2.
Title: Truth and silence (An Igbo story)
Written by Festus, Obehi Destiny.
Sometimes I think about the Igbos. Their ways of living. Before they found out that their masks could burn from the white man's fire. Before they found out that the white man's metal could bend a man's ofo. Before their ways of existence was threatened and their truth taken from their lips.
Before they realized that underneath the masquerades that crawled from anthills had human faces underneath. Before they was colonization, they were Igbos. They were songs and they were stories.
Stories had it that Nnechi had a razor blade as a tongue. She was the Python Agwo that bit deep when or without being provoked. People said she took it from her mother. Others said her father was to blame. He had trained her with the freedom that should be accorded to a male child. Her father Oke indeed was not strict in the way he had brought Nnechi up. Nnechi was the only daughter of his fourth and favourite wife Obiageli who had died during childbirth. Nnechi's tantrums threatened the popularity of her father's achievement. From a tender age, she had fought off older sons and daughters over pieces of smoked fish that should be shared amongst children after evening meals. Where her fist proved to be powerless, she would wrap up sand in her little fingers and throw it into the naked eye of her opponent. Her next move would be to seek protection in her father's Obi. She assumed the role of a bully from early stages of childhood till she became a full chested woman. She pursued suitors with her fist. She made her way in life by dragging the backs of others through the path she chose. It was no wonder that the relationship between her and her step mothers was everything but amicable. After a regular disagreement between her and her step siblings, their mothers fearing the wrath of Oke would point fingers and shout that what will kill a woman will begin as an appetite. But Nnechi never heard these words. Or if she heard, she chose not to listen. Women avoided the quarrel she offered freely and men avoided her path.
Nnechi's irritation knew no bounds and men knew that it is not bravery when a man beats a woman.
That was Nnechi before the lioness was bundled and tamed into the compound of Okibe. But one cannot tell the story of Okibe without telling the story of the white man, the new religion and the destruction of the Ibo tribe. Before the white man came, Okibe would have been regarded as a regular man. He held no titles as the father before him and the one before that. When the white men came with their religion, the people of Umuchina regarded this new religion as a threat to their existence. The white man had brought this religion. The white man who did not have feet, whose skin did not burn in the sun. The white man who couldn't move three kilometres without the help of his iron horse. The first set of people who were intrigued by the poetry of this new religion were regarded as the excreta of the community. The women, men without titles and Osu.
The new religion spread like the gaze of the harmattan in the dry season. Deities were consulted regarding the fate of this religion and it was uttered that the future held promise. The new religion was like a false god. Soon it would exhaust its power and would be useless. Great men of the clan smiled after hearing the news. They rested their backs on the walls of their Obi and inhaled their snuffs. The future held promise. The people counted hours. Hours turned into days. Eke repeated itself. Orie, Afo and Nkwo ran but the new religion stood. Stories mounted about the prowess of the white men who walked on the sea to the coasts of the Igbo land. They had experienced resistance in the village of Aninta. The men of the village of Aninta were wiped out by the white men. It was the shortest war the people had ever witnessed. So many killings under one moon. The white men had taken long spears that need not be thrown. Metals pierced men and their ofo. Their chi uttered a weak cry before their bodies returned lifeless to the earth. After many moons, the elders of Umuchina visited their deity again for wisdom. "The gods are quiet. But there is wisdom in the silence of the gods". The chief priest had said. The elders shook their heads and went back sad and confused. They had no words for the questions of their wives and children at home.
The white man had set up his church. His own shrine was made of wood and stones. They said his own chi was a son whose father sent him to the earth to die. The next step was to establish his system of administration. The system required the establishment of a role. A native who would be superior to his other natives. A tool. He would be required to carry out the dictates of the British empire and influence the establishment of a colonial settlement. Okibe was chosen. His acquiescence to the church was evident since day one. He had coordinated other members in fetching sticks and trees for building the church. Since the convert had been banned from fetching word from the village. Okibe had led them to path in the evil forest where they had fetched trees.
