Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Out of an empty calabash, the priest produced the items with which he decorated the new Igwe, and the nobles. There is no falsity in all the people of Ezzum do when it comes to matters relating to their deity. For instance, the priest had upturned the calabash to the sight of everyone present to see. Should in the case eyes do not see, he broke out from incantation to warning the people. What he does was not of his own accord but of Ogwu, the god of the people.

“Our ancestors are the kingmakers. Whomever they have anointed king remains king. Children of Ogwu, look and see that a mere mortal has no hand in the affairs of the gods. My hands can only carry the much the gods have laden to it. May the wise man see, and grow in his wisdom. The foolish man can flee to the wild forest,” the priest said, tossing the calabash to show nothing was inside.

The decoration started with the nobles who aligned themselves in a straight line. They moved to the priest, one after the other to receive their merit.

When a noble got to the diviner, he asked, “what are you called?” The person responds with the name he desired for his title, and the name remained him forever. A person who bore the same name in the future, added suffixes to acknowledge his predecessors.

The ones who had received titles before were not as excited as those who were receiving their first. The likes of Nwosu, Njoku, and Nwokocha were nervous. Nwokocha could not wait until it got to his turn. They have pulled him to the extreme. No one pushed him per se, only that he has gone wrong with his calculations. He thought it would begin from his side, but he received a deal of surprise as the priest started from the other end. He resolved in his mind, “I must see to the bottom of this. Patience is only paramount.”

Here was Nwosu standing in the presence of the diviner. His minds were asleep as his legs walked him. He struggled to recuperate his consciousness by counting his footsteps.

“What does one care about all these? Do people count their steps?” He thought.

The voice inquiring, ‘what are you called?’ woke him from his absenteeism. At this last moment of the showdown, he forgot all that he had recited countless times.

“Do you not know your name?” The priest asked again.

“Does a living man ever forget his name?” Nwosu responded with composure as he had learned from other chieftains. He had practiced with this countenance as with the new names he has forgotten.

“Tell it, let the gods bear witness,” the priest enjoined him. Nwosu taking a little more time did not get him furious. The diviner knew the first-time excitements can be so overwhelming.

“Aka’ome nwa’chinemere onyebuchi’onye the first of Ezzum,” Nwosu forced out a name from his head. Parts of the name were fragments from his practice.

The priest echoed the name and sealed the name to his title. He dipped his hand into the calabash and decorate him with whatever he produced. There was the feather of an eagle with which he decorated his head, the neck beads, the wrist, and the ankle bracelets. Each time he brought out an item, he showed it to the recipient and asked his opinion.

“Look what the ancestors gave me to give to you. Permit me to proceed with what they have asked me?”

“Go on, the mouthpiece of the gods. A father cannot give to his son what is evil.”

Next after Nwosu was Njoku, then Nwokocha. The last man there could not even recall his title names after the encounter. He did not have to worry about this because soon, those who would hail him will remind him. The community can read the excitement from his face where it spelled out. This was a surprise parcel for him from the gods or whoever had found him worthy. He has set a record for posterity. He was the only man who has not undertaken the funeral of his own father but has participated in another’s. This feat will be kernel shell to crack.

The coronation of the Igwe came last. The crown was not a little matter which the priest can handle with flimsy approach. Unlike the nobles who walked to him, he must go to the throne.

“Do you accept the throne?”

“Let the will of our ancestors prevail.”

“What do we call you?”

“Nwa’chukwumelu’eze Akaraka kachasi the first of Ezzum.”

The priest echoed the name and sealed it to the throne. He dipped his hand into the calabash and produced the items with which he decorated the Igwe. The items were different from the ones the chieftains had received. When the diviner handed him the tusk, everyone stood up to salute the new crown. Those who were close to him went and showed their back, and he stroke them. The celebration began with the Akuneche’enyi who thrilled the people.

