I Do

Not Come
To You OB E B O OKS
By OChance
F M A S
E R T Y
PROP
 E B O OKS
O F MASOB
R O P E RTY
P
 ADAOBI TRICIA NWAUBANI

I Do
NotOFCome MASOB
E B O OKS

P R O P E
To You
RTY

By Chance
 First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Weidenfeld & Nicolson
An imprint of the Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin’s Lane
London wc2h 9ea
An Hachette UK Company
Copyright © Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani 2009
First published in the USA in 2009 by Hyperion
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Published in 2019 by Masobe

B O OKS
An imprint of Masobe Books and Logistics Limited
E
O F ASOB
34 Gbajumo Close, off Adeniran Ogunsanyan,
M Surulere, Lagos, Nigeria

R O P E RTY Tel: +234 906 730 5909, +234 701 838 3286
[email protected]
P
Copyright © Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored

in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by
any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording
or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright
owner and the above publisher.

The right of Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani to be identified as the author of this

work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright,
A catalogue record for this book is available from
The National Library of Nigeria

ISBN: 978-978-57281-4-9

Cover design by Anderson Ofuzim Oriahi

Layout by AI’s Fingers

www.masobebooks.com
 To my parents . . .
Chief Chukwuma Hope Nwaubani
(Ahanyiefule 1 of Omaegwu, Oke Orji Abia)
Chief Mrs Patricia Uberife Nwaubani
(Nwanyiejiagamba 1 of Omaegwu)
. . . for giving me the very best of their best.

E B O OKS
O F M ASOB
R O P E RTY
P
 E B O OKS
O F MASOB
R O P E RTY
P
 Prologue

People in the villages seemed to know everything. They knew

E B O OKS
whose great-grandmother had been a prostitute; they knew
F M ASOB
which families were once slaves of which; they knew who and
O
R O P E RTY
who were osu outcasts whose ancestors had been consecrated
P
to the pagan shrines of generations ago. It was, therefore, not
surprising that they knew exactly what had happened in the
hospital on that day.
From what Augustina had been told, as soon as she came
into the world and the midwife smacked her buttocks so that
she could cry and force air into her lungs, her mother took in
a deep breath and died. The dead woman was the most recent
of five wives, the youngest, and the most beloved. But because
she had died a bad death, a death that was considered as much
an abomination as a suicide, she was buried immediately,
quietly, without official mourning.
When Augustina’s father took her home, everybody
complained that the child cried too much, as if it knew that it
had killed its mother. So her grandmother came and took her
away. At age seven, when it was confirmed that her right hand
could reach across her head and touch her left ear, Augustina

1
 A D A O B I T R I C I A N WAU B A N I

moved back to her father’s house and started attending primary

school. Being long and skinny had worked to her advantage.
Six years later, the same village experts said it was foolish
for her father to consider sending a female child to secondary
school. It was a waste of time; women did not need to know
too much ‘book’. Reverend Sister Xavier was outraged and
came all the way to talk it out with Augustina’s father.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Mbamalu,’ she began.
‘Welcome,’ he said, and offered her a seat.
The white woman sat and stared right into his eyes.
‘I hear you’re not allowing Ozoemena to attend secondary
school.’ E B O OKS
M ASOB
Ugorji, Augustina’s elder brother, who had been assigned
O F
R O P RTY
as interpreter for the day, repeated the woman’s words in Igbo.
E
P
It was not as if their father did not understand English, but
when he received word that the headmistress was coming,
he had panicked, fearing that his feeble grasp of the foreign
language would not withstand the turbulence of the white
woman’s nasal accent and fast talking.
‘I want her to learn how to cook and take care of a home,’
Augustina’s father replied. ‘She has gone to primary school.
She can read and write. That is enough.’
The white woman smiled and shook her head.
‘I’m sorry to disagree with you, but I don’t think it’s
enough.
Ozoemena is such a smart girl. She can go a very long
way.’ Ugorji did his thing. The white woman sped on.
‘I’ve been living in Africa since the thirties. In all my over
twenty years of missionary work here, I’ve come across very
few young women as smart as your daughter.’

