Tuesday, 12 November 2024

Why Else Do We Live? by Dana G Nadeau, apeteshie

I lived in Nigeria in the 1970s as a volunteer teacher. My housemate was from Sri Lanka. Every few months or so we would drive in his car from the small town of Keffi to the state’s capital Jos. There we could go to a real grocery store and perhaps hear a phone ring! Stay overnight in a guest house. Even go to the cinema to see a dubbed Italian Western.

     The road to Jos from Keffi was dirt, a mud pit in the rainy season, a minefield of hard ruts in the dry season. It was virtually undriveable in the wet season, so one day in the dry season, we set off for Jos. It was at least a five hour drive just to cover 150 miles.

     About twelve miles from Jos, our car broke down. We were in the savannah - no man's land. Two school boys appeared out of nowhere. One said there was a mechanic in a nearby village just over a nearby ridge, out of sight. The other boy went to fetch him. The mechanic came, looked under the bonnet, fiddled around for a bit, and said our car needed a new part. But that part could only be obtained in the city twelve miles away.

 'Don't worry,' said one of the boys. 'I'll run to the city and fetch the part for you.' What? It’s twelve miles! ‘I’ll return in the morning.’ He was barefoot. Snakes and scorpions lay half dead or scuttled across the road, run over by day for the snakes and hurrying at night for the scorpions. Fortunately, there was a full moon. You could read a book by the light of that moon. Off he went with the useless part. Would he be stung or bitten on the way?

     As is proper and customary, we went along a narrow path up and over the ridge to the village to meet and greet the chief. It would have been a grave insult to do otherwise. He told us he would put us up for the night. The villagers all sleep on straw mats in their huts. But for us they provided an empty hut, found two folding metal beds, mattresses, mosquito nets, a tin of instant coffee (which they don’t drink), a water filter (they don’t filter their water), and they fed us. Where had all this stuff come from?

     In the morning the young boy came running back with the part. The mechanic fit it and the car started perfectly.

     We offered to pay the mechanic. No. We offered the boy money for his trouble, his twenty-four mile run. No.

     I thought, Oh, I’ve done the wrong thing here. We have to give something to the chief, and he will distribute it accordingly. But, no. He also refused.

     This was a very, very poor African village. The villagers tilled the hard, near barren soil with hand hoes; they had no electricity, no running water; each person had an annual income of just a few shillings. No one seemed able to afford even a bicycle. Yet as a whole they gave us rich (compared to them) strangers all that they could to help us, things they had collected, that they didn’t even use themselves.

     Had I offended them? Why the refusals? In the Western world, payment is given for services rendered. ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said, ‘if we have offended you.’

   I think the chief saw my confusion. I was only twenty-seven: too young to understand until the chief explained.

    He raised his hand and spoke in Hausa (which one of the boys translated).

    'Why else do we live, but to help each other?'

    He would accept nothing because he lived by a higher principle as did all those in the village under his guidance. Our purpose in life, he clearly believed and lived by, whatever our personal circumstance, wealthy or poor, is to help each other with no expectation of reward.

     We drove to Jos with our student runner, and paid for the part. Before we could discuss his return, off he set on the twelve mile run back to his village.

     We were left to remember that lesson, ‘Why else do we live?’

About the author

Born in Long Beach, California, but grew up in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, Dana has lived in Nigeria, West Africa, done a post-grad degree in English and American Lit at Leeds Uni, taught in Switzerland, become a British citizen, served as a magistrate, and now lives in Accrington, Lancashire. 

Did you enjoy the story? Would you like to shout us a coffee? Half of what you pay goes to the writers and half towards supporting the project (web site maintenance, preparing the next Best of book etc.)

No comments:

Post a Comment