Brother Dash Me

By

Obododimma Oha

There was a time that in local areas in Nigeria one was considered lucky to inherit things used by one's elder brothers and sisters. One always looked forward to wearing the same clothes, shoes, handbands, etc or carry the same bags they carried as young people. It was like following their footsteps or waking on the same road that they walked. It was a thing of pride and one was glad to be involved.

From what some spiritualists tell us, putting on someone's clothes is like wearing that person's skin. Wearing a brother's or sister's skin could be a good thing, after all they were both housed in the womb for some time. That is an important connection. Creation has a plan in this togetherness. So, it is a good idea to wear brother's or sister's skin. 

Those who wanted to kill one's joy or were dying of envy would label the inherited things "Brother of Me." It could be observable that what one was wearing was inherited because it might not be one's size exactly. So, it was dismissed as "Brother Dash Me" and as owned by someone else. If a Brother gave out a pair of trousers, the inheritor just had to go and see a tailor later with it. Same for skirt or blouse. It was very easy to recognize a  "Brother Dash Me." 

But, before the fuller discourse, let us look closely at the language used in the labeling. The senior is a "Brother," with a rising on the first syllable of the word. If that is not a phonological appeal, what else is? Plus a gratitude. "Brother's" place as the high in the discourse is still preserved, but that is to "undress" the proud wearer of oversize.

There is also some Nigerian pidgin there - - "dash." A gift is just a "dash," which means the giver does not really need it and has no reason not to give it away. That is an indirect way of saying the gift is worthless. 

It is not a birthday gift. It is not a gift from Father Christmas. It is purely a discard. That is a greater way of using language to kill the spirit of the wearer. Little wonder many have now kept away from "Brother Dash Me." 

One interesting thing about this "Brother Dash Me" is that what someone used to cherish has gone to someone else. That reminds me about our valuing of our offices and things as if we would keep them forever. Don't they say in Nigeria, "Soja go, soja come. Barrack remain"? ("Soldier goes  soldier comes barracks remains"). Our personal office today will be someone else's office tomorrow. We cannot be around forever. That is why it is important to make the future strong, indeed, stronger! That baton must be handed over to the next mate in the race.  

"Brother Dash Me" did many other things that I liked very much. It did something to relationship. It made it become stronger and warmer. Of course, one expects someone covered by another person to  be warmer. And so we are not surprised at this warmth in the relationship.

"Brother Dash Me" further reveals one vital thing about sustenance in the society where it occurred. It shows that the inheritors did not expect parents to provide clothings and other things all the time. It is true that parents have played a major role in bringing people into this world but don't have to be the ones to provide all their needs. So, we find some rural areas laboring and doing things to be able to help themselves. Even their communities have lived not to wait for government but simply depending on the goodwill of citizens to build bridges, repair roads, build schools and hospitals, even police posts! So, brothers and sisters even have macro application. Brothers would always "dash", as we find in many parts of Nigeria's South East. 

"Brother Dash Me" means that Brother cares and will continue to care. Brother is your covering and your warmth. Sister, too. In this journey. In this weather. 

On another note, one could see the spirit of communalism and sharing at  work. That spirit of the communalism is interrogated in the "Brother Dash Me" ridicule of individualism. The womb of our meeting and housing is no longer considered. 

In Nigeria these days, one sees used things  from overseas on sale. Clothes. Shoes. Bags. Even underwear! These are not "Brother Dash Me" again for they have been bought from the market! They are not someone's life going to another person. One has paid to have them. They are not items for "dash." 

Brother, sister, look back, at your back, and continue to "dash." 

Daddy's Stuff

By

Obododimma Oha

I gave my son my computer to use for a while beccause his own was bad but warned him not  to tamper with my files. He promised not to. When he returned the  computer, the files were intact (to my great joy) but l discovered that he had done something worth  thinking about. He had created a folder for my files and had named the folder "Daddy's Stuff." It was not just just that he spared my files to avoid trouble or created the folder. It was more : the language that he used in the naming was something else. Stuff? He must have wondered what to call the folder of things I valued. OK, look at my music! Albums from Osita Osadebe, Oliver de Coque, Oriental  Brothers, Warrior! No hip hop! From their cobwebbed music you shall know them! This stuff fellow must be living in the past, he must have concluded. These and other things were just "stuff" to him.

It was also possible that there was an attempt to use Daddy's Stuff on that reading table to read Daddy's Stuff on the computer : half-eaten kola nut, many open books, bush lantern facing an ancient electric reading lamp, a grandfather clock, etc. The computer must have have become the new porter helping Daddy to carry all these stuff in the marketplace of life! 

Okay, just think about what the stuff fellow's  desktop would look like. Things and things! In fact, a desktop of   things, of stuff and stuff! 

I lent out my computer but that was a world encountering another world and showing its  exception in language, in its major signifying system. I exposed my world and should learn from it. Technology sharing would not save the day.  Language is, indeed, more helpful, more revealing. 

The choices we make in language can suggest what we are and where we are. If "stuff" designates my "orishirishi," the unrecognizable, what does my language also say about that other language, at least as a way of talking back? 

Well, the stuff fellow's world does not use derogatory description. The values of a world and its technology are all there to do something. So, my" stuff" may look strange but that "stuff" has done much for me. It is worlds armed with language as a weapon and which see values as "stuff" that need to be pitied. It is that world where life means nothing, where nests could be set ablaze, that need to be pitied. 

My music suggested difference and strangeness. Yes. Strangeness! Not even Michael Jackson! How could I value albums by Oriental Brothers and Osadebe? That was crazy, it seemed. But what if these musical albums are a kind of hip hop? That means that stuff rappers should also start thinking of relationships of things thought not to related. Is it not possible that every item is just a stuff? 

I would have been rejoicing if my son copied and played any of my music stuff! "Lai! Lai!" as they say in Nigeria. Has he finished playing his hip hop and "Yankee" music to think of playing stuff music? That would be stranger than strange! 

My stuff music gives someone belly ache, I was told, and the retaliation comes in the form of loud hip hop or "Yankee." So, I respect and protect my stuff world, even if its music cannot inspire other worlds. 

