held on tight to his suitcase as he entered the terminal building. Jamike was overwhelmed by the huge airport terminal, the large number of people, the hustle and bustle, restaurants, stalls filled with crafts and assorted goods travelers might need, shoe shiners, male nail manicurists seeking business, money changers, and, perhaps, money-doublers too―all manner of people.

      At exactly eight o’clock, check-in began. Once he was checked in, Jamike went through customs and immigration and proceeded to the waiting area. He did not talk to anyone, because he did not know anyone. He was still apprehensive about whether or not his suitcase that was taken from him at the check-in counter would be in America when he got there. He consoled himself because other passengers gave their luggage to the check-in clerk. Boarding began at ten o’clock, and it was past midnight when the aircraft’s turbo engines began to rave as it readied to move. Many thoughts ran through Jamike’s mind as he sat quietly in his economy-class seat.

      “So this is it. I am leaving home,” he mused. “Leaving with no idea of when I will be back. I wish it was not midnight so I can see the bushes and trees on the horizon.” What he saw instead were dazzling, colored lights on the runway and the blinking lights on the wings of the airplane. Jamike Nnorom was not sure whether this was a dream or reality. He believed that God has a plan for everyone and it is etched on the palms of each person’s hands. His people call it “akalaka” and believe that a person’s fortunes and tribulations are in accordance with the meaning of the configuration of the lines on his or her palm.

      Pan American Airways Flight 114 to New York moved slowly in a slight drizzle on the silent, undulating runway, sometimes almost slowing to a halt. It took one turn, and then another before it finally came to a squeaking halt. The runway it faced was studded with blue light bulbs and looked so straight and tapering it seemed it ended in infinity. The aircraft heaved, raved, and roared to a deafening sound as it sped away at breakneck speed, shattering the silent night. Jamike made the sign of the cross, covered his face with his palms and prayed as he always did whenever he set out on a journey. The plane lifted itself up and was airborne. Already he was overwhelmed by the size of the supersonic jet and the hundreds of passengers on board and wondered how it would keep itself in the air for the number of hours he was told it took to be in America.

      Jamike Nnorom, the son of Uridiya, a widow, who struggled hard to survive with her child, despite the rancor of devilish relatives, was on his way on a journey that would change him forever. He was in an airplane that no one in his entire village had seen before. Jamike remembered that as children they would rush out of the compound to strain their eyes looking up in the high sky if they heard the rumble of a nearly invisible airplane. The only thing they would see was a tiny object thousands of feet in the clouds. At these times the youngsters and some old women prayed the pilot for some generosity. Some would say, “Aeroplane kindly drop a bag of money to me.” And others said, “Aeroplane kindly drop a bag of money to us.”

      Jamike, who had an aisle seat, wished he sat near the window so he could lean against it and sleep, but he did not know he had to request it at the check-in counter. The passenger occupying the window seat was an elderly woman who, he later found out from her escort, was visiting America for medical treatment. Her face appeared painful. Her jaw was out of symmetry, perhaps, due to a recent stroke. She appeared anxious and nervous. Jamike took a quick look at the woman and greeted her, but he might as well have been speaking to a wall. He came to the realization that when people are in pain or preoccupied with life’s uncertainties, response to a stranger’s greeting would not be of priority.

      It was not long before a man came and spoke to the woman in a language not understood by Jamike, apparently to find out if she was comfortable. The man introduced himself as the woman’s escort. He covered her with a blanket up to her neck and appealed to Jamike to assist the woman who he said was going to receive medical treatment in America. He tried to engage in a conversation with Jamike, but his thoughts were on what he was experiencing and on the village he’d just left. He was not prepared for that conversation. The first time in an aircraft, going to an unknown land, Jamike’s mind was occupied with his own private fears. He was thinking about what he would do if this aircraft fell into the water, because he learned that they would be crossing the Atlantic Ocean. He thought about what he feared to think about, whether or not he would see his mother again. To Jamike, engaging the man in conversation rather than being