The first group of Akuneche’enyi dancers was to clear the ground. They danced shabbily, and with reckless abandon. Not so distant from when they disappeared did the real group surfaced. They were more of good food, knowledgeable of what the drum asked of them. They knew when the drum said, “throw your left leg forward or tilt your arm,” and they followed in time. Their splendid performance must have been from series of long practice histories.

The coordinated dancers graced the sights of their spectators. They earned for themselves hearts upon hearts from the cheerful crowd. The climax was when they danced to the Igwe, and suspended like statues awaiting his blessings. Until the Igwe stroke them with the tusk, they remained put. The one who took the lead must have developed an aching foot from the long pause. If the Onowu who sat right behind the Igwe had not set him right, the dancer would have collapsed.

The beauty of the display stole into the Igwe’s heart so much so that he was unable to dredge the quantum of a task left to him. He was applauding hard until the chuckle of whispers stunk his ear. As if experimenting with the first dancer, when he stroked her and said the blessings, she danced away. The next dancer mimicked her predecessor, but she did not have to wait so long as the first. The Igwe got the inkling in full light after the second, so he stood until he attended the last on the array.

This would be his first bit of lesson on the leadership of Ezzum. The dancers have taught him an Igwe must stand for his people in whatever circumstance. He now understood his title has placed him on the lead, and the greater burden laid on his shoulders. The journey has begun with joining the Akuneche’enyi. He must have to adjust and retie his girdle to a fitting level for whatever task laid ahead. The meaning of the priest’s question before his coronation is now playing in context.

“Do you accept the throne?” The question echoed in his head as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and returned to sit.

As the first display ended, everyone developed a rumbling stomach. The aroma of the women’s handwork escaped from the kitchen and stung the people’s nostrils. The scent of roast meat, spiced nkwobi, and ngwo-ngwo perfumed everywhere. The cooks chose to garnish the meats into different delicacies and it was beautiful. Some may prefer nkwobi to ngwo-ngwo, and those who do not want to eat theirs right away may like to go with the roast one.

Was Mazi Ikebe expecting this torment when he emphasized not leaving empty? As it were, those who bore hungry tummy counted to when the women served the banquet. Those children who knew their mothers were in the kitchen swerved to receive some chunks. The aroma glued to them as they went to the crowd to stir the people’s apatite.

Every here and now, one hears children throwing queries with one probing the other. The suspects will not yield to their friend's guesses until they pushed them harder. This was the reason their mothers stood on their necks and insisted they ate upright in their presence. They had not thought a stronger exhibit followed the children.

“Have you eaten meat?”

“I have not seen any with my two naked eyes,” the suspect would respond.

“Show me your palms let me smell.”

The suspects have the option of either cooperating or not. The latter would make the truth more obvious. Their refusal will interpret to them having some cockroaches in their cupboard.

“Aha! I have caught you. I thought you said you have not eaten meat?” the investigating child will query.

The smart suspects would exploit the former which is to stray their hands for inspection.

“See, see. I told you I have not had any, and you doubt me,” they will say as they offered their palms. Some suspects did this and got away with the victory. Luck deserted the others when the investigators still went ahead to smell. The suspects who would not want them to announce their secret will propose to help.

“Come let me show you how to go and get your own.”

“How did you do it, is your mother in there?” The whining child will give in to the other’s proposal.

“Yes. I saw your mother’s sister there. Go to her, she will give to you as well.” They went, unsure of what may be the outcome, but they nonetheless came out perfumed with the same aroma. This was how they continued until the scent filled the yard, and left hungry tummies dreaming.

The next group who jumped into the center to clear the ground were unfortunate. The spectators were not pleased as the heat of rumbling stomach burdened them. Murmurs grew from within the chieftains with each spitting disgust.

“If these little children have nothing to offer, let them give way,” the chieftains said. None admitted to the other the source of his bitterness was not the dancers, but his stomach.

When the dancers finished all they had to do, they stormed out, in steps as disorderly as they had gone in. They left many in the crowd sighing, “what a dance?”

