The Letter: The Family of Nzidi and Tiena Tukwalu, Twenty Years Later

By Regina Oli Igbo

In The Letter, which is a follow up on the story of Tiena (her first published novel), Regina Oli Igbo has deftly indicated the possibility of successfully handling a crisis in the family within the confines of the family, even when the crisis is full of intricacies. It is encouraging to read through The Letter and feel Tiena's Practical Paradigm. The Letter manifests itself as a 'love story' ending with the renewed pledge of, "We fall in love once again... For ever and ever you are mine."

The novel is also imbued with 'moral adjuncts'

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Sep 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462045549

Regina Oli Igbo

Regina Oli Igbo is a graduate of Tthe University of Nigeria, Nsukka; a former Senior Producer/Principal Librarian at The Federal Radio Corporation of Nigeria (FRCN). She is an acclaimed writer since 1979 and has written and published articles in Magazines and some prominent Nigerian 'dailies'. She is an accomplished novelist, a poet and a playwright. She has written and presented papers at both National and International conferences. Regina Oli Igbo is an incisive writer with an exceptional capability of keeping the reader in suspense to a point where the reader sees the unraveling of the 'mystery' with utmost delight and excitement. Her writings are generally imbued with 'moral adjuncts'. Regina Oli Igbo lives in The US. Recently, she was privileged with two invitations from Salem College, Winston Salem, NC, to make presentations on: 1. African Female Writers (2010) 2. Black Motherhood (2011)

Book preview

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Chapter One

SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR

Chapter Two

NO HOME, NO LUNCH

Chapter Three

HARMONY AND UNDERSTANDING

Chapter Four

BERI BECOMES CURIOUS

Chapter Five

DITCHED

Chapter Six

DETERMINED TO GET TO THE ROOT

Chapter Seven

A MEETING IN MISERY

Chapter Eight

TIME TO RANSACK THE TOWN

Chapter Nine

HE WANTS ME OUT OF THE WAY

Chapter Ten

TRUST EVERYTHING TO

PROVIDENCE

Foreword

After reading Mrs. Regina Oli Igbo’s book, The Letter, I became assured that the little things of life which seem insignificant are the ones which have profound chain reaction and implications for peace or war.

For me, Mrs. Regina Oli Igbo is a teacher by inclination, a psycho-analyst by implication, a guidance counsellor in intent and family spiritual director in all its ramifications.

My type of English is not good to appear as a foreword to this book, The Letter. The author is down-to-earth, naturally natural; thinking and wandering methodically; socio-ethically strong in content, a flowing imagination like a river which always has thought-which have congruent implications like the Niger and Benue Rivers at Lokoja.

I invite you to encounter Mrs. Regina Oli Igbo’s The Letter, read it and make it a daily companion. The evenly high flow of this book punctuated with good English, well modulated mechanical accuracy, makes it untiring until the reader finishes it.

No matter from what angle you look at it, Mrs. Regina Oli Igbo has registered herself as one of the prolific writers of our time who has printed her name on the sands of time.

Very Rev. Fr. Prof. Dr. Stan Anih FMME (Hon), EMLQA.

Preface

Later, there was peace. And there was understanding.

They enjoyed each other’s confidence.

They felt a considerable amount of security.

They experienced the joy of living.

There was enough humour.

There was love. They were happy.

Then came The Letter.

In the words of the recipient, The contents were capable,

Of blowing up any family, Even with foundations of marble

The Letter could have been written

By the devil himself, To dis-stabilize the family.

No sooner was The Letter received

Than it was destroyed and burnt.

Afraid it could set the family

And its trail ablaze for ever.

Peace was snuffed out.

Then came chaos,

Misunderstanding,

Nobody felt secure.

The family panicked.

Humour disappeared.

The Letter was devastating

But Love forgives. Love heals. Love sustains.

Chapter One

SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR

Someone is at the door,

Seraya looked through the peep hole and announced, It’s the postman.

Well Sera find out why he is there.

Seraya opened the door and came in with a registered latter addressed to her father. The father looked at the envelope, the handwriting was not a familiar one. He wanted to put it away as was his practice not to rush reading his letters—a little bit of mortification in these matters helps a great deal. On a second thought, he decided to read it immediately; a registered letter with an unfamiliar handwriting? Who knows, it might require an immediate attention, someone somewhere might be in dire need of attention and a minute’s delay might mean disaster.

He settled down, opened the letter, his eyes went straight to the signature, it didn’t ring a bell. He decided to read the letter. The first few lines got him shaking. Tiena who had been in the kitchen was just coming in to the living room to share one pleasant joke with her husband. Nzidi acting on impulse, got up and dashed into the bed room and locked the door.

Poor unsuspecting Tiena was puzzled at her husband’s reaction. She made as if to run after him but checked herself, because Seraya just called from the kitchen, Mom, the soup is boiling over.

Tiena ran into the kitchen, turned down the burner and asked Seraya to continue with the cooking.

