A LETTER FROM HOME

My dearest son,

How are you doing? I hope fine. Your mother and I are doing ok, at least, we are still breathing. My walking-stick is no longer a remedy to my persistent waist-pains and rheumatism has become a permanent resident in your mother's body.
It has taken so long since we heard from you and we have been wondering what has gone wrong, because it is unlike you. We are even afraid not to recognize you again as the last picture you sent us is dated back to about 10 years, and your mother hardly sleep without taking a glimpse at it, every blessed night.
We are quite aware of the hardship in Italy but never immagined it as severe as to completely wipe us away from your mind. Our bad wishers have already started rejoicing, waiting for our last breath in order to forcefully take possession of our belongings and subsequently delete our surname from any further existence in this village. We are praying to God and hoping it will never happen, with your help.
My dear son, never make the mistake of trying to get "enough" to impress us or any other person, we will be contented to know that you are healthy and trying your best. Other good things will surely come your way, some day.
The second wife we found for you has decided to look for another husband, as the first one did. We owe them no blame. It does not matter to us anymore the origin of your wife, as long as you both will give us the long awaited grandchildren, and give you the freedom to know that you still have a home, this house.
Last christmas, Uche and Obi, your childhood friends, visited home from the USA and Britain respectively. They have both completed their buildings in the village and also bought many lands. They asked me if I had one to sell to them. The little wisdom I still possess helped me to bear their arrogance and insolence. It is nothing considered to the mockery attacks we have received so far from the villagers because of you, but that day, your mother cried bitterly.
For security purposes, we often go to sleep inside the church, but we were also attacked there by the bandits. The priest was mercilessly beaten up for the protection he gives to the villagers.
As the political elections approaches, all we hear is candidates "eliminating" candidates by all means, salaries not paid and public funds diverted for personal campaigns. A lot of people are afraid of what will be the outcome of the elections.
Well, my dear son, as everyday that passes brings us much nearer to our graves, your mother and I are still praying and hoping to live long enough to embrace you again, some day. But if you come after our Lord's call, we would like you to know that we had always loved you and not annoyed with you. Because we know quite well that if you ever had the minimum possibility, you wouldn't have denied us the little felicity that we had always desired.
May God almighty and our gods continue to bless and protect you!

Your dear father,



Blessing Sunday Osuchukwu