Daddy's Stuff is a folder for some reasons. In it someone has folded up a world. But the challenge is to open up a closed world,  to explore that world for opportunities and to learn lessons. 

Now we know that Daddy's Stuff is Daddy's world. Strange or Estranged world. But, importantly, the stuff is not only music. It is a world of things. The music saying deep things, giving out philosophies. There are  paintings and drawings and debates in social media. In fact, Daddy's Stuff is a great puzzle. A strange world. 

A world should not remain closed. It has to give and be ready to receive. Not folding or closing up. It has to have something to give, not just lie and receive. And it should think about what it is giving. 

Now Daddy's Stuff is not here within reach! 

Welcome, my stuff. You could have been deleted! And replaced with a movie or reigning musical. What would he do? At most, he would rave and rave and disturb the whole forest. He would make noise and threaten hellfire. Then, moody for days. And that's all. The stuff is gone forever, gone for good and the forest is safe again. 

So, welcome really my stuff. You could have gone for good. Welcome from Hades. You could have gone forever! 

Daddy's Stuff reminds me about the fact that there is   new life and there is a new language in town. It is is better to know it to know where one is. It is better and safer. 

Welcome, my computer. Welcome, things and things. 

"He Is My Brother" When We Are Only from the Same Town, not from the Same Mother

 "He Is My Brother" When We Are Only from the Same Town, not from the Same Mother

By

Obododimma Oha

Relationship of people is not defined in many African communities as it is defined in the Western. Thus, if Biko Agozino is from Anambra State in Nigeria and I am from that state also, he becomes my "brother," even though we are not from the same mother, not even from the same town. Biko is Igbo and I am Igbo. That is one connection. Both of us attended the same university in Nigeria once upon  time, but our paths parted. He  went his Eskor Toyor way and I  Achebe-ed mine. However  to be many Africans, Biko is just my "brother," after all, he is Igbo and Obododimma is also Igbo! Translation problem? Perception? Relativity? Communalism? What is happening in this kind of discourse, ?

For many speakers of Igbo, "He Is My Brother" may be one easy way of running away from the translation problem in" nwanne." Literally," nwanne " means " offspring of my mother. " It is a very poor translation to call a kinsperson or someone from my state " my brother. "  That is clearly misleading! In fact, a fraud tendency! So, my brother, you are not my brother! My sister, you are not my sister! 

The idea of " my African brother "  or " my African sister," or "Nigerian brother" is just a fiction. Invent and express it, but it doesn't exist or it has ceased to exist. It is one of those fictions that have given you your haircut!

How am I your "brother"? Did you remember to give me part of the trillions of dollars you borrowed from out there? Truly, my brother, you are not a good brother, if a brother at all! You need to share the thing. 

We know that a speaker may use " my brother" just to negotiate intimacy, to draw closer to the addressee. We know that slippery slope. 

But, apart from this stylistic use, many who prefer "my bother" to other choices actually appeal to a primordial sentiment, talking about about an assumed closeness and asking for support on the basis of this imagined closeness. That appeal to an imagined closeness is fraudulent. It expects preferential treatment and authorizes it. 

Apart from language, religion is another force that promotes the ingroupness in the metaphors of fictional "brother" and "sister." A "brother" and a "sister" are better people and should get better treatment, it is assumed. Can you see how that kind of ingroupness unites? 

Indeed, religion brings in a phonological color! It puts an accent, a rising tone, on the last syllable. That makes a shibboleth a schibboleth at last! 

Recognizing and addressing somebody in the same religious group as "brother" or  "sister" could also be deceitful. Who does not know that someone with an ulterior motive could just memorize catch phrases like "God bless you" and "Remain blessed" and use them to pretend to be sincere and get a target easily? So, my brother, you may not be my brother! To be cautious! 

Oh, one may be guilty of appealing to primordial sentiment, too. Although I don't use  "brother" and  "sister," don't I address my students sometimes as my "children," still invoking the family configuration? I will ask my students to discuss the address tag  in this configuration, but with some sympathy in their criticism. 

That reminds me: am I not just referred to as "Broda" by my nephews and nieces, especially in our village? Sometimes the /r/ in "Broda" is stylistically made silent. Another trap with language, only imagined! Who knows what your "uncle" means? You are telling us it's more appropriate? It is cold and not quite complimentary to mouths waiting to chew bread and biscuits. Similarly, that  woman who is related to  Daddy is "Sista." Call her "Sista" if you want her to rub your hair and give you a special treatment and "that woman" if you want a knock on the head. 

You can also call her "anti," even if you have no blood relationship. You just have to get something from her, something not painful! 

Oh,  we are forgetting something : a "broda" could become "uncle." As the need arises. As the spirit moves a speaker. 

And, this earth, my brother. It is now standing upside-down and on one leg only. This dislocation, my brother. Where do you go and hide, my brother? Even in the countryside, you cannot shut your eyes (that is, if the  house has not been burned down). This earth, my brother. 

Brother, broda, booda! Strategic transforms, but with very deep meanings! We may not have come from the same mother. But we should know that we could be addressed as "brother" in this world where things strategic are done with words. 

Thomas Iyambe

 

By

Obododimma Oha

Anyone who is searching the archives on staff of Cameroon Development Corporation (CDC) would find that one Thomas Iyambe of Banga who "absconded" from duty from the gang clearing the bush for the plantations, later became a young man, so energetic that he was put in the last line of laborers so that he would be forcing escaping wild animals to run to the center, to their doom. What actually happened was that the real Thomas Iyambe disappeared for good and a young man who came from Uri (Uli) in Nigeria agreed to be him, so as to be allowed to work as a laborer in CDC.

Absence created an opportunity for presence. If  the old Iyambe had not "escaped," the new Iyambe would not have come. Two Iyambes: Iyambe of Banga and Iyambe of Uri, an Igbo. So, Iyambe yesterday and today. Iyambe lazy and  Iyambe hardworking and energetic. Iyambe old and Iyambe young again. 

It was quite interesting that my late father was "Lawrence" in Nigeria but "Thomas" in Cameroon, not that he was rechristened but had to take another identity in order to survive as a young man. 

