The trailblazer, the eldest who carries the weight of responsibility, caught between expectation and desire.
Before Obinna was born, his mother had hoped for a daughter—someone to help raise the siblings who would come after him, as it was often believed that women held the family together. However, his father, a rigid traditionalist, wanted a son. Among the Igbo people, a male child is a symbol of strength, the one who carries on the family name and takes after his father. Chief Obiukwu longed to join his peers in saying, “I have a son” and to present him proudly at every opportunity. The goddess of fertility, “Ani” must have heard his earnest prayer because Obinna came out as a healthy, beautiful baby boy, much to the delight of his parents.
From the moment he was born, Obinna’s path seemed predetermined, his roles and responsibilities mapped out before he could even understand them. He was the standard for his younger siblings, the one whose actions reflected on the entire family. Failure was not an option. In school, he had to excel academically, not just for himself but for the ones who would follow. His parents never let him forget it. “Our first son cannot be a failure,” they reminded him constantly.
Looking out for his siblings came naturally. He was their bridge to their parents, the one they turned to when they needed guidance or protection. As “Opara” (the first son) his words carried weight, and his instructions were often followed without question. Yet, they did not make things easy for him. His first sister Ezinne, was calm and collected, unlike the second one, Chizaram, who was stubborn, but she was still a woman, and he could handle her. He had two brothers too but the second son, Nzubechi, however, was another matter entirely. Nzube was rebellious, strong-willed, and unafraid to defy their father’s expectations. Sometimes, Obinna envied him. He wished he had Nzube’s courage, but he knew he couldn’t afford to live so freely. He was the pillar of the family, and pillars could not afford to crumble. Every mistake he made carried consequences, not just for him but for everyone who depended on him.
Obinna had always dreamed of being an artist. His gift was undeniable; his artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. But each time he expressed his aspirations, his parents dismissed them with the same weary argument: “Nna, how will you make money? Do you want to be a poor man all your life? Art can be a hobby, but you need a real profession.” And so, when the time came for university, he had no real choice in the matter. His parents had already decided that he would study law, just like his father. Being a lawyer was prestigious, a career that would make them proud as they bragged to their friends, earning the coveted titles Papa and Mama Lawyer.Like many first sons before him, Obinna surrendered to his father’s will, his own desires buried under the weight of responsibility.
He worked hard, graduated with good grades, and stepped into the world, hoping that at last, he would be able to make his own decisions. But responsibility did not loosen its grip so easily.
Now, at thirty-six, Obinna had grown into a man, yet so much about his life remained unchanged.
Seated in a lounge with his friends Okechukwu, Alex, and Tunde, he let his eyes wander over the space. It wasn’t their usual spot, but failing to get a table at their regular hangout had led them here. Tunde had found it on a list of the top ten bars and lounges to visit in Abuja, curated by some influencer. The place was called “After Hours,” fitting, considering it operated from 6 PM till dawn.
Obinna took in the surroundings, noting the thoughtfulness behind the design. The lounge exuded sophistication, with contemporary furniture and warm, deliberate lighting that created an intimate yet vibrant atmosphere. Soft music hummed in the background, complementing the ambiance. Around him, elegantly dressed women moved gracefully, engaged in conversations or sipping on expertly crafted drinks. Behind the sleek, well-lit bar, a skilled mixologist worked with practiced precision, pouring and shaking while creating liquid masterpieces. Attentive waiters dressed in crisp uniforms moved seamlessly across the room, serving gourmet dishes and premium beverages.
The place was impressive. It catered to adults of all ages, making it the perfect spot to unwind. As Obinna admired the carefully selected paintings and contemporary art adorning the walls, a wave of nostalgia hit him. He remembered a time when he, too, had been consumed by his love for art. He still appreciated it, but it had been years since he last held a brush. His dreams had died a slow death at the hands of duty and expectation.
He shook the thought away. This was not the time for regrets. He was here to enjoy the evening, to lose himself in the present, and to share laughter with his friends. With a deep breath, he leaned back in his seat, letting the lounge’s ambiance wash over him. For tonight, at least, he would allow himself to simply exist.
The men sat around the table, feasting on some peppered chicken, washing them down with generous gulps of beer. The air was lively with debate, the topic of the night being the recent football match between Liverpool and Newcastle. Emotions ran high as Alex, a die-hard Liverpool fan, tried in vain to defend his team’s narrow 2-1 loss. But the others weren’t having it.
“I told you guys, Liverpool is an average team. The moment they meet a better squad, they fall short,” Obinna declared, laughing at Alex’s frustration.
Alex, quick to fire back, scoffed. “Guy, abeg, where’s Manchester United on the table? Or should we talk about all the players they need to sell? At least you can’t compare Man U with my club.”
