HAPPY NEW YEAR

Since it was a new year's eve, I  thought it the perfect time to conclude my findings on Nigerian literature.

 

 'This is it! Rubbish! Nigerian literature is dead!'. I muttered beneath my breath as I scanned through the last paragraph of a prose that had won a prestigious writers award a week earlier.

 

Most people are of the opinion that the worst that could happen to any living being was death but the turn of event has taught me that the death of hope supersedes any other form of demise.

For six months straight, I've been rummaging through stories especially those by renowned Nigerian authors and also those stories that had garnered lots of reviews. It was only now that I understood truly the saying that not all that glitters is gold. None out of the thousand-plus stories I read could quench my thirst for uniqueness in the skill of writing.

 

There was no doubting the fact that Nigerian authors now lacked creativity, their stories had over time become more or less redundant; recycling told stories in different words. I only realised how loudly I've been speaking to myself when I lifted my head to close to a hundred staring eyes scattered in the three hundred capacity multi-purpose University of Nigeria library. I forced myself mute, allowing the accumulated anger swell in me.

Part of me pushed me to the bookshelves to try another story but NO! My robe of patience was too soiled and reeked of hopelessness, I had to pull it off. I slammed the book I held on the table, ignoring the wild angry comments and suppressed curses its sound attracted. I got up, packed my belongings from the library table and dragged my feet through the aisle that led to the door. I was determined to infuse some of my anger into the innocent readers and gladly, my action yielded tremendous level of success. I felt every single eye in the building follow me as I dragged to the door.

I was about to open the door when a Librarian called my attention. I stared him down from head to toe but those grey hair was too strong a force-pull to be ignored.

 

'What on earth has reduced you into such a low-life behaviour'? He rebuked.

 

Those words was like a spark that immediately brought life back to my numb spirit. I couldn't resist such an open invitation to pour out my heart to him. When I was done, he sighed and flung his head in pity. Even though I wasn't looking, I had a feeling most of the readers were eavesdropping on our conversation because the hall went grave silent. 'I think I have what you have been looking for' he whispered. My eyes shone with all eagerness at the revelation.

 

'If such a book ever existed, how come I never heard of it or saw a review on it'? I asked in quick succession.

 

I watched the librarian's eyes dampen with tears and his head drop after my question. I acted wisely by maintaining the silence to enable him sort out whatever the problem was. After few minutes, he inhaled deeply, placed his right hand on my shoulder and said;

'Two scores and a decade ago, a young lad found passion in writing. He wrote for his school magazines, classroom notice boards and close pals and they all appreciated his work. A day came when he had an inner conviction to do something bigger. It was challenging but after three years, he came up with a book. He sent the book to several publishers but each time, it was returned with a letter of excuse regards to why they couldn't publish it. A friend advised him to get few big names in the field of writing to write forwards on the book, that way, no publisher would resist the offer. This young lad embarked on a search and to his astonishment, most of the award winning authors demanded for money in return for a forward. Out of frustration he designed a cover, glued together the 365 pages to produce a story book and hid it in a library, hoping one day, the book will get the exact recommendation it truly deserves'.

 

He told me to wait while he fetch the book. I stood there like a statue gaping in awe. Five minutes later, he resurfaced with a dust laden book and stretched it out for me to take. As I took the book from him, he voiced in a low tone, 'the book holds a treasure that the world is yet to know'.

 

I watched keenly with questioning eyes as he retired to his work post then I hurried back to grab a seat and enjoy my gift. The entire book was covered by a thick layer of dust that concealed the title. I blew off the dust and wiped the book clean with my handkerchief. It was amazing how the three word title 'HAPPY NEW YEAR' came alive in my heart as my eyes read them off the cover. I rubbed my eyes in delight and cleaned my wet palms before flipping it open. I gazed bewildered at the blank pages more furious than ever. A voice I recognised as that of the Librarian came over my shoulder and said,

'We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is filled with opportunity and its first page is New Year's Day'. Happy New Year isn't just three words, it is the first words that begin our annual story. How good your story will become is up to you.