No Longer at Ease

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Authors: Chinua Achebe
Mr. Omo’s office to learn a few things about office administration.
    Mr. Omo jumped to his feet as soon as Mr. Green came in. Simultaneously he pocketed the other half of the kola nut he was eating.
    “Why hasn’t the Study Leave file been passed to me?” Mr. Green asked.
    “I thought …”
    “You are not paid to think, Mr. Omo, but to do what you are told. Is that clear? Now send the file to me immediately.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Mr. Green slammed the door behind him and Mr. Omo carried the file personally to him. When he returned he began to rebuke a junior clerk who, it seemed, had caused all the trouble.
    Obi had now firmly decided that he did not like Mr. Green and that Mr. Omo was one of his old Africans. As if to confirm his opinion the telephone rang. Mr. Omo hesitated, as he always did when the telephone rang, and then took it up as if it was liable to bite.
    “Hello. Yes, sir.” He handed it over to Obi with obvious relief. “Mr. Okonkwo, for you.”
    Obi took the telephone. Mr. Green wanted to know whether he had received a formal offer of appointment. Obi said, no, he hadn’t.
    “You say sir to your superior officers, Mr. Okonkwo,” and the telephone was dropped with a deafening bang.

    Obi bought a Morris Oxford a week after he received his letter of appointment. Mr. Green gave him a letter to the dealers saying that he was a senior civil servant entitled to a car advance. Nothing more was required. He walked into the shop and got a brand-new car.
    Earlier on the same day Mr. Omo had sent for him to sign certain documents.
    “Where is your stamp?” he asked as soon as Obi arrived.
    “What stamp?” asked Obi.
    “You get B.A. but you no know say you have to affix stamp to agreement?”
    “What agreement?” asked Obi perplexed.
    Mr. Omo laughed a laugh of derision. He had very bad teeth blackened by cigarettes and kola nuts. One was missing in front, and when he laughed the gap looked like a vacant plot in a slum. His junior clerks laughed with him out of loyalty.
    “You think Government give you sixty pounds without signing agreement?”
    It was only then that Obi understood what it was all about. He was to receive sixty pounds outfit allowance.
    “This is a wonderful day,” he told Clara on the telephone. “I have sixty pounds in my pocket, and I’m getting my car at two o’clock.”
    Clara screamed with delight. “Shall I ring Sam and tell him not to bother to send his car this evening?”
    The Hon. Sam Okoli, Minister of State, had asked them to drinks and had offered to send his driver to fetch them. Clara lived in Yaba with her first cousin. She had been offereda job as Assistant Nursing Sister, and she would start work in a week or so. Then she would find more suitable lodgings. Obi still shared Joseph’s room in Obalende but would move to a senior service flat in Ikoyi at the end of the week.
    Obi was disposed to like the Hon. Sam Okoli from the moment he learnt that he had no designs on Clara. In fact he was getting married shortly to Clara’s best friend and Clara had been asked to be chief bridesmaid.
    “Come in, Clara. Come in, Obi,” he said as if he had known both of them all his life. “That is a lovely car. How is it behaving? Come right in. You are looking very sweet, Clara. We haven’t met, Obi, but I know all about you. I’m happy you are getting married to Clara. Sit down. Anywhere. And tell me what you will drink. Lady first; that is what the white man has brought. I respect the white man although we want them to go. Squash? God forbid! Nobody drinks squash in my house. Samson, bring sherry for Miss.”
    “Yes, sah,” said Samson in immaculate white and brass buttons.
    “Beer? Why not try a little whisky?”
    “I don’t touch spirits,” said Obi.
    “Many young people from overseas start that way,” said Sam Okoli. “O.K., Samson, one beer, whisky and soda for me.”
    Obi looked round the luxurious sitting room. He had read the controversy in the Press

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