Things Fall Apart - Chinua Achebe [44]
Okonkwo shook his head.
“He does not know that either,” said Uchendu, “and yet he is full of sorrow because he has come to live in his motherland for a few years.” He laughed a mirthless laughter, and turned to his sons and daughters. “What about you? Can you answer my question?”
They all shook their heads.
“Then listen to me,” he said and cleared his throat. “It’s true that a child belongs to its father. But when a father beats his child, it seeks sympathy in its mother’s hut. A man belongs to his fatherland when things are good and life is sweet. But when there is sorrow and bitterness he finds refuge in his motherland. Your mother is there to protect you. She is buried there. And that is why we say that mother is supreme. Is it right that you, Okonkwo, should bring to your mother a heavy face and refuse to be comforted? Be careful or you may displease the dead. Your duty is to comfort your wives and children and take them back to your fatherland after seven years. But if you allow sorrow to weigh you down and kill you, they will all die in exile.” He paused for a long while. “These are now your kinsmen.” He waved at his sons and daughters. “You think you are the greatest sufferer in the world? Do you know that men are sometimes banished for life? Do you know that men sometimes lose all their yams and even their children? I had six wives once. I have none now except that young girl who knows not her right from her left. Do you know how many children I have buried—children I begot in my youth and strength? Twenty-two. I did not hang myself, and I am still alive. If you think you are the greatest sufferer in the world ask my daughter, Akueni, how many twins she has borne and thrown away. Have you not heard the song they sing when a woman dies?
“‘For whom is it well, for whom is it well?
There is no one for whom it is well.’
“I have no more to say to you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was in the second year of Okonkwo’s exile that his friend, Obierika, came to visit him. He brought with him two young men, each of them carrying a heavy bag on his head. Okonkwo helped them put down their loads. It was clear that the bags were full of cowries.
Okonkwo was very happy to receive his friend. His wives and children were very happy too, and so were his cousins and their wives when he sent for them and told them who his guest was.
“You must take him to salute our father,” said one of the cousins.
“Yes,” replied Okonkwo. “We are going directly.” But before they went he whispered something to his first wife. She nodded, and soon the children were chasing one of their cocks.
Uchendu had been told by one of his grandchildren that three strangers had come to Okonkwo’s house. He was therefore waiting to receive them. He held out his hands to them when they came into his obi, and after they had shaken hands he asked Okonkwo who they were.
“This is Obierika, my great friend. I have already spoken to you about him.”
“Yes,” said the old man, turning to Obierika. “My son has told me about you, and I am happy you have come to see us. I knew your father, Iweka. He was a great man. He had many friends here and came to see them quite often. Those were good days when a man had friends in distant clans. Your generation does not know that. You stay at home, afraid of your next-door neighbor. Even a man’s motherland is strange to him nowadays.” He looked at Okonkwo. “I am an old man and I like to talk. That is all I am good for now.” He got up painfully, went into an inner room and came back with a kola nut.
“Who are the young men with you?” he asked as he sat down again on his goatskin. Okonkwo told him.
“Ah,” he said. “Welcome, my sons.” He presented the kola nut to them, and when they had seen it and thanked him, he broke it and they ate.
“Go into that room,” he said to Okonkwo, pointing with his finger. “You will find a pot of wine there.”
Okonkwo brought the wine and they began to drink. It was a day old, and very strong.
“Yes,” said Uchendu after a