Nne Ewu and the Art of Chewing the Cud

By

Obododimma Oha

It is all about learning from someone who is very close, somebody who came to the world first or who is believed to have helped in conveying  us here. It is about learning through imitation. "Nne ewu na-ata agbụrụ" (When the mother-goat is chewing the cud), a shortened form of the Igbo proverb ("Nne ewu na-ata agbụrụ, ụmụ ya ana-elele"), "When the mother-goat is chewing the cud, its children  are watching") is about learning from an immediate experience. Why would her children, her own children, not want to  imitate her? Why would they like to be her, not just being like her, to live her immortality? Yet, this proverb is a wise warning. We  need to be mindful of the fact that we do and can influence others around us. 

A wise masculinist in our village once asked: "A bad wife and bad children, which can be said to be better?' And the response considered correct is: "bad wife." The justification is that a bad wife could, at some point, decide to leave the marriage, but bad children remain behind and answer their father's surname. In that case, the marriage is regrettable but most regrettable is the scar of having BAD children.

It is a terrible thing to leave badness behind. It narrrates its leaver terribly. Otiriakị ekpoghị nchara aha ya dị na nkume. A peron that cracks palm-kernels on a stone and does not remove the shells has left his or her name on the stone.

The offspring of the mother-goat will turn chewing the cud into an art. Are they not supposed to be better at it? Something more than sheer imitation. If the cud is our badness, the offpring has to take badness even higher. In that way, badness would have grown with generations of cud-chewers. 

It is not particularly pleasant to be seen chewing the cud. Imagine the picture. And to think that the cud-chewer brought back a careless past and is on it still! Chewing the cud means being stagnated on the unpleasant. Chewing the cud is a bad habit turned to a style.

Mother-goat and its children are united in the experience of chewing the cud. Mother-goat teaches with herself. Her children, her watchers, are also her pupils. Her pupils have only one option: "Do as I do; don't think; don't think for yourselves and hope to become a cud-chewer." Chew the cud on this social media; chew the cud on that social media. Chew the cud on listserv. Chew the cud on Facebook.Chew the cud on WhatsApp. Chew the cud because you are a goat and will be a big goat. 

Mother-goat is a great source. And a source that wants to remain a source. It is not because she is transmitting her cud-attitude. Mother-goat would even be happy that all spectators are transmitters of that cud-attitude.

Is this cud-chewing not a wonderful performance? This goat and that goat and those goats are belching and chewing. A performance of the mouth. Cud-chewing deserves to be watched and from various angles. Cud-chewing, testing the sides of the mouth. Cud-chewing showing the participation of molar and premolar.

Yet it is important to be mindful of the nature of the person that we are understudying and learning to chew  the cud. Is this mother-goat teaching us nonsense, as Fela said? What is this mother-goat putting into our heads, into our lives?

That means that "nne ewus" should know that they are touching the lives of others and should be very careful in the performance. Who knows tomorrow? Is it not frightening that being entrusted with younger minds, like students and offspring, means that we would be held accountable for what they have been exposed to? Yes; it is frightening, indeed. So, mother-goats chewing the cud, be careful, very.

But it is even criminal to expect the young ones to use the same old style of chewing the cud. Still chewing the cud is bad enough. A new style of chewing the cud may have something exciting we can see. An old performance can be re-invented.

Whether we are chewing the cud in the classroom, Facebook, listserv, venues for collation of election results, Government House, etc, it is important to realize that we can change or perpetuate things. And that is the very dangerous part. Yes, we can help to make or break.

Mother-goats chewing the cud here and there, I advise you to examine it over again and rethink your been known to chew the cud and a trainer of cud chewing.  

Recording the Talk

By

Obododimma Oha

When my late father made it a habit to be paying me a visit in my room, I thought that he was inconveniencing me. That old man always came when it was most inconvenient, particularly when I was enjoying my sleep. In the afternoon? How could I be sleeping in the afternoon? Was I sick? These  were among his queries if it was  in the afternoon, but he  came mostly at night, when many people were asleep and everywhere  was quite. He preferred the night, for he asserted  that: “Ufu na egbeleke bụ n’ehihie, mana iruro bụ n’anyasị” (roughly translated as  “Playing and gallivanting are for  the daytime, but a serious discussion requiring counselling is for the night.” You see, so he was coming regularly to counsel me, but I did not realise it then. Since he was always awake in the night (so it seemed to me), I thought that he meant to punish me and force to stay awake with him! So, I had no choice but carry my cross. I realized later that he guessed this wrong thinking of mine and it pained him, and I was included in the frustration that he sometimes voiced out: "Nkịta m na-egburu ngwere asabeghị anya" ("The puppies for which I am killing lizards have not yet opened their eyes."