The real Ikorodo emerged with better affiance. The group was junior to the akuneche’enyi. Unmarried teenage girls constituted it, but advanced upon marriage. This association has many members. In fact, almost all the females belonged. One’s eligibility of making for public display depended on her practice records.

As the group responded to the drum in perfect feat, the grumbling seized. The spectators have not all welcomed the bad legs surprise, and the good ones later. This was like saying to them, “the impatient ones can go away.”

The chieftains began to reconsider. They pointed out the girls who cleared the ground and acknowledged they were not as bad as they implied. Nwosu blushed from cheek to cheek as everyone told Ijeoma was the best. None was as worse, only some stood out.

When they seemed to have exhausted their whole, the drumming began to die. The spectators thought they have seen it all, but it was yet a calculated surprise. The Adamma appeared, and the drum picked up. The girls responded to various challenges the Adamma proposed.

There were cheers from the crowd. Unlike with the other masquerades, everyone loved this one. People believed it was a male creature with a feminine spirit, so always it appeared as a female. The masquerade does not harm anybody, rather it goes about challenging people for a dance. The Adamma knew many dancing moves, and every good dancer was a friend to it. When it proposed a style and the girls danced it well, it changed to another.

Attention shifted to the group who entered the court. Some were familiar faces. Most special was the man accompanied by men armed with a foreign guns. The gunmen wore the same clothes and tucked their trousers into their boots. They do not find anything fascinating, so they do not smile or their grim faces outdid their smiles. Nobody said he recognized any of them. They may have come before because they were always following the familiar face. The known face was the man who came to promise heaven on earth and have everyone print their thumbs on a strip of paper. Seeing him again after a long time excited the people. The Igwe wore marks of the same excitements as he received the strangers, and ordered seats for them. Only the men who bore arms did not sit. They stood behind the familiar face, one man to either side. There were more armed men, beyond the people’s court. Not all had entered the court. Some stood at the entrance, and the others took strategic positions.

One fascinating thing was, the strangers understood and spoke their tongue. The only visible distinction was their strange dressing culture. They wore pairs of trousers, shirts, and foot cases. Some had a strip of fabric passed around their neck and tucked their shirts into their trousers.

The first time they encountered these men, series of questions crossed their minds.

“Do they ever get pressed?”

“Do they start stripping if they ever want to use the backyard?”

“Will a mound of fufu pass through those necks tied with a cord?”

“Does their toes not hurt?”

Many asked questions which until today tarried, although it lingered in their hearts. Some had resolved to pour out forthwith if the strangers kept coming, and their amity grew.

The first time they visited, they left the community with many promises. To raise a settlement for the community on the rock. Transform the night darkness, so in the nighttime, one could see his neighbor’s face. Increase the yield of the farm seedling, so harvest can be four times in a single season. Build a ridge where everyone can get clean water regardless of seasons. Construct roads that will link to the other communities on which their vehicles can ride. The roads would open to the rest parts of the world, and beautiful cars would be passing all the time.

“These people are too generous. Does anyone remember their promises?” Olisa asked.

“There are many of them. It depends on what angle you are asking,” Asika answered.

“Let us hope they have come to start with,” Njoku said.

“I guess they have come to deliver the items we chose from the strip of paper we printed our thumbs,” Nwokocha said. Until now, they have forgotten all about that. Everyone began to recollect. “I remembered the man asked me to print my thumb on any item I wanted.”

“Did you recall what you chose?” Nwosu asked his friend.

“Quite well. I chose yams,” Njoku responded.

“I can remember choosing guns,” Nwosu said.

“I chose hoes and machetes,” Asika said.

“I chose corn,” Olisa said.

“I chose handshake,” Akonuche said in one broken voice. His choice left him agonized. “If I had known they were coming back, I would have chosen guns.”

“What does handshake add to one’s life?” All voices asked.

“I had only wanted to make a caricature of them. I never thought it would ever come true.”

