It was not necessary to concede the anger anymore. Andrew would not bulge at making his fist once or twice over the situation of Nigeria beginning from their homes. His father, Senator Marke as
It was not necessary to concede the anger anymore. Andrew would not bulge at making his fist once or twice over the situation of Nigeria beginning from their homes. His father, Senator Marke as fondly called had eyes but could not see. He had just returned home from a break after his first year in Harvard. His new intelligence, he thinks happens when a politician sends his son abroad to study. His father had sent him abroad, and for what? To return home still stupid or more stupid and blinded by African illiteracy. Andrew on his own thinks that when a politician represents himself and his generations and not the people, is illiteracy. He frowned, looking at the television as it displayed the figures of politicians on campaign standing to rhyme the National Anthem and recite the pledge. Their lips were not even moving, they were not enthused about what they were getting into, Andrew thought. His own father neither. Representing a given people is by far the most compelling and demanding task in any ecosystem.
He had read Sons of Fortune, an American novel, he loved the fair battle the politicians played. He loved most, the part where the politicians’ wives and children are involved in campaigning on their various levels. Senator Marke didn’t know that, other politicians are oblivious too. He adored the part where Luke the son of Nat the American Politician of the1980s walked with his girlfriend hand in hand alongside his parents as they campaigned in the city of Connecticut. And he was only 15. Andrew is 19 yet his father had rebuffed him when he dressed up to follow him out. He yearned for democrats or better still Republicans in Nigerian. Maybe it could be an egalitarian society some day.
Andrew studied so hard that his knowledge of what life is, is definitely a far cry from what is happening at home. He will come home soon to be a politician as he dreamt but what home? A Nigeria of a home? How can he ever deal with this?
And when his father returned, he said to him in the living room,
‘Dad I am proud of you being my father but you know how to voice our National Anthem and recite our Pledge don’t you?’
Senator Marke had thought his son was joking as he briskly answered.
‘My boy, how can I? That is for young ones like you all.’
His wife joined them through the front door, ‘What is happening? Why are you staring at your Daddy like that Andrew and why is your luggage by your car?’
‘Mum, Dad cannot even voice the National Anthem word for word, for a country he represents. I am angry.’
The two adults felt a little amused but Andrew was dead serious about it. He admired when Fletcher and Nat or George Bush or Ford sang their own Anthem in enthusiasm and patriotism for their country.
‘If I accept this, then I am your dog and not your son. I am going back to the states Mum, I can’t stomach this.’
When he glided out through the door, his parents had collectively thought that it might be adolescence madness and the anger that comes with it. Marke tiredly shook his head and feared how much he didn’t know his son.
He didn’t know if it was stupid or sensible of him. He had remembered last week, the day he returned when he expressed gladly to his friends,
‘That is my son; he is studying Criminal Law in Harvard.’
Also read To My Dying Raymond. New Story