When I was an undergraduate at the university, it just entered my young, noisy head to record some of that seemingly useless talk. At least, I could prevent some future night visits by letting my father know that I could play back the recording and listen to him when I wanted or in my privacy. What a strategy! 

That casual recording was a personal assignment of a sort and you know how one could be highly committed  in such assignments. I quickly bought some empty cassettes and set out for our village. It was late in the afternoon when I arrived and quickly swung into action. I told him that I needed to record the story of his life and luckily, he cooperated. We started and I did not mind all the local noises that were intruding. I recorded all.

 Today, when I play the files, those noises even provide some naturalness to the whole thing.

Many years later, after his death, when I was playing the files to the hearing of my siblings, some almost wept on hearing the voice of the man who owned the homestead and had been buried. Who would not go to pieces on being given a shock like this? 

When I did the recording, I did not know that I was serving the future and helping paternal presence to speak beyond death. Ufu na egbeleke became immortal. Indeed, the recording was one of the most important things to  take away as a memento from my late father.

This is a clear case of technology helping one to relive experience. I am now able to hear that voice again and to listen to my late father tell his own story. Even where one is unable to invoke memory on the thing narrated, the witness is there and can be invited again and again to tell it all as a witness. 

Does it not show that we have been missing a lot by not trying to save a voice before it is heard no more?

 Some lessons from this effort are noteworthy. First, the more authoritative transmission of experience. Then, there was was some serendipitous training on oral interview on culture, history, and life. Another is an additional articulation of personal story and personal life. Of course, we can think of many others.

Let us take this transmission of experience further. The tragedy of African and other cultures has been described by many commentators as the distortion of African experiences because of orality and the process of documentation. Human memory is also not very reliable, coupled with the fact that each re-teller may try to put in more salt and pepper here and there. And with more salt and pepper, don't we also see a distortion? But with some preservation of originality and authority, this distortion is minimized, if not erased.

Also, the person who recorded the narration has had some training through experiencing. There could have been a previous training on collection of this kind of historical data, which becomes an advantage, but the interviewer indeed has attended a practical session involving the learning of the past and early life of the narrator. The practical is indeed "Practical Oral History and Folklore," if we have to find a name for it.

I am sure many are just waiting to see what I have to say concerning memory as being unreliable and deliberate distortion through the addition of more salt and pepper. On memory: we know that it has to be kept green, has to be preserved. But memory sometimes fails and the narrator may just improvise. Improvisation means that, even though one is trying to make up for an inadequacy, one is really being dishonest in  the performance. Has lying ceased to be a human art? This where that immoral conduct is enjoyed by humans and given some fanciful names!

Whereas this and other ones may suggest that society or audience is gaining, the idea of an attempt at articulating one's life and one's story points towards the narrator gaining more. We are often bombarded with a lot to think about in daily life. So, the interview gave the narrator an opprtunity to put X and Y together, stitch bits of personal experiences together to give us a coherent text. Without the opportunity, he probably would not have the time to write a biography few lettered people would read and learn. 

I have said somewhere before that we sometimes learn from the experiences of other people. That is true and exemplified in this case. Listeners get to think of another way of handling the problems handled by the narrator. Is that not already critical thinking skill? The narrrator's personal experiences while in the village, an apprentice-trader in Cameroon, a plantation worker in Cameroon, as well as struggles over marriage and accidents in Nigeria are important contexts from which we can learn a lot.

A recording tries to save, for us to be able to retrieve later. Thus it is like preventing something from dying, making it live longer than naturally designed. Along this line, is recording not helpful to folklore?

