{"id":26486,"date":"2021-01-07T20:38:17","date_gmt":"2021-01-07T19:38:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/?p=26486"},"modified":"2021-01-09T17:31:19","modified_gmt":"2021-01-09T16:31:19","slug":"book-review-village-boy-by-anietie-usen","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/book-review-village-boy-by-anietie-usen\/","title":{"rendered":"BOOK REVIEW: Village Boy by Anietie Usen"},"content":{"rendered":"

A Review by SAM AKPE <\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong>From Frustrations to Manifestations: The Metamorphosis of a Village Boy<\/strong><\/p>\n

Several years ago, Yakubu Mohammed, former editor of the now rested National Concord<\/em>, and one of the four original founders of the defunct Newswatch<\/em> magazine, prophesied over Anietie Usen. After reading Usen\u2019s blood-chilling report on the Liberian Civil War, Mohammed observed that though the reporter \u201cis not a writer of thrillers in the mould of Irving Wallace, but he ought to be. Maybe, one day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Though it has been \u201ca long time coming,\u201d the tomorrow of yesterday may have finally arrived. Has the reporter become Irving Wallace? No! Not just yet! But while Mohammed prefigured that \u201che ought to be,\u201d something tells me he is aiming higher. The proof can be seen in the sumptuous literary dish I have just finished munching; entitled: Village Boy<\/strong> \u2014 A True Life Story of a Tenacious African Orphan.<\/strong><\/p>\n

After reading Professor Joseph Ushie\u2019s foreword to the book, I felt there would be no need for further review. Ushie is a specialist in general stylistics and literary criticism. He is a poet and a writer in the mould of Professor Niyi Osundare. Looking around, I have just spotted three volumes of his past works: Hill Songs, Eclipse in Rwanda <\/em>and Popular Stand <\/em>on my shelf as I write this.<\/p>\n

Ushie\u2019s conclusion, after thoroughly enjoying Village Boy<\/strong>, is that it is written \u201cas facts of life, sandwiched, as it were, with native wisdom and the thrilling fiction that African folklores and fables are famous for.\u201d He believes that the book is a combination of facts and fiction, \u201cor what modern literature now recognises as faction.\u201d<\/p>\n

With just a little over 200 pages, Village Boy<\/strong> reminds every reader of Chinua Achebe\u2019s Things Fall Apart or No Longer at Ease \u2014 a true story told with invented elements. It consists of 23 short chapters, written in concise paragraphs. The end of every chapter creates a natural, forceful desire in me to open the next page \u2014 compelled by the eagerness to know where the story leads.<\/p>\n

The author \u2014 known simply as Anietie, by friends and colleagues \u2014 has mentored several outstanding journalists and administrators. I am a product of his push and kicks. He instilled in us the need to get the job done; professionally. I still remember him walking into the Pioneer<\/em> newspaper production hall by midnight every Thursday, wearing that big-man smile, and asking: \u201cgentlemen, just where are we?\u201d Those were the days when journalism was not just about reporting the news. It included producing the newspaper. \u00a0Anietie is journalism in motion.<\/p>\n

Village Boy<\/strong> is written in typical Anietie\u2019s style: brief, clear sentences and simple words\u2014no complexity of expressions. He loves to paint pictures with words and leave the reader to see in colours. This is who he is. Each scene in the book is deliberately picturesque. You see as you read. Local expressions which are neither strict Ibibio nor clean Efik, are used to spice up conversations.<\/p>\n

Without any contradiction, Village Boy<\/strong> is Anietie\u2019s fictionalised autobiography. It is a story in the making, which hopefully, would be completed in another volume. The narrative is dramatic, inspirational and full of raw suspense. It is a fictional depiction of the author\u2019s travails shortly after he lost his father and had only his grandmother and mother to look up to.<\/p>\n

Village Boy<\/strong> is also, in many ways, an exhibition of the fate of every disadvantaged Nigerian child\u2014especially those left in the seemingly secured custody of illiterate caretakers. It is an expository of discipline, hard work, and brazen-faced determination in the midst of hardship and extreme poverty.<\/p>\n

