By
Obododimma Oha
Indigenous
knowledge, simply understood as a type of insight which insiders possess and
which has been working for them for a long time, reminds me about one thing:
there are diverse forms of knowledge; in fact, can talk of “knowledges”. There
are other cogent things, namely:
(1) these
extant forms of knowledge, shaped by the different dimensions from which groups
look at life, are players in the global village square, which I could follow
someone like Ikhide to call, from Igbo lexicology, the “ilo;”
(2) the forms
of knowledge present at the ilo enter
into some relationship, and this leads them to compete for space or to
collaborate;
(3) the forms
of knowledge present at the ilo, as
they compete or collaborate, suggest to me that I have to be careful in
selecting which form would influence my life;
(4) In being
careful in selecting forms of knowledge, I realize, too, that the ilo is a kind of classroom of life, and
thus, it is foolish to model one’s life by anything one hears in that
classroom;
(5) one thing
is clear: as these forms of knowledge compete for dominance or collaborate,
my life skills developing is partly
dependent on how I relate with them;
(6) quite
inevitable are the agents of these forms of knowledge, and , along this line of
thinking, it would be lopsided if I can only quote Asian and European thinkers and forget that my ancestors are
also also thinkers worth citing once in a while; and
(7) along the
line mentioned in (6) above is the indubitable fact that my parents are my
first and memorable professors who have played a great role in helping me to
understand life and what is happening at the ilo.
Let us look
at these, very briefly. First, its naming here and there. It is popularly
called “indigenous knowledge” or IK, for short. Indigenous because it is seen
as being tied to that local context or does work there! But, of course, it may
have been borrowed. When culture meets culture, they should be humble enough to
hold a conversation. In that conversation, each should be willing to learn and
gain from the other. Each of us brings something to the table. Now that I have
lived in the heart of Yorubaland for many years and one of the subjects of
Olubadan, am I to to tell my kinsfolk that I will retire and come back to them
without some Yoruba culture with me? If I have somebody that I have interacted
with, is there nothing that I have learned or used in consolidating my learning
with from the person at all? If there is nothing, then the interaction is a
waste of precious time! So, “indigenous knowledge” may be informed or energized by knowledge from the outside. Chinua Achebe
tells, in his Arrow of God, that each
time the reverend father and Ezeulu met in the former’s obi and conversed, there was mutual respect, and although none
succeeded in converting the other, each left a better person!
Further, we
often think of conflict in this relationship of the inside and the outside. But
it could also be complementary and cooperative. The conflicting, an attempt at
being the only one reigning, is just
primitive. Indigenous knowledge should actually be multivoiced, indeed multidimensional.
This does not mean that it does not speak to context and about context. It
liberates context in that one basket of singularity!
Because I am
face-to-face with diversity at the ilo, the village square of discourses, I
have to be wary in not only seeking primitive homogeneity, but also in not
thinking that the one from the outside is my only hope, my only future. It is
important that I recognize the various “classrooms” available to me from the
culture of my starting point, and pay due homage to my professors in the
culture. Those “professors” do not have to wear the gown and the hood to be my
teachers! In that case, it is regrettable if I miss any class or appear late
while learning at their feet. They may not wield the cane, but I mus have lost
something through my poor attitude to learning! That poor attitude, of course,
first registers, in my preference, in thinking that, because, the professors
have not donned the gown, the knowledge they dispense is worthless and the
type dispensed at formal school preferable. No wonder my paternal grandfather
in saying “Nkịta nyara akpa, nsị agwụ n’ọhịa” (When the dog hangs its bag,
there would be no excrement left in the bush”) and thereby disallowing my
father from attending formal school, was rightly worried. It is even getting
worse: the hungry mad and wild dog now hangs its hunting bag and has cleared
the bush of faeces! Don’t we like that? At least, there is less likelihood that
we would step on exposed faeces if we are roaming the bush in our new
pastoralism, following our cattle or goats about.
Let us get
this very clear: as we quote thinkers from Asia to Europe and America or
elsewhere in our writings, are we not displaying acceptable level of
learnedness? Are we not lucky to contact these thinkers? But we should do well
to cite our ancestors also, at least our parents who have encountered this
life before we do. We should be fairly familiar with our local cultures and be
able to cite them. Or are they not quotable?
Indeed,
indigenous knowledge accuses me. And rightly, too. My knowledge, without it, is
grossly incomplete.