Okechukwu and Tunde burst into laughter, enjoying the banter until Obinna turned to Okey with a mocking grin. “Better clubs are talking, and an Arsenal fan is laughing? When was the last time your club won a trophy?”
But Okechukwu was ready. “At least Arsenal is second in the table. Where’s Man U? Thirteenth.”
Tunde, who had been listening quietly, suddenly chimed in, his voice thick with frustration. “See, guys, I’ve been saying Man City needs to sell some players doing rubbish in that team. They need to let go of Bernardo Silva, Gundogan, and Grealish before the transfer window closes. They’re wasting time, and our position in the table this season just dey vex me.”
The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter and friendly jabs filling the space as they ordered another round of drinks, Okechukwu steered the discussion toward a more sobering topic—the state of the country’s economy.
“Oboy, this country keeps frustrating business owners every day, and things don’t seem like they’ll change anytime soon,” Alex remarked, shaking his head.
“If anybody gets a chance to Japa from this country, he better take it o,” Tunde added. “The way I see things, it’ll take a messiah to save Nigeria.”
Okechukwu sighed. “My brother, to Japa is not even the main problem. The problem is finding the funds and getting a visa approved without these travel agents trying to scam you.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Take me, for instance. I’ve tried relocating to Canada twice. The first time, I struggled to gather the money, only to get scammed by one useless agent. I was a novice and didn’t want anyone especially my village people, who have been on my matter to know about my plans. The second time, I was denied a visa. The struggle is real my bro.”
As the conversation carried on, Obinna leaned back, studying his friends. They had one thing in common: they were all first sons. Despite this shared position, each carried a different burden, a unique struggle. He had known Alex since their secondary school days, and their bond had remained strong over the years. Tunde and Okechukwu had come into the picture during university, and since then, the four of them had built a strong brotherhood. Through the highs and lows, they had stood by one another, navigating life’s uncertainties as best as they could.
His gaze lingered on Alex, his closest friend. Alex bore the weight of being the sole provider for his family, a responsibility he had taken on after losing his father in their second year of university. The years that followed had been tough, forcing him to take on multiple jobs just to see himself through school while also supporting his mother and younger siblings who were pre-teens at the time. Now, post-university, the burden had only grown heavier, but Alex had been fortunate enough to find success. Despite his financial stability, he remained unmarried at thirty-six. He often joked about marrying a woman from a rich family to avoid additional “family palava and more billings” that would add to the many demands that came with being the first son.
Obinna considered himself lucky; both his parents were still alive and actively supported him and his siblings. While they occasionally asked for favors, he had never been placed in a position where he had to provide for them entirely. His responsibilities lay with his own small family—his wife and children.
His eyes shifted to Okechukwu, who was venting about his younger brother’s constant disregard for him. Obinna sympathized deeply. It was one thing to be disrespected as a man, but it was an entirely different kind of pain to be disregarded by one’s own family for failing to live up to their expectations. Okechukwu was hardworking and intelligent, but life had not been fair to him in terms of financial success. Among the four friends, he was the least financially stable and as their guy, they didn't mind covering up for him when necessary. Unfortunately, his family did not show him the same level of support. Instead, they shamed him for his struggles and openly favored his younger brother, Ekene, who was more financially capable. Ekene’s wealth, gotten from questionable means, gave him the audacity to make decisions concerning their family and collective properties without consulting Okechukwu. The disrespect stung deeply.
“Imagine that small boy way I carry,” Okechukwu often lamented. “If not for the fraud he’s into that’s paying him well, would he even think of disrespecting me anyhow?”
Obinna suspected that Ekene’s marriage played a role in how the family treated him. Perhaps they felt Okechukwu was less responsible because he remained single but the truth was that he lacked the financial capacity to cater for a family at that point. In many families, financial stability was connected with responsibility, and Okechukwu’s unmarried status, coupled with his financial struggles, only made things worse in their eyes. It saddened Obinna to see how families often sided with the wealthier sibling, disregarding the one who was struggling.
Then, there was Tunde who had his eyes fixed on the football highlight that was showing on a large screen in the lounge. He was the rich kid among them. Though Obinna was well-off, he could not compare to Tunde, who had inherited and now headed a multi-million Naira transport company. Tunde was always busy but never failed to support his friends when they needed him. At thirty-eight, he knew his onions and was a force to be reckoned with, standing firm against his family members who constantly tried to undermine him and take control of the family business. Things were good for him, but there was always a brouhaha caused by his siblings and uncles every month. Tunde was happily married to the woman of his choosing.
Obinna, on the other hand, his marriage was not built on love.
As he sat there, his thoughts drifted to a Facebook profile he had stumbled upon the previous week. It had appeared under “people you may know,” and indeed, he knew her. There she was, Inyan—the love of his life, smiling in a family portrait with her husband and children.
