New life

A welcome in the valleys

Zenga Longmore

What I'd like to know is, why are men so brave when it comes to standing in front of television cameras and spouting on about close-range warheads and free-range missiles, yet so cowardly when it comes to the simple things of life? If I were not so honourable, I would give you the names of no less than four men who have refused to accompany me to exotic countries, and for what reason? They were too scared to have the vaccination injections. How sensible of Mother Nature not to allow men to give birth. Imagine the turmoil we would all be in if they could. The world would be crammed with endless sanatoria where pre- and post-natal fathers could lie about groaning for months on end. As it is, all the sympathy most men hand out to a new mother is: 'Honestly! Why all this fuss? All women have to go through it. Now my mother had five children and she . . . .'

The reason I am talking of cowardice is because it affected my household twofold last week: my craven terror of Uncle Bisi, who had threatened to call round to write my column 'properly this time', and Olum- ba's craven terror of Wales, where I had insisted on taking him to escape from Uncle Bisi. There was nothing I or the

Encyclopaedia Britannica could say to con-

vince Olumba that wolves and bears were no longer prowling the Welsh countryside.

In the end, I managed to persuade him to come along by pretending that Dolgellau was a town akin to Birmingham and, after

looking at a photo of the Bull Ring in an

old architect's manual, we set off in my sister Boko's car. Omalara, who becomes very excited by car rides, spent her time pulling Olumba's cap off and whacking it in his face. Luckily, Olumba is a stoic driver.

'This Dolly-gethy place looks plenty fine-o,' commented Olumba when we were halfway there.

'Yes,' I replied, 'but you might find it's changed somewhat. They were thinking of pulling it down and rebuilding it.'

Of course, as we drove into the dramatic splendour of the north Welsh countryside, and wobbled up a dirt track to a B & B,

Olumba had to admit that it had changed. 'It's gone back to bush now. Oh shame!' he

was heard to mutter as he stepped from the car. 'Let's hope the bears haven't come back.' A man of landlordly aspect standing by his tractor took one look at the approaching Olumba and shook his head. 'No rooms at all, oga?'

'Fully booked.'

We had been driving since ten in the morning, and it was now dangerously close to nine. Omalara was fast asleep, and looked, as sleeping babies do, irresistible to all landlords. I stepped out of the car with the peaceful babe in my arms and stood at Olumba's side, doing a rather fine 'souls awakening' expression. Without a word, the landlord character led the way, and within five minutes we were cosily ensconsed with cups of tea on the house.

Omalara manifested her thanks by per- forming her latest party piece for the landlord's family. Getting down on all fours, she lifted one leg high over her back like a ballerina, or, as the landlord's daughter more aptly put it, a baby elephant in a circus.

Olumba tells me that the scenery be- tween Owerri and Onitcha is a match for the loveliness of Wales, but I find it difficult to believe. Bala Lake reminded him so forcefully of a pool in South Nigeria that he became convinced that Mammy Water, the water goddess, must reside there. 'Don't stand so near-o, or Mammy Water might possess you and turn you into a mad Obanje.'

But Mammy Water held no fears for me that day. In fact I all but welcomed her.

Uncle Bisi, from whom I had escaped in London, came far higher up in the hierar- chy of horror.