2
 I Do Not Come to You by Chance

Sister Xavier sat upright, hands clasped as if she was in a

constant state of preparedness for prayer.
‘All over the world,’ she continued, ‘women are achieving
great things. Some are doctors who treat all types of diseases,
others have big positions with the government. You might be
surprised to hear this, but in some countries, the person who
rules over them is a woman.’
From her position behind the door, Augustina noticed
that her brother did not give the correct interpretation for
the word ‘rules’. It was little things like this that made her the
smart one.
B O OKS
‘Mr Mbamalu, I would like you to reconsider your stand
E
M ASOB
on this matter,’ Sister Xavier concluded.
O F
R O P RTY
To date, nobody is sure if it was the sister’s words, or
E
P
the rapid way she fired her sentences, or simply the shock
of a woman telling him what to do, but Augustina’s father
consented. She would attend secondary school with her
brothers. Another five years of the white man’s wisdom.
Augustina was thrilled.
In the end, though, it did not matter that she had made
the highest scores in her class during the final-year exams,
or that she spoke English almost with the same speed as the
reverend sisters themselves. After secondary school, the topic
of formal education was officially closed and Augustina was
sent as an apprentice to her father’s sister who was a successful
tailor. Her aunty was married to a highly esteemed teacher. So
highly esteemed, in fact, that everybody called him Teacher.
That was how she left Isiukwuato and moved to Umuahia.
Augustina had been living with Teacher and Aunty for some
months when news reached them that one of Teacher’s friends

3
 A D A O B I T R I C I A N WAU B A N I

was coming to visit. The friend had studied Engineering in the

United Kingdom, was now working with the government in
Enugu, and was returning to Umuahia for his annual leave. As
soon as his letter arrived, Aunty went about broadcasting the
news to all the neighbours. Most of them knew the expected
guest from reputation. They said he was good-looking. They
said he always wore shoes, even when he was just sitting inside
the house reading. They said he behaved like a white man,
that he spoke English through his nose and ate with a fork.
Some even swore that they had never known him to fart.
When Engineer turned up in his white Peugeot 403,
B O OKS
Augustina, Aunty, Teacher, and the five children were dolled
E
M ASOB
up in their Sunday best and waiting on the veranda. As soon
O F
R O P RTY
as Augustina caught that first glimpse of him, she decided
E
P
that even if Engineer’s steps had not been leading to their
courtyard, she would have crawled over broken glass, swum
across seven oceans, and climbed seven mountains to see him
that day. He was as handsome as paint. His back was straight,
his hands stayed deep inside his pockets, and his steps were
short and quick as if he had an urgent appointment at the end
of the world. Anybody passing him on the way to the stream
could have mistaken him for an emissary from the spirit world
on special assignment to the land of mere mortals.
After lunch, they all sat in the living room. Engineer
crossed his right leg over his left knee and reeled out tales of
the white man’s land.
‘There are times when the sun doesn’t shine,’ he said. ‘The
weather is so cold that even the plants are afraid to come out
of the ground. That’s why their skin is so white. Our own skin
is much darker because the sun has smiled too long on us.’

4
 I Do Not Come to You by Chance

They opened their mouths and opened their eyes, and

looked at themselves from one to the other.
‘During those times, the clothes they wear are even thicker
than the hairs on a sheep. And if they don’t dress that way, the
cold can even kill.’
They opened their mouths and opened their eyes, and
looked at themselves from one to the other.
‘The way their streets are, you can be walking about for
miles and miles and you won’t even see one speck of sand. In
fact, you can even wear the same clothes for more than one
week and they won’t get dirty.’
B O OKS
They opened their eyes and opened their mouths, and
E
M ASOB
looked at themselves from one to the other. If anybody else had
O F
R O P RTY
narrated these stories, they would have known immediately
E
P
that he had spent far too much time in the palm wine tapper’s
company.
‘That’s why education is so important,’ Engineer
concluded. ‘These people have learnt how to change their
world to suit them. They know how to make it cold when the
weather is too hot and they know how to make it hot when
the weather is too cold.’
He paused and leaned back in his chair. Then he beamed
the starlight on someone else.
‘So how have the children been doing in school?’ he asked.
Teacher shifted in his seat to adjust the extra weight that
pride had suddenly attached to him.
‘Oh, very, very well,’ he replied. ‘All of them made very
high scores in Arithmetic.’ Engineer smiled.
‘Go on . . . bring your exercise books. Show him,’ Teacher
said.

