The Things We Leave Behind

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

How time flies. As a child, I would use a whole week to pray for Sunday rice and chicken, because that was all I knew how to pray for. I cannot even remember anything I saw as more serious than that. Once I had a big bowl of rice with my chicken, not minding the body part, I would be happy for the whole day.

But now I am old enough. I no longer pray for that. Most Sundays, I do not even care what I ate, as long as the food is tasty. Of course, just do not add boiled potatoes and beans to the menu. Those potatoes have refused to let me be. They come with plenty of tiny strings attached, like they want to tie me down. Since childhood, me and those strings have not agreed. I have forgiven many people in this life, but I am still negotiating peace with Irish potato.

What I pray for now has changed. Now I pray about how to find stories in everything. How to make my novels on Amazon become bestsellers. How to end each story in a captivating way, with suspense and all. How to be original and not copy another person's work, because it makes me truly happy when I am praised for my work's originality. And beyond writing, I pray for how to start my own foundation to help children, how to support orphanage homes, how to build a conglomerate, a company that will have many businesses under it, that will create opportunities for others. These are the things that occupy my heart now.

Childhood was very sweet, but I had to leave many things behind as I grew older. And from time to time, when I remember how sweet it was, I realise those sweet things are exactly what we leave behind.

There are some things we leave behind as we grow older without even realising how much they meant to us. Childhood is one of them. We grow older, take on more responsibilities and slowly move into another stage of life, but some childhood memories remain with us. Sometimes, the sound of rain, the sight of a tree, or a familiar smell can take us back to those days.

When I think about my own childhood, I remember how easy it was to be happy. We did not need much. Rain could turn an ordinary day into an adventure, a tree could become a playground, and a small amount of water could become a swimming pool.

I remember playing in the rain as a child, sometimes without clothes, laughing and running around without feeling any shame. We did not care who was watching. We were simply children enjoying ourselves. There was also a guava tree I remember very well. Whenever it rained heavily, water would gather around it and form what looked like a small river. We would go there and do our own little swimming while the rain was falling. Once the rain stopped, the water would dry up almost immediately, but while it lasted, it was our swimming pool.

I also remember rubbing charcoal all over my body without feeling ashamed. Sometimes, I would wear the back of my clothes in front because I thought it would stop the front from getting dirty. I thought I was being clever. Looking back now, I laugh at myself because I was only a child.

Even taking my bath at night could feel like going to war. I hated it when I was younger, especially when the water was cold. I would rather find an excuse than enter the bathroom. Yet today, I cannot imagine going to bed without bathing, even when the weather is very cold. It is funny how some things change as we grow older.

Another thing I remember clearly is how many of us lived together. We were staying at Ngor Okpala, close to the Imo Airport, where my parents had a very big school called Crown Scientific Seminary of Nigeria. The school still exists, although it is no longer at Ngor Okpala. My cousins were living with us, so there were many children in the house. There was always someone to play with, laugh with or disturb. The house was rarely quiet.

With so many of us together, we had our own funny ways of doing things. Whenever my mother shared soup, my cousin and I sometimes preferred to chew the garri or fufu first and lick the soup afterwards. Funny, right? At the time, we enjoyed it and saw nothing strange about it.

After school for the day, my cousin and I would sometimes gather the younger children and others living with us. We would teach them something and ask each of them to pay us ten naira. We needed money to buy sweets and chewing gum, so we found our own little way of making it. We even had receipts. They were old receipts my parents no longer used, but we used them to make our little business look serious. We would collect the ten naira and give the children receipts as if we were running a real school. Looking back now, it makes me laugh.

Life was really sweet then. We ate ripe fruits almost like squirrels. Sometimes, we ate unripe mangoes as if they were proper food, enjoying the sour taste. What makes me laugh now is that I cannot even taste sour unripe mangoes anymore. I enjoyed them so much as a child, yet today I can hardly tolerate the taste.

We played hide and seek, ran around barefooted and sometimes played without clothes. We did not care about how we smelled after playing outside, how dirty our clothes were or who was looking at us. Sometimes, we slept together, farted, laughed and teased one another without feeling embarrassed. Everything was simple. We were not trying to look perfect. We were just children enjoying the little world around us.

When I look back now, I realise that those ordinary days have become some of the memories I treasure most. A rainy afternoon was just a rainy afternoon. The guava tree was just a tree. Ten naira was enough for sweets and chewing gum. An old receipt could make our little business look official. Sour mangoes were a treat. We found happiness in ordinary things without thinking about it.

We continued going to school, growing a little older with each passing year, while still finding time to play and enjoy ourselves. We were children, but we were slowly becoming older children and beginning to understand more about the world around us. We did not know that one day those days would become memories.

Sometimes, I wonder what that guava tree looks like now. Does water still gather around it when it rains? Are there still children who run there and make their own little swimming pool? Perhaps another group of children has discovered the same place and is enjoying it without knowing that we once did the same thing.

As we grew older, things slowly changed. We became more conscious of ourselves and the world around us. We started caring more about how we looked, how we behaved and what people thought. We also became more responsible. The freedom we had as little children slowly became different as we moved into another stage of life.

But I still carry those memories with me. I remember the rain, the guava tree, the charcoal, the funny way I wore my clothes, the struggle over taking my bath at night, the crowded house at Ngor Okpala, my cousins, the soup and garri, the ten naira lessons, the old receipts, the sweets, the chewing gum, the ripe fruits, the sour mangoes, the hide and seek and the laughter.

I had to leave those days behind because I grew older. None of us can remain children forever. But sometimes, when I remember those moments, I feel close to that child again, the child who only needed a bowl of Sunday rice and chicken to be happy. I remember how free we were, how easily we laughed and how little we needed to be happy.

Those days were not perfect, but they were sweet. We did not need perfection. We only needed one another, a little food, somewhere to play and enough time to enjoy being children.

Those are the things we leave behind as we grow older. We leave the games, the muddy feet, the rainy afternoons, the sour mangoes, the crowded house and the simple freedom of childhood. But the memories remain.