Poles Apart
A Touch of Nokoko by Kofi Akumanyi
There, I was in one of the greatest sporting schools, with excellent academic records in the Ordinary and Advanced Levels of the General Certificate of Education Examinations as exemplified by a list as long as the arm featuring the names of prominent citizens in all walks of life who had passed through its classrooms.
Proud as a peacock of my association with a great school like that and the fact that I grew up in an era which had the whole world standing on its head the beginning of space travel, flower children doing their own thing, of protest marches and campus upheavals, the Twist, and the Beatles, I could not believe my ears when my nephew looked at me as if I was Methusela himself and asked who The Beatles were.
I felt very, very old.
That is the problem with children these days, they think music began only yesterday with Boy George and that, in fact, the world also owes them a living. My 18 year old nephew who has not been seeing eye to eye with his father over so many issues was sent to me by his parents for a good avuncular chat which the distraught parent thought would do the young lad a world of good. They knew that I had a way with these kids.
Among the long list of complaints lodged by the parents were small matters like the young man staying out late, unauthorised use of the family car, over-stretching the budget by unscheduled invitation of friends to partake of the weekly victuals for the whole family.
Aware that young men of that age tend to view avuncular advice with suspicion, I called my nephew just back home from school on holidays, one evening for an informal chit-chat. I quite remember the sequence of the conversation.
"How's school, sonny boy?"
"Lousy"
"So I hear. Things aren't as they used to be. I tell you in my days we could hardly wait for the holidays to end..." I said introducing the touchy issue.
"Why?"
"Well, because school was interesting... exciting. We read subjects like Greek and Latin made us real scholars, you know. Music was compulsory. Remember, it was the swinging sixties", I explained.
"What did the sixties swing on?"
"You see, we swung on the music of the Beatles, wore drain-pipe trousers, danced the Twist while academically our school records were excellent," I said.
"Uncle, the sixties might have been swinging for you but tell me one thing - were there food shortages?"
"Not exactly, but we also had our complaints and dissatisfaction over government policies."
"Were there problems about getting jobs after school?" he asked and I realised that the conversation was veering off the intended objective. I had to steer it back on course.
"Well, it wasn't exactly a bed of roses, but we enjoyed every day of it. But sonny, your father isn't exactly happy...
"What's eating him?"
"Nothing, except that he's worried about you"
"He shouldn't, I can look after myself"
"I'm very encouraged to hear that but, surely, that dosen't include taking your father's car on joy rides", I said as firmly as I could.
"Did he say that? For Christ's sake did he make that complaint?"
"There's no need to swear. You're speaking to your uncle"
"I'm sorry, but let's get one thing straight. I'm entitled to live in his house, eat and drink what I like. This isn't a concentration camp or a prison is it?"
"Of course, it isn't." The whole conversation was going sour. I quickly switched to another gear. "Why didn't you take the holiday job given to you?"
"That job? I absolutely can't... I hate it!... it's infra dig!"
"Is it? And what do you intend to use for pocket money?" I asked and he looked at me as if I had asked him to do something unthinkable.
"Uncle you know something? I'd like you better if you stopped asking such silly questions. We have enough problems without adding to them".
"I couldn't agree with you more and that's precisely why I'm talking to you now. You will make everybody breathe easier around here if you stopped bringing your friends here for wild 'till dawn parties during which you play loud music and consume everything in the fridge... and oh yes, . . . smoke cannabis and only the Good Lord knows what else", I said in a no nonsense tone.
"Does my mother also share your views... is she a party to this kind of talk about my so-called appalling habits?", he asked, looking me in the eye.
"Everybody in this house-hold, I'm told is up to the neck with you…”
He looked in the direction of the kitchen and shouted to his mother inside. "Mummy, remember, it's today that you promised to give me a fiver for the disco. Can I have it now?"
"Of course, you can have it, darling. If your uncle has finished. Come for your lunch, it's getting cold!"
I got up to leave. Nobody gave me that kind of money to spend even in the swinging sixties. Besides, she had bungled it!
