Something terrible has happened. That is how the Igbo dirge that chimamanda sang after news that Chinua lega, him of wisdom clothed in the form of words, had grown too big for the world of mere mortals. It is a loss, a big big loss. He leaves a vacuum, it may never get filled. Those shoes are bigger than those of Barmuriat.
Something terrible happened, Achebe is no more. He of things fall apart, a great defender of the Igbo nation, a propagandist of the former secessionist state of Biafra, an Africanist, a father to many. He once wrote, “age was respected among his people, but achievement was revered. As the elders said, if a child washed his hands he could eat with kings”. He was of age, he surpassed human expectations. He is revered and respected.
I am reading Adichie’s treatise, At 82,We Remember Differently, against the refrain of a Burning Spear song in a matatu along Ngong Road. I am trying to understand this man by understanding those he inspired. You cannot simply wrap your fingers around a man like Achebe, so you go for those a step or two below him, you dissect what they say about him, what they think of him, how they react to his passing, how they mourn him. Then you realize you cannot, can never finger it. So you try to satiate your curiosity by picking up one of his books and reading it again, for the umpteenth time, because every time you do so, it has a different feel, it tells a different story.
I was a young boy, in class five when I came across a book. It was my sister’s set book, I liked reading. So, I turned over the page and started reading. The first four sentences held me, they sucked me in, so I continued reading. But by the time I was on page five, I had forgotten about page one, apart from those four lines.
“I see now you reading A Man of the People.” It was my father. I kept quiet. He laughed softly, and then said, “you are too young to understand that book. That is Achebe.”
I didn’t know Achebe. It was many years before I came to know Achebe, and why he was Achebe.
He is the dream of a many an African writer, he embodies what you wish to be, what you dream of, but may never be. He is a bittersweet experience. He reminds you of the gifts that a single person can possess, but he also reminds you of the fact that they could only be possessedd by one or two, that you may never get them, that you don’t have them. He reminds you of your weaknesses.
I have no authority to write about him. The fact that A Man of the People is my favourite Achebe book could be testimony to that. It was my first; you know what they say about your first. So my choice of this book as my favourite is purely sentimental. So is this piece. Do not expect brilliant one liners and statements about Achebe.
Something terrible happened. The corrupt of Nigeria sleep a deeper sleep, for they are one less a fierce critic. The gods, they a happy lot, for one of equal wisdom, of equal knowledge now sits amongst them. The lovers of literature, of the gourmet African wisdom in form of books mourn, they are one book less. They will never lick their fingers again, from a new dish from the master chef. Life comes full circle. Death awaits us all. The older you get, the closer you get. But for some, we assume, we ignore. For them maybe, maybe, death is below them. They are beyond death. They are immortalized. But when they physically leave, we are empty, we feel empty, we hope it didn’t happen. But it is all a dream. So we shift our hopes, and hope that another equally gifted may arise. However, we know that as much as they may arise, they will never take his place. However equally good, they will never be him. They do not want to be him, they want to be like him. We await your knowledge, you who feed at the fountain of that who now sits with the gods.
Over to you Chimamanda, over to you Binyavanga, over to you Ben Okri, over to you, the child of Africa, who weaves words into stories, for the wisdom of the African, is held in folklore, for the knowledge of the African, is regaled, not taught.
Native Essays 