His favourite food appeared to be the pounded yam, iyan , at which I soon became his keen accomplice. Through the same iyan , I made my first close school friend, Osiki, simply by discovering that he was an even more ardent lover of the pounded yam than either Mr Olagbaju or I. It was with some surprise that I heard my mother remark:. He brings home friends at meal-times without any notice.

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His favourite food appeared to be the pounded yam, iyan , at which I soon became his keen accomplice. Through the same iyan , I made my first close school friend, Osiki, simply by discovering that he was an even more ardent lover of the pounded yam than either Mr Olagbaju or I.

It was with some surprise that I heard my mother remark:. He brings home friends at meal-times without any notice. I saw nothing to remark in it at all; it was the most natural thing in the world to bring a friend home at his favourite meal-time. So Osiki became an inseparable companion and a regular feature of the house, especially on iyan days. One of the house helps composed a song on him:.

But the pounded yam was also to provide the first test of our friendship. There were far too many aspects of the schoolroom and the compound to absorb in the regular school hours, moreover, an empty schoolroom appeared to acquire a totally different character which changed from day to day. And so, new discoveries began to keep me behind at lunch-time after everyone had gone. I began to stay longer and longer, pausing over objects which became endowed with new meanings, forms, even dimensions as soon as silence descended on their environment.

Sometimes I simply wandered off among the rocks intending merely to climb a challenging surface when no one was around. Finally, Osiki lost patience. He would usually wait for me at home even while Tinu had her own food. On this day however, being perhaps more hungry than usual, Osiki decided not to wait. Afterwards he tried to explain that he had only meant to eat half of the food but had been unable to stop himself. I returned home to encounter empty dishes and was just in time to see Osiki disappearing behind the croton bush in the backyard, meaning no doubt to escape through the rear gate.

I rushed through the parlour and the front room, empty dishes in hand, hid behind the door until he came past, then pelted him with the dishes. Finally, I stopped. I no longer saw Osiki but — Speed, Swiftness! The effect of his dansiki which flowed like wings from his sides also added to the illusion of him flying over the ground. This, more than anything else, made it easy enough for the quarrel to be settled by my mother.

It was very difficult to cut oneself off from a school friend who could fly at will from one end of the compound to the other. Even so, some weeks elapsed before he returned to the pounded-yam table, only to follow up his perfidy by putting me out of school for the first time in my career.

Only the children of the parsonage were expected but I passed the secret to Osiki and he turned up at the party in his best buba. The entertain ments had been set up out of doors in front of the house.

I noticed that one of the benches was not properly placed, so that it acted like a see-saw when we sat on it close to the two ends. It was an obvious idea for a game, so, with the help of some of the other children, we carried it to an even more uneven ground, rested its middle leg on a low rock outcrop and turned it into a proper see-saw. We all took turns to ride on it. For a long time it all went without mishap.

Then Osiki got carried away. He was a bigger boy than I, so that I had to exert a lot of energy to raise him up, lifting myself on both hands and landing with all possible weight on my seat.

Suddenly, while he was up in his turn, it entered his head to do the same. The result was that I was catapulted up very sharply while he landed with such force that the leg of the bench broke on his side. It was only after I had landed that I took much notice of what I had worn to the party. It was a yellow silk dansiki , and I now saw with some surprise that it had turned a bright crimson, though not yet entirely. But the remaining yellow was rapidly taking on the new colour.

My hair on the left side was matted with blood and dirt and, just before the afternoon was shut out and I fell asleep, I wondered if it was going to be possible to squeeze the blood out of the dansiki and pump it back through the gash which I had located beneath my hair.

The house was still and quiet when I woke up. Despite mishaps, I reflected that there was something to be said for birthdays and began to look forward to mine. My only worry now was whether I would have recovered sufficiently to go to school and invite all my friends.

Sending Tinu seemed a risky business, she might choose to invite all her friends and pack my birthday with girls I hardly even knew or played with. Then there was another worry. I had noticed that some of the pupils had been kept back in my earlier class and were still going through the same lessons as we had all learnt during my first year in school.

I developed a fear that if I remained too long at home, I would also be sent back to join them. When I thought again of all the blood I had lost, it seemed to me that I might actually be bed-ridden for the rest of the year. Everything depended on whether or not the blood on my dansiki had been saved up and restored to my head. I raised it now and turned towards the mirror; it was difficult to tell because of the heavy bandage but, I felt quite certain that my head had not shrunk to any alarming degree.

The bedroom door opened and mother peeped in. Seeing me awake she entered, and was followed in by father. When I asked for Osiki, she gave me a peculiar look and turned to say something to father. I was not too sure, but it sounded as if she wanted father to tell Osiki that killing me was not going to guarantee him my share of iyan.

I studied their faces intently as they asked me how I felt, if I had a headache or a fever and if I would like some tea. Neither would touch on the crucial question, so finally I decided to put an end to my suspense. I asked them what they had done with my dansiki. She stopped, they looked at each other. Father frowned a little and reached forward to place his hand on my forehead. I shook my head anxiously, ignoring the throb of pain this provoked.

Again they looked at each other. Mother seemed about to speak but fell silent as my father raised his hand and sat on the bed, close to my head. I sank back in relief. But I saw this one, it was too much. And it comes from my head. So you must squeeze it out and pump it back into my head.

That way I can go back to school at once. My father nodded agreement, smiling. Nobel Prizes Fifteen laureates were awarded in , for achievements that have conferred the greatest benefit to humankind. Their work and discoveries range from how cells adapt to changes in levels of oxygen to our ability to fight global poverty. See them all presented here. Select the category or categories you would like to filter by Physics.

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Wole Soyinka

The book begins:. The sprawling, undulating terrain is all of Ake. More than mere loyalty to the parsonage gave birth to a puzzle and a resentment that God should choose to look down on his own highest station, the parsonage compound, from the profane heights of Itoko. There was of course the mystery of the chief stable with live horses near the crest of the hill, but beyond that, this dizzying road only sheered upwards from one noisy market to another, looking down across Ibarata and Ita Ake into the most secret recesses of the parsonage itself. On a misty day, the steep rise toward Itoko would join the sky.


Aké: The Years of Childhood

When the book was first published, The New York Times reviewer wrote:. Playwright, poet, novelist, polemical essayist and now autobiographer, Mr. Soyinka is unquestionably Africa's most versatile writer and arguably her finest. In Ake he has produced an account of his childhood as a Yoruba in western Nigeria that is destined to become a classic of African autobiography, indeed a classic of childhood memoirs wherever and whenever produced


Ake: The Years of Childhood


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