In Search Of The House Of My Birth -By Chika Mefor

Many will not be privileged to have the golden opportunity I had to visit the house where I was born and which I departed from many years ago. That is why i consider myself lucky. The hands of fate took me back to the very house where I grew up in, and it was one of the most beautiful experiences I have ever had.

I grew up at the Ibrahim Taiwo Housing Estate in Maiduguri, Borno State. The estate is unofficially referred to as Federal Low Cost Housing Estate. I had visited Maiduguri severally, but didn’t have the opportunity to visit there.

“Which side is Federal Low Cost?” I kept asking many of the journalists I met in Maiduguri (I am sure many of them got tired of my asking).

My family and I left Maiduguri in the 90’s when I was pretty young but I remembered some of the things about the area that stuck to my mind, and was determined to visit there one more time.

“Dont try it!” was the response I got from my elder brother, Aloysius, when I told him during my previous trips that I intended visiting the place.

People who are living outside Maiduguri, and who have perhaps heard many shocking stories about suicide bombings and the frightening bomb blasts have this notion that Maiduguri is volatile. However, the place is relatively peaceful as many people still go about their normal businesses without any fear or trepidation.

So I was determined to visit Federal Low cost and would not allow my fellow Abuja journalists or the other journalists that travelled with us any rest until I had accomplished my mission.

We were gathered once again to continue our work at a Mentor/Mentee programme organised by a local NGO called Paged Initiative.

So the day finally came when I was to go to the area. It was characteristically very hot (although, my people in Abuja will always argue that the hot weather has shifted base to the FCT and has left the north east).

We set out to visit another community that haboured internally displaced persons (IDPs), because that was what we had been doing since the previous two days we arrived in Maiduguri.

Paged Initiative had set up a screening session for the IDPs. The movie featured a documentary called Uprooted where four women shared their experiences in the hands of insurgents and how they were able to pull through to begin a new life with determination. The NGO encourages IDPs to share their experiences and to derive the strength to move on with their lives from the stories told by people like them.

We were to visit some IDPs at the Kasuwan Shanu area. We had set out early as usual and arrived at the Faria Primary School, the venue of the event. Selected people were suppose to benefit from the exercise but the IDPs in the area could not decide who and who should go into the venue of the exercise.

“How can we who live around here be left out and those who came from far away be selected to participate in the programme?” some of the angry youths agitated. “We won’t allow this to happen!”. They further insisted.

As if that was not enough, the management of the primary school which was supposed to serve as our venue for the exercise refused to allow us access to the school premises, citing non compliance with the protocol of obtaining permission as the reason for their decision.

The youths were uncontrollable and the environment was very rowdy. As the crowd continued to struggle to enter the classroom where the screening was to take place, the quiet, smart Bilkusu who is the NGO’s project coordinator, asked us to hurry back into the vehicle that brought us to the arena since it was obvious that a fracas might ensue any moment. We quietly sneaked out of the classroom and back to our vehicle, leaving the crowd still struggling to enter the classroom.

The organisers of the show were allowed to leave the place only after they had told the IDPs to write down their names as they promised to return the next day for the exercise. We had to return to our hotel.

Now while in my hotel room, the only thought that beclouded my reasoning was “Will I still be able to make it to Federal Low Cost?” I was no longer interested in whatever was going on around me.

One of my fellow journalists from Abuja, Faith who noticed my mood, tried to tease me and loosen me up, but I was not not going to have any of her teases and jokes.

When she continued, I gave her that look that says “hush!” but she still didn’t stop the teasing.

However, we were later able to discover another IDPs camp in Kusheri community where we were able to do the movie showing successfully.

And finally, it was time to go out in search of the ‘House of my birth’. I had earlier spoken to one of the journalists, Kaumi who had promised to assist me locate the place.

We set out for the place in his car while he drove me and another journalist, Usman through the beautiful city of Maiduguri. My eyes were literally glued to the window of the car as I struggled to catch a glimpse of all the spectacles that littered the road.

