Out of nowhere, on Saturday morning, April 13, I called the teacher and said, “I want to go.” It wasn’t really unexpected, as you may have been thinking about him lately, the way people keep others in the back of their minds effortlessly as they go about their daily business.
When his voice came through, it was reassuringly strong but raspy, and I wondered if he was trying to fight off some aches and pains while speaking to me at the same time. Well, it so happened that I had been on his mind too, and he said, “That’s a good idea to visit; you’ll live long, and you know what? I thought of you yesterday. Is 3:30 pm okay for you? Let me know.” the weather is good for you, I don’t want to take you away from your work”. Before he could suggest another time, I said, “Okay.”
Shortly after that, I began to think about my decision. Was it right or wrong to visit him? He wasn’t sure why he wanted to see it. Next time, I admonished myself, think first before you promise to go. Not that she needed to have a reason to visit him, but it helps when a man has a reason for whatever he wants to do.
Now that he had promised to visit the professor, he had to find reasons to justify the trip. Maybe it was because she would be 95 years old in a couple of months. She is the only person I know who is 94 years old. However, age didn’t seem to be the reason he wanted to see it. Asking him how he managed to make it to 94 and still be wise and strong was probably another element that pushed me, like the way palm wine drives drunks. Forget that idea, I told myself. “The professor is not likely to know why he stays cheerful at 94 and goes to 95. No one knows why he lives so long.”
Besides, one can only ask another person that question if the perfect opportunity presents itself. Observations, not queries, are the best way to get answers to longevity-related questions, especially in older people, who may misunderstand the underlying intent behind the query.
My childhood upbringing, I think, was another force that pushed me to make the visit. When I was a child, my father used to send me and my brothers to visit our uncles. “Kill them, ask how they are,” Dad would tell us. Those childhood experiences do not disappear; they just sit still in our minds, springing into action from time to time.
Having accumulated a basket of reasons for my visit, I closed the books I was reading, closed the door of my office and got in my car. On the way, I congratulated myself on the omen that had prompted me to shave early in the morning. The gray beard was one less thing to worry about when I got to see the professor, who would give you a quick look and say, “I’m disappointed in that stubble beard of yours” or “You’ve got to do something with that beer.” . stomach.”
My timing was perfect, which I hoped would please the teacher, who demands nothing but punctuality. A few seconds before 3:30 p.m. I climbed onto two flat brick platforms, walked to the front door, and rang the bell. Since I didn’t hear the doorbell ring, I pressed a few more times and waited. Minutes later, an attendant opened the door and ushered me into a small hallway that led to the right into a large carpeted hall, cluttered with interlayers and several tables containing picture frames of faces old and young.
In front of me and near the back wall was the professor. I was surprised to see him in a recliner, his legs stretched out. As I approached, I took off my cap, bowed slightly, and said, “Hello, Professor.” Then I walked over to him and tilted my head so he could stroke the back of my hair.
“My dear, it’s good to see you,” he said. Then he indicated a seat for me. As I sat down, it suddenly occurred to me why I wanted to go see him. To explain, I have to invoke the Iroko tree. Iroko is a rare, majestic and tall tree that grows in Igboland, Nigeria.
It is unfortunate that today’s Igbo children miss out on the lessons we learned as children. Unlike the other trees that the natives climb for firewood, no one climbs the Iroko tree. According to Igbo legend, if someone dares to climb the Iroko tree, he must strive to get all the wood he needs.
Realizing this, I sank onto the couch and clasped my hands together, resting my head on them as I prepared to listen.
Part II of the visit to the teacher will continue in a few days. Pay attention.