How it all Began-3
1182 Words
In the many months that followed, Imma began applying to American universities. His compulsory post-university National Youth Service gave him time to study for GRE. Then Iowa State University offered him admission and a scholarship to cover his first year tuition!
Four days to the visa interview, Imma travelled to his Umuoma village home from his national service post at Uyo, Akwa Ibom State. He picked up some key documents for the trip and enjoyed a welcome break to the twelve hour Bus ride to the US Consulate location, Lagos - Nigeria’s largest city of ten million people. Wide awake late into the night before his departure, he got a panorama of his room under the light of the kerosene lamp. Training his sight on a framed photo of his university graduation on the wall, a crease formed on his face as he smiled in self-appreciation. Not bad.
The journey the next morning traversed six states in three regions of the country – Imo and Anambra in the South East, Delta and Edo in the South South, and Ondo and Ogun in the South West -– to get to Lagos, also in the South West. For this long dream, no problem covering this much real estate, Imma mused.
Sleeping and snacking in The Young Shall Grow luxury bus, Imma nodded and imagined life in America and beyond. ‘Am growing indeed. But long ways to go still. Imma, long ways...
A tropical warm weather pattern had hit the city of Lagos, but Imma found himself breaking out in cold sweat. Today was the day for his US student visa interview. Just get this visa, and in a few weeks I will be in America! Today he would put himself and his family on the path to prosperity.
Imma arrived early at the US consulate. He had never been to a big city and was not prepared for the sea of human beings in Lagos. Nor for the queue at the consulate that snaked around the block, everybody trying to go to America.
Three hours later, Imma presented himself to the visa officer.
“Why do you want to go to the United States?”
Didn’t he read my visa application?
“To pursue graduate studies at Iowa State University.”
“I see. You have admission already. Have you remitted all the funds to cover your program?”
“I got a scholarship and the documents are attached to the application.”
“I see that, but the scholarship will cover your tuition for one year only. Do you have evidence of funds that will cover your other expenses?”
“No sir. I expect to find part-time work.”
“There’s no guarantee that will happen. I’m afraid I can’t give you a visa.”
Before Imma could open his mouth to plead his case, the stamp came down hard on his passport. The sound was the worst he had heard in twenty-two years of life. Worse even than the rooster crows announcing the ungodly time to go to the farm.
Not going to America.
Leaving the consulate, Imma found a bus stop at the end of the street. Thirty minutes later he got on a bus. A man who sat next to him tried to make conversation but gave up when Imma closed his eyes. He wished sleep would come, but his racing mind denied him that respite.
An announcement by the driver jolted Imma. He fished out the paper on which his oldest brother’s friend had written the routes. Wrong bus! He scampered out, but it was several hours before he found the right one, getting to his host’s home late in the evening.
His host sighed. “Young man, what took you so long? I wondered if you had decided to head to America straight from there.”
Imma threw everything he was clutching on the table, and sank into the nearest chair. “Long story...”
“Give me the short version.”
“I didn’t get the visa, and I got on the wrong bus.”
“What? Why?”
As Imma bit into the food his host insisted on, he shared it all. “That’s the kind of day it has been. Very disappointed, for sure.”
“Not to worry. Contact your godfather and the university. Perhaps they can give you additional documents that will enable you re-apply and convince the consulate.”
Sleep eluded Imma. History was repeating itself. Secondary school entry: struggle. Undergraduate university entry: near-miss. Now, graduate school: entry denied.
Am I jinxed?
As his weary soul and body succumbed to sleep, Imma murmured a prayer that providence would show up again for him. It had better, because, certain of going to America immediately upon completion of the one-year compulsory National Youth Service, he had waved off all job opportunities in Nigeria. In two months, the youth service would end.
If I don’t get this visa where do I go? Not to the village!
The next day he made the decision to make another long trip to Yola, Adamawa State, to see Professor Godson.
All the way to his godfather’s home the next weekend, Imma prayed for a miracle. For good luck. Whatever it was that had salvaged his secondary school and undergraduate university attendance opportunities. Please do it again!
And the cross-country luxury bus he rode this time had the logo and name of the transport company emblazoned all over it. Osondu, a word in Imma’s Igbo language that means, race of life.
Such a metaphor. For this trip. For Imma’s dream. And life.
“Welcome again, young man. All ready to move to America?”
“Not yet, Prof”
“Why not?”
Professor Godson listened keenly as Imma recounted his ordeal at the US consulate. But before Imma made his appeal, Prof slammed him with the heartbreaking reality.
“Sorry, young man, I have exhausted all my contacts. If you don’t have the personal or family funds required by the consulate, I’m afraid you may have to focus on getting a job in Nigeria. Don’t beat yourself up – it’s not the end of the world. We tried.”
When the conversation with his godfather ended, Imma amused himself trying to determine which day was the worst of his life. The day at age twelve when his parents wanted to send him to learn a trade? The day at age seventeen when undergraduate university admission results were announced and he didn’t even bother to check? The day at age eighteen when Ike labelled him a deprived child? Or today, at twenty-two, when Prof uttered the words that put paid to his dream of going to America?
Nail in the coffin?
The day after, tail between legs, Imma caught the next available bus back home. In the two months finishing up the National Youth Service, neither fate nor providence showed up. Reconciling himself to pursuing the dream life in Nigeria, he dispatched more than fifty job applications, but did not receive a single response.
Then a light bulb came on. In secondary school, a few alumni returned as auxiliary teachers. Crowning his secondary school academic record with posting the school’s best result in the final year had endeared him to the principal and teachers. Calculating his chances, Imma was convinced that if there was a vacancy for a temporary teacher, he would be a number-one candidate. That would not be a dream job or life, but he would be in Makurdi, far from his village and from the farm.
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