5
 A D A O B I T R I C I A N WAU B A N I

The children trooped out like a battalion of soldier ants,

the eldest leading the way. They returned in the same order,
each holding an orange exercise book. Engineer perused each
book page by page and smiled like an apostle whose new
converts were reciting the creed. Finally, he got to the last
child, who was about four years old. As soon as he held out
his exercise book, his mother leaned over and landed a stout
knock on the little boy’s head.
‘How many times have I told you to stop giving your
elders things with your left hand?’ she glared. ‘Next time, I’m
going to use a knife to cut it off.’
Engineer jumped in. E B O OKS
M ASOB
‘Teacher,’ he said, ‘it’s not really the boy’s fault if he uses
O F
R O P RTY
his left hand sometimes.’
E
P ‘Children are born foolish,’ Teacher replied sorrowfully.
‘If one doesn’t teach them properly from an early age, they
grow up and continue that way. He’ll soon learn.’
‘No, no, no . . . What I’m saying is that the way his brain
is arranged, he uses his left hand to do things that other people
normally do with their right hands.’ Teacher laughed.
‘I’m very serious,’ Engineer said. ‘It’s the white people
who found that out.’
‘Engineer, it doesn’t matter what the white people have
found out. The white people may not mind what hand
they use to eat and do other things, but in our culture, it’s
disrespectful for a child to give something to his elders with
his left hand. You know that.’
‘I know. But what I’m saying is that, no matter what
culture says, it’s not the fault of any child who does this.’
‘Engineer, I think you’re taking things too far. You need

6
 I Do Not Come to You by Chance

to be careful that the ways of the white man don’t make you
mad. The way it is, people are already saying that you’re no
longer an African man.’
‘How can they say I’m not African?’ Engineer chuckled.
‘My skin is dark, my nostrils are wide, my hair is thick and
curly. What other evidence do they need? Or do I have to
wear a grass skirt and start dancing around like a chimpanzee?’
Teacher looked wounded.
‘Don’t forget I’ve also gone to school,’ he said. ‘But that
doesn’t make me believe I have to drop everything about my
culture in favour of another man’s own.’
B O OKS
Yes, both men had been classmates in secondary school,
E
M ASOB
but only one of them had gone on to university – to university
O F
R O P RTY
in the white man’s land.
E
P ‘My learned friend,’ Engineer replied, ‘we are the ones who
should know better. Any part of our culture that is backwards
should be dumped! When I was in London, there was a time I
was having my bath and my landlord’s son came to peep at me
because he wanted to see if I had a tail. Do you think it’s his
fault? I don’t blame the people who are saying that monkeys
are our ancestors. It’s customs like this that give rise to that
conclusion.’
At that point Augustina lost control of her mouth and
broke all protocol by speaking.
‘Monkeys? Do they say that men and women are the
children of monkeys?’
Both Teacher and Wife turned and looked at her as if
she had broken the eleventh commandment. The children
looked at her as if she had no right to interrupt their day’s
entertainment. Engineer looked at her curiously, as if he

