Nigeria Journal: Church and Spirituality

Igbos are extremely religious. A VAST majority of them are Christians, with a few practicing traditional religious customs. Spirituality is something that has been a part of their culture since its inception. As I’ve written a few times before, this area of southeast Nigeria is one of the most populated regions in all of Africa. There are few opportunities for one to see unspoiled nature, where jaguars and chimpanzees roam free. In their place, humans have erected homesteads and clear-cut the land for growing plots. Ramshackle shops are crammed within an inch of each other. Brick and concrete buildings stand further back into the bush. When in Nigeria, one hardly ever gets the impression that they’ve “escaped” the city. Humans are all around you. So it’s a small wonder that stands of pristine, beautiful jungle on occasion co-mingle with the human environment. Yet, that is exactly what happens.

In places surrounding Owerri a traveler will see patches of dense tree cover. In almost every instance those forests are considered shrines, or what we would commonly refer to as oracles, as they are not exactly just places of worship and remembrance. Oracles in Igbo tradition can mediate conflict, give advice, and even foretell the future. They are feared and greatly respected. Each village (or group of villages) had a common oracle that they would go to for advice. Often, the oracle would have a few messengers in the town who were charged with speaking on behalf of the spirit. These chosen “spiritual mediums” would often be the only ones to enter into the oracle’s presence, which was located within a small cave or in a narrow hollow of a creek bed, hidden from all prying eyes. If one were to read a few Igbo novels (and all of you should be familiar with a few writers from the culture: Chris Okri and Chinua Achebe), one would find a mix of reality and fantasy. There are countless spirits, parables, and esoteric proverbs that throw the western reader into a fairyland of pre-colonial Africa that is completely enchanting and engaging. Modern day Igbos remember the location of their village’s oracle or “shrine” and therefore prohibit any construction to take place on the spot. It is, for me, a rather curious example of the balance that all Africans must face in their post-colonial world: a reverence and belief in their “old ways”, and yet a modern-day cultural paradigm that can be very “western” in worldview and religious practice. Even though Igbos are Christians, they still fear and acknowledge the power of the gods of pre-Christianity.

Igbos tend to call themselves the “Jews” of Africa. It’s a statement that has been made as far back as Oluando Equiano in the 18^th century, who himself was an Igbo born in a village not too far away from Owerri. The parallel between Jewish and Igbo culture is made for a few reasons, much of it having to do with Igbo culinary and cleanliness traditions, their reverence for a prime God (Chukwu), and their history of persecution at the hands of other ethnicities around them (the most recent being the Nigeria-Biafran Civil War).

Some of the most interesting cultural traditions of the Igbo people have to do with what they call the “evil forest” and the “fattening room.” Essentially, anyone unclean or “evil” within society would be cast aside into the forest where they were to rot and die. If they were already dead, the body would not be buried, but instead would be left upon the bare ground to be eaten by animals and vultures. If a person committed suicide, they were left in the evil forest. If someone committed a heinous crime and was executed for it, they would be thrown into the evil forest. If a woman had a series of children die young, then the bodies of the kids would be thrown into the evil forest upon their death, as it was believed an demonic spirit child inhabited the woman’s womb. Most curious of all, however, was the apparent antipathy towards multiple births. Considering multiple births to be the parlance and expertise of animals, definitely not humans, Igbos considered twins and triplets to be a complete abomination. The mother, they believed, was cursed and therefore her twins (or triplets) would be left in the evil forest to meet their end. Many times, they were left alive, where the babies would starve to death, perish, and then be a small meal for a scavenging mammal. I asked Dr. Korieh the anthropological reason for such a practice within traditional Igbo culture. Were there food shortages that discouraged women from having more babies at one time? Were women unable to produce enough milk to keep their multiple babies healthy? And he didn’t really have an answer. THANK GOD this doesn’t happen today. I always knew that me and my brothers (at times) acted as if we were cursed by an terrible spirit, but I’m happy my mother never threw us into the evil forest. Although, I do have one particularly galling memory of being a Pat Catans Fabric store in Moon Towship....

On a lighter note, Igbos (traditionally) liked their women with a little “junk in the trunk” (and a little junk all over for that matter). Upon her betrothal to be married, a woman was expected to go into seclusion into what was called the “fattening house.” There, she would sit for SIX MONTHS and be ordered to not do a single physical thing. She was fed copious amounts of food, tattooed, and then told to sit and relax. After six months, a young woman who weighed (maybe) 130 pounds would come out at a hefty 180 or higher! Europeans found this a rather fascinating procedure. And because white colonials always seemed to have an excuse to take a picture of naked African (or colored) women (hmm….hmmm……hmmmm…..), I was lucky enough to see a series of before-and-after photographic plates. And the change was truly incredible. And believe me when I say it, the women were obese. Period. You can’t get around it. They had large, rolling thighs; double chins; heavy pendulous breasts; and protruding guts. And they were considered beautiful. I jokingly told Dr. Korieh that the American reputation for being ignorant about other cultures was obviously false, as we clearly know and respect the fattening house culture of the West African tribes! He laughed.

 IT WAS A JOKE PEOPLE. Come on, don’t get mad. 

AND before anyone accuses me of being a Eurocentric prude ripping on African culture, I would like to quickly point out that Igbo culture was much more egalitarian and respectful of women than Christian Europe. Women had control of plots and inheritance. They had their own agency in the form of powerful secret female societies that were both economic and social self-help groups. Art, music, and story telling flourished. And their culinary tastes were fantastic and often much preferred to the bland “northern” cuisine of salted pork, potatoes, and tea. Not to mention the fact that Igbo trading was robust and powerful, hand-made goods were of premium quality, and political relations between villages and other ethnic groups were complex and intricate. Not the “dark continent” after all, huh?