It wasn't just that "Thomas Iyambe" had become someone else but shows how labels could mislead us. There's no real Thomas Iyambe anywhere. Thomas Iyambe could become another label. And life in the plantation gang went on. Truly, small no be sick! 

So, my own father was once called "Thomas Iyambe"? He could even have been known as "Paul Biya"! Paul Biya of the CDC plantation. It was just a matter of labeling and re-labeling. 

Thomas Iyambe! Present, sir! 

But I don't know whether the person that was labeled "Thomas Iyambe" would also not mind answering my father's name if required to bear it. We need to find out. This earth, my brother, my sister. You can only guess and let your guess remain a guess. What is good for the goose may not be good enough for the gander. Ganders are choosy these days! 

When one Thomas Iyambe goes, another Thomas Iyambe comes. That is how it should be, ad infinitum. There should be a deferment of Iyambes. Iyambes uncatchable. Iyambes always many, more than legion. 

Maybe one Iyambe would seek to attack and destroy its kind one day. The problem of uncomfortable similarity. Uncomfortable oneness. I won't be surprised if one Thomas Iyambe attacks and tries to destroy another Thomas Iyambe. Maybe destroy the old Iyambe. We are not very comfortable with our kind, what more a replacement! One Thomas Iyambe may want to see justice done. But to self! 

Thomas Iyambe must have suffered in looking for where there was Thomas Iyambe penned down on paper. From plantation to plantation. Looking for self. From Miselele to Banana Bush. From Tiko to Yaounde. Looking for self in the overseer's paper. 

Thomas Iyambe is a sign of vanishing you and reappearing you. Many selves in oneself, one self. Thomas Iyambe that cannot be caught, trapped in one plantation. 

It is clear to me now that "Thomas Iyambe" is just another label put on a human being and could be replaced. Thomas Iyambe, you are just a sign used by humans. 

The Children from the City

By

Obododimma Oha

In those days, children from the city were our big problem. They came to the local area during Christmas or New Year celebrations and showed off a lot. Was it the ways that they spoke and what they spoke? Was it what they took and how they  took it? Was it the clothes that they wore? Even the ways that they walked! The children from the city deliberately went for us and against us. And we did not like it. So, they were a problem, a great problem.

I still remember how one held and drank from a bottle of "Mirinda." Obviously, he wanted me to watch, to die quietly, to see one child deal with precious liquid in a bottle, all alone! And when he gulped down the liquid, I, too, swallowed, but I swallowed no liquid, not to talk of a precious one.

Only one child drinking a whole bottle! They did not even dilute the drink with some water before he started taking it. Too bad. That's how the city spoils them.

It wasn't just that one child could drink a whole bottle, but even the way that child drank it and looked at the onlooker, as if to proclaim, "Yes. I did it. Can you also do it? Go and die!" That was clearly more than provocative  making one hate the city more.

As I said initially, they visited mainly during celebrations. Celebrations, indeed. They just ruined everything for us in the village and one secretly prayed that they won't be around. When one should be enjoying the carols and sharing the proceeds, they came to kill the joy. Celebration turned to bitterness and regret. I hated children from the city.

The children from the city were always arrogant. They are mainly interested in showing children from the village that the city children are different and better. They believed that they had better life, while one in the village had no life. Imagine children who could not climb trees! Imagine children who could not blow the fire! Imagine children who could not fetch fodder for goats, not to talk of knowing the names of the plants!

They did not eat cassava foofoo. No wonder they didn't have energy. It was only rice! Imagine feeding on bird's food. If one eats bird's food, what does one expect birds to eat? Yam and cocoyam?

What they uttered was also annoying. They spoke what they called English, "oybo sụprị sụprị." You need to see how those children from the city twisted their mouths as they spoke "oyibo," just to torment us. 

The children of the village knew proverbs and how to embellish speech in the local language. But, who cares? Who really cares for your embellishment in the speech of the past? We just envied the children from the city there.

Then, their clothes. They had better clothes with lots of pockets for things. I wished I had such. One pocket just for my treasured things. Another pocket for ropes. Another for bread labels. And so on. Well, their clothes had lots of pockets, which was important to me.

They were proud  very proud that they had better clothes and ours were just rags. How could one's clothes for Christmas, Easter, or New Year be called "rags"? I knew that most of them were "ekobe," which was ready-made and quickly done. But they were no rags and must have cost a lot of money obtained painfully through contributions at meetings and gifts at the carols. They were not rags. I knew that the children from the city must have said that to kill one's spirit.

How could one even forget the ways that the children from the city walked to show that they did not care? The same way that they carelessly widened the mouth while speaking, to show that they could talk rubbish or had no training on speaking. They deliberately walked as if they were drunk or want to take the entire space  as people coming in the opposite direction.

I know that the whole idea was to make an unthinking idiot dislike the village, a place where a child could explore every bush  eat every wild fruit with unwashed hands, walk barefooted and even naked. There was no way one was would prefer the city to the village.

The children from the city need to listen to us, watch us, and learn from  us. 

Mother Hen Is Chasing Her Children Away

By

Obododimma Oha

Hens look after their chicks with utmost dedication. They can even die for them, not to talk of making sure that they are well-fed. So, hens are not wicked when they peck at their young sometimes and drive them away to begin to look after themselves. Experts in poultry farming call this attempt to make the grown-up chicken live on its own "weaning." Among humans, this is similar to what is called "ịchụ ara" (stopping from breastfeeding), which, traditionally, every nursing mother has to do after about one year.

Weaning, in whichever forms it comes, is an attempt to make the young grow up. This growing up involves looking for food, defending itself when attacked, home making, etc. They have to learn how to hide from carnivorous aviators that may want to kidnap them.

But humans are not just good in it. They tend to protect and provide for their young too much. They behave selfishly as if their young is their property, for them alone! In the process they don't really wean. They want the young ones to live close, to make sure they are safe. They don't drive them away!

