We were drinking Vodka in Ugo’s room after we came back from the grocery shop. Volodya had joined us and had brought along some tomatoes and a large piece of sausage, which he called a "Kalbassa". And which he said was to prevent us from getting drunk quicky. He was now sitting across the table from me and trying to teach Ugo and Eddy some Russian swear words.
I was feeling a bit excited and it had nothing to do with the Vodka. I still had my glass of Vodka on the table where i left it after having taken a sip and found the taste to be quite unpleasant. I was feeling excited because of the idea that was playing in my mind; I have made up my mind that I will push myself to do something impressive for the Nigerian Independence Day party since I will be inviting Adelaide to come. I need to do something that will make her have a high impression of me and I have decided I am going to translate the old Nigerian anthem into Russian using the English-Russian dictionary that Sergei Nikolaivitch gave us. I will ask Volodya to help me with the translation and then I will recite it without any prompting at the party.
I know that it seems like a very difficult task, but I can pull this off. You see, books are my friends. It has always been that way since I found a way through them to escape into the beautiful world of make-believe. It is they who have always been there to rescue me when I have nothing else to turn to. They have given me advice on what to do and protect me from a world where otherwise I feel so insecure and lonely…
Everybody except my father knew that my step-mother was a wicked woman. It was a known secret in the yard that she was the one who called the shots in our home from the very start. And people would whisper that she has used witchcraft on my father, which empowered her to run the household the way she deemed fit. And this was usually to my detriment because as far as she was concerned I was an unwelcome presence in the home. And she never failed to let me know that left to her she would give me away as a houseboy in somebody else’s home, if not for the fact that she is a “kind woman”.
She was so "kind" that she would feed me stale food and say that there is no money in the house to buy enough to go round seeing that her own children are still growing and that they are the ones who needs to eat the scarse fresh food. She was "kind" enough not to whip me every single day in spite of my "stupidity". And she had the "kind" knack of changing her definitions of right and wrong;I was always wrong while her children were always right.
And it was during those days of her "kindness" that I discovered the power of story books. I was about 9years old when I fell in love with the Lamb’s tales from Shakespeare and then stumbled on to others; books that were able to transport me to worlds where I was able to drop my sorrows behind and become whatsoever or whomsoever I so wanted to be. And the more my step-mother told me that I was an abandoned child who nobody loves, the more I found salvation in my books. And then I discovered the pride from excelling in my school work and the accompanying look of respect that other students would give me whenever I was called out year after year in front of the whole school to recieve my prize as the best overall student. This was something which nobody, not even my step-mother, could ever take away from me.
Books; they give me meaning and allow me to draw strength when I am low. They enable me to experience power when I feel weak and they give me the tools with which I can hold up my head anywhere, even in the company of those who would otherwise look down on me. Books are magical and the potency of their magic is all so pervading, except for the fact that the magic always seems to dissipate into thin air whenever I am in the presence of my father…
But books are my friends and I will turn once again to the magic within their pages in order to capture the heart of the lovely Adelaide.
“This Russo boy wan finish dis Vodka!” Eddy was complaining as Volodya took his third successive quaff.
Volodya started laughing “You people drink Vodka like Djeshina!” he said “Real men drink Vodka like zis!” he said quaffing yet another glass and then laughing.
“Volodya” I said after convincing myself that this is the way to go."I will need your help to translate something into Russian. I’ll get you the rough draft before the weekend and have you look at it. If that’s okay with you”
“Nyet problema!” he stated.
No problem but i still need to think of a way to invite her to the party, I was thinking as i reached for my glass of Vodka.
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