We Must Learn to Tell The Good Side of the Nigerian Story-----Akunyili
By nigeriafilms.com - NigeriaFilms.com
Nigeria News | Thu, 05 Nov 2009
Nigeria News | Thu, 05 Nov 2009
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I believe that President Umaru Yar'Adua is sincere. But you know he can't work alone. He works with Nigerians. He's very sincere and genuine. He's committed to changing the system, he is because I work with him. It may take a little long to put things in proper shape because things have deteriorated for too long.
Newswatch: In an earlier interview with a newspaper, they referred to you as village girl. How did that come about?
Akunyili: (Laughs) My life story is very dramatic. I was not really born in the village. I was born in Makurdi, Benue State. My father was a businessman and was about the richest man then in Makurdi. My father was so comfortable that whenever he was travelling from Kano to Makurdi in the early 60s, he used to charter an aircraft to the aerodrome then. That was how comfortable he was and he built most of the public places in Makurdi, like the police barracks and others. He used to be called Paul-Young. Our surname is Edemobi, but he was known more as Paul-Young.
My mother was a housewife. But as a child, right from the primary school , I was always first in class, so my father started dotting on me, to a point that my mum and siblings felt a bit frustrated about it that if my father continued the way he was going, I was going to be so spoilt that I would not know how to do simple chores. In fact, my father never allowed me to take part in any household chores. He would always say that Dora's brain would earn her cooks and stewards. She should not do anything, let her just go and read. My parents did not handle my academic success well, with due respect to them. They were always saying that my other siblings were not doing well. And my brother would wonder and say ah-ah, if somebody comes tenth or third or fourth, out of a combined class of 250, that person would not be congratulated because Dora came first? So my mum conspired with my other siblings and they decided that the best thing was to take me to the village. They convinced my dad that since my mother's brother who was a teacher was living in the village with my grand mother, it would be better for me because teachers are better at bringing up children. I don't know why my father bought the idea and that was how I was whisked to the village in December 1963, when I was just nine years plus. All I know was that they put my things together and my father said you are going to the village to live with nne (that's the grandmother) and onyenkuzi (school teacher).
As a child, I couldn't revolt. I just entered the car and when I got to the village, it was a rude shock to me. You see, from township and relative luxury to village, where there was no electricity, no water, and no good food. Something like rice was only eaten on Sundays. No meat, no eggs. If you talk about eggs, my grand mother would say, are you a thief? Children are not given eggs in the village. Life was very difficult for me. At the second crow of the cock, because the first crow of the clock is at 2 a.m. while the second one is at four, we would go to the stream inside that gully erosion, many, many miles, from Isuofia to Nanka to fetch water and by the time we come back from fetching that water it would be about 6:30 a.m. Then I would sweep the compound, warm the left over cassava, eat and trek to school. It was no longer the issue of being carried to school in a car. My grandmother didn't even have bicycle. And when I got to school, I started doing very well. The first time I came first, my seniors, because in village they don't start school early, they were bigger than me, they started beating me up. I, also, was stubborn and I started fighting for myself. This was so because, the first time I ran to my grandmother to tell her I was beaten up, she told me that 'this is not a city where children are spoilt. In the village, parents don't fight for their children; you have to fight for yourself.' So I started fighting. After school, you just carried your little bag and somebody would say, “wait for me today, today, wait for me. You answered all the questions in class and the teacher was abusing all of us because of you, wait for me.” That kind of things. So before you dropped your bag, I had dropped mine and confronted the person. But later, few months after, they left me alone. So I was able to get my freedom.
But talking about life in the village, I would always trek to school and if I ever got there a minute late, of course, the teachers would flog me. I would be punished. It took a little while before the teacher started developing some soft spot but I still went through the punishment for ever going late. They would not look at your eyes to know how drowsy you must have been after waking up at four and trekking so many kilometres. Fetching of firewood was what I found the most tedious of all the chores done by children in the village and the most risky because most of the time, you see reptiles, especially big snakes – pythons, and also twigs, some of them with thorns. I would cry all through but my grandmother would still expect me to get the firewood and she was a very tough disciplinarian who never allowed me to have friends. The first time I came to live in the village, I didn't know that my father brought me a camp bed. So, I was sleeping on a mat because my grandmother and I were not even aware it was a camp bed. I was sleeping on a mat on the floor until I got pneumonia. I nearly died. I was rushed to the hospital. My father had to send a driver from Makurdi to Isuofia to set up a simple camp bed for me. The first day I lay on that bed, I felt as if I was in heaven. I knew my being in the village was like punishment but I couldn't put a finger to it. And whenever I went on holidays, my other siblings would be taunting me, telling me to tell them about village life and I would tell them that the village is so hard but that here I can eat rice everyday. And whenever it was time for me to go back to the village, I would cry out my heart.