“You may later become friends with them,” Asika predicted, but he did not take such lighthearted. The face he wore drew sympathy that some promised to share their gift with him. The one that got him back to life was Nwosu’s.

“There are two guns in the image I printed my thumb. I will give one to Akonuche when I receive them,” Nwosu proposed. Their excitement grew with a good sense of optimism.

The strangers watched the masquerade and the girls’ confrontation with enthusiasm. When the girls responded to all the styles the Adamma posed, it ran around the ground and disappeared. The Ikorodo dancers danced away in triumphant steps.

The drummers stroked their last as the Igwe stood up to address the people.

“chie... chie... chie... kwenu!” the Igwe wailed.

“Ya.”

“Umu Ezzum kwenu!”

“Ya.”

“If you look around, you will notice strange men in our midst. There is no cause to fear. The people are our friends from the local authority. They have come with some good news. Please, let us listen to them.” The Igwe collected streams of cheers when he dropped his speech, which only ceased when the man stood up to talk.

“We are your brothers, and we are not strange, even though we chose the English life,” he said, and the people cheered. “We heard about the event you have at hand, and we have come to celebrate with you.” The crowd started to applaud. They kept calm when it seemed the man still has some words left in his stomach. “We have come to also remind you it will soon get to the period of collecting your thumbprints. Please, know the exercise is important to the local authority. Thank you!”

Murmurs arose when the man dropped his speech. He quenched their hopes as he did not talk about their earlier promises.

“The people will like to know the office of the man who has spoken?” Olisa asked after bringing the crowd into calmness.

“My pleasure. It is very important you know. I am the Chairman of the Local Authority,” the man responded.

“Then you must be a man of good reputation,” Olisa gave the manned space to affirm. “We recognize you were among those who came to collect our thumbprints and left us many promises. You have said nothing of those pledges, and yet, you are asking for another thumbprint.”

“Your thumbprints are for some purposes you do not have to understand. We have lodged your desires in our database, and we do not want to keep talking about them,” the man responded.

The community decoded the Chairman’s speech with resentments. The vexation bulged Asika with the urge to speak as he could no longer house his disappointments. So, he pulled down Olisa who had remained on his foot waiting for the man to answer his question and got up at once.

“Let me tell you, we do not use promises made us for a joke. If you do not fulfill your earlier pledges to us, we will not continue playing your game. You cannot come into our community and spit to our faces,” Asika said and earned nods of agreement from the crowd.

“This town is now under my authority. You cannot contend with the decisions of the Local Authority. You all must produce your thumbprints when the time comes.”

“You lied. You are a thief. Tell us who is your father?” Nwosu sprang up and yelled. A lot more chieftains have gotten up also to query the descent of the man.

“Tell us who your father is, let us trace your lineage,” they hollered.

Uproar aroused as the crowd started chanting on top of their voices.

“Thieves, community robbers...”

When the commotion grew dense, the Igwe got up, gave his friends the finest stares, and left. Every member of his household followed suit, mimicking his actions. Then the diviner followed, but not without daring the man in a duel with the deity. There was more than a gaze in his stares, his eyes lit a fire that could consume a living soul.

The incidence incited the youths who would have descended on the strangers if not for the gunmen. Even so, they did make exceptions to a greater height.

About now, masquerades from Ani-mmuo appeared with whips to discard the crowd. Everyone fled for safety, and in one moment, the crowd deserted.

At the height of the tension, one masquerade approached the local authority Chairman. It tried to frighten the man with its whip, but he stood unmoved. So, on the third attempt, the masquerade went ahead to flog off the man’s stubbornness. Of course, the man took to heels, but gunmen surrendered the masquerade and pushed it into their truck.

Some who found refuge could not help imagining what the situation would be for the strangers.

“I would have loved to see what the masquerades did with those imposters,” one voice said from a hideout.

“The masquerades can flog the hell out of them. They ought to know this is Ezzum, and not their father's land,” another responded.

“You can imagine the spittle to our persons,” another said.

“Keep quiet, so we do not reveal our hideout.”