Then back to the door to give her husband help in case he needed any. What could make Nzidi lock the door against his wife in broad daylight!

As soon as Nzidi heard the knock on the door, he quickly tore up the letter and dropped the pieces in the waste paper basket in the room. Then he unlocked the door, opened it and Tiena just stood, speechless, at the door and searched her husband’s heart.

Ti, Mine?

Tiena still didn’t say a word. She just stood there and fixed her gaze on Nzidi.

Nzidi became uncomfortable, TI, please don’t stand there looking at me like that; say something, what is it?

Nzi, I should ask you, what is it?

Ti, nothing to worry about, it’s just…

Just what? and you locked the door? What’s the matter?

I’ve told you it’s nothing to worry about.

Where is the letter Sera brought from the postman?

I’ve destroyed it.

Why Nzi?

Because it didn’t make sense.

Who wrote it?

I wish I knew.

A man or a woman?

Ti, I don’t know.

What language did the person use?

Ti, the language is not the problem.

But what?

The problem is that I did not understand what the letter is all about.

Then you shouldn’t have destroyed it.

Ti, it was better I did.

Why?

Because it didn’t make sense.

What was the topic of the letter?

Ti, I do not know.

All the time Nzidi was answering Tiena’s questions, his eyes were fixed on the pieces of the letter in the waste paper basket. He then looked up at Tiena and said, I’ve told you it’s nothing to worry about. Please forget it. It’s not worth our attention.

Nzi, I think that for now, that letter is worth every attention we can give it. From your behaviour I am convinced that the contents of that letter must be full of sense, and contrary to your assertion of innocence, you understand everything written in that letter. I am sorry Nzi, it’s going to be difficult for me to forget your reaction to this letter, more so if you continue to be secretive about it.

Ti I am asking you to help me forget it.

That’s the snag, how can I help you to forget what you are making so difficult for us to forget? The first step towards forgetting anything is to get it out of your system. If you suppress it, it settles in your subconscious and that’s very dangerous. I think you should say what was in that letter.

Ti, don’t you trust me?

Nzi, I have to believe you before I can trust you. Right now I do not believe you so how can I trust you?

Ti, you must believe me; I do not understand what that letter is all about.

Tiena, who’s been standing since she came into the room, turned to go out. Nzidi quickly got up and stopped her.

Nzi you make me feel as if we have a skeleton in our cupboard. You are scared about something. It shows all over you. And you are putting the scare in me as well.

After about a minute’s silence which seemed like ages, Nzidi said, Ti can we eat now? I am starving and Sera must be starving too.

Seraya did finish the cooking. It was mid term break when she usually came home to help her mother and spend some time with her parents. She used to refer to her mid term breaks as ‘golden moments’

At table there was an unusual type of silence and an uneasy calm. Seraya tried to break the silence:

Daddy you remember you promised to register me with the Young Artistes’ Club, when are you going to fulfil that promise?

All her daddy could say was, Did I?

And there was silence again. Seraya turned to her mother, Mom did you see the book I left on your dressing table? I wanted you and dad to read it and tell me your opinion on it.

Yes Sera I saw the book.

Mom have you read it?

No

Why mom?

I only saw the book a few minutes ago, even if I had nothing else to do except to read that book, thirty minutes would hardly be enough to read the first few chapters.

So you haven’t even touched the book let alone reading it, sulked Seraya.

Why Sera? I just said I didn’t have the time.

Seraya turned to her father, Daddy have you read the book?

No Sera, what is so important about this book? tell us and save us the trouble of turning the pages.

Although the book was very important to Seraya, her main objective in talking about it then was to start off a conversation between her parents.

Seraya was a lively cheerful girl whose delight was to see people happy always. She didn’t like her parents agonizing silence. It was upsetting her. She sensed something unpleasant in their behaviour that afternoon.

The mother after waiting for a while for Seraya to tell what was in the book, said to Seraya, Now that we are ready to hear about the book, aren’t you telling us again?

Seraya was not going to spoil the surprise for her parents. She wanted them to enjoy the novelty of seeing a story written by their daughter, in print.

The book comprised some short stories compiled by the students in Seraya’s class. The stories were edited by their language teacher and bound into a booklet by the school library. Every one of the contributors to that book was given a copy. The students agreed to take the book each to her parents. Those parents who can, would in turn, read and write a brief appraisal (in form of advice), of the whole work. The students would then take the books back to the school for discussion and future improvement of their work. They were all novices in ‘writing’.

Seraya was a bit sad; she would take back her book without her parents seeing it. What would the other students think about her and her parents—that they didn’t care for her or that they are not interested in her welfare and progress?

But that’s not true, she thought, as if to refute the idea and confirm the truth to herself, I know they care very much for me and my brothers.

It was an unfortunate incident that afternoon that brought about that type of morbid silence not common with her family. She then turned to her mother and said, Mom, please promise that you’ll read that book tonight.

I promise, I will.

Seraya was a sprightly young woman. In no time