My father loved me to a fault. I remember sometimes he would just leave the house on the day of my going because I would cry and cry and by the time I would say the final goodbye, I would see his eyes turning red. It was like he felt I needed that training. He knew there was a risk that I was exposed to, but he also felt I had a lot to gain from that experience. But now, when I look back, I feel grateful to God for that experience because today, I know what it means to be poor, I know what it means to be hungry, I know what it means to live in plenty. I can identify with people when they are suffering and it made me a very strong person such that sometimes, I find it difficult to understand what it means that somebody is tired, because in the village you cannot really say you are tired because it's work without end.
Newswatch: Did your siblings' conspiracy affect your relationship with them in later life?
Akunyili: No, no, no, it didn't. Because I felt they were worried for me and it was not unexpected because my father would do things that you would not believe. He could ask me to come and sit down on a chair and people should just clap for me. He would ask me what I wanted to eat, and could get a whole chicken and say, 'come and sit down and eat with me.'
Newswatch: You have been saying very good things about your father, but you haven't said anything good about your mother, except that she conspired against you.
Akunyili: My mother was not ready to spoil me. She was more objective about training me than my father. My father, if he had his way, would not allow me to step my feet on the floor. But my mum was more practical. So, naturally, I would tend towards the person that felt I was an angel from heaven (laughs).
Newswatch: Was your father spoilt by his own father? Was he that brilliant and was he protected that he so transferred that love to you?
Akunyili: My father was one of the most intelligent human beings I have ever seen. My mother was of average intelligence or maybe a little above average, because people said she was very smart. I found her smart but I found my father out of this world.
Newswatch: So he had all the reason to protect you because he knew the value of your intellect?
Akunyili: I don't know but he so believed in me. And he would always say, during the civil war, instead of me to die, he would prefer to die. In fact, my mother had to guard the food because my father could even say, “give most of it to this girl so that she should not die,” as if to say, others can die.
Newswatch: How do you compare and relate with your siblings now?
Akunyili: Oh! we relate well and they are doing very very well. My elder sister has a master's, she's an intelligent woman, and she got married during the war. She's secretary of a commission in the state. The one next to her is in business. Then, there's the one just before me, my immediate elder brother. Then my younger brother has a PhD. He was doing very well, he was very intelligent. But like I said, it was either he came first or he didn't do well. He was a lecturer in America before he came back to Nigeria to teach in the university. In the 90s, he left the university and went to do business. He's now into estate business. Then, the one after him is a teacher, the one after her is a chartered accountant, while the last one is late. Their children are doing very well too.
Newswatch: Did your father live to see you make a success of your life in later life as he predicted?
Akunyili: He did not but he kept saying it even until he died. He said too many things that I may not want to say now until I'm old enough to write my memoir. But even when he was sick, in 1973 (actually my father wouldn't have died if not for the war). You see, people died out of that war. People that were not shot or from bullet wounds but from losing everything they had. So he was ill and he really knew he was going to die. He said a few things to me about how serious I should still take my studies, that he knew I would reach the top. He expected I would be a professor, I would discover something and acquire fame and things like that. He didn't live to see these but he believed in it so much that he could feel it, even more than I believed he could have felt it if he were to be alive.
My mother died in 1981. So they didn't live to see me attain these heights. It's very hurting when you are actually doing well and somebody predicted it, somebody felt it, talked about it and is not around to see it. But, even up till now, when I have difficulties, I pray and say “I know you can see me but I can't see you – you know. And if we can pray to St Theresa, pray to St Augustine and St Rita, then I can also talk to you to pray for me for this circumstance and so on. Continued
Source: nigeriafilms.com - NigeriaFilms.com
Newswatch: In an earlier interview with a newspaper, they referred to you as village girl. How did that come about?
Akunyili: (Laughs) My life story is very dramatic. I was not really born in the village. I was born in Makurdi, Benue State. My father was a businessman and was about the richest man then in Makurdi. My father was so comfortable that whenever he was travelling from Kano to Makurdi in the early 60s, he used to charter an aircraft to the aerodrome then. That was how comfortable he was and he built most of the public places in Makurdi, like the police barracks and others. He used to be called Paul-Young. Our surname is Edemobi, but he was known more as Paul-Young.
