Like A Lily Among Thorns
Colonial African Village Child Transitions To Post-Colonial Modernity, And America
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Exactly two weeks before the D-Day Normandy landings in World War 2, a poor family in an African village was already celebrating their own D-Day. D in their case stood for the delivery of their third surviving son. That was me; born in the month before D-Day in the year before World War 2 ended. Scrawny, inconsequential, and little more than a blob of protoplasm; but it was me alright. Recognized, acknowledged, and celebrated by the adults, but as yet unable to reciprocate; the object of so much attention, yet unable to focus or be attentive. All the same, here was a living breathing member of the human race, crying loudly to announce his arrival at the starting line for the obstacle race through time on earth. The timing of this birth was indeed auspicious. The ending of World War 2 was to usher in tectonic changes in the world political order. One of these changes was the progression of many African countries from colonial rule to political independence; from procumbent national childhood to self-supporting adulthood. These changes unfolded at the global and national scales. But they also played out intimately in the lives of individuals, including this new-born village child. His life was to straddle the colonial and post-colonial eras. This is the captivating story of his personal transition from one era to the next, from childhood to adulthood, from an African village boy to a cosmopolitan modern man in America… …The show-off posturing when visiting the home village had one additional down side. It gave home people the impression that the living was very good in the cities, thereby encouraging village youth to migrate to the cities to seek their share of such good fortunes. Who will tell them that all the show-off and bluster by their relative is just show-off and bluster? Who will tell them that what their relative is showing them is the shining tip of a rotten iceberg? Who will tell them that life in the city is stark and wretched for many people, including possibly this relative? Nobody will tell them. And soon they too will saunter off to the same city seeking the goose egg that is golden on the outside but infertile on the inside. An egg that will never hatch. By the time they realize the true situation, it’s too late. They’re trapped. The genie is out of the bottle. They too are obliged to put on a false display of affluence on their visits to the village, thereby luring the next wave of migrants to the city. Plaintively perpetuating the pernicious problem… …We were bearing witness to the birth of a nation, a rare privilege for any generation. Like our own young lives, we had no idea how the fledgling nation would fare in the life ahead of it. Was the fledgling going to fly on its first attempt; or would it flutter clumsily and come crashing down to earth? If it came down on the initial attempt, would it be too damaged to gather itself together and try again? Were we, the prospective feathers in its wing, going to contribute to its staying aloft; or were we going to become inhibitive dead weight that it had to lug along? What future did this new nation hold for us and our generation? Would the new nation turn out to be like a spider that anchors its web on the minute hand of a large public clock, producing a web that cannot stand the test of time? A web that is constantly being disorganized by the passage of time, locked in a Sisyphean conundrum. Would our nascent nation be eternally chasing the rainbow, like trying to reach the end of a fractal? The questions were endless… …Cheek by jowl was the mode of riding these buses. But jowls rightly belong to pigs. We were not pigs when we got on this bus, but we are now. Breath matches smelly breath, just as body crushes upon stinking body. Most arms are extended or raised, reaching out to clutch onto any part of the bus. Any part, be it a railing, the back of a seat, the side of an open window, the shoulder of your travel partner. You cannot refuse to grip something, because you’re in for a horizontal rollercoaster ride. The potholes on the road and the meandering traffic make sure of that, and keep you perpetually destabilized. All the raised arms reveal a motley assortment of armpits, not pleasant to look at and even less pleasant up close. The windows are permanently open to usher in whatever respite the steamy morning air can offer. And the doors too; how could they close when there are daredevil passengers hanging onto them with heads jauntily jotting out into the speeding breeze; rakishly dangling their torso several inches outside the moving bus? In the midst of this crush of humanity on board, the dutiful conductor has the nerve to be working his way, inch by inch, to collect fares. As he meanders through the interstices, the pack yields just enough space for him to squeeze through, while they each awkwardly strain to find their pockets to produce their payment. The conductor’s meandering is only a prelude to what happens at each stop, where departing passengers make the difficult journey, inch by inch, to the bus door to get off and rejoin humanity. At last, you reach the door. You hop off, and bid good riddance to the incarcerating bus. Pig no more, you can now breathe fresh air, adjust your attire, regain your dignity, and call yourself human again… … a sense of dejection and despair was clearly visible on the faces of the invalids, as assisting relatives wheeled them away from the shrine, uncured. The cure of last resort had failed to cure them. The final push to healing, after every secular attempt proved futile, still left them needing to be pushed in the wheelchair. The pious lifting of the spirit in hope had failed to produce the desired lifting of the decrepit body. Unseeing eyes that had dared to look expectantly up to heaven for light, those same eyes were now leaving, cast downward and still shrouded in earthly darkness. Like faith and hope, despair was an emotion prominently in evidence at the shrine…
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* Awarded RECOMMENDED status by US Review of Books * Awarded FIVE STARS by Readers Favorite Reviews Imagine yourself having one foot planted on one continent while the other foot is on another continent. A huge transformational step, isn’t it? That’s precisely what Inno Onwueme’s early-life story does. One foot is planted firmly in the traditional African village where age-old customs mingle with poverty, disease, ignorance, and deprivation. The other foot pivots tantalizingly in 1960’s California, at the cutting edge of western civilization. Here, searing social and political upheavals of global significance were shaking the very foundations of modern America and the world. Add to the mix, a second dimension where your journey starts with a decade of colonial rule, and extends through the first decade of post-colonial independence, straddling both eras. And did we mention a civil war, and his becoming a refugee? It was a time of great fomentation personally, nationally and globally. Read this engaging story and enjoy it as a thrilling novel, richly spiced with African proverbs. Then pinch yourself and recall that this is not fiction. It all truly happened. This was a real life being lived in exciting times. Challenge yourself to explore how the changes of the political transition intertwined with Professor Inno’s transformation from an African village boy to a cosmopolitan man in America. Marvel at how the history of an era was acted out in microcosm by this village boy. LIKE A LILY AMONG THORNS takes global and national metamorphosis down to the personal level. It invites you to see history in a new light.
About the Author
Professor Inno Onwueme is a creature of transition in both time and space. He lived through both sides of the time divide between colonial rule and his nation’s independent existence. For him, the national transition ran in parallel with a personal space transition from the African village to America, from the most traditional of African societies to the razzle-dazzle of 1960’s California. An award-winning author, he brings his decades of cosmopolitan academic insights to explore the interplay between global events and his early personal life. He is globally traveled, with a multi-cultural tendency, exemplified by his ability to speak six languages from Africa, Europe and Asia/Pacific. Versed in African proverbs, his intriguing personal story mirrors the metamorphosis that shaped Africa and the world in the mid-20th century. Dr. Inno is active in issues of international sustainable development, and resides near Washington DC, USA.