A Man of the People by Chinua Achebe Page B

corner of the world long ago. 'Yes,' said John, 'in 1945 we could have subdued Russia by placing one atom bomb on Moscow and another on Leningrad. But we didn't. Why? Well, don't ask me. I don't know. Perhaps we are naïve. We still believe in such outdated concepts like freedom, like letting every man run his show. Americans have never wished to be involved in anyone else's show....' As I have suggested, there is something in Chief Nanga's person which attracts drama irresistibly to him. Memorable events were always flying about his stately figure and dropping at his feet, as those winged termites driven out of the earth by late rain dance furiously around street lamps and then drop panting to the ground. Here you have John speaking high monologue to me while his wife seems ready, judging by the look in her eyes, to drag Chief Nanga off to bed in broad daylight. Then a knock at the door and a young man in heavily starched white shorts and shirt comes in to offer his services as a cook. 'Wetin you fit cook?' asked Chief Nanga as he perused the young man's sheaf of testimonials, probably not one of them genuine. 'I fit cook every European chop like steak and kidney pie, chicken puri, misk grill, cake omlette....' 'You no sabi cook African chop?' 'Ahh! That one I no sabi am-o,' he admitted. 'I no go tell master lie.' 'Wetin you de chop for your own house?' I asked, being irritated by the idiot. 'Wetin I de chop for my house?' he repeated after me. 'Na we country chop I de chop.' 'You country chop no be Africa chop?' asked Chief Nanga. 'Na him,' admitted the cook. 'But no be me de cook am. I get wife for house.' My irritation vanished at once and I joined Chief Nanga's laughter. Greatly encouraged the cook added: 'How man wey get family go begin enter kitchen for make bitterleaf and egusi? Unless if the man no get shame.' We agreed with him but he lost the job because Chief Nanga preferred bitterleaf and egusi to chicken puri---whatever that was. But I must say the fellow had a point too. As long as a man confined himself to preparing foreign concoctions he could still maintain the comfortable illusion that he wasn't really doing such an unmanly thing as cooking.
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Jean and John had invited the Minister and me to an informal dinner on the very Saturday Mrs Nanga left for home. Unfortunately John had had to fly to Abaka at short notice to be present at the opening of a new cement factory built with American capital. In the afternoon Jean phoned to remind us that the party was still on regardless. The Minister promised that we would be there. But just before seven a most sophisticated-looking young woman had driven in and knocked down all our plans. Chief Nanga introduced her as Barrister Mrs Akilo, and she had come that very minute from another town eighty miles away. She said she hadn't even checked in at the hotel or washed off the dust of the journey. I thought she was beautiful enough with the dust on and I remembered the proverbial joke in my village about a certain woman whose daughter was praised for her beauty and she said: 'You haven't seen her yet; wait till she's had a bath.' 'Are you in private practice?' I asked Mrs Akilo as Chief Nanga went to answer the phone. 'Yes, my husband and I practise jointly.' 'Oh, he is a lawyer too?' I asked. 'Yes, we own a firm of solicitors.' I must confess to a certain feeling of awkwardness before her sophisticated, assured manner. The way she spoke she must have spent her childhood in England. But this awkward feeling was only momentary. After all, I told myself, Chief Nanga who was barely literate was probably going to sleep with her that night. 'Look, Agnes, why don't you use my wife's bedroom instead of wasting money,' said Chief Nanga getting back to his seat. 'She travelled home today.' His phonetics had already moved up two rungs to get closer to hers. It would have been pathetic if you didn't know that he was having fun. 'Thank you, M.A. But I think I had better go