His heart ached. His life could have been different if only he had married the woman he truly loved. But his parents had refused to give their blessing. His father had been firm. “It will be over my dead body that my first son marries a Calabar woman,” Chief Obiukwu had declared.
Obinna’s parents were enlightened people, yet certain family traditions remained unshaken. Because of this, he was forced to painfully let go of his five-year relationship with Inyan—a love that had blossomed since their second year in university. The memories of that period were agonizing to recall.
His parents had started hinting at marriage and grandchildren, persistently asking when he would bring home a wife. His mother, in particular, was eager to have a daughter-in-law who could take the place of her daughters once they were married off. She assured him that as long as he brought home a good woman, she would treat her like her own daughter. Encouraged by this, Obinna decided to introduce Inyan to his family, unaware that his world was about to crumble.
The initial meeting seemed promising. His parents welcomed Inyan warmly, asking her the typical questions—where she was from, who her parents were, and what she did for a living. They appeared satisfied with her responses, but everything changed after she left. That evening, Obinna was called in for a long conversation.
“Obinnaya, it can’t work,” Chief Obiukwu said calmly. “Our next generation will not come from a Calabar woman.”
The words left Obinna confused. His father spoke of the importance of marrying within one’s own culture, of shared traditions that made problem-solving easier compared to marrying someone with a different cultural orientation. It baffled him; his parents had never shown signs of tribal prejudice before. He struggled to make sense of it when his mother interjected, “Nna, what happened to all the beautiful Igbo women out there?” He honestly could not answer that question, but determined to fight for the woman he loved, Obinna sought support from his uncle, a man he trusted. But Uncle Mezie did not stand with him. Instead, he reinforced the family’s stance.
“Obi, look around at all our relatives. Don’t you see a pattern? None of us has ever married outside our tribe. This is not just about you, it’s a family tradition, and you can’t fight it,” his uncle said firmly.
For the first time, Obinna truly noticed it—every single one of his relatives had married within the Igbo tribe, most even from their own state. This was bigger than just his parents; it was a deep-rooted family practice that he alone could not break. His brothers would use whoever he settled with as a yardstick for the kind of woman they would marry, and he could not lay the grounds for default. If he went against his family, they would cut him off, and worse, they would treat his wife and children as outcasts. That thought shattered him.
He knew other Igbo people who had married from other tribes and their families supported but why was his different? He was just unfortunate.
The months that followed were unbearable for both him and Inyan. He struggled to find the right way to tell her what his family had decided. He loved her deeply, but the weight of duty pressed harder than his own desires. She had spent five years believing they had a future, only to be cast aside over tribal differences. Looking back, he wished he had introduced her to them years back; he wished he had known his family’s true expectations earlier, so he wouldn’t have wasted her time.
His younger brother, Nzubechi, had once told him, “Bro, stop living to please these people. Do you, and they’ll adjust.” But Obinna had not listened. He gave in to the pressure, feeling utterly defeated.
After Obinna and Inyan’s relationship ended, he seemed to have lost himself. He tried to fill the void he felt by getting into entanglements with women where he would want to provide and protect as he grew up doing for those around him. These ladies knew he was a lover and a giver and thus always tried to take advantage of him.
It was not fear that drove him, it was the desire to make his parents happy. Perhaps their happiness was all he had considered when he agreed to marry Amara, the daughter of his father’s longtime friend. She was a kind woman, but he did not love her. She, too, had been persuaded into the marriage by her family, yet unlike him, she grew to love him. Obinna, on the other hand, cared for her and had a soft spot for her, but it was not love.
His father had once assured him, “You don’t need to love your spouse before marriage; you can learn to love her while you're married. That’s what happened between me and your mother, and we’re still happily married.”
But his father was wrong. Seven years and two children later, Obinna still did not love Amara.
As he sat in the lounge, staring again at the paintings that adorned the walls, he sighed deeply. Even his career felt like a life sentence. Being a lawyer had never been his passion; it was merely the path laid out for him. He longed to do something else, something that truly made him feel alive. It was never too late—many great men had started their true journeys later in life.
Looking back, he wished he had rebelled, even just once. Perhaps then, his life would have taken a different course. Perhaps then, he would have lived on his terms, instead of being a coward.
He felt the weight of generational trauma pressing down on him. He had wanted to be the one to break the cycle, but he hadn’t been brave enough. That task would fall to someone stronger and more daring than him. He vowed to do better with his children; they would not be subjected to giving in to his demands as their father. They would have the free will to choose what they wanted to do with their lives, and he would guide them as a father should.
The burden of being the first son was always heavier. Whether his life would take a different turn was left for time to tell, but he would make better decisions moving forward. It was time to put his foot down.
Turning once more to the artwork around the room, he longed to pick up his brushes again. Maybe he would. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after.