To conclude, I am happy and proud that I did an audio recording of my father before he died many years ago, and wish it had been a video recording! Of course, the advantages of such a recording are enormous but real physical presence is far better. Death could be a devastation and a deprivation. Yet, capturing the little presence of people could be enriching and even more consoling than total absence except a gravestone, photograps marked "RIP" and obituaries from the archive.

Technology Headaches

By

Obododimma Oha

Some of us that are not used to modern technology or those used to a different kind technology may have headaches in handling devices powered by modern human technology. To put it mildly, such people are also bad users who quarrel with their tools. Is it in storing and retrieving valued information that one has created? Is it the identification of the appropriate application for an aspect of the information? Is it in handling inevitable problems in modern technology, like one’s computer hanging? Literally, is that device not giving its user some headaches?

Maybe this experiencer should narrate some personal experiences. I was in America for a programme and had the misfortune of wrestling with some technological devices, but learning in the process. Anyway, the story: I had to drop the right amount into the slot in the machine and be cleared first. One is familiar with waiting on a queue and complaining bitterly. Then, the soda would be released to me. I remember going through this process but not getting my drink. Maybe I did not drop the right amount. Maybe. The machine ignored my garagara allegation of “wayo” and the harsh question, “Nothing inside?” Then,  finally finally, the protester had to leave, threatening hellfire. 

On a second occasion, I was to produce my curriculum vitae using the available desktop equipped with a printer. But after typing my document, I did not select the right printer or did not know what to press to get the document printed. I ended up sending the document several times to the printer but succeeded in printing nothing. I was sorely frustrated and just had to leave. Later, I heard that other people wanted to print their documents but it was only my CV that came out. I answered in a low tone that it must have been the handiwork of a powerful juju master and kept my secret.

On another  occasion, I had to photocopy some documents. But, it was between me and the photocopying machine; there was no attendant to do it for me and collect the charge. The same way one, in wanting to buy soft drink (soda)  had to become a seller, too, and the machine was the witness. Nonsense. Finally, I had to leave, hoping that the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) of  my  country would arrest the machine or whoever kept it there.

Perhaps, the most bitter experience some years later in an Abuja hotel was my processing a well-articulated blog article on aviation, using my tablet. But I didn't know what  I must have pressed and the entire document (including its beautiful introduction and excellent conclusion) disappeared. I sweated and searched and searched but did not see it. I concluded that it must have been the handiwork of witches or wizard jealously watching me climb up higher or disgruntled aliens who could not abduct this weak human. In short, I had a poor appetite that evening and a terrible headache.

What keeps reminding me about that experience is the sight of a computer. I know that computers could be a headache, especially in some aspects, like the sudden hanging of the device. This hanging could be very painful. Just imagine this: when one is in a hurry, that is when one’s device chooses to hang. That stupid phone there goes on vacation. That useless laptop refuses to shift the page. Even that idiotic tablet allows strange pop-ups to interrupt. Finally, one in frustration gives up. Nonsense. It is just so annoying, but it is technology headache!

The greatest headache is the impossibility of accessing stored information from a computer because it can't be switched on and one has not been backing this information up! 

I dare not talk about the most recent frustration caused by too much confidence in technology!

So, you now have a little idea of the many "headaches" in this use of technology and in trying to close the gap in such use. One was burned, not just scared of the flames. Yes, one contested with the machine and regretted having ever thought  of such a contest and being naive enough to ask the competitor to complement or become an ally. 

It appears that the competitor cleverly takes over, laughing at one's naivety. The competitor learns to devour or hold up the activity and laughs at the simpleton struggling and hoping for a miracle.

One has even made it worse by making technology multiple, not just special assistant. Mobile phones by the side while one is praying or sleeping or working . Laptop lapped and asking to be fondled so as to cooperate. It had spoken ill of desktop, saying that it was   Old Cargo and Old School, that it should make way for younger blood. And when one is romancing the seemingly irresistible laptop, that jealous mobile phone cries out! Then, of course, there is the ATM that consents or disagrees, otherwise, NO lunch! Of course, one needs this lunch, this  special meal, before taking a tablet from Apple  or Windows. And so on. One has to live or die wired and technologised. And a technologised human has to feel the machine grind inside his or her mind.

