WID A Day in Biafra

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There was at night at Uli when a late fog rolled in. I could hear a plane cross overhead and circle around, waiting for an opportunity to set down. It never came, and the plane returned to Sao Tome. That was my ride back. In a way I was glad, because I got to spend a day in Biafra.

The sky turned slowly from black to grey as the morning light filtered through the fog. Father John appeared.

“I’m going to Umuahia. Do you want to ride along?”

“Yes!”

It was a short visit. I didn’t see my old school, Ohuhu Community Grammar School, because the road to Amaogwugwu was not on our way. I did see a convent school where another PCV, Nancy Amadei, had been stationed. It looked the same. I walked along a street in Umuahia and saw women on the side selling food from enamel pans. I saw garri, peppers, and vegetables. I saw one woman frying yam chips in palm oil over a charcoal fire. I saw chickens, which surprised me – I thought they’d be all gone by then. This was the heart of Biafra, but I saw no begging.


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