Nigeria Journal: June 28th

The highlight of the trip thus far was visiting Dr. Korieh’s home villabe of Mbaise, which is about a 40 minute drive outside of Owerri. Mbaise stands for the “town of five villages.” Dr. Korieh’s village has about 300 residents. I relished the time outside of the city. The road to Mbaise was quintessentially African: palm trees, cassava plants, and plaintain trees grew thick along the pavement; red, sandy soil blew in wisps across our path, clinging to cars and clothing; women were balancing an array of  goods on their heads; children were playing soccer barefooted; and there were gargantuan pot holes where tropical rains had washed away large chunks of the road. We saw old colonial church cathedrals, houses, and  hospitals that were all built by the British—each one of them showing the wear and tear of 60 years in a tropical environment. The air was cleaner, the people were calmer, and the rains felt a lot cooler on the skin when one is out in the village. This region of west Africa, commonly referred to as Igbobland and “Biafra” is the most densely populated area in West Africa, with over 1,500 people per square km. And aside from the Nile Delta in Egypt, it might be the most densely populated state in all of Africa. Thus giving the entire eastern region of Nigeria an energy and chaos that is (supposedly) unmatched in all of Africa.

Immediately upon our arrival to Mbaise, we were quickly ushered to a funeral of a distant relative of Dr. Korieh’s. Funerals in Nigeria are very public events, where everyone comes out in rememberance of the dead, and as only Nigerians can do, make money. We made our way into the Obi (greeting house) of the widower, which was surrounded by a large court yard, in which, dancing troups and musicians were in full regalia. Many ethnic tribes of Nigeria were represented: the Yorbua, Tiv, Igbo, Hausa, and a few other smaller minorities. From the Obi, I made my way into the court yard and was immediately swarmed by flute players, singers, and dancers were where, unbeknownst to me, singing to me, telling me how great I was, and then immediately praying for money. This was quite overwhelming. It was loud, the flutes were of a high pitch, and the dancers were squeezing my space. After initially thinking that I had forgotten my wallet, I pulled it out of my book bag and paid the musicians and dancers some 2,000 Naira. They were all very pleased and posed for pictures.

After the chaos died down, I went into the middle of the yard to watch a traditional Tiv dance (the Tiv are an ethnic group from the “Middle Belt” of Nigeria, which straddles the line between the Islamic north and the Christian south). None of my Igbo collegues knew what was going on in the dance. Women were arrayed in circles, swaying their hips and crouching low to the ground, in a rather sultry expression of female power and sexuality. In the middle of the three inter-connected circles was one lone dancer dressed in black and white robes, who was carrying a bowl of fire on her head. She was tall and very dark. Her face was completely expressionless, and while her legs and hips were alive with swaying and speed, her upper torso was rigid and still. It was hauntingly beautiful.

Most of the people at the funeral were dressed in their finest traditional robes. You can tell the different tribes from each other (aside from language) by looking at the color and style of hats: the Yorbua wear a cloth, striped hat (usually black and white) that looks as thought it was wrapped from the forehead up into a cone shape. The Hausa wear Islamic caps and long robes, while the Igbo wear a small circular red caps that encompass the entire head. The color, energy, and music of the funeral celebration was enlivening. What a way to mark the passing of community member! Oh, and yes, I was offered numerous beer, wine, and champagne.

In Igbo culture, each village region is ruled by an Eze, or King, who presides over a cabinet of 12 village chiefs. Together, these men make most of the decisions for the village and also mediate conflicts. Dr. Korieh is a very high-status man in his home town, so he has been awarded a chieftaincy. Before we left, he informed both Tara and me that we would have a chance to meet with the Eze, and made it clear that this was an honor and should be treated as such. He taught us both an Igbo phrase to say upon meeting: Eze birikwe, which means “Long-Live the King.” The Eze was at the funeral, so we met him there. I gave him my greeting and he gave me a huge smiled and offered me a seat. He was dressed in a resplendent yellow robe, decorated with gold thread. His red Igbo cap was very large, and he was seated at the front of the room in a large wooden chair. He offered us a drink and then began to ask us about our journey. He immediately began to talk about the rainy season and the current problems with Boko Haram. He was a very gracious and gentle man. The funeral was coming to a close, so the Eze informed us that he had to leave, but before doing so, he apologized for his current inebriated state and then invited us over to his house for Kola nut and conversation. If only all leaders could be so great and up-front!

Kola nut in Igbo culture is a sacred symbol of friendship, unity, and peace. Whenever a visitor enters the house of an Igbo family, it is expected that Kola nut will be broken by the youngest member of the group. The nut can only be broken after a small ceremony, where prayers and greetings are offered. Igbo’s say that the Kola Nut can not “understand” English, so all of the ceremony has to be conducted in Igbo. The Kola is then split with the hands and cut into small pieces. The number of pieces is commesurate with the number of guests. Each guest is expected to take a piece and chew the nut throughout the visit. Kola naturally contains nicotine, so it does give one a small buzz. I however, one who has never smoked or chewed, simply got a headache. It is very bitter and goes down hard for those unaccustomed to eating hit. The Eze went through the ceremony with us. He gave Tara and me a small gift of Champagne, and then we exchanged gifts of wine. We had a nice conversation in the comfort of his home. After about an hour of visiting, he stood up and announced that he wanted to make us honorary members of the village. This is quite a big deal, as only initiated Igbo men and women are able to become full-fledged members of a village. The initiation ceremony is elaborate and takes place only twice (or once) a year. So for him to offer us the chance to write our names in the book of the town, it was seen as an extravagant gesture of friendship. Tara and I naturally took up his offer and proceeded to enter into the Chieftiency hall, where we saw the Eze’s throne and cabinet benches. He pulled out a large notebook and turned to the last page. There, on lines 174 and 175, Tara and I were to sign our names. Beside each name was a number marking the amount of money that was paid to the village in the past year as a tax—most were at 500 Niara (about 4 dollars). I signed my name and then asked the Eze if I would be able to put Jamie’s name on the village scroll as well. He said “of course.” We then took two formal pictures, after which, I immediately paid my village due, giving him 1000 Naira. He looked very happy and told me that he would inform the village that we have paid and are now official members. And  I decided at that moment to continue to send my yearly tax for the remainder of my time here on this earth.