Evolution

            He shouted “David” as soon as he saw me come out of the car in the summer of 2013. He was my Dad’s closest brother and I wanted to spend my vacation with his family. They grew up together and attended the same school till college when they parted ways. Nature brought them back together when they were both assigned to the same station for their first real job. Not to say they had not been involved in any meaningful labor in the past, this was the first job that promised them the bright future they hoped for. My Uncle told me how much I’ve grown to look like my dad. If there was anyone to describe dad better, it was him. He had spent the longest time with him on earth. Dad would tell me a lot of interesting stories about their childhood even when Ii was barely four years old. He would tell me about their accomplishments on the soccer field and how they used to compete each other to see who did better at the end of every school year.  For a moment I was really surprised he could forget my name so quickly. He kept on calling me David for the rest of the day on my first day of vacation in his house.  

                       David is my dad  and he is no longer on the land of the living, but everyone who sets eyes on me now believe he didn’t die. Some think he is returning from a long vacation while others begin to ponder on the concept of reincarnation. We had great moments during the six  years we spent together and one of the most important things he thought me at an early age was the power of friendship and our responsibility to keep it safe. I remember holding hands with him and taking a long walk down the road. He told me stories and treated me like an adult. He always taught me deep secrets about life as though he knew he was nearing the end of his days. We took many steps together and maybe that was how I learnt to walk like him. Yes I walk like him. I talk like him.  I look like him and last time my mother confirmed  I write like him. We are just alike and maybe it could truly be the same person.

                       On the dinner table Uncle told me about almost everything I had heard when Daddy was alive and almost everything was the same. He told me things from how they nearly died in a car crash on a trip to Nigeria to how they almost won a national lottery. Either way, it was clear to me that they needed a little bit more luck during their youthful days;the luck that could have saved his brother from death’s feisty hands. Dinner was done and I continued my history class outside the house sitting under a shed where he sat with dad the very first day he moved into the house. It was nice to talk about him, but the darkness of the night and my constant imagination of the usual walk down the road with dad made me scared. He knew I was, but at that point it was clear he had needed someone all these years just to use the magic in storytelling to reunite with his brother. It was more of a petrifying night than one which was intended to reveal so much about the man i missed so much in my life. Moreso, most of the things he said i had already heard them.

                               Although I don’t remember vividly the stories dad told me because I was young, the images were imprinted in my brain and it will never fade away. I remember one day when we walking down the road on one of our numerous expeditions, dad told me about how they both nearly acquired a visa to travel to the United States. They worked for the entire time of their vacation and gathered a significant amount of money only to be dubbed by a visa connection man. I burst into laughter as dad told me. It seemed like one of the lowest points in his life considering their eagerness to travel to the United States for a better life. He squeezed my hand so hard that I stopped laughing and this was how I knew I had crossed the line. That instance always echoes in my heart even though he lived a life well deserved, he couldn’t accomplish some of his dreams and that is what makes my heart burn at the same time. Another of those accomplishments would have been a grand marriage blessing with my mom when my siblings and I were much older.

                                It was early December and Christmas was approaching. We went on one of our usual expeditions and this time around the story was about how he and my mom met. It was the summer of 1990 and they were both on vacation in Accra, Ghana. Before , he had admired mom from afar but didn’t have the impetus to approach her. He began attending random events with the hope she showed up. After a few unsuccessful spells, he acquired the services of a friend from one of his friends who was also friends with mom. The introduction was done and the rest is history. He told me how sparkling she was and how his friends envied him. She was beautiful, eloquent and confident. I began to realize the soft heart he had as he told me this story. I also learnt a moral that has guided me till this vacation trip.

                                 He realized the sudden discomfort in my demeanor and instantly offered to change location. It was now the turn of the fig tree beside his porch where he used to stand with dad to play darts. For most part of our time under the tree my mind wandered as he continued to tell the stories. His passion and the intensity of the story increased every second. After about thirty minutes of incessant stories,  it was time to retire to bed and he gave me a big hug as though I was my dad. It took me a while to come to terms with it, but when it eventually did, I didn’t want to let that feeling go. It’s the feeling of being the exact representation of dad, taking over from where he left off, the feeling of a great opportunity to step into the shoes of such a great man. My father and I are one.