He reassured them that the white man's power is stronger than the Mmuo of the forest. The new religion filled them with a sort of confidence to defile their existing beliefs and instincts. Knowing the source of its foundation, the villagers expected the church to desecrate to ash. But it turned out that the power of the white man was indeed great. For many months later, when Okibe was accorded the post of warrant chief, the ceremony took place in that same church. Not only in Umuchina but in other villages, posts were set up by the white men. These warrant chief powers promised to be superior even to men who held four titles in their own clan. This had never been heard or seen before. People were fleeing daily to the new religion. White men could be seen sometimes parading the streets and smacking their lips whenever they came across a hoard of black women. Children started to grow wisdom outside of the father own stock. They started abandoning their ancestors to answer the call of the white man.It was never heard in any clan that a superior position was accorded to one man. A man's title were based on his merits and achievement. The size of his arms determined the yams in his barn. Indeed times were changing. They say a man must dance the dance prevalent in his own time. The elders of Umuchina refused to move their feet to the dance of the white man. Hence no elder was present during the coronation of Okibe.
The confusion in Umuchina was different. The stories did not sleep even when the moon closed her eyes. They embraced the sun and caused ripples in streams. They caused beads to shake and made great men put more woods in the flames. Meetings were held, gods were consulted. The stories of the past was being threatened with new lies from this new faith. The men of Umuchina decided to have a meeting about this new conundrum. The meeting was held in Mazi Nnamdi's Obi. Only men of titles were invited. Since men were running to hold the umbrella of the white man, only few attended the meeting. Mazi Nnamdi's wife swept his large Obi and before noon, the elders of the land trooped in. They each held their ofo and carried their goatskin bag under their arms. They dropped their ofo in front of Mazi Nnamdi's Obi and went inside. This was done to inform outsiders that this was a meeting of important men hence no eavesdroppers. The men saluted each other and Mazi Nnamdi called his first son and told him to bring Kola from his mother.
Mazi Nnamdi held the Kola above his head and prayed "He that bring Kola brings life."
"Ise" the men chorused.
"Let the sun rise and let the moon fall. What is mine will come to me and what is yours will come to you" Mazi Nnamdi's lips trembled as he spoke. He had seen many years and his body was beginning to shrink.
"Ise"
"Each man to his own. No disgrace shall come upon our name"
"Ise"
He broke the Kola and passed it round. After everyone had taken a lobe and chewed it. He opened his goatskin bag and rolled his chalk and gave it to Mazi Ibe the oldest amongst them. Mazi Ibe
painted his big toes with it. Others painted their face, some painted one part of their eyes. When the stone was given to Mazi Nnamdi, he painted his big foot.
Mazi Ibe was the first to speak. He decided to hit the nail on the head. He spoke softly with a deep and burdened voice. "Times are changing. Men have forgotten their father's names. Last week in Umuofia, a man broke his father's ofo right after his conversion to the Christi people. I fear for our future. I fear for us". Nobody spoke for a while. Teeths ran out of lobes to chew. They were covered by a blanket of silence. This blanket had holes. And through this holds, they saw image of what was, would could be and what would have been.
Mazi Okoro spoke next. He held two titles and was a great warrior in his youth. His wife was one of the first set to run to the white man's church. His children followed one by one. "Our children are not as brave as we used to. This new religion has made them believe that they can be wiser than their fathers. They have forgotten that it is from a man's stock of sense that he gives to his sons. I asked my son to fetch me Palmwine so that I would give to my ancestors the other day.
Instead he took it and shared it amongst his new convert friends. He has forgotten that a child is not scalded by the piece of yam that his father puts in his hands. One of these days, I'll pick up my gun and kill that boy...”
“You will do no such thing." Mazi Nnamdi's breast and lips quivered as he spoke. Old age had betrayed his strength. He tried to sit up straight and failed. He gave up and continued speaking.
“The fox must be chased away first; after that the hen might be warned against wandering into the bush. We must first think of a solution. This new religion doesn't threaten our control over our children alone. It threatens our truth. It threatens our stories. I say what will our children will speak of us when they tell their stories to their own children? Will they know the name of our Ofo? Will they call the name of their ofo when they are trapped in a ditch? Or will they call the god of the white man? What will they tell their own children about us? Do you not know that "My father told me"is the greatest oath. It is what they tell their children that becomes the truth of the next generation. If they tell their children that we are good, that will be the truth. If they tell their children that we were bad and worshipped false gods that would be the truth. We may not be alive then to defend our names and actions. We have lost the ears and mouth to which to listen and speak the truth. Our farms are wielded by female hands because the white man has offered our sons strange ways to survive. That is the real tragedy. We have lost the right to tell our story while still alive. We were not brave when the new religion came. Because of the tragedy of Aninta, we allowed it settle. To prevent thorn from pricking our eyes, we watched them from a distance. We waited for the gods but they were silent. Hence we observed. But we forgot that when trouble comes to your house, he brings its own stool and doesn't wait for you to offer him a seat. I am old and unfortunate to be alive in this generation. I have no words to tell my father or his father before him. I fear that no one would offer me kola or wine when I'm gone. But I would not blame the white man alone. We all have a share a hand this tragedy."