My mother was a housewife. But as a child, right from the primary school , I was always first in class, so my father started dotting on me, to a point that my mum and siblings felt a bit frustrated about it that if my father continued the way he was going, I was going to be so spoilt that I would not know how to do simple chores. In fact, my father never allowed me to take part in any household chores. He would always say that Dora's brain would earn her cooks and stewards. She should not do anything, let her just go and read. My parents did not handle my academic success well, with due respect to them. They were always saying that my other siblings were not doing well. And my brother would wonder and say ah-ah, if somebody comes tenth or third or fourth, out of a combined class of 250, that person would not be congratulated because Dora came first? So my mum conspired with my other siblings and they decided that the best thing was to take me to the village. They convinced my dad that since my mother's brother who was a teacher was living in the village with my grand mother, it would be better for me because teachers are better at bringing up children. I don't know why my father bought the idea and that was how I was whisked to the village in December 1963, when I was just nine years plus. All I know was that they put my things together and my father said you are going to the village to live with nne (that's the grandmother) and onyenkuzi (school teacher).
As a child, I couldn't revolt. I just entered the car and when I got to the village, it was a rude shock to me. You see, from township and relative luxury to village, where there was no electricity, no water, and no good food. Something like rice was only eaten on Sundays. No meat, no eggs. If you talk about eggs, my grand mother would say, are you a thief? Children are not given eggs in the village. Life was very difficult for me. At the second crow of the cock, because the first crow of the clock is at 2 a.m. while the second one is at four, we would go to the stream inside that gully erosion, many, many miles, from Isuofia to Nanka to fetch water and by the time we come back from fetching that water it would be about 6:30 a.m. Then I would sweep the compound, warm the left over cassava, eat and trek to school. It was no longer the issue of being carried to school in a car. My grandmother didn't even have bicycle. And when I got to school, I started doing very well. The first time I came first, my seniors, because in village they don't start school early, they were bigger than me, they started beating me up. I, also, was stubborn and I started fighting for myself. This was so because, the first time I ran to my grandmother to tell her I was beaten up, she told me that 'this is not a city where children are spoilt. In the village, parents don't fight for their children; you have to fight for yourself.' So I started fighting. After school, you just carried your little bag and somebody would say, “wait for me today, today, wait for me. You answered all the questions in class and the teacher was abusing all of us because of you, wait for me.” That kind of things. So before you dropped your bag, I had dropped mine and confronted the person. But later, few months after, they left me alone. So I was able to get my freedom.
But talking about life in the village, I would always trek to school and if I ever got there a minute late, of course, the teachers would flog me. I would be punished. It took a little while before the teacher started developing some soft spot but I still went through the punishment for ever going late. They would not look at your eyes to know how drowsy you must have been after waking up at four and trekking so many kilometres. Fetching of firewood was what I found the most tedious of all the chores done by children in the village and the most risky because most of the time, you see reptiles, especially big snakes – pythons, and also twigs, some of them with thorns. I would cry all through but my grandmother would still expect me to get the firewood and she was a very tough disciplinarian who never allowed me to have friends. The first time I came to live in the village, I didn't know that my father brought me a camp bed. So, I was sleeping on a mat because my grandmother and I were not even aware it was a camp bed. I was sleeping on a mat on the floor until I got pneumonia. I nearly died. I was rushed to the hospital. My father had to send a driver from Makurdi to Isuofia to set up a simple camp bed for me. The first day I lay on that bed, I felt as if I was in heaven. I knew my being in the village was like punishment but I couldn't put a finger to it. And whenever I went on holidays, my other siblings would be taunting me, telling me to tell them about village life and I would tell them that the village is so hard but that here I can eat rice everyday. And whenever it was time for me to go back to the village, I would cry out my heart.
My father loved me to a fault. I remember sometimes he would just leave the house on the day of my going because I would cry and cry and by the time I would say the final goodbye, I would see his eyes turning red. It was like he felt I needed that training. He knew there was a risk that I was exposed to, but he also felt I had a lot to gain from that experience. But now, when I look back, I feel grateful to God for that experience because today, I know what it means to be poor, I know what it means to be hungry, I know what it means to live in plenty. I can identify with people when they are suffering and it made me a very strong person such that sometimes, I find it difficult to understand what it means that somebody is tired, because in the village you cannot really say you are tired because it's work without end.
Newswatch: Did your siblings' conspiracy affect your relationship with them in later life?
Akunyili: No, no, no, it didn't. Because I felt they were worried for me and it was not unexpected because my father would do things that you would not believe. He could ask me to come and sit down on a chair and people should just clap for me. He would ask me what I wanted to eat, and could get a whole chicken and say, 'come and sit down and eat with me.'
Newswatch: You have been saying very good things about your father, but you haven't said anything good about your mother, except that she conspired against you.