Akan \u2014 the fragile but stubborn hero of the book \u2014 is a victim of failed hope. His father was an accountant, who worked in the neighbourhood of the rich and famous in Lagos. Tragedy however struck shortly after Akan was born. The father died in a car accident. His death marked the beginning of a life of struggle for his son.<\/p>\n

The story opens with Nnenwa, Akan\u2019s maternal grandmother, known better as Grandma\u2014an example of industrious African women. Tough, determined and incontestably famous in the community, a lot of people knew and depended on her for different reasons. She was a midwife to pregnant women and herbal pharmacist to the whole community.<\/p>\n

Village Boy<\/strong> is a well constructed recall that exposes the simplicity of rural life \u2014 a life without clocks and wristwatches; without pipe-borne water and electricity; a life where humans and nature meet in daily conference for mutual survival.<\/p>\n

One day, Grandma woke up at an ungodly hour, and dared to step out of the house even after hitting her left toe against a stone \u2014 a superstitious signal that all was not well. Dragging a reluctant Akan along the dark slippery path to the stream, she got bitten by a dangerous \u201chungry snake.\u201d It could have been a python.<\/p>\n

As both fell and rolled, the water pots broke in pieces. Horror gripped Akan. He felt surrounded by a team of unholy ghosts. Even Grandma shouted in fear of death. After what looked like eternity, she got her senses back and dragged herself off the ground. She seemed more concerned about Akan than herself.<\/p>\n

Eventually, both made it to the nearest house in sight. Grandma banged the door mercilessly. As she rolled out her identity to the fourth generation; the door opened. She had a name and fame that opened any door in the village.<\/p>\n

Ironically, though Grandma went in search of medical help, she ended up prescribing the medication she needed. By his accounts, Anietie may inadvertently be advertising the superiority of herbs over modern day medicine. His description of snake leaf, including its unfailing medicinal value, and the efficacy of palm oil called mmanyanga <\/em>\u2014 extracted from fried palm kernel \u2014 confirms this.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Life in the Village<\/strong><\/p>\n

Some chapters of this book will make you smile lavishly or laugh aloud. Just imagine the way some names are pronounced in the native language. Magdelene is pronounced Mmaginini. <\/em>Or what do you think Samwere <\/em>is? That is Samuel! Siiiiiisoooors<\/em> is Anietie\u2019s version of Jesus; while Jehovah is pronounced Sikofa!<\/em>\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

Conveying pregnant women to the delivery home is done using the only ambulance available: the bicycle! The delivery process requires supernatural intervention. The midwife must bind and cast. When the baby finally comes, Grandma\u2014the chief gynaecologist and midwife \u2014 leads in thanksgiving to God, and insults to husbands who only know how to impregnate their wives, with no knowledge of labour pains.<\/p>\n

Grandma\u2019s multi-purpose accommodation was a simple, dusty and constantly leaking mud house inhabited by rats, goats, fowls and Akan \u2014 whose bed was a straw mat spread on the floor. A victim of jigger-infested toes, Akan often found himself urinating in the bush in his dreams only to wake up on top of a wet mat. What happened? He had trouble with the rat that nibbled at his toes.<\/p>\n

Village children enjoy life the natural way. Their crude creativity usually make up for lack of television and internet. Hunting for fat rats called ayod<\/em> by digging into their chambers underground, is one of them. The book explains thoroughly how this is done \u2014 including the frustrations and accomplishments. Ever wonder why Nigerians \u2014 as economically undeveloped and socially traumatised as we are \u2014 were once declared the happiest people in the world? It\u2019s all in the Village Boy<\/strong>!<\/p>\n

The hunt for flying termites called ndube<\/em>, and bull cricket called idiang<\/em> is as much fun as it is a serious business. It is better experienced than described. From previous frustrations over failure to catch \u201crats for perppersoup\u201d Akan triumphs in what Anietie calls \u201cthe barbecue of the poor.\u201d<\/p>\n

Another area of fun for the village boy is the folktale by Grandma. There is one entitled: the Vernacular of Lizards. It is a story of the arrogant rat and the humble and wise lizard. It is a depiction of social inequality usually created and imposed by one tribe over another; or maybe a case of George Orwells\u2019 all animals are equal though some do claim to be more equal than others.<\/p>\n

