That Ordinary Life

Up to this point, Achebe has established some of the greater social rankings of the Igbo culture. Men seem to be at the pinnacle of leadership. The narrator begins the story by commenting on the struggles and successes of men in Okonkwo’s life, establishing what seems to be a predetermined order. It is this status that I am choosing to question. Ekwefi is established as a “weak” character in Igbo terms, though her sadness, due to the loss of children, makes her no different from many other Igbo women. “Cheilo too, in fact, was a widow with two children in her ordinary life” (49). However, it is only outside of that life that we see the powerful woman among the Igbo tribe members. As the Priestess of Agbala her words come second to none, even those of men in highest power. But, conversing with Ekwefi, we just as easily see their vulnerability.

Had the oracle been the Priest of Agbala, how would attitudes towards the character change? Would he lead no separate “ordinary life”?

Two Hundred and Twelve Steps

I awaken to the penetrating light that can no longer blind me. As I slowly become aware of my surroundings, I call for Ralph, my companion through it all. He sidles over to me with the scent of coffee lingering on his coat. I can tell from the way that he greets me that he has been up for at least an hour before I have. I reach to the small table beside me, fumbling elegantly for the remote to the iPod speakers I purchased months ago. The melody begins and suddenly I am awake.

Dressing, eating, commuting, it’s never been a problem. The city is so crazy that I find that even on the days when my eyes aren’t fully open, the noise always tells me where I am. 76, 77, 78. That’s how many steps it takes to get from my level, level 3, to the ground. 57 paces and I push through the revolving door. As I step onto the street, Ralph at my side, we turn right heading off to work. You might wonder why I own an iPod and choose not to take it with me daily. The truth is, I like to hear the sounds, I need to hear the sounds. They are what carry me from corner to corner in this concrete jungle I call home.

15 steps from the corner to that building, the one in which I spend my days. A most unusual yet perfect job. I suppose you could say that I just listen to music all day but, it’s not only the music that I’m listening to. Welcome to 16 Records.

Six days I come there to work but seven days I come here to listen. I created this company around my 16^th birthday, hence the 16. Not formally of course, but that was when it began. By that age I had lost friends and desire but I gained support. I think, after running this company for so long, it really is a part of who I am.

Today is like every other day. 22 steps to the elevator and 40 to my studio. I’m greeted by notices and today’s events, two meetings and a trial session. Not bad, at least today’s lunch will be around noon. Meetings one marked the financial turn of another company hoping to join with 16, I’ll have to think about that. Meeting two, cancelled. The trial session is my favorite part of my day, of my job. I sit closing my eyes allowing the music to fill my ears. Its sweet, this melody, but it’s too similar to what was produced last month. What’s next has to have reminiscent qualities with a unique twist. It’s difficult to find these days. Everyone just copies one another.

I can feel the evening creeping on. The sun on the back of my neck feels hot as I continue to listen to the last of today’s fresh feed. I stifle a yawn and Ralph, sitting across the room takes notice, standing up suggesting it’s time to go home.

Today, not unlike most, finds me back outside my building with Ralph at my side. 78 steps back to my apartment. I fumble in my purse for that heavy key to the door. I step inside to the familiar sent of wild currant and pumpkin spice that tells me that I am definitely back at home, back in my home.

Dinner’s no great affair. I’m thankful for the invention of microwaves, the cooking apparatus of the future. I think you’ll agree that my life leads somewhere but it's not moving there fast.

I answer to the name of Rylance, I brush down brown hair, I see through hazel eyes. Or rather, I can no longer see through these hazel eyes.