meant nothing to Uridiya. If America were nearer, maybe her voice would reach there. When Jamike was a youngster she would call him at the top of her voice if he went to a faraway bush to cut firewood, or even to the stream deep in the valley to fetch water, and failed to return when she expected him. Uridiya would walk up and down along the village dirt road and narrow paths, stretching her voice to call Jamike while passersby would wonder if she was sane. In those instances, she would tell them, “I am calling my only seed from God, and I am not calling him with your voice. You have to bear with me; you know the elders said that if a blind person fails to pick the Udala that he felt with his foot, how could he be sure he would stumble on another.”
Seven
Jamike woke suddenly from a bizarre dream that gave him a slight headache. It was three o’clock in the morning, and New York was seven hours away. He rubbed his eyes and took a look at his watch. If he were at home, he thought, he would have slept for six hours or more. He knew villagers were accustomed to going to bed early. There wasn’t much to do after supper. On a moonless night there would be utter darkness and dead silence. Occasionally the silence was disturbed by the periodic cry of a night owl or the echo of the sound of mournful music coming from a faraway village, indicating the beginning of the ritual mourning of the death of an elder of the clan.
Jamike’s thoughts of the village wandered farther. He remembered how a villager once disturbed the peace of the night in search of a goat that broke loose and did not come in for the night. The old man hit his gong hard repeatedly―kom, kom, kom, kom―telling the story of the missing domestic animal along the village road to the entire neighborhood. Jamike recollected him saying, “I am searching for a black goat. Has anyone seen a black he-goat? He left my compound this evening. The goat has a white mark on the right hind leg. I know he is in this neighborhood. If you are keeping him, set him free. Be informed that the goat in question is a sacrifice to the god of thunder. If he is not released, whoever keeps him will suffer the vengeance that the god will visit on their family.” The old man would move about a hundred feet at a time, hit his gong once more, and repeat the same message.
People who had been awakened by the persistent sound of the gong would chuckle in their squeaky bamboo beds and wonder how anyone could be so foolish to think they would succeed in seeing a black goat in the dark. Whoever thought so would go against the wisdom of the elders who advised that “one should start to look for a missing black goat when it is still daylight.”
Jamike drifted back to sleep, and it seemed that he soon got into deep slumber, because he began to snore. When he woke again it was because the woman in the window seat needed to go to the bathroom, and he had to get up for her. Her escort was standing in the aisle. While she was gone for what seemed like a long time Jamike dozed off. When she returned, her escort tapped Jamike, who stood for her to get to her seat. Jamike went back to sleep, this time for a long period, only to be awakened by the stewardess who distributed United States immigration and customs forms. Soon the captain announced that they were beginning their approach to New York.
Shortly after, through the aircraft window, Jamike beheld the dazzling Manhattan skyline. It was six o’clock in the morning. Lights high and low, multicolored, brilliant in their clusters in varying geometric patterns shone everywhere. Jamike could feel that the aircraft was beginning to lose height, descending lower and lower to land at Kennedy International Airport in New York. This couldn’t be true, he thought, because this whole American episode had seemed to him like one big dream that could dissolve any time. Suddenly his head became heavy, as if it was going to burst. The pressure in his ears became painful with a roaring sound. He shook his head sideways a couple of times to get relief but none came. He endured the discomfiture until he stepped into the immigration hall, when his ear canals opened with a rush of air and he heard meaningful sound. He shook his head one more time to ensure he was okay.
Pan American Airways Flight 114 had a smooth landing at Kennedy International Airport. While passengers were in the aisle waiting to disembark, Jamike was still seated. Now and then he would bend down in a way that seemed as if he was either picking up or searching for something. He was attempting unsuccessfully to get his swollen feet back into his shoes. Shortly after the aircraft was airborne in Lagos, he had removed his shoes, which were a little tight on him because he had bought them only a few days earlier and had not broken them in. After over ten hours of sitting in one place, he could not put the shoes back on.
To quickly join the queue that had progressed toward the exit door, Jamike forced his feet into the shoes and squashed the back of each shoe thus turning it into an improvised slip-on.
The awkwardness of the shoes caused him to shuffle along the aisle. After a few steps, the shoes would slip off slightly, and he would stop to push his feet into them. Coming all the way from seat number 32B where he was, with a stop-and-go movement, a couple of flight attendants and the cockpit crew waited patiently for their last passenger. Once at the door, the crewmembers bid him good-bye almost simultaneously.
By the time he joined the queue at the immigration line, Jamike was at the tail end of one of many lines for non-immigrant aliens. But because there were over twelve immigration officials in attendance, the lines moved quickly. He walked along carefully, and no one noticed he had any difficulty with his shoes. The official beckoned on him.
The immigration officer took a look at Jamike’s passport, gave a quick glance at his face, and in a mechanical fashion leafed through a hefty reference book, in search of what Jamike did not know. That done, he opened the sealed envelope Jamike had received from the United States Embassy in Lagos. In this envelope was the very important Form I-20, which stated his eligibility for admission to college and gave other pertinent information supplied by the college to show that he could enter the United States as a student. The officer examined this document with cynical interest and said to him, “You are going to Regius State College?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Jamike with some apprehension. The official asked the question as if he knew where the college was. He quickly stamped his papers, including his passport, with the speed and dexterity of a postal clerk. Handing them over to him, he wished Jamike well. “Good Luck,” he said, as he motioned the next passenger to approach his desk.
After he collected his luggage, a customs official directed Jamike to an inspector who rummaged through his suitcase, which contained few belongings, and allowed him to go. As he approached the huge exit door and before he could reach to push it open, it swung open automatically. As he walked out, he looked back at the heavy iron door that he did not have to push open and saw that it had closed itself rapidly. No question about it, he was in America, the home of wonders, he thought. He remembered the itinerant magicians that came to perform for students when he was in the primary school. He again recalled their chant:
Come and see America wonder
Come and see America wonder
Come and see America wonder
It was after he came through immigration that Jamike was truly in America. He beheld a spectacle that would forever remain indelible in his memory. There were so many people moving in every direction. They were coming and going, some were embracing and kissing, some huddled around their loved ones just arrived, some hustled, trying to sell some items to anyone who gave them attention. There were those pushing carts loaded high with suitcases to the taxi stand. Jamike wondered what those with these huge suitcases could be bringing to America, where it was said one could get everything in the world. So overtaken by the vastness of all he saw, he almost forgot he had to find his way to the Allegheny terminal in order to catch his flight to Franklintown, Pennsylvania, where Mr. Laski would pick him up. Franklintown was an hour’s drive from Regius.
It was eight o’clock in the morning. The next Allegheny flight to Franklintown was not until 4:00 P.M. Jamike had time to wander around and feast his eyes on curiosities. With his suitcase in hand, he stood and watched every moving or stationary object around him. He saw a limousine outside and couldn’t believe a car could be that long. He wondered how the car would turn corners. He moved closer to peep into it, but instead saw his own reflection. The windows on the passenger sides were tinted dark, and he wondered