A Man of the People
Chinua Achebe
Language: English
Pages: 160
ISBN: 0385086164
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
By the renowned author of Things Fall Apart, this novel foreshadows the Nigerian coups of 1966 and shows the color and vivacity as well as the violence and corruption of a society making its own way between the two worlds.
Terror of St Trinian's and Other Drawings (Penguin Modern Classics)
Understand. “Thank you.” Perhaps it was the way she was dressed and the domestic responsibility she was exercising, or perhaps she had simply grown a little more since October; whatever the reason she was now a beautiful young woman and not a girl looking as though she was waiting to be taken back to her convent. “Sit down, teacher?” said her father, a little impatiently, I thought. Then turning to his daughter he announced that I had a message from Bori. She turned her largish, round eyes to.
Me. “Nothing really,” I said embarrassed, “Chief Nanga said I should come and greet you and find out about your mother.” “You may tell him she is still in the hospital,” said Edna’s father in a most unpleasant tone, “and that her medicine costs money and that she planted neither cassava nor cocoyam this year.” “Don’ listen to him,” said Edna to me, the happiness wrenched out of her eyes. She turned on her father: “Did he not send you something through his wife?” “Listen to her,” said the man.
Did. That word was that our own son should go and bring our share.” There was great applause from the crowd. “That word entered my ear. The village of Anata has already eaten, now they must make way for us to reach the plate. No man in Urua will give his paper to a stranger when his own son needs it; if the very herb we go to seek in the forest now grows at our very back yard are we not saved the journey? We are ignorant people and we are like children. But I want to tell our son one thing: He.
In fact it was not until the Minister rose to his feet that the laughter stopped. The story had it that many years ago when Mr Nwege was a poor, hungry elementary school teacher—that is before he built his own grammar school and became rich but apparently still hungry—he had an old rickety bicycle of the kind the villagers gave the onomatopoeic name of anikilija. Needless to say the brakes were very faulty. One day as he was cascading down a steep slope that led to a narrow bridge at the bottom.
Pestering importunity he said yes, the thugs had ransacked my car, overturned it and set it on fire; then after I had been brought to hospital I was placed under arrest ostensibly for having weapons in my car but really to prevent me from signing my nomination paper. “Nomination paper? But I have already signed it,” I said. “No, that first one never reached the Electoral Officer. It was seized by thugs from your people on their way to the Electoral Office …” I tried to sit up but he pressed me.