Mother Hen is telling the young ones: "Grow up from now on. Learn to wrestle with the world. Learn to look after yourself. Your life is yours, your future yours. Go and wrestle with the world." Mother Hen is a realist. Mother Hen is just an agent and should not be turned to the goal!

It's all about dependence and independence. In independence, an entity labours and tries to survive on own efforts, but with dependence, it has to parasite and live on the efforts of others. Unoka of *Things Fall Apart* is a good example of the sad things in dependence. He has to record his indebtedness with lines of chalk. A sad narrative, the record tells about his dependence. Taking loans and not bothering about repayment is not good life. Whether at individual or societal level, indebtedness does not guarantee honour or give respect. As the Igbo say, "Onye añụñụ ọgọdọ anaghị agbasi egwu ike" (One who borrows clothes for a dance does not dance energetically or dances extra cautiously). Yes, the clothes may get torn and that borrower would be in trouble. If that person is even commended, somebody may say: "Is it not because of the clothes that fellow borrowed? Don't we know the owner?"

 
Weaning is all about asking the weaned to learn to take initiatives, to make choices, actually, to take a risk, which is what life involves.

The time shall come when we all must go our separate ways. The time shall come. It is a matter of time. The Igbo would say: "Ụkwa ruo oge ya, ọ daa." Can I be helped by my father who was buried more than 20 years ago?

Mother  Hen in that homestead is wiser than its owner. It is chasing her children away. It wants them to learn to live on their own.

Mother Hen scratched forwards. Then  scratched backwards. Turned and looked at the two. Then asked her chicks:" The accumulated garbage in the front and the one at the back, which is greater?" They answered : "The garbage in the front." She said : "You answered well. From now, my pet name is 'Nkeiruka' (The one in front is greater). Then one in the future or that is coming is greater." They understood and continued feeding.

Mother Hen is a great teacher. A great teacher allows students to teach themselves.

The Return

 

By

Obododimma Oha

If she goes to market

And does not return

And he does not look for her

He is heartless and irresponsible

If she goes to market

And allows herself to be carried away

By the looks of things

Things flashy and misleading 

And forgets to go home 

Something may be wrong with her

If she turns this fish over ten times

And haggles over that biscuit 

Maybe she is  not buying 

Only touching the market 

And will pretend to have lost an amount 

If she remains when all have gone home

She has turned to gofment pickin

Or has become a vulture 

Tell her people she has to return 

And not turn the market upside-down

Problem-solving in Amos Tutuola's The Palm-wine Drinkard

By

Obododimma Oha

Many people who read *The Palm-wine Drinkard * by Amos Tutuola often focus on his use of language. That is to be expected, but one aspect of the narrative that should interest us is how it pictures problem-solving in Africa. It is along this line of thinking that I examine the novel briefly as a problem - solving narrative.

The narrator-protagonist likes drinking palm-wine but is in a fix because he has lost the person who taps the wine. Worse still, he does not know where this dead man has gone and cannot trace there, to tell him to come back. Nobody is willing to show him how to get there. So, he has to solve this problem. He has to work the solution out somehow.

Obviously, this is a serious philosophical problem for him to try to solve. It is a problem that affects his life and whose solution would shape his future. Normally, the first reaction would be to ask people. But they would not respond to help him solve the problem. So, he has to use cleverness and indirect means.

This shows us something about cleverness and survival, something the tortoise knows very well, as shown in many narratives. As the Igbo would say: "Anụ gbata ajọ ọsọ, a gbanyere ya ajọ egbe" (When an animal in a hunt runs badly, it has to be shot badly). So, the palm-wine drinker has to look for an "unusual" way to solve the problem.

So, what problems are at https://edutitra.blogspot.com/2021/09/problem-solving-in-amos-tutuolas-palm.htmlstake? What does one learn about problem-solving from the narrative? 

1.  According to the protagonist, he had been for days without drinking because his "tapster" was dead. Finding where his tapster was (a spirit), was his obligation. He was looking for his dead tapster.

2. The second and related problem was the unwillingness of people to help him to locate his tapster. A man he approached in this regard even wanted to extend his "help" to become a punishment for the drinker's "foolishness" and to get rid of him finally by asking him to go and find Death, bind him, and bring.

3. The secondary problem - - finding where Death lives - - was not simple. Nobody would help him out of fear of Death. So, this avoidance of such a discourse  is a big problem. It demands an unusual approach.

The solutions are necessary, though not easy. Just like Africa moving to modernity and vibrant economy. Locating the dead tapster  is dependent on locating where Death lives, binding the intangible that must become tangible, and bringing the terrible luggage. Solutions must utilize simple local methods, as we shall see. They require THINKING,  not daily drinking of palm-wine. This thinking is what would help the drinkard.
Now, let us see the solutions.

1.  Locating where Death lives:
As indicated earlier, this required solving another problem - - making the intangible to become tangible! Human discourse would  not help too. So, one has to enlist the nonlinguistic. The drinkard goes and lies down legs spread out, at an "orita" or crossroad. This behavior forces some talkative marketpeople to stop and ask: "Who is the mother of this idiot lying at an" orita" with one leg pointing to Deadstown, where Death lives?" That gives away the solution that they are unwilling to give!

2. The second is how to make the intangible tangible. This is just hard. Well, the narrative assumes that this is possible and involves switching of realities. In that case, the drinkard descends into a deeper fiction where Death is found, tied up, and brought to human world. Doesn't this constitute a big problem? These days, realities can switch places!

Even though we could argue that too much drinking of wine could elicit this kind of fantasy, we know that some drunkards can see and say things. It is possible for a drunkard to catch death, tie the fellow up and bring him to the world. Even the possibility of making death tangible is what a drunkard could affirm.

What  this suggests is that our Western logic and book knowledge would be wrong in giving the impression that all problems have to comply with straightforward thinking. In some contexts, the Western model would not work. The animal is running badly in the hunt and needs to be shot at badly.

Think about COVID-19. A local African may find remedy by plucking and eating some leaves or boiling some leaves as grandfather did, steaming thoroughly to clean the respiratory track. COVID-19 could avoid this Mr. Bones!

