Read Online No Longer at Ease by Chinua Achebe - Free Book Online Page A

children of her married daughters lay on the mat by her stool. She could read, but she never took part in the family reading. She merely listened to her husband and children. It had always been like that as far as the children could remember. She was a very devout woman, but Obi used to wonder whether, left to herself, she would not have preferred telling her children the folk stories that her mother had told her. In fact, she used to tell her eldest daughters stories. But that was before Obi was born. She stopped because her husband forbade her to do so.
    “We are not heathens,” he had said. “Stories like that are not for the people of the Church.”
    And Hannah had stopped telling her children folk stories. She was loyal to her husband and to her new faith. Her mother had joined the Church with her children after her husband’s death. Hannah had already grown up when they ceased to be “people of nothing” and joined the “people of the Church.” Such was the confidence of the early Christians that they called the others “the people of nothing” or sometimes, when they felt more charitable, “the people of the world.”
    Isaac Okonkwo was not merely a Christian; he was a catechist. In their first years of married life he made Hannah see the grave responsibility she carried as a catechist’s wife.And as soon as she knew what was expected of her she did it, sometimes showing more zeal than even her husband. She taught her children not to accept food in neighbors’ houses because she said they offered their food to idols. That fact alone set her children apart from all others for, among the Ibo, children were free to eat where they liked. One day a neighbor offered a piece of yam to Obi, who was then four years old. He shook his head like his older and wiser sisters, and then said: “We don’t eat heathen food.” His sister Janet tried too late to cover his mouth with her hand.
    But there were occasional setbacks in this crusade. A year or two later when Obi had begun to go to school, such a setback did take place. There was one lesson which he loved and feared. It was called “Oral.” During this period the teacher called on any pupil to tell the class a folk story. Obi loved these stories but he knew none which he could tell. One day the teacher called on him to face the class and tell them a story. As he came out and stood before them he trembled.
    “ Olulu ofu oge ,” he began in the tradition of folk tales, but that was all he knew. His lips quivered but no other sounds came out. The class burst into derisive laughter, and tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks as he went back to his place.
    As soon as he got home he told his mother about it. She told him to be patient until his father went to the evening prayer meeting.
    Some weeks later Obi was called up again. He faced the class boldly and told one of the new stories his mother hadtold him. He even added a little touch to the end which made everyone laugh. It was the story of the wicked leopardess who wanted to eat the young lambs of his old friend the sheep. She went to the sheep’s hut when she knew she had gone to market and began to search for the young lambs. She did not know that their mother had hidden them inside some of the palm-kernels lying around. At last she gave up the search and brought two stones to crack some of the kernels and eat before going, because she was very, very hungry. As soon as she cracked the first, the nut flew into the bush. She was amazed. The second also flew into the bush. And the third and eldest not only flew into the bush but, in Obi’s version, slapped the leopardess in the eyes before doing so.
    “You say you have only four days to stay with us?”
    “Yes,” said Obi. “But I will do my best to come again within a year. I must be in Lagos to see about getting a job.”
    “Yes,” said his father slowly. “A job is the first thing. A person who has not secured a place on the floor should