Bullies are everywhere. You find them in politics, business, cities, villages and even in families and animal kingdom. The good news is that for every noisy blustering fellow, there are also good natured people. While the reward for friendliness is good report\u2014and more friendship, bullies always experience sour ends. The book recalls a story of a village bully that earned the curses of women and the punishments of angry elders.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Politics of the Village Boy<\/strong><\/p>\n

Viewed metaphorically, the story of Akan is the story of Nigeria. We started well as a country in 1960 with well churned out development plans. Then the military struck on the excuse that politicians were a bunch of corrupt tribal lords \u2014 indeed they were. Akan, just like Nigeria, was heading towards good life until a deadly calamity struck\u2014his father died.<\/p>\n

Destined to be a shining star, his father became the sun that rose with promises of a better day only to disappear suddenly under a thick cloud of despair. It was as though \u201cthe right hand of the village had been cut off and there was none to say restore.\u201d Akan was the only surviving reminder of that short-lived glorious moment.<\/p>\n

Akan was called BB\u2014Big Boy. Was he? It is the same way Nigeria is labelled \u201cGiant of Africa!\u201d He was \u201ca Big Boy in rags, with jigger-infested toes, chasing rats at day for meals and insects desperately at night for snacks.\u201d But just as Nigeria is in Africa, despite its self-inflicted calamities, Akan grew up to be \u201cthe cynosure of all eyes,\u201d his mother\u2019s delight, \u201cthe center of her life and the heartbeat of his grandparents.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then, Akan went to school, dressed in over-sized clothes that were deliberately made to last him a lifetime. That was when the rebel in him surfaced. Finally he was in class\u2014almost on his own terms. Despite the crippling poverty, Akan still had a sense of pride. We Nigerians also do!<\/p>\n

One day, the class teacher asked a simple question, and picked Akan to answer. His response brought laughter and tears to the class. It went like this: \u201cIf you have N10 and your Daddy adds another N10 for you, how much money would you have?\u201d <\/em>Akan\u2019s response was sharp and mischievous: \u201cAunty, my Daddy is dead.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em>The insensitive teacher was not done yet. She repeated the question with amendment: \u201cIf you have N10 and your Uncle adds another N10 for you, how much money will you have?\u201d <\/em>Akan: \u201cAunty, I will have N10…. Aunty, you don\u2019t know my Uncle. He cannot give me one kobo talk less of N10.\u201d <\/em>This attracted a prolonged laughter.<\/p>\n

On rainy days, Akan covered himself with cocoyam leave to school. That was his umbrella. After school, he must crack palm kernel which was the mainstay of the village economy. They were used as money in exchange for tilapia fish and crayfish.<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Fun and Hard Lessons<\/strong><\/p>\n

Village Boy<\/strong> exposes the reader to a lot of things. The negative reward of deception is found in the story on the native doctor and the bonesetter. The story further exposes the unquestionable medical potency of herbs and tree barks. More interesting are the procedures adopted in their uses.<\/p>\n

This book answers the question on the necessity for pet names. Every parent has a pet name for his or her child. Grandma had a basket full of them for Akan: My Hero, My Pride, My Gallant Boy<\/em>, etc. Pet names inspire the bearer. They could make kids jump over walls to accomplish a task. Most pet names do not truly reflect who the bearer is. They are merely prophetic \u2014 a pointer to an aspiration.<\/p>\n

Poverty, creativity, determination, bravado and punishment for small lies are well discussed in the book. What about religious promiscuity\u2014or proliferation of churches based on ethnic or monetary rather than spiritual interests? Anietie captures this in its best brutal form. There is the unbelievable story of Atimoti<\/em> (Timothy), the drunken preacher, who usually had his vagabond anointing through alcohol.<\/p>\n

One day, Akan and Grandma took a ride in a lorry to the \u201cconcrete jungle\u201d called Aba \u2014 the nearest township \u2014 to visit Akan\u2019s aunty. Everyone among his peers knew that Akan was \u201cflying\u201d to Aba. While on the road, Akan saw all the trees running backward while the cloud move along with the lorry. When he saw a train in Aba, he almost fainted.<\/p>\n