Mazi Nwokibe nodded his head and spoke" These words are not for us. If only our sons were hear to listen to them. A fowl does not eat into the belly of goat. It is our final role to instruct our own children. They are lost. A child does not know a poisonous herb. He calls it vegetable. We must teach them the good from the bad". Everyone nodded and muttered inaudibly. But they all knew that what was done was done. They had lost the battle. How could they compete with a god that rendered their own Oracle silent. Their effort to bring their own sons back to their own fold would be as futile as Mazi Nnamdi's attempt to stand on his back. The discussion changed and soon they drank Palmwine and talked about masquerade festivals in other towns. In their youth, some of them had worn festival masks and had danced back and forth through anthills. They reminisced about the past and it temporarily dispersed the tragedy that burdened them.
The compound was soon thrown in a bustle and feet were heard dancing with sands and causing rumples in the earth. The elders listened with their feet. Mazi Nnamdi's had in mind to call his first wife and inquire about the excitement when Okibe and a hoard of white soldiers tore into Mazi Nnamdi's Obi. The elders held resentment towards this white man's dog who would not even be allowed to eavesdrop in the meeting of women in the days of their own youth.
"To what do I owe this insult? Why do you bring lepers to my home?." Mazi Nnamdi spoke harshly.
"Bat said he knew his ugliness and chose to fly by night. No wonder your old fools hide under this blanket of shame to hide your treason" Okibe responded. This attracted a round of invective which bounced off his skin as soon as they were shot at him. He whispered to the assistant behind him.
The white soldiers watched in amazement. One of them told Okibe to speak in English. Okibe released bouts of broken English while his assistant translated in Igbo. The assistant who wore a khaki short and a rough old shirt cleared his throat and spoke. "For organizing a clandestine meeting to harm the government of his royal Majesty, king of England. This meeting is hereby cancelled and everyone present will be subject to the punishment accorded to people who plot to overthrow the British empayaa." He dragged his last words in a sort of comic satisfaction at the Level of his own knowledge of the white man's tongue. The men sat helplessly as the soldiers rounded them up in metal cuffs and took them to a yard where prisoners were kept. Their age was disrespected. Their hair were cut with blade that dared blood to sprout from their heads. They were flogged and made to eat once a day. Mazi Nnamdi died on the third day. Before he died, he whispered to his colleagues "If this is the new world. I fear if anyone would be brave enough to tell our truth" and with that he rested with his ancestors. The men were not released for eight market weeks. They were subject to constant ridicule and torture. They maintained the ritual of silence and lamented over their existence. Okibe did what he judged right. He took tax from elders and widows. He forced each household to send their children to church. The man in charge of the missionary, Bishop Goldstone, thought the increase in his members was due to his gift of oratory and evangelism. He thanked Okibe profusely and this stretnghtened Okibe's resolve. Okibe foot danced a dance that no masquerade in Umuchina had ever dared. He burnt masquerades and broke Ofo. People said the gods would avenge themselves and avoided his wrath. So, when he bundled
Nnechi, daughter of Oke. His actions was met with silence. He beat her and raped her. Her arrogance came back as quickly as it had left. When her insults became too much, he cut a metal and put it between her lips. On his way from a meeting with the district officer, Okibe was struck with cold. Prayers were held on his behalf. Few days later, they said he was paralyzed waist down and pox grew on every part of his body. No one was allowed to see him hence no one knew how he was. But gossips in the market said he had killed the Python of Idemili and the gods had sought vindication. Okibe's sickness lived while his body died slowly. After two months of being sick, his position as warrant chief was taken from him and given to his assistant. In his last days, Okibe was seen sitting inside his obi, alone. His body was filled with camwood and red oil. He died a slow and painful death. Pus crept from his body and aligned with his skin. People said his sickness was sent by Idemili. Others said it was Ekwensu. Whichever god did it, people said the gods had finally taken vengeance. The gods were not entirely silent after all.