Akunyili: My mother was not ready to spoil me. She was more objective about training me than my father. My father, if he had his way, would not allow me to step my feet on the floor. But my mum was more practical. So, naturally, I would tend towards the person that felt I was an angel from heaven (laughs).
Newswatch: Was your father spoilt by his own father? Was he that brilliant and was he protected that he so transferred that love to you?
Akunyili: My father was one of the most intelligent human beings I have ever seen. My mother was of average intelligence or maybe a little above average, because people said she was very smart. I found her smart but I found my father out of this world.
Newswatch: So he had all the reason to protect you because he knew the value of your intellect?
Akunyili: I don't know but he so believed in me. And he would always say, during the civil war, instead of me to die, he would prefer to die. In fact, my mother had to guard the food because my father could even say, “give most of it to this girl so that she should not die,” as if to say, others can die.
Newswatch: How do you compare and relate with your siblings now?
Akunyili: Oh! we relate well and they are doing very very well. My elder sister has a master's, she's an intelligent woman, and she got married during the war. She's secretary of a commission in the state. The one next to her is in business. Then, there's the one just before me, my immediate elder brother. Then my younger brother has a PhD. He was doing very well, he was very intelligent. But like I said, it was either he came first or he didn't do well. He was a lecturer in America before he came back to Nigeria to teach in the university. In the 90s, he left the university and went to do business. He's now into estate business. Then, the one after him is a teacher, the one after her is a chartered accountant, while the last one is late. Their children are doing very well too.
Newswatch: Did your father live to see you make a success of your life in later life as he predicted?
Akunyili: He did not but he kept saying it even until he died. He said too many things that I may not want to say now until I'm old enough to write my memoir. But even when he was sick, in 1973 (actually my father wouldn't have died if not for the war). You see, people died out of that war. People that were not shot or from bullet wounds but from losing everything they had. So he was ill and he really knew he was going to die. He said a few things to me about how serious I should still take my studies, that he knew I would reach the top. He expected I would be a professor, I would discover something and acquire fame and things like that. He didn't live to see these but he believed in it so much that he could feel it, even more than I believed he could have felt it if he were to be alive.
My mother died in 1981. So they didn't live to see me attain these heights. It's very hurting when you are actually doing well and somebody predicted it, somebody felt it, talked about it and is not around to see it. But, even up till now, when I have difficulties, I pray and say “I know you can see me but I can't see you – you know. And if we can pray to St Theresa, pray to St Augustine and St Rita, then I can also talk to you to pray for me for this circumstance and so on. Continued
Comments To This Article
2 readers have commented so far on this story. And below this page is a sample of the latest comments published. Or you can also click view all to read all comments that readers have sent in.
WE MUST TALK ABOUT BAD SIDE
IYKE OBIEZE | LAGOS -NIGERIA (Nigeria) | 11/6/2009 2:27:00 PM
Asking us to talk good about Nigeria is like beating a child and asking him not to cry. As a matter of fact, unless you don't want to talk at all, but if you must talk, it is definitely going to be about the bad side of the country, because there is nothing good to talk about this country called Nigeria. The leaders has institutionalised corruption in the country, that it has become a way of life here, corruption is the norm rather than the exception. You find it everywhere, in the offices, in the legislature, in the police stations, Electoral commission, Electricity company (PHCN). It is only in this Madam Dora's country that the leaders are far distanced from the people they are leading. It is in this country that you will not use light for months and yet you are billed for those months. It is only in this country that govt. will allow deep holes in the middle of the road uncovered, and it will continue to claim lives, and yet nothing will happen. It is only in this country of Madam Akunyili that policemen attack and rob motorists on highways more than armed robbers, especially Lagos- Benin road. It is only in this country that yuor intelligence will not secure admission for you in the Universities. So, tell me why you must not talk bad things about a country that have little or no regard for it's citizenry, a country where talents are killed before they are hatched, where mediocrity overides merits. I need to be convinced why one should stick out his neck to tell lies in order to paint a black country white. No matter how you trie to be patrotic, the stack realities of the happenings in this country must compell you to say the truth, unless you want to continue to dish out lies upon lies to cover up the attrocities that are happening in this country every now and then. So my dear Dora, it is a sin to continue to tell lies, and I am not prepared to join you in doing so, thank you, this is not being unpatrotic, but facing realities.
lair
innocent | lagos-nigeria (United Kingdom) | 11/11/2009 11:48:00 PM
this woman really has a wide mouth just to lie. read the interview well, even if you don't know her b4. the interview is enough to tell u that she lies a lot. well PDP gave her the appointment to help them in constructing lies to nigerians so am not surprise.