Many indigenous people in Africa that want to get confused after colonization, especially book people, should throw away their logic or think they can be Western. They are deceiving themselves. They can never be Western.

Problems ask for solutions and in many indigenous societies in Africa, those solutions can be found somehow. Tutuola's narrative is partly about working out or finding the solution. This makes us thinking beings.

OldManGuy

 

By

Obododimma Oha 

Oldman Guy he would walk  his bike

All the way

He would walk bent double

OldmanGuy he would growl

OldmanGuy he would bark

And you'd be forced to run

Run to your mother

Run into your mother's womb

OldmanGuy is coming

Coming to swallow you!

OldmanGuy he would walk

As if on all fours

As if getting ready to pounce

OldmanGuy from the past of the past

OldmanGuy now walking his bike

And bent double

In my adult dreams, in which I am still

Running to my mother for shelter 

OldmanGuy is growling and coming. 

The Cow and What It Will Mop up with Its Tail

 

By

Obododimma Oha

Some countries have a cow problem.  In fact, they can playfully be called "cowtries."  In "cowtries" ,  cows move about freely and enter wherever they like. They are not kept on leash or in ranches. They can enter a garden or a farm and eat up the crops in the name of going natural. If the gardener or farmer complains, the idiot can be shot with AK-47 and nothing would happen. 

In "cowtries,"  cows are more  important than citizens. If a citizen kills a cow eating in a farm, such a citizen could be killed and the law would look the other way. In short,  the cow is the law, the only law. The cow should actually wear a wig and sit on the bench. 

But the Igbo have this lovely proverb: "Ehi ga-eji ọdụ ya tere ihe ọ nyụrụ" (The cow will mop up what it defecates with its tail). It is a warning as well as a consolation. So, the cow should stop now and think. It should stop moving around freely and entering wherever it likes. Otherwise, the devil. 

The cow believes that it is defecating for others. No sir! It is defecating for itself. It may not know this but the excrement waits, steaming for somebody. It is a defecation and was cooked and dished out by someone. 

The cow is the authority on excretion and owns excretion. Its tail is busy driving away flies in vain. The visiting flies saw the excretion and would like to report it well. The cow should stop terrorizing the visiting flies. The flies are on duty. 

It is part of mopping up the excrement with the tail. Is the cow surprised? 

One was wrong in thinking that it was only in movies on endtime that strange things could happen. One now knows better. 

Cow rule is indeed an era in the endtime. If the cow takes over power, horns have come. And you know what horns could do. It has to be horns versus horns as the cow also confronts the excrement. Cow rule may occasion hurt, but expect endtime retaliation from the excrement.

Cows that defecate everywhere they enter should get ready for everywhere mop up. It is not only the garden and the farm now complaining. Everything in civilization is complaining bitterly. That's a lot of trouble. That's a lot of bitterness there.

That is not to say that you don't have rights, cows. But these are not the right to transgress and beat your chest. It is not right to be wrong, cows.

As a matter of fact, you ,are the only cows. Country  folks are also cows. Don't they have colonies and routes? Don't they follow the herder from Washington to Paris? Don't they follow successful coup plotters and damn unsuccessful ones? They should respect cattle culture!

Anyway, we will all mop up our defecations. Tailless cows are lucky! 

The Many Englishes of the Nigerian in America

By

Obododimma Oha

This essay has been inspired by a Facebook update by the historian, Moses Ebe Ochonu. In the update, Ochonu writes :

It just occurred to me that I speak many Englishes. The English I speak to my children is different from the one I speak with my folks in Nigeria, which is radically different from the one with my students and other US folks. 

You would agree with me that this update is provocative and exciting, not just that it reveals the nature of an immigrant's English pluralism, but it reveals something about standing one leg in the "Inner Circle" of English and the other leg in the "Outer Circle." Braj Kachru locates native speakers of English found in places like Britain and America as belonging to the Inner Circle of English, while those on whom English was imposed through colonization, such as Nigeria and Ghana, belong to the Outer Circle. While the Inner Circle is norm producing (that is, it dictates correctness) the Outer Circle is norm using or norm consuming. Don't scratch your skull. Tokunbo culture could extend to language and language teaching! Did I say anything? 

Anyway, a bit on Ochonu. This man was born and brought up in the Outer Circle but he is a distinguished professor of History in an American university. He has also been living in the US with his family for a long while, only visiting Nigeria once in a while. So, his world is characterized by the twonesss of Inner and Outer Englishness. He also writes regularly on Facebook and his updates initiate important discourses. Obviously, Ochonu is a name among names, among African scholars of the moment. 

 Now, that update of his. First, his use of the word "folks" exposes his Americanness. Some other people may be inclined to use that word, but our man carries it as the snail carries its shell. One could perceive America there. In the Outer Circle, people don't say "folks" except when they want to appear American and affected. So, Ochonu is doing something in its choice, suggesting his difference. 

Then, the bigger issue : the version of English with which he communicates with his children is different from the one with which he communicates with his "folks" in Nigeria! Natural. But what is commendable is that Ochonu shows sensitivity of differences of context in doing so. He does not try to show off his Americanness to his "folks" as such in Nigeria. Context puts an obligation on him as a speaker of English. He is not the only diasporic Nigerian that does this anyway. I know so many Nigerian professors living in the US with their families who consciously speak like touts in Onitsha or Lagos whenever they visit Nigeria. Why are they not showing off their Americanness in their use of English? 

OK, if Ochonu tries to speak a Nigerian English while communicating with Nigerians in Nigeria and American English while communicating with his children in America (essentially to be understood), why is his English in communicating with his students and other Americans still different from the one he uses at home (in America)? He uses a variety of the language expected in these contexts so as not to be ridiculed. The music of his speech (which American students would dislike and call accent) could jeopardize his interactions in these contexts. 

This dislike for "accent" in the educational system is getting to other parts of the globe rapidly. It is a kind of shibboleth signifying to learners whom to trusts  his or her knowledge and whom to distrust! Imagine. In that case, Outer Circle individuals who want to be natural cannot be so in the Inner Circle. Quite disturbing. 

