Read the Story of How I Became One of the Many Sons of Amaigbo
May 19, 2018
Three hours had elapsed since we’d arrived at the venue, and yet here we still were, stewing beneath the lights while waiting patiently for the culmination of a year-long odyssey to finally commence. I thought a lot about how my father — who had been an impatient man for all of his life before dying four years earlier — might have reacted if he were sitting here at this moment in time, and chuckled. The fuses on the inside of his eye balls would have been lit and wilting quickly as the fire made its down the lengths of their bodies. He would have quite literally been on the verge of exploding after having been made to wait so long for an event that he was not to keen on attending in the first place.
When he was no longer able to suffer the indignity at being made to sit on his hands for so long, he’d have insisted that we leave. Mom and I, fearing isolation and embarrassment, would have tried our best to assuage him into sticking it out for just a little bit longer. He would have responded to us by tilting his chin toward the ceiling and widening those eyes, cowing the both of us to his will, before storming out of the building with the two of us nipping at his heels.
Dad could not abide people being cavalier about time, and often felt as if he was being disrespected if he…
