Recently, a young lady from Ugeb, Cross River State, finished her one year of national youth service [NYSC] and returned to her village. She began marching, from the point where she came out of the vehicle that had brought her, to the front door of the thatched house where her aged father was sitting, waiting. He rose, full height, to receive his daughter. She gave a salute, removed the top of her khaki uniform, draped it over her father’s shoulders, then hugged him lovingly. She had the foresight to post the encounter online and the video immediately went viral. Unknown to her, some VIP saw the clip and took action.
The VIP is the governor of neighbouring Always Ibom state, Mr. Uno Eno. And the action he took was he instructed a three-bedroom apartment be built for the girl’s father. Why he did what he did, according to him, was he considered it his contribution to the girl child’s education. The governor said he was impressed by a father’s courage to send his daughter to school over and above building a fine house for himself. He defied culture and tradition that define a girl’s position in society as below that of a boy. A girl grows up and gets married one day, it is reasoned. Off she goes to start a family with a man from only God knows where. It is the son that carries on the family name. Better to educate him than a girl.
I am a beneficiary of that warped reasoning and my immediate younger sister the victim or loser. To be fair to my old father then, he was interested in sending both of us to school when the missionaries finished the primary school they were building and with a register and biro in hand, they went knocking door to door, wanting to register pupils for the new school. My father, as I said, wanted my sister and I to start together but wish was one thing and the means another. His pocket couldn’t support two of us at once. So a choice had to be made and ‘naturally’ I was put forward and my sister pushed back. In my class of 12 pupils, there were 9 boys and 3 girls who managed to get in only because they hadn’t brothers.
I barely completed my primary education because my old man was cash strapped. I was always in and out of school. As I was being groomed to become “somebody tomorrow”, my sister was being ‘trained’ to become someone’s wife. I managed to secure admission to a government secondary where I spent five years. Thereafter, I entered the university and did another four years, followed by the the NYSC. In my final university year, I was told my sister had been married off and taken to Maiduguri where her new husband was working. I visited her and was shown a structure that they called a house. What I saw that hot, black night was a low thing, made of brown iron sheets hung together with a narrow opening for a door. The heat was sweltering and huge flies flew noisily around and above us. My sister jumped at me, surprised and happy to see “my big brother” after many years of separation. It was impossible for me to stay the night. Instead, I left with my cousin who was an undergrad in the university in the town. The following morning I returned and told them I was leaving town the the next day.
On my way out of town, my head ached with a burning sense of indebtedness to a dear sister who had had to pay a huge price for my comfort today. We are both in our 60s, married with children of our own. She and her husband have returned to the village no better off than when I last saw them in Maiduguri. What more, she is half blind and uses a walkstick. I have been sending what financial support I can afford from my retirement benefit. Still, that sense of guilt hasn’t slackened its grip on my conscience. Each time I see her, with prints of privation all over her body, I feel the grip tighten. One good thing though: I’ve thrown my weight [not that it is much] behind the girl child education lobby. With four of my five children girls, do I have any choice?
