Inyang, Don't Fight

Go Home...

Picture my mother, a young woman. It is dusk in the spanking new university campus in Nsukka, Nigeria sometime in 1966. She sits at her dressing table in the modern new bungalow she has just moved into with my father, their first home together. Freshly painted and exuding a strong fragrance, she has carefully arranged the pieces of furniture slowly acquired during their student days in England tastefully around the room. She is carefully applying her make up, dinner is simmering in the oven, the years of Home Economics classes in the mission run boarding school she attended still fresh in her memory. She will have food on the table when her new husband gets home and a charming beaming welcoming visage to match. Life is good, the future is bright with promise. Tonight, they are having a few of my father's friends and colleagues to dinner. Young academics all, Nigerian, English, American, they are all engaged in the task of building the new university to a standard to rival the hallowed towers in London, Cambridge, Oxford, Harvard, Yale and Berkeley where they have only just acquired their doctorates. They are set to make their mark, to act......