The problem now seems to be what to narrate to the doctor about these headaches, the boundary between a  headache and a headache.

Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba

by

Obododimma Oha

Children like tales, especially those with adventures. I remember how we used to rush our suppers to go and sit and listen to the folktales told by an uncle or a grandfather. One character that featured regularly in those tales was "Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba" (King of Iduu and Oba). What was he known for? What were his regular attributes any time he was mentioned in those tales? Let me try to remember:

(1) He was very, powerful, mean, and used to pull out the teeth of his enemies  for fun to celebnrate New Yam festival;
(2) He was a kind of God; anyone that called upon him was sure of being protected; his image was enough fear;
(3) He was very wise and impartial;
(4) He was there invisibly or visibly, and he was only influencing things from the background.

So, this kind of figure was a given; it was taken for granted,unless it has to be invoked once in a while in the tale to resolve conflicts. Since we knew that he was mean and impartial, we could predict what he would do  if he was brought in at any point in the tale. Who says that such givens are not good for very winding and seemingly endless tales?

One character that often called on him or the kingdom itself was tortoise the trickster. Whenever he played one terrible trick and was sinking, or when one big animal that he cheated was about to take him out, tortoise would then call upon Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba and would be safe. In other words, it was a trick, too. Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba was deceived; the assailant was deceived, too. As far as tortoise was concerned, the fellow ruling Obodo Iduu na Oba, who called himself "Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba," was an idiot and a big fool. He could go to hell with his "Eze". That was not the business of the trickster. The "Eze" was a stupid fellow!

Calling on Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba was an exploitation of his powers, for personal advantage. In other words, other people, who may be downright bad, were using him. But he did not know. But we knew and we enjoyed the exploitation.

What kind of wisdom was this, to just sit in the kingdom until one was used and even misused? By our simple reckoning, it was crass foolishness. It was as if one had become a mushroom, which could be eaten by a milipede and picked by a hunter of mushrooms. It was not wisdom but naivety surrendering to the world.

Some historians maintain that "Iduu" is the Igbo name for Benin Empire and so "Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba" was the name of the emperor of Benin. I  do not know much about this and do not have any evidence. I would, therefore, restrict myself to this figure that manifested in the tales we listened to as children. Facts could be very slippery and so one should be careful.

Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba was ruling a great and expansive kingdom. His influence was far and enormous. One, in fact, wonders how he was able to manage these, but the most important thing was that his image was dominant. If he was invoked in a discourse, one should be afraid and wake up. In that  case, even if the action was taking place far far away in one remote jungle, the Eze was watching. In that case, the totalitarian ruler was almost omniscient and censorious. Play your tricks as long as you like, but wait for him. He was there waiting with a big stick at the end.

Was the tellers and transmitters of the tales promoting dictatorship and censorship? This is debatable. But one thing was certain: there was admiration for Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba. He a kind of God as we stated earlier, but he was quite fallible and human. It is Hegel in Philosophy of History that stated that Africa admired dictators and was full of tyrants. He stated that this lover of mischief was not a known historical part of the world. Did you hear that, Eze Obodo Iduu? Before you are finally erased from books written by Hegel, ask my uncles and grandpa to change your attributes in the tale. Humane dictators are no longer fashionable.

One prominent issue was the protection of criminals by the name and image of the dictator. Tortoise was one such criminal but who often passed as a law-biding citizen and an admirer of Eze Obodo Iduu na Oba. But the fact was that tortoise did not give a damn about it and was ready to use a terrible trick to ruin it. So, unknowingly, Eze Obodo Iduu was also a protector of criminals in his so-called "kingdom."

If our common attitude to dictatorship is the main issue, what about indirect statement about the installation of dictatorship into young minds and into societies? You would agree with me: these are worrisome and our celebration of characters like Eze Obodo Iduu requires caution. The main point is that we must watch those narratives and the ways they mould and remould lives; in fact, the ways they handle lives.

Looking for Trouble

by

Obododimma Oha

If your name is "Nsogbu" (Trouble), as in the name, "Nsogbuụwa" (literally, "Troubles of this world" or "Zerensogbu"(Avoid Trouble), and somebody is looking for you, is the person not "Looking for Trouble"? Trouble is trouble, whether an affix or the root word. You are looking for trouble if you do not know that what is just an affix could suddenly become a root word. You should know that change means rankshifting and strangeness is the colour of the time.

