It was December 17th, 1965 when we got married. He had courted me for two good years before then. We met at a political rally in university. I was in my final year and Tade had graduated from school two years back. For me, maybe it was because I had nothing to do, that's why I attended. But my Tade was a forceful man and he attended the rally because he had a passion for things meant for people with strong convictions.
It was Student Union week and during this period, politics ruled the day. People campaigned for seats in the Student Union Government. It was always a tense period then because political rallies or campaigns were always disrupted by opponents. I had decided to show up for this political rally because the contestant, Comr. Wale was from my department and he had pleaded with all of us to turn up on his behalf. Meanwhile, Tade had come for the rally because he was the political godfather of Wale. Tade was popularly known amongst students of the school. He had led the first successful peaceful protest in the school and had gotten the school authorities to meet the demands of the students. He was also one of the most charismatic SUG President the school had ever voted in. I had known Tade by word of mouth but had never seen him physically until that day.
During the rally, Tade had been invited to speak to the gathered students on behalf of Wale. His voice was husky and full of confidence as he spoke.
“Dear Students of this great institution, I salute you.” His speech was disrupted by the cheers that emanated from the students. Finally, there was quiet and he continued, “I commend you for showing up for our candidate, Comrade Wale. We all know that this university needs a man who can bring about good change in the environment and has your interests at heart. This university needs someone who is willing to listen to you and make sure your demands are met. Who is that someone?” He boomed into the microphone.
The crowd went wild as they screamed, “Comrade Wale.”
“Who is the man?” He yelled again.
“Comrade Wale!!!” I didn't know when I got carried away by the wild excitement that had erupted in the crowd. I didn't know when I started screaming, “Comrade Wale!!!” That was how my Tade was. He incited excitement and passion.
After the rally, I went to seek Tade out. It was hard to get an audience with him due to the crowd teeming around him. But, I finally made my way to him. When he turned to face me, I was sweating but beaming at him. Tade was handsome up close and he made me weak in the knees.
“Hi, I loved your speech up there. You got the crowd excited. I was excited too. I hope Wale wins.” I said in a rush. He took me in, with his twinkling eyes. Then, he smiled back at me.
“What's your name?” He asked as he led me gently away from the crowd.
“I'm Tomi.” I replied breathlessly.
“I'm Tade.” He stretched out his hand.
“I know.” I replied and took his hand in mine. That was where our love story began.
I tell the story of our first meeting because it is an example of how passionate and willful my Tade was. He demanded, and when he demanded, he got. He was blindly passionate for things he had convictions in. It included me. When we fought or argued, Tade never let me go. He would come back again and seek me out and apologize even on the days he wasn't wrong. Tade was the great love of my life. So when he proposed to me one quiet evening, I said YES. There was no other answer for me.
Amidst the political tensions and rife that was broiling underneath the country, we got married. We found happiness and joy in each other and I believed we would keep choosing each other over and over again. I was three months pregnant when news and rumors started flying about that the Igbos wanted to split away from Nigeria. I couldn't understand it then. I never really understood the nitty-gritty of it. But I watched some of our Igbo neighbors, close shop and pack away to the Eastern states. When I asked one of the Igbo women where she was moving to, she said, “I am going back to Biafra, my home country.” The smile she threw at me then was one full of hope and bliss for her new country.
I hurried on home and met Tade flipping through the newspapers and occasionally glancing at the TV where the news was being broadcast.
“This people don't know what they are doing. Why would they want to divide Nigeria?” Tade said to me as I pulled a chair and sat across from him.
“i don't know too. I just saw Mama Ikenna. She said she was moving back to Biafra, her home country.” I replied.
“Can you imagine? They must be joking. The military president will not stand for this.”
“I just pray it doesn't come to war.”, was my response.
It seemed like my prayer was not heard. Dare was just two months old when Nigeria announced the war against Biafra. They were not going to allow the division of Nigeria. At that time, I think Nigeria wasn't concerned about the Igbo people but more about the mineral resources and crude oil the Igbo people would dominate if they were allowed to split away. That night, Tade came back from work with a sort of rabid excitement on his face.
“Nigeria is going to war. The Biafran government cannot face Nigeria. They must come back and Nigeria must be one.” He said, as he lifted Dare from my arms and spun him around.
“Do you think war is the solution to this?” I asked sadly, as I remembered my Igbo friends who had called to tell me that they did not feel safe anymore and were returning back to their hometowns.
“What else do you think? They have tried lots of peace meetings and it is not working. Violence is necessary to bring peace and order.” He countered. I looked at him as he said this. Then he sat down beside me, placing Dare in the crook of his arm. He took my hand in his other one.
“I have something to tell you, Tomi.” I looked into his twinkling eyes and he didn't need to say it before I knew.
“No, Tade. You are not enlisting. I won't stand for it.” I snatched my hands from his. I stood up and paced round the living room.
“Please, Tomi. You know this is what I stand for. I'm passionate about Nigeria. Some of my co-workers are also enlisting. I can’t be left to sit here while Nigeria goes to war.” That was Tade’s kryptonite. His ego. His passion.
“Must you fight? You have a son who has barely gotten to know you. You have me. And suddenly, you want to run off to war to throw sticks and shells at other men? For what purpose? Tell me.” I yelled.
“To bring peace. I want my son to grow up in a united country. I am not made for sitting around and twiddling my thumbs. I am made to fight.”
“Well, wives and kids are not made for being alone while their husbands and fathers run off to war. What if you never return?” I argued.
“I will.” He placed Dare gently on the couch and walked towards me. He held my face in his hands and stared deeply into my eyes. “The war isn't going to be for long. Three months highest and it is over. I will return.” He pulled me into his arms and held me there. This time, I knew I had lost Tade to his passion. But what I didn't know was that Tade was a liar.
The war lasted for two years and some months. During that period, I saw the despicable comsequences of war. I saw the photos of malnourished children roaming the streets. I saw news relaying number of deaths. I saw picture of buildings shelled and collapsed. I saw war destroy and destroy. I received infrequent mails from Tade telling me about his wellbeing and how the war was going. I watched changes take place in the letter. Tade was no longer passionate about uniting Nigeria. He sounded like a man on the verge of being broken. He was tired of the war and the mindless deaths. He wished he had not enlisted. He wished Nigeria had not gome to war. He wished he had stayed with us. He wished. He wished. He wished.
The mails stopped coming and I felt this impalpable fear overwhelm me. I prayed to God and cried so hard that my fear would not take to reality. But when I heard the knock of doom on our door that fateful day, I knew. My Tade was gone. Here and suddenly not here. He was dead. His passion had killed him.