But the most important thing is what this all suggests about the Outer Circle diaspora person. Such a person is multilingual and multilectal. As in the case of Ochonu, the diaspora person standing between Outer and Inner Circle has to speak many varieties of English or many Englishes. 

The Text without a Full-stop

By

Obododimma Oha

Two things become very clear to me. First, anybody could be a poet. Poets don't have to have grey hair or wear unkempt beard. Just anyone could be a poet. Was that not why an Igbo sage warned that if we have too much on our minds, we might pass a spirit unknowingly and fail to greet?

Secondly, it has become glaring that poets are not just writing poems. A poet may be rigorously theorizing. Just as many African ancestors used proverbs and folktales to theorize. Poets' theories on texts, societies, etc could be particularly interesting. It is on that basis that one would like to comment on Bimbola Faith's poem below. 

  that full-stop you saw

did not end that sentence

that full-stop

was never the closure to the text

for behind every dot on the page

are thousands and millions of unspoken texts

countless pieces of allophones, phones and phonemes

innumerable companies of allomorphs, morphemes and words

heavy, horrendous, homongous emotion

open, borderless, boundless, deep, vast feelings

but all approximated into a grunt, a tear or a smile

many things to say

many things unsaid

many things unsayable

everything rounded off to a dot

One thing that is noticeable is the shape of the poem: first, it is centralized and there is minimal punctuation, especially full-stop, at the end! And the poem is talking about full-stop and text-making! Punctuation marks or pauses could be check-points we create here and there on the highway of the text. They  create borders and boundaries to the stream of speech unnecessarily. By the way, did you notice that the poem was given no title? That could be deliberate. Don't titles that we give articles and books imply their having borders of meaning, of ideation? 

It means the poet would like us to shift from the sentence as we know it to the text and stop thinking of check-points. If we think too much about the sentence or make our grammar too sentential, then we would think of having check-points and they could slow our journey down! 

But apart from slowing down the journey to meaning, other things in the journey are worth thinking about. One could think of the "innumerable" morphemes and allomorphs, the phonemes and their friends. The unfathomable "vast feelings" and grunts that cannot be accounted for while checking the sentences for correctness. In addition, certain emotions can be uttered, some not uttered, and some beyond utterance. 

It is obvious that the poet is in the frightening zone of post-structuralism. It is typical of these thinkers who populate deconstruction to focus on texts and to discourage attachment to sentence grammar. Same for the later versions of systemic linguistics. Their fascination is with text grammar. 

This is clearly exemplified in the poem. The text and the world must be linked up. No boundaries. No check-points. No delays on this search for meaning. That ideological trash and that pragmatic statement about "everything" being "rounded off" can show us where we are secretly going. There is always some gain in checking how text and context are linked. 

The more I read the untitled poem, the more I learn about the text and test myself on text-making in this troubled world. Same way I learnt  some years ago about post-structuralist metafiction, while supervising a PhD project on it. We learn everyday and should be humble enough to allow the poem to theorize about the text and to teach us. 

ENDTIME BLUES

BY

OBODODIMMA OHA 

It is endtime, my friend 

You can no longer sneeze or cough

If you do that

At a community meeting

Everybody would run away 

Wetin e carry?

COVID? 

E suppose die now! 

There's fire on the mountain 

Run run run

Coughing and sneezing should have

Their own police

To monitor transgressions!

 

No coughing allowed here 

No sneezing allowed there 

Says COVID police 

Transgressors and terrorists beware

Be aware.

Squirrels Complaining

By

Obododimma Oha

Somebody touches that mango tree, 

"Oh, the whole tree has been sold to Mama X

And you know she uses juju" 

Somebody touches that orange tree, 

" No, it has been sold to Mama Y,

And she's a fighter."

Somebody touches that pineapple, 

"No way, it has been sold to Mama Z,

And she's only waiting for it to get ripe...."

Mangoes and oranges and pineapple 

Are for the market. 

You need the money to pay contributions. 

Later, you can go and buy medicines 

From that illiterate in that shop. 

No wonder you die suddenly 

" Gone Too Soon"

You are already dead,!

Money Talks

Onye Ọfọogeri

By

Obododimma Oha

Young men who are very carefree about life are referred to in Igbo discourse as "ọfọogeri" (literally meaning, "It remains a wife or woman.")  However, it means that the referent is

  -- - wayward

  - - - not focused in life

  - - - not serious-minded

  - - - too casual with life.

The literal interpretation is based on an assumption that being married to a woman helps a man to get organized and be focused. So, "onye ọfọogeri" (an ọfọogeri person) is not yet anchored in life and is too carefree. Such a person cannot be entrusted without a serious social responsibility. The fellow is still growing up and needs to see more of life. 

"Ọfọogeri" may be rendered in other Igbo dialects as  "Akaroogeri" or "Efulefu." Some would prefer "iforifo." But the sense is the same. 

Ọfọogeri" may be used as a mere commitment to what is not helpful to the making of a man. For instance, someone could have a passion for accumulating carved objects. This may be called his or her "ọfọogeri." In that case, "ọfọogeri" becomes his or her commitment in that understanding. Poor judgment, you may say. 

In that case, it is seen as "ọfọogeri" to be spending one's money (wasting one's money?) buying and accumulating what is considered "not wealth." 

That means that every individual has their own kind of "ọfọogeri." It could even be the accumulation of books, as in my own case. In fact, I had jokingly told one of my booksellers one day: "If I am dead and buried and my children want to auction my books, I would rise from my grave and shout, leave my books alone! In fact, I don't want to die again!" For some, it may even be the case of taking photographs of every lizard that crawls past and posting them on Facebook! Or, somebody may be too attached to the cellphone and always looking out for an opportunity to have a chat. So, my "ọfọogeri"may even be your wisdom! 

Another thing is that some people even make light the idea of "ọfọogeri," adding another decorative term, "ọfọse" to it. Nobody can tell exactly what "ọfọse" means. They just utter "ọfọogeri ọfọse" without bothering about the meaning of "ọfọse." 

A "special ọfọogeri," but one cannot tell what makes the "ọfọogeri" special. Same for "bad ọfọogeri." Where or what is the badness? So, it is possible that "ọfọse" is a mere embellishment. 