The name "Nsogbu" should excite directors of films at Nollywood. That is, when one thinks of eloquent names like "ụkwa," "Akị na Paw Paw," etc. "Nsogbu;" that sounds great. Great and hippy because the bearer can pass as a bad boy and a dreaded fellow. Who would see a labelled "Trouble" and go near it?

In a 1971 album named "Yanga Sleep Trouble Wake Am," the maverick Fela Anikulapo Kuti sang of how pride can ensnare us, making us subject to trouble. This is true. The oppressor is not always an outsider who works against us. The oppressor could be in one's head, so that if one really wants freedom, that inner demon has to be shackled first. That is not to say that the external oppressor is no longer there. The sleeping yanga should not be activated. So, Fela was a mentalist at the beginning? Good to know. Especially if one is talking about troubles.

I feel excited when I hear expressions like: "You are looking for trouble," "You are asking for trouble," "He is looking for my trouble," "You are asking for my trouble," etc. So, somebody wants to activate trouble that is resident somewhere? Fela was right: "yanga sleep, trouble wake am."

It is worse when the "freedom fighter" has been known to be romancing with those ruling, enjoying the bait that comes in many forms. Then, that parrot begins to sing a different song one day. First, the parrot is invited and asked to stop, but this talker continues, thinking that patron saints do not remember their offensive mortality. The "freedom fighter" is later picked up and kept out of sight for a while.

As some people have argued, it appears that some fellows prefer dying in silence ("suffering and smiling") to somebody called a "radical" coming to their community to stir the pot of wahala. Some may be afraid of being free and being able to question how they are ruled. So, whoever makes trouble and looks in their direction, it is argued, is really Mr. or Mrs. Trouble. That trouble-maker should be chased away!

That sometimes happens when those that are afraid of "troublesome freedom" have long lived in deprivation and so see it as the normal way of life. When they have lived in despair and have no hope of getting out of it, chances are that they would not like a talk of "revolution." Revo-wetin? You want to upset things?
So, the irony is that those asking or working for genuine liberation are "trouble-makers." Those ruling and oppressing would even harness the irony, turning lexical items on their heads to favour the government, so that those talking of freedom are branded "trouble-makers" and the very oppressed are indoctrinated to believe it and even propagate it. Sad, if it becomes the pandemic in any society.

What is the business of "security agents" if not to deal with "trouble-makers," those hot-heads who want to "pour sand into the garri" of the fellow in power? Those "security agents" are following orders and overzealous ones can even over-do what they have been ordered to do. The important thing is that they are the "security agents" of the fellow in power, even if this means being the "insecurity" of liberation workers. Whose "security"? in a world where things are on their heads?

Trouble-making quarrels easily with "I am the state" or "the state is me." It is for "I am the state" to define and redefine. If "I am the state" says that you are a trouble-maker, then, you are automatically a trouble-maker. If "I am the state" says that you are a terrorist, then, you have become a terrorist. It does not matter what the dictionaries say or what the professors teach in the classrooms. The meaning authorized and mobilized by "I am the state" is the meaning. Is that not the frightening climate of George Orwell's Nineteen Eight-Four?

Let us reflect further on "Nsogbu" as a name that a popular street tough would likely adopt. "Nsogbu" is coming! And everyone would be alert. Then, the street tough with bad walk passes bye. Didn't I say that Nollywood would easily buy that? The link between the meaning of the name and the bearer  who may have to cultivate other signifiers (bad walk, terrible clothes, way of chewing, toothpick in the mouth, etc) makes the drama appealing. But this is beyond humour and laughter. It is a serious matter that can involve death. Because trouble comes with upsets. It even sends an invitation to its relatives saying, "Come fast. There is somebody who wants his or her life to be miserable." And they hasten to honour the invitation.

When next somebody starts looking for trouble, either through clipped naming or through the law, let the person think. Trouble is listening and will rise to come and will send out invitations.

