The District lady Franca nee Nneka

I still recall my shock when I heard that Nneka had died. She was only seventy eight. Uh! Seventy eight? Yes, seventy eight. But well, Nneka and I hadn't been particularly best of friends and so I was somewhat elated that June evening when I went home from school to hear that Nneka had died.
I remember the rickety brown wagon as it wound it's way through our village untared road. I've heard with one ear that that road has gulped millions of pounds and yet it is still as it was since the time of father Abraham.
Well, I deviate, Nneka was dead and my village mourned. I snickered as I thought about how mad she'll have been if she had known that we sometimes didn't just not think her being MADAM FRANCA, but did indeed whisper her real name Nneka.
You see that was her name, her real name but after the British District Officer had sent her to London and back, he had made her the District Teacher and luckily my village was in the heart of the District. After her return from London, she had suddenly and emphatically assumed the name Madam Franca and she was hellbent on making the world forget that she was Nneka.
The rickety wagon stopped in front of my mother's hut and I jumped out. My father was dead and has been so for the better part of six years. Mother was waiting for me at the door. She had received my letter four days ago from Aba that was I was coming home.
Although school wasn't yet officially out, I had hastened so as to see Nneka, sorry, Madam Franca( hey, let's not piss off an old dead woman) before her burial.
Nothing gave me much joy just then as I thought about the prospect of getting to see the corpse of my enemy. Nneka who had whipped (yes -whipped not flogged) my bum until I hadn't been able to sit for two weeks by Allah. And then she had circulated the news round school, the village and town that I was a petty thief. But the truth? I had refused to cultivate her farm.
After mom hugged me and had told me " Nno" welcome, and that my food was in the kitchen, I told her that I was going to see Nneka.
" Nkem, " that was her name for me, " but you've barely arrived. " she said. I looked at my blue and white striped uniform and smiled. " I won't take long mom, " I said handing her my little black bag with my clothes and brush and slippers.
" Be sure to be back before dinner, " she called out after me as I walked away feeling good -- that boy from Government High. 'Hot damn'as Mr. Richardson will say. I smiled and went up toward the hill - toward Nneka's house.
But I had greatly underestimated her hatred for me. I had thought ( quite wrongly) that her hatred for me had died with her death. But I was wrong.
.......to be continued.
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