Some more on marriage and "ọfọogeri." The referent is being humored for lacking a wife and being foolishly free or enjoying the freedom of foolishness. In that case, "ọfọogeri" is freedom but it is foolishness. It is considered better to have a source of a headache than not to have it at all or to rejoice that one is free from it! Imagine the fallacy! Having a family to take care of or being married does suggest a headache. It could even be a therapy! But the fallacy is the discursive logic and rules life in the society. One, therefore, has no choice than to run away from being called an "ọfọogeri." 

It should be clear now that "ọfọogeri" is just what a society calls a character it does not admire or desire. Implicitly, it is a society that thinks that personal freedom has to be earned and that observers need to see the extent one has lived, fulfilling responsibilities and performing social assignments. Marriage is one context where one can prove to society that one can be entrusted with responsibility, it seems. 

There is also that assumption that the "ọfọogeri" is just doing things without being focused. That is a statement supporting it being presented as the social undesirable. Maybe the "ọfọogeri" has a different model but that model has no place in a context where responsibility is measured by compliance to norms. Maybe the "ọfọogeri" is just a maverick. 

There are some professions that seem to be marked out for the "ọfọogeri," for instance, music or entertainment . Being a musician was particularly seen in the Igbo local area as being lost in life. The feeling was: how can someone be playing music all his or her life and hope to place food on the table? That should remind us about Chinua Achebe's character, Unoka, who liked playing his flute and played it all his life as his main commitment. Musicians were seen as super "ọfọogeri" who were not rooted and could not be rich in life. 

Next to music as the territory of "ọfọogeri" is professional driving. The professional driver is one public figure who meets various kinds of people. Mainly dominated by men, professional driving in a place like Africa is such that the man meets several women and may fall in love with some. So, at every stopping point, he is likely going to have a lover or a woman who is already his wife! So, professional driving is classified as an "ọfọogeri" business. 

But whether a professional driver or a musician, the "onye ọfọogeri" may live longer and happier, managing to attend to home and societal needs. In fact, some "ọfọogeri" persons succeed in accomplishing what socially approved citizens cannot. 

"Onye ọfọogeri" is just a social label. Times change and attitudes must. 

"Nwamkpi" in Igbo Proverb Lore

 

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By

Obododimma Oha

"Nwamkpi" or "mkpi" (He-goat) features in Igbo wise sayings in some interesting ways. Is it because "nwamkpi", with what looks like a beard, what some call "goatee," looks funny or what? Is it because "Nwamkpi" with its unique aroma, is highly preferred as meat in what is popularly known as "pepper soup"? Here are some of the proverbs :

 1.  Nwamkpi sị na ebe ya jere ikwunne ya ka mụtara ịjaghe ọnụ (The he-goat said it was where he visited his mother's relatives that he learned to open his upper lip).

 2. Nwamkpi sị  na ya ma na amaghị agba egwu, ma erughuru mụbara ya, ya gbaba/ ya awụlibe elu (The he-goat said that he knew that he did not know how to dance, but if soldier ants, beat drums for him, he would start dancing /he would start jumping up).

 3. Nwamkpi na-esu afụrụ ma ajị ekweghị sị hụ ya (The he-goat is really sweating but we can't see it because of hair).

 4. Ihe na-esi nwamkpi n'ahụ dị n'okpuru ya (The smell of the he-goat proceeds from under him).

 5.  Nwamkpi sị na njepụ bụ njepụ (nkwụtọba bụ nkwụtọba). (The he-goat said his slight sexual effort is worthwhile). 

 6. Lee Nwamkpi na nkịrịka ọgọdọ̀ (See the he-goat and rags). 

Two types of featuring are involved : the type that  reports what the he-goat was said to have said and the type in which the he-goat's action is only reported.

The type that reports what the he-goat was said to have said:

This type of reporting that is used as wise saying is normally called "wellerism." The funny idea is that we can learn to be wise from lower animals, in other words, pocket our arrogance. Also, in this reporting of the he-goat, we have rich wisdom about learning from others,  being forced to something by circumstance, and about sexuality.

We just have to learn from others. They are also our teachers, especially elderly relatives. The he-goat learnt to do what his kind naturally does. We can see that this kind of proverb can easily be used to appeal to a situation as being natural. But we can also learn the unnatural!

The he-goat is also reported to have said something about an inevitable circumstance. Natural situation again! The he-goat said that he knew that he did not know how to dance, but must dance when soldier ants beat the drums for him. Beating the drums for him is a figurative way of saying "attack him". Other versions would say, "if there is a drumbeat in his father's courtyard and he doesn't know what to do, he would start jumping up and down." There is obviously an attempt at humouring the action of the he-goat. But we know the animal is in great trouble. It is not a laughable matter! 

The action of the he-goat is also euphemized, in line with this humouring. The struggle against the attack by soldier ants is being configured as "jumping" and "dancing," but we know that this is misleading. 

He-goats like sex, no wonder the he-goat itself has become a metaphor and symbol for a man who likes making love. Not surprised the he-goat has something to say about sex. He is commending himself, saying the effort is worthwhile, even if not thorough! Obviously, this is exaggerated, since the he-goat and sex are linked!

So, "nwamkpi" is stereotyped as a sexomaniac. Who says that sex cannot lead to death? Ask "mkpi." He can tell. Master of "nkwụtọba." 

OK, let examine the actions reported.

The He-goat's actions/experiences:

We are told that the he-goat is sweating, but that the hair it has prevents us from knowing. But why is he sweating? Maybe troubles or problems it encounters. The he-goat should face responsibility and sweat more. This is not "nkwụtọba." This is action and calls for solution, not mere sweating. 

Or maybe he is sweating in his "nkwụtọba." We know how committed he-goats could be to "nkwụtọba." 

In #3, the he-goat is confessing that he, too, is struggling, watchers may not know. That confession is like it. Another person may not know that the person said to be enjoying is also suffering. If we are where we are, we dream of being where we are not! So, the he-goat is right. The he-goat is a philosopher! 

