SECTION H: POEM



Still Heart

Alex Asigbo

Still Heart

To the memory of Auten Romiwa Enaye,

Who died a death and killed a dream

And it happened that on a certain day in a certain month at the University of Port Harcourt in the
year of our Lord, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-Two, The Circle came together to deliberate.
And they spoke and said that at such and such a time, they would of need fulfill certain
objectives. For then, they reasoned that their chosen profession is still in need of fresh blood,
fresh ideas and fresh hands. Thus, they resolved that at such a time, they must of necessity;
provide all these to their chosen profession.

And there and then, The Circle initiated a ritual. And they gave it to themselves as covenant that
at a particular time, in certain evenings, they are to wander abroad from their rooms to a certain
secluded area. And that spot is to become privy to their most private confessions. But that is not
the end of the story for there they are to regurgitate and meditate on certain issues, prevalently
those concerning Eve and how it is that this sly creature, soft of bone and build could tame Adam
– taut and strong.

And they drew freely from experiences of members of the Circle – analyzing, dissecting and
formulating theories as to what Adam could do if he must free himself. And it happened that on a
certain day, the one that was to die came to The Circle and declared himself free of a daughter of
Eve who before now was known to be his mistress. Whereupon, The Circle fell to question and
to discern what might have inspired his new found love for freedom and how he intends to stay
free and friendly to this daughter of Eve.

And he, the one that was to die, made a boast and said that such a feat he had achieved even
though in the opinion of The Circle, that was no mean feat. A bet was straight away placed but
within a few weeks, the one that was to die, capitulated. No, no, he stayed free, thanks to The



Circle, but unfriendly and to that score, a poem was written by the one that was to die and
promptly replied by the cynic of The Circle.

The story did not end there for then a plaque came into The Circle. For then, two of the four
members of The Circle were bitten by the “Born Again” bug. Whereupon, it threatened to break
the union, for then, the two saw their former habits and indulgences as unworthy of their holy
selves. And it was a tough time indeed for The Circle for a bond forged strong and tight was
strained to breaking point. We all felt the strain and knew that we must do something to correct
such an anomaly. And we set to work, each in his individual way on how we might save a
precarious situation until providence struck and the one that was to die was “debugged”. And it
proved quite a reunion for The Circle for he was by far, the most infected of the bug.

Still the story did not end there for The Circle was not complete without its intellectual
wrangling and debates. Indeed, so vast a field did we cover that we were easily the pivot of the
class. From the Greeks to the Romans, the English, the French, the Germans, the Russians, the
Scandinavians and the Africans – none were spared our avid readings. And we enjoyed every bit
of it, challenging ourselves, routinely.

And he, the one that was to die was called Gus de Bois and Regular Jerry, after Jerry in Albee’s
Zoo Story, for he like the rest of us was always in search of something. (Himself?). And the rest
of us were called by various other Pseudonyms, each according to occasion and inclination. And
we thrilled “The Crab” with our writings; for not a week was to pass without something novel
from our bleeding pens. And even our Lecturers took heed to their actions in front of us fearing a
rejoinder from our ever active pens. And often times our Notice Board bore the brunt of attacks
as the butts of our stories vented their spleen on the hapless Notice Board for we wrote under
various pseudonyms hence could not be easily traced.

And there came a certain day in the month of December, Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-Three
being a year of our Lord that the one that was to die fell severely ill and we in hospital to see him
that was to die. Whereupon he fixed his eyes on us and volunteered to pay whatever debts he
might be owing to members of The Circle and we stupefied, inquired if he was planning to die.
He, laughing, waved it aside and we rested the matter there and the one that was to die got better
and returned to The Circle to continue our debates.

And it happened that on a certain day in the Month of February Nineteen Hundred and Ninety-
Four, it being a year of our Lord, the one that was to die undertook a journey that was to be his
last to Lagos, to be followed shortly by the Cynic of Circle, we having finished our programs at
the Ivory Tower. And it happened that as was his wont, he did not call on the Cynic; whereupon,
my sister-in-law stood on my neck for me to go and check on the one that was to die.

And it happened however, that I did not go to see my friend but rather, returned directly to our
station where about a week later, an ill wind carried it to our ears that the one that was to die was
dead; whereupon I took the next bus to Lagos to dispute such news. And for two days I could not



summon up the courage to go, lest my fears be confirmed but on the third day, I no longer could
bear the suspense and so set forth for their house. Upon knocking on their door, out came the
sister. A glance at her face told me all I needed to know. My friend was dead and The Circle
whittled.

And but still clinging unto a hope I knew was gone, I asked – where was Austen? And she, in
response started a ululation but soon to calm down and acquaint me with the particulars of his
death. For on the eight of March of that same accursed year, he had complained of a headache
and promptly to his doctor went. On the ninth however, he was spotted making his peace with
God for soon to get worse was he and back again to the doctor where the one that was to die,
died a peaceful death the following day being the tenth of the month. And on the twelfth, that
marvelous work of God was interred at Ikoyi cemetery.

And he the dead one, my friend was an Epicure to the core, for now he takes an intellectual
quarrel with him to the grave – to settle with Christopher Marlowe who dared write a play about
three centuries ago that disagreed with the dead one’s conception of verisimilitude. Ah, of a truth,
the dead one quarrelled with many an author. And we ink slingers wrote with utmost caution, lest
the dead one should spot a flaw. Ah, such a one, the dead one!

But Austen Romiwa Enaye is not dead but lives on – in the hearts of members of The Circle,
who have vowed to live the dream. And anytime I pass by his abode, I say a silent prayer for the
peaceful repose of a friendly soul. And anytime I pass by his abode, I always doff my hat to the
memory of him that was to have been great but who bowed too soon to death. I doff my hat and I
pause to ponder how it is that such a one as he could die such a death on God’s earth.

I realized then the value of the Preacher who preached a sermon in the Holy Book and said that
all was vanity. And I realize that when all is said and done, man returns to dust with his dreams –
food for the worms. And I realize that all our struggles here on earth are to no purpose as we will
soon leave all that behind. Adieu my friend! Adieu Austen Romiwa Enaye! Salute! We’ll see
brother!