Nollywood Films and the Wrong Depiction of the Nigerian Village

by

Obododimma Oha

 The stereotypical image of the Nigerian "village" in Nollywood films is that it is a territory of evil, duplicity, and a context people just have to escape from in order to progress. This thinking has grown into a big superstition which propels business for non-creative scriptwriters and film-makers. But the "village" is really a place in transition and does not always contain the conservative systems ascribed to it. At most, what is ascribed to it may be mere fiction -- which viewers regard as hard facts sadly --  and this fiction only exists in the imagination of scriptwriters and film-makers who may be out purely to make money. This brief essay reminds us that we are dealing with fiction in looking at the village through the films and that we need to be very careful instead of using what we view to reinforce our prejudices and seek to run away from the "village."


First, just look at the kind of people posted to act as devils in the "village." They could be school dropouts, petty thieves, and pocket rulers who wear unwashed red caps. These people are arranged as gate-keepers who kill progrssive ones from the "city." Hardly does the "city" inflict its own shit on village life. So, it is true? If you go to your village, they will kill you! You will come back a corpse. Let us remain in the city. So, it is just between my husband and I. No interaction with village people or with town union.  You want to appear before them? Didn't you see that film last night? Chineke e!

And so the naive fellow keeps away, at least, in the interest of peace in the home.

The village is populated by vultures. When they kill, they eat. Moreover, you only take corpses back there to bury and they bring out their antiquated notebooks and check the dead fellow's fines (if the dead fellow registered by mistake). So, the village is a vulture, only receiving dead bodies.

Indeed and ironically, somebody can have fleets of cars and live like a king in the "city" but will only have one room (probably shared with siblings) in the "village." The village knows hunger and starvation. The village knows poverty in the midst of affluence.

Do you see one reason why escape is necessary? Escape from poverty. Escape from backwardness. Escape from want.

The escapee will soon come back, after  getting involved in a money ritual, and will be awfully rich. The escpee-returnee may be driving one flashy jeep and may become an instant celebrity. Songs would instantly composed and funny dance exhibited. Welcome escapee-returnee, but don't hope to go back to the "city" without being infected first.

How can you talk about the "village" without talking about charms? Charms waved over what you have been given to eat. Charms around your house. Charms somewhere at your building site, to tie your hands and stop the money. Charms around your beautiful wife, to stop her from conceiving and bearing a son! Check mother-inlaw's tongue! Charms everywhere. Charms more powerful than COVID-10. Evil fellows! No wonder you are down there in the bush.

So, the "village" may not be charming, but it lives and moves and has its being in charms. Beware. Be aware.

Do you see that retired Baba and that retired Mama? They have stayed back in the city to enjoy all the noise and pollution and not go back to the village. That old Baba is looking for a retirement job and may be employed somewhere to cut grass with a rusty cutlass and man somebody's gate. Is it not better to have somebody who is halfway in his journey to the spiritworld look after the gate? Okara mmadụ, ọkara mmụọ. If previously a lecturer, aah, there are private and faith-based universities to retire to and start getting cheap stress from students. And the old Mama: she is selling groundnuts and roasted corn at the junction. What is the point retiring to the dangerous "village"?

We can see that the the Nigerian "village" is depicted as a terrible headache. Only those who worship Satan and are hardened ritualists survive there. Going to the village? Maybe because one is mad or wants to use power to fight power.

This twoness of space in Nigeria is antithetical. Of course, societies that are postcolonial but still patronise London and Washington may be used to twonesses. Even this essay; it is either with American English or British English. One colonisation gone, another colonisation instituted. Also, the city there, the village here. Even village cities and city villages. Contradiction. Contrary diction.

It is even more disturbing when fiction becomes reality. Why would villages not be seen as zones of evil fellow if chimps and snakes can swallows millions of dollars? Why would villages have skyscrappers but bad roads, while cities enjoy pitch darkness for days? When contradictions become normal, films that imitate life can fabricate, making fiction look like fact and many believe this.

Moreover, with social isolation, where does one go for moonlight play? Is it not better to be glued to African Magic or any other movie-oriented station, and to swallow what it gives out? So, you see. Nollywood is helping social isolation, otherwise many would run mad. They just have to chew something.

Sorry, "village." As you are transiting, this idea of being "a village city" may have its discomforts. They have depicted you as an evil empire. But that may even be an introduction.