A discourse on what trade Akan should learn, in place of going to secondary school, is quite interesting. Would it be bicycle repairs or photography? Before I forget, Anietie\u2019s reflection on a day with the photographer is beyond any adjective. From there, he moves to village sports. Did you ever live in the village? It\u2019s time to identify your favourite sport.<\/p>\n

Forced into slavery as a houseboy, the proud Akan refused to hang in there. He ran back to Grandma. He was determined to have a formal education. But how possible would that be? Akan\u2019s mother took over at this point. She wanted her son in school and nothing would stop her. She reached out to her late husband\u2019s friends. Before long, Akan secured a scholarship. The good seed sown by his late father was yielding bountiful fruits.<\/p>\n

At long last, Akan took off to secondary school. From the first day, he made up his mind to become a prefect. He did! He joined others to the stream every morning. Then his mother suddenly got a job in Calabar. That was where he went every holiday. He sold kerosene at night and hawked bread at daytime to raise the needed school fees.<\/p>\n

Life in Calabar<\/strong><\/p>\n

Then one day, he discovered a library in Calabar. That changed his intellectual fortune. The sight of books thrilled him to no end. He started reading whatever he could lay his hands on: local newspapers, international magazines, history books, biographies, politics, just books upon books, including James Hadley Chase. He was sowing seeds. He fell in love with words. He also had a nick name: Emperor\u2014he ruled his world of knowledge.<\/p>\n

On completion of his school certificate examination, Akan studied political science at the university, did his national service in Kano and emerged the best corps member. He was already in love with journalism. His first article in the Nigerian Chronicle<\/em> fetched him a princely N12.<\/p>\n

Anietie at this point seemed to be in a hurry to end the attention-gripping book. No detail information is given about Akan\u2019s stay in the university. How did he fund his education at that level? What were his grades? What about his social life? How did his village mates and wicked uncle react to this emerging city boy?<\/p>\n

Ever heard of anti-climax? I have too \u2014 though I am not well versed in the dramatic arts. Anietie simply shut down discussion when I was getting ready for more. He leaves a lot of questions unanswered. My conclusion is that he did not want to get too close to reality. Akan would have been unmasked if discussions had gone beyond this point.<\/p>\n

All the same, this is a story well told by \u2014 the real Village Boy. <\/strong>Stunning descriptions leave you in breathless anticipation of what would happen to Akan or Grandma next. Every chapter has matching illustrations. Every illustration is loaded with interpretations. None leaves the reader with a vague feeling. What a tale!<\/p>\n

The book suffers minor setbacks in just one aspect: proofreading. There are avoidable typos. You will likely see robber balls<\/em> instead of rubber balls<\/em>; sunset<\/em> instead of sunrise<\/em>; him<\/em> instead of his<\/em>; among others. No fault of the author; no minus on the impact of the contents.<\/p>\n

Keep Holding On!<\/strong><\/p>\n

Never give up! That\u2019s the lesson in all of these. It is the central theme of the book. This is exemplified in three characters namely Akan, Grandma and Maama. They refused to settle for anything below excellence, because they saw the end from the beginning.<\/p>\n

Akan, though frustrated by the death of his father, was strengthened by Grandma\u2019s unwavering care. Beaten repeatedly by his uncle, bullied by playmates, shamed by repeated failures, and bruised by hardship, he endured; with his vision unshaken.<\/p>\n

The conclusion is that Nigeria can rise again.<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

SAM AKPE …is our CONSULTING REVIEW EDITOR.<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Review by SAM AKPE \u00a0From Frustrations to Manifestations: The Metamorphosis of a Village Boy Several years ago, Yakubu Mohammed, former editor of the now rested National Concord, and one of the four original founders of the defunct Newswatch magazine, prophesied over Anietie Usen. After reading Usen\u2019s blood-chilling report on the Liberian Civil War, Mohammed […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":26493,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[2431],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-26486","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-opinion"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26486","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=26486"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26486\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":26494,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26486\/revisions\/26494"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/26493"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=26486"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=26486"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blerf.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=26486"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}