A Collection of Short Stories by Nneonyediri Ogbeyalu Ukoha (Spectrum Books, 2008. 142pp.) Our critical failing in this country is the absence of memory. This has condemned us to a cyclical history, a tiresome repetition of the same, expecting that the main characters who tend to be rather roguish become patently a more laughable species of the previous ones. Maybe because they insist on being taken seriously. It is not altogether clear why our country has become so brain dead given that our communities have a rich reservoir of oral tradition which undergrads our cultures and history. Perhaps it is because of the onrush of events which take place at such a pace that it is d difficult It to take it all at once. Once, a top public functionary visited us at New Age and wondered why the media had either kept quiet or covered an issue affecting her, a matter of life and death, so perfunctorily. I assured her that it could not have been deliberate seeing that she was one of the most effective and admired personalities in public life.

The trouble was, I said, her story was only one of several stories that swamped us each passing day. In effect, how much can our memory take of the absurdities that govern our lives and happen with such breath-taking rapidity? It is in this context we must salute Mrs. Nneonyeodiri Ukoha's very readable collection of short stories titled Rustle in The Wind. There are four stories in all with the first ("Adaku") story transversing the period of Nigeria's independence up to the civil warA common thread binds all these stories; the changes wrought in society, in individual life and in interpersonal relationships by an external control: the civil war. By weaving her stories around this tragic event, Mrs. Ukoha ensures that we do not forget after all the written guards against collective amnesia sully Abu
Adak~'s own story very much reflects key aspects of the Nigerian story of promIse, of aborted dreams, of danger and heart wrenching changes. For her, after all manner of vicissitudes it ultimately ends in triumph. Is this the template for how the Nigerian story will play out? Well, the cynic will say ~ot on the present evidence. But we must live in hope, as Adaku does, hope ~n th~ face of all odds. She started out as a child of independence, living an Idyllic childhood and with the kind of dreams that it was possible to have in those days, of going on to higher education and living a fulfilled life. But then her father dies and the world she knew seems to fall apart.
Following tradition, her mother and the children are inherited by Adaku's uncle who really cares not a hoot for them and only has predatory designs on the property her father left behind. At 16, she herself is forced in the interest of her family's survival to give in to the amorous designs of a rich polygamist from the town who already has two wives. This happen during the war. It is a most painful decision for her but she decides to go along, after her mother has already done so, in the interest of her family's survival. But fate plays a kind hand when her husband dies; she suffers a miscarriage and she is then reunited with her true love who returns to take her back with him to America.
Adaku's, then, is a happy ending and she is unquestionably the heroine of the story, a little girl who faces difficult choices, weathers so many storms before her fortitude overcame cruel fate. The story, like the subsequent ones, is also a social commentary, a reflection on some of the rather obscurantist cultural practices and traditions that can inhibit individual fulfillment.
Heroism is a common strand in this collection. Honour and pride in one's lineage based on the exploits of succeeding generations resonate in the next story where failure is not disavowed but is not even acknowledged. In this story entitled, "His Father’s Hero,” Uka’s son seeks to avoid fighting at the war front through the simple
 expedience of a self-inflected wound. but that is a common practice during the war and he ends LIp ignominiously, shot as a saboteur or "sabo" for short. He is "buried in the night", the author tells LIS "like a dead chicken". Uka who comes from a long line of heroes prefers to think his son could never have been the one buried in the unmarked grave. The community's contempt for cowards is reflected in the author's refusal to identify this particular character by name throughout the narrative. He is simply identified as Uka's son.
Uka's son stands in counter-distinction to Ike in the next story who looks eagerly forward to fulfilling the role of "messenger of the night spirit" only to die in his first assignment. Unlike Uka's son he is celebrated for his sense of duty, for the strength and determination he brings to the enterprise.
While all these stories situate the individual in the community and depict how forces beyond their control interject on their lives, the poignancy of these stories is provided by the fact that these are stories of individual lives. The civil war has been about keeping Nigeria one, as some would have it or for self-determination as many of the principal victims see it, but at the end ofthe day, it is also a story of shattered lives, of aborted dreams, of broken families, or sorrow and suffering. Whether it is in the cruel fate that befalls Adaku's family or the separation of Sarah from her parents only to be treated like a house girl in the Sokari household, we appreciate the larger story of the devastating effects of war particularly when we look at the situation from the prism of the individual.
The author displays such sensitivity and insight in telling these stories that you imagine yourself immersed in the situation she is describing. But sometimes as you yearn for more, the story ends rather abruptly with a cliff-hanger. Mrs. Ukoha has whetted our appetite. She owes us the obligation to give us more, to tell a bigger story.

A review by Sully Abu