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In thirteen years, the experiences recorded by a human brain would hardly fit into a one terabyte computer disk space. I had some such experiences that would virtually corrupt the disk altogether and Uncle Jimi had unwittingly brought up some of those memories by noticing and mentioning my wristwatch earlier. Some months back I had met this lovely beauty who spent the weekend with us at home, it was she who gave me the wristwatch that Uncle Jimi had taken so much interest in and she formed a major part of the infected part of my disk space.
Since we came back into papa’s office, Uncle Jimi and papa had been at papa’s table discussing about the possibility of analyzing some scientific data, picking out details of some geographic locations from Uncle Jimi’s paper which was some kind of map. They seemed to be in no haste but were quite engulfed by the work and its importance. Occasionally, I was called upon to bring a red marker, blue marker or pencil close to me. They both sat on chairs facing the large 32” screen monitor of papa’s desktop computer and seemed to sometimes speak to someone else in the room and on such occasions, I stopped to stare at them but could obviously not see anyone else in the room, neither were they on the phone. The only anomaly I noticed was a small red light from papa’s computer which blinked periodically, some kind of recording or notification light. I continued reading my novel until I was called again to get an office pin. I got the pin and wheeled round the table to get a glimpse of what could be on the computer but still the old man’s figure stood between me and the screen. Curiosity had quite gotten the better of me but I was now sure there was something papa was watching with Uncle Jimi on the computer. I supplied the pin and made my way back to my seat from where I noticed a little red button blinking in papa’s right ear. I instinctively trained my eyes to Uncle Jimi’s right ear, the only other ear visible to me in the room and I could see the same red light blinking. A small dot. Now I ‘m convinced there was some communication going on in the room and it was really sophisticated so I courageously slipped to papa’s side. It was a meeting going on in a large conference room and the attendees were almost all dressed in traditional Yoruba attire. Some looked like security aides and there was a man at the head of the table who seemed to be the one in charge. Obviously papa and Uncle Jimi were listening in on this conversation or were even a part of the meeting. It showed a date and time on the top right hand corner of the screen which somehow reminded me of the Canon camcorder I had used the previous year on a trip to Disneyland, it displayed the date and time of recordings in such great detail that you could almost miss the recording itself. I knew however that this meeting was going on at the moment. The time was 4:26pm and the meeting had been on for over an hour. I watched as the men listened intently, wondering what they were on to. The listening, marking and writing continued for an extra hour.
Then, at 6:00pm, papa suggested we went out and get some food before we came back to continue our work. At this, I was alarmed and I immediately asked when we’ll be going home. At this question, Uncle Jimi and papa stopped and stared at me for about a quarter of a minute, after which papa carefully explained to me that we were not returning home for the night because he had some business to finish up in the office at night and he needed my help to be able to finish up this business of the night. As we walked into the cafeteria of the nearby Premier hotel for our dinner and some food to take back to the University for the night, I kept wondering what this business of the night could be. Papa treated me to a rich meal of hot amala and fish-endowed ewedu soup with a huge chunk of meat while Uncle Jimi preferred a plate of fish peppersoup and a bottle of maltina. Light food he said was good for a night that will be spent without sleep. In the middle of my meal, I noticed a waiter who walked by pushing a trolley load of kitchen utensils, he had on a shirt on which was written “1 Thessalonians 5:6-7; so be on your guard, not asleep like the others, night is the time when people sleep and drinkers get drunk”.
Just at the end of our meal, papa stood up and strolled to the opposite end of the hotel lobby which housed the cafeteria and while we sat waiting for him, Uncle Jimi looked at me and said, “just think of yourself as a knight and do what’s best to save this country, what we do is what I call a knight’s job, protect the land and all good things about it with our actions and our stories. In later years, when you tell your story, it will be told as a hero. We griots are story tellers and we are the heroes whose stories keep the people, the land and its culture for generations. Our time may end tonight and yours will begin but just know that whatever happens, we will be amongst this land’s heroes”.
Papa seemed to be admiring a flower in a pot but I knew he was answering a telephone call on his mobile phone. After about six minutes, he came back and announced that we will be joined at the University by a friend and colleague, Dr Osho Agbabiaka.
I kept wondering at the waiter with the inscription and this sudden news about being joined by a doctor. It made no sense but I felt some sort of excitement.
PART TWO
A TALE OF KNIGHT’S