7
 A D A O B I T R I C I A N WAU B A N I

were peering through his microscope at a specimen in the

laboratory. This girl was trespassing – a conversation between
men.
‘What is your name, again?’ Engineer asked.
By that time, Augustina had repented of her sin. She cast
her gaze to the floor.
‘Young woman, what is your name?’ he repeated.
‘My name is Ozoemena,’ she replied solemnly.
‘Go and bring in the clothes,’ Aunty said, as if she wished
she were near enough to fling Augustina against the wall.
Regretting all the exotic tales she was going to miss,
B O OKS
Augustina went outside and gathered the dry clothes from
E
M ASOB
the cherry fruit hedges. Afterwards she felt awkward about
O F
R O P RTY
rejoining the group and remained inside the bedroom until
E
P
Aunty called her to carry out the sack of yams and plantains
they had prepared as a gift for Engineer. Engineer saw her
heading outside, excused himself, and followed.
He opened the car boot and helped her place the items
inside.
‘You have very beautiful hair,’ he said.
She knew that was probably all that he could say. As a
child, Augustina’s family had jokingly called her Nna ga-alu,
‘father will marry’, because she had been so ugly that the
experts had said her father would be the one who ended up
marrying her. But Nature had compensated her adequately.
She had a full head of hair that went all the way to the nape
of her neck when plaited into narrow stems with black thread.
‘Thank you,’ she replied with head bent and a smile on
one side of her face.

8
 I Do Not Come to You by Chance

‘Why did they call you Ozoemena?’ he asked. ‘What

happened when you were born?’
She was not surprised at the question. Ozoemena means
‘let another one not happen’. The only shocker was that he
had actually cared to ask.
‘My mother died when she was giving birth to me,’
Augustina replied.
‘Do you have a Christian name?’ She nodded.
‘Augustina.’
She was born on the twenty-seventh of May, on St
Augustine’s Day. It was the nurse at the missionary hospital
B O
who had written the name on her birth certificate.
E OKS
M ASOB
Engineer bent and peeped into her face. Then, he smiled.
O F
R O P RTY
‘I think a child should be named for his destiny so that
E
P
whenever he hears his name, he has an idea of the sort of future
that is expected of him. Not according to the circumstances of
his birth. The past is constraining but the future has no limits.’
He smiled again. ‘I shall call you Augustina.’
Augustina meditated on his words as she walked back
inside. One of her cousins was named Onwubiko, ‘death
please’, because his mother had lost seven children before
he was born. She had another relative called Ahamefule, ‘my
name should not get lost’, because he was the first son after six
girls. And then her classmate in secondary school was called
Nkemakolam, ‘my own should not lack from me’, because
she was the first child after several years of childlessness.
This method of choosing names was quite common but this
Engineer man was a wonder. He said things and thought
things like no other person she had ever met.
A few days later, Engineer returned for lunch. Afterwards,

9
 A D A O B I T R I C I A N WAU B A N I

he asked Teacher if it was OK to sit and chat with Augustina

in the garden. Teacher and Wife looked at themselves and
back at Engineer. He repeated his request.
Augustina completed her tasks and went to meet him
outside. He was sitting on a pile of firewood by the back
fence and had pulled a smaller pile close to his side. As she
approached, he looked her over from top to toe, like a glutton
beholding a spread of fried foods.
‘What of your slippers?’ he asked softly.
Augustina looked at her feet.
‘Why not go and wear your slippers,’ he said.
B O OKS
She was used to walking around barefoot. But the way he
E
M ASOB
spoke made her rush back in and fetch the slippers she usually
O F
R O P RTY
wore to the market on Nkwo Day.
E
P ‘Augustina, you shouldn’t go around with your bare feet,’
he said, after she had sat down on the smaller pile of wood.
Augustina kept quiet and stared ahead at a large family of
fowls advancing towards them. A bold member of the brood
stretched its neck and pecked at some invisible snack by
Engineer’s feet. A more audacious member marched towards
her toe area and attempted to feed. Augustina jerked her leg
quickly. The abrupt motion sent the fowls sprinting towards
the other side of the compound in a tsunami of fright.
‘You know,’ he continued, ‘when the white man first
came, a lot of people thought he didn’t have any toes. They
thought that his shoes were his actual feet.’
He laughed in a jolly, drowsy way that made her smile
a drowsy, jolly smile. She also had heard all sorts of amusing
stories about when the white man first turned up. Her
grandmother had told her that the very first time she saw a

10