With the arrival of Europeans came Christianity. Missionaries spread throughout Africa, building schools, educating children, and founding churches. And they were extremely successful. One does not have to look hard to see the fruits of all this proselytizing labor. Nearly every Igbo family seems to have a strong sense of their Christian faith and their role in church. Every Sunday morning, MILLIONS of people adorn themselves in their best attire and make their way to the hundreds of churches strewn about the city. There, they sing and dance to rhythmic hymns and praise songs. On the street, the cacophony of righteous pastors floods out into the public air space, mixing with other zealous preachers, creating essentially what I like to think of as “holy noise.” On cars, Ke-Kes, buildings, and t-shirts, Christian phrases are emblazoned: “Jesus Saves.” “If God says YES! Who can say no?” “Washed in the blood of Jesus.” And on, and on, and on it goes.

My friend Uche and his family are no different. They are rooted in their faith and in their church community. Both of Uche’s brothers look forward to attending church every Sunday, and his father is a respected lay pastor. What makes the congregation unique is that it is not Roman Catholic (or Anglican). To the contrary, it’s a small denomination called the Watchman Catholic Charismatic Renewal Movement. According to Uche, they have some congregations in South Africa and few spread throughout Europe and (I’m sure) the United States. Essentially, they get their style and liturgy (if you call it that) from the Pentecostal tradition of the United States. Wanting to find avenues through which I would be able to experience multiple manifestations of Nigerian culture, I asked to attend his church while I was here. And he gladly obliged.

We woke up early in the morning to catch the service, which was supposed to start at 8:30, but ended up REALLY getting under way around 9:30 (African Time!). The REAL preaching didn’t start however until after 10:00am, at which point, the service would extend well past noon and into the early afternoon. I sat with Uche and his brother Favour through Sunday school and then proceeded to make my way down to the sanctuary on the first floor. The church is an imposingly large structure made of brown sand-stone concrete and block. The color is drab. The façade of the building is covered with multiple rectangular windows, each with a reflective coating on the glass, making it hard to see inside. The sanctuary seems to be in various stages of completion. From the nave of the church to the first clump of seats, the floor is paved with a white tile. From then on, all the way to the entrance, the floor is rough concrete. The roof is made of corrugated steel and the ceiling is lofted 20 feet above our heads. Lights extend down through steel tubing. Color is added at the pulpit through vibrant cloths. Women and men are separated and women all wear head coverings. Most church goers sit on plastic chairs aligned very close to each other. There isn’t much “wiggle room”, which can be a problem for one when the sermon can stretch into three hours(!).

Church began with about an hour of praise and worship songs. All of the music was made by a bass guitar and a simple accordion (an old squeeze box?). Rhythm was provided by all the members through the clapping of hands. It had a groove to it. The songs careened between traditional melodies and hymns that had a catchy, poppy beat (at times, we sound like a mix between Alan Lomax’s recordings and the Beach Boys). Everyone was swaying in unison and dancing. It was enrapturing. I clapped and mouthed some of the words. I didn’t dance of course—I never do. Then there was a period for prayer. I bowed my head and looked at the ground for a period of time. I was attempting to meditate. Then, I heard what sounded like whispering snakes. I looked up. All around me, people—both men and women—were mumbling and speaking to themselves. Their eyes were clamped shut as if they were all refusing to look at a horror. To my left, to my right, behind, and in front, everyone was speaking in tongues (Uche wasn’t….ahem…). Then the pastor began. He was loud. His voice boomed in tones I never heard before—his larynx was doing somersaults in his neck, screeching and grinding, forcing out hoarse and high-pitched intonations. He sounded, I have to admit, demon possessed. But he wasn’t. He began to sing. Everyone settled down. And then we engaged in a few more songs. It was a powerful experience. I felt the surge of emotion all around me. It felt like static in my legs, moving up to my torso, making my face go numb. I had a sudden urge to shiver.

The sermon was given in heavily-accented Nigerian English, which made it hard for me to follow at times. Every single sentence that was spoken was then translated into Igbo. The pastor warned the congregation about spiritual habits that cause death. Upon seeing that title flash up, I figured he was talking about figurative death. But as he went on, to my shock and horror, he was talking about ACTUAL physical death. I don’t know if this is a common phenomena in Nigeria, but the pastor seemed to be very concerned about “Fasting oneself to death.” Maybe it’s a common occurrence here in Nigeria that pious people fast for too long and end up starving. I don’t know. Either way, that aspect of the message was a little bit lost on me. I was unsure where the practical application lies: eat more food!? The sermon went on for a long time. Throughout the aisles of the congregation walked stern-faced ushers who poked and prodded those unlucky worshippers who happened to fall asleep during the marathon service. I had never seen anything like that. It conjured up in my mind clapboard churches in puritan New England.

Upon the conclusion of the service, Uche and I gave an offering and then we proceeded to walk outside and spend time in front of the church greeting a few of his friends. While we were waiting, the youth of the church swarmed around me. They were closing in. There must have been about 50 of them. Uche acted as my body guard and would announce, “NO MORE QUESTIONS!” and then hurriedly usher me to a different location. It was a failure. The children kept coming. They were grabbing my hands, touching my hair, asking whether I was married, looking into my eyes. I asked the students what I should tell my friends back in the United States about Nigeria. They all lit up and began shouting: “That it’s a wonderful country!” “That Nigeria is very clean and nice!!” “That they should come and visit!” One prankster of the group challenged the statement by telling me to visit the bathroom of the church. He was confident I would have a different opinion of Nigeria upon seeing it. We laughed. For the most part, I was completely fine with the children asking questions. They were simply curious. Uche exclaimed, “They are embarrassing me. It’s as if they’ve never seen a white man before.” And, in reality, maybe some of them never had.