So, I may be sweating, even though I am driving Mercedes-Benz 500 and the air conditioner is fully on. You can come and confirm it. In that case, have I not suddenly put on the skin of "nwamkpi" ? That means that "nwamkpi" is not just that bearded animal on four legs. There are other  "nwamkpi" sweating profusely, even though shielded by hair. 

Oh, that smell! Where is it coming from, now that there is no air freshener around. I suspect that it is coming from under that he-goat. Maybe I got this idea from the link between he-goats and smells. Sometimes, there is that cultural assumption that he-goats are associated with smelling. Is this assumption valid? Anyway, if the smell is assumed to be coming from under the he-goat, someone should do something about it. Maybe a thorough bath and a perfume. 

But consumers of he-goat peppersoup may like that treatment. Anyway, the smell seems to go with mortal liking. So, let's let it rest. 

Then, another unfortunate stereotype in the proverb lore: the he-goat and being in rags. What has he-goatness got to do with being in rags? What does it mean to be "in rags"? Rag represents penury. So, if it is being used in narrating the he-goat's condition, it is obviously a dyphemism and an attempt at showing how bad things are with him. This again may be an exaggeration. "nwamkpi" may not have it that bad. 

To put all together, "nwamkpi" is an interesting character but teaches us. Who says that the bad cannot teach goodness? It is a paradox but we should know that "nkwụtọba" is "nkwụtọba." 

Unam Ikot

 

By

Obododimma Oha

The Ekpo masquerade (sometimes wrongly referred to as "Ekpo Calabar") popular among the Ibibio and Efik of South-Eastern Nigeria is metaphorised as "Unam ikot" (Wild or bush animal). It adopts this apparently offensive metaphorisation and visually redesigns itself to reflect that "wildness" by acting wild and sporting some leaves in the mouth. In other words, it is supposed to be eating these leaves in the bush. But let it hear anyone call it "Unam ikot" and it would teach that person a lesson, unless it is in happy spirits. So, "Unam ikot" when Ekpo" is not within earshot or when one is ready to run. The name ordinarily can be used in insulting someone, just like saying "bushman." But insult is not for Ekpo. And whatever it chooses to call itself is its business! 

Unam Ikot! 

But let us try to placate with other soothing praises. So, Unam the most powerful. Unam the killer of killers. The darkness that moves about in the day. Unam the night and the day. Unam Ikot whose wildness is beyond measure. Unam who makes the wild tame. Unam Ikot! 

I have already pointed out that Ekpo masquerade visually constructs itself as wild. Let us expatiate. It is not normal. It is not human. It belongs to the wild, the wildest of the wild. Then, look at darkened, sooth-stained body. And the awful smell. And the crazy behavior. If these are not enough to construct the abnormal, then the sound added to them would help. The guttural, animal noise issuing out. Does that not frighten you? So, you have the heart? It is Unam Ikot echoing! 

On the road: Unam Ikot is terrible. Sooth-stained body and wildness of twigs and unearthly sound and aggressive swagger. In the bush, Unam Ikot is even the king. Speaking and smelling and eating and moving like the bush. The bush understands that language and steers clear. Sorry, then, for the uninformed road. Unam Ikot rules here and there. 

If you meet Unam Ikot, that Great One may be talking, but don't think it's soliloquizing or phoning someone you cannot see. It may be talking to you or to the road. Listen well and you would realize the addressee. 

Ah, Unam Ikot is carrying and throwing so many rusted cutlasses at passerby. So, Unam Ikot is your terrorist, forest-dweller and manufacturer of fear? But these rusted cutlasses cut through false stereotypes about fear and living in fear.

First, Unam Ikot is not even happy that it has been forced to throw cutlasses. The cutlass is not its usual weapon. It prefers to carry a small bow with arrows. Say you know how to fly without perching and it will show you that it can shoot without missing. 

Anyway, you should know this. Unam Ikot is only staging the fight, only acting. But it is helpful to discern when it is acting and it is living the act. Otherwise, someone can get really injured. 

When they say that Ekpo rules the road, you want to go and try? Maybe to show that you are special. Ekpo rules the road especially when it is special! 

Those that refer to Ekpo as "Ekpo Calabar" are probably preparing to run or asking the masked one to throw rusty cutlasses at them. They are unlucky if Ekpo decides to use bow and arrows. Ekpo owns everywhere. It is a rusty head that does not know this. 

Now, this "Ekpo Calabar" offensive label. It true that that Ekpo can be found in Calabar metropolis but is not the only place that Ekpo emerges and rules the road. It is good to say that Calabar is one place that Ekpo swaggers. What of Ikot Ekpene? What of Oron? What of some parts of Igbo land? A rusty cutlass for anyone who ignores this. You are Unam Ikot! Indeed, the territory is vast and it is only for Ekpo to delimit it. 

He has taken all the insulting remarks on your behalf. Ekpo is "Unam Ikot" on your behalf and bears all your groaning, your anger, and your pains. Ekpo bears all your sounds and smells. Ekpo is your other you that has been suppressed and oppressed. Ekpo is you carrying rusted cutlasses and throwing them at insults. 

Now, who is following Ekpo and collecting for it? That masked being does not need to be followed, does not need supporters. 

Someone is also looking at Ekpo steadily in the eye! Is that how to enjoy the performance? It is that kind of inquisitive looking that caused the monkey to get a shot in the eye.  Looking is a mortal habit and should be done with caution, otherwise otherwise! When you look at Ekpo's eyes, don't you see blood dripping in place of tears? 

Looking for narratives in narrative would not let one enjoy the performance. It is better to look and shift gaze. The performance moves, flows, when you allow yourself to flow. 

Now, Ekpo leads the way. Now, Ekpo is leading and I am just following. It is not easy. Not easy running. Not easy following. One has to run to catch up with space in-between. One has to run to be with. If Ekpo follows and one is running, trouble. One would be forced to run to one's death. So, let Ekpo not command me to start running. It is not easy, honestly. 

Ekpo is the symbol. Ekpo is the meaning. Ekpo is the road to the road. Ekpo is the bush to the bush. Ekpo will not give up easily.