While we drove around, I was so excited that my palpable excitement made Kaumi wonder why I was so elated to just visit my birthplace. He didn’t realize that I was fulfilling an age-long promise I made to myself – a promise to visit that particular house whenever I can.

Sensing my over-excitement, Kaumi tried to suppress my joy by telling me that we were still a little bit far from our destination. I didn’t let that bother me because I was already engrossed with thoughts of arriving at the place pretty soon.

When we got to a certain junction, Kaumi who didn’t really know the area well, asked someone for the direction of Line E which was the street on which we lived then.

I had been singing the address of the house like a song while we drove in search of the house. The address was E112. We had been told to consign it to our memory while growing up as kids so that we won’t miss it whenever we were trying to locate the house. The houses in Federal Low Cost had similar outlook, so it was easy for one to mistake another person’s house for his own.

The man we asked for direction, who also didnt know the route, asked us to drive up the road which we later learnt was Line B.

Having missed our track, we returned to the junction where Kaumi eventually saw an acquaintance whom he asked for direction.

The man asked why he was looking for the house and Kaumi explained to him that the person at the back seat of his car needed to get to the place.

Kaumi further told him that I lived in that house long time ago, and that I just came to visit the place to know how it looked at present.

The man then stretched his neck into the car to see the ‘passenger’ and asked me, “When did you live in the house?”

Two decades ago,” I answered.
“What was your father’s name?” he asked in return. I became curious when he asked and replied him quickly.

He looked again, “Are you Aloy’s sister,” he asked.
“Oh, yes!” I shouted in delight.

The man who was asking these questions was Mohammed, who was popularly known as Daddy while we were growing up. Immediately he mentioned his name, I remembered him. I was indeed ecstatic. Daddy asked about every member of my family and graciously directed Kaumi to ‘my house’.

We headed in the direction he pointed to us and asked some one or two other persons for the exact location of the house before we were finally able to get to the house.

The area had changed completely. Back then, the bungalows where all on their own, just demarcated by the road. People walked freely along the road. I remember vividly the Dogonyaro trees that dotted everywhere then.

Now, the Federal Low cost of my childhood has become a strange place as each house is now enclosed in high walls with gates. I would never have found the house if I had gone there alone.
I was told that the government had sold the houses to private individuals. And maybe due to the security challenges, people have built high walls to protect themselves.

The walls didn’t deter me though or rather, didn’t deter Kaumi because he was the one that went ahead to knock on the gate. I prayed that someone would be home. A boy of about 13 years opened the gate. When Kaumi told him what we had come for, he allowed us to take pictures.

At first, I doubted if I was at the right place, but then I noticed the old Dogonyaro tree that had stood in that compound for ages and became convinced that I was in the right place.

Under that memorable tree, I had played with my friends, Tochukwu, Adaobi, and the rest. Under that same tree, we had prayed when we briefly hosted our Block Rosary Prayer Group (the Block Rosary group is a group where Catholic children gather everyday to pray). That tree was the perfect landmark that I needed to be convinced I was in the right place.

Usman who I assigned the role of photographer took me various snapshots as I posed at different locations in the house. Since the parents of the boy who let me in were not in, I was careful not to overstay my welcome.

After spending a short time there, I bade the boy farewell. He told me his name was Kaliphate. His sister, Aisha, came back from school while we were about leaving. I also had interaction with the little girl who was wondering who the pretty excited lady who was posing for snapshots all over their house was.

Then, I finally bade farewell to ‘the house of my birth’.

I was absolutely fulfilled when I took my leave. The house triggered many beautiful memories in me, and that pleasant experience added more life to my life.

By the way, I took some time to take pictures with my former neighbour, Daddy. I will forever be grateful to PagedInitative for giving me the opportunity to do the searching, to Kaumi and Usman for taking me on the quest, and to the other journalists (mentor and mentees) who were patient with me as I continually sang the ‘Federal Low Cost song’ into their ears. It was one of my best experiences. An experience that I’ll not forget in a hurry.