MY LAST RITES OF PASSAGE

Chika Onyeani bio & history

December 8, 2008 5:59 PM EST

On that first day of celebrations, the band will accompany me to the Isi Ogwe (village square).  There, I will join with other of my age mates, men and women.  We will proudly be seated in our uniformed outfit, which I have already paid for.  After the gun salutes, the age group will be called upon to officially present whatever they have done for the village.  After the presentation, our names will be called individually to pay a certain amount of money to the village.  Individually, those who can afford it, it is at this juncture that you get up and offer a more substantial sum of money to the village, or agree to individually accomplish a task.

Chika and Loretta Onyeani at their son’s wedding on August 10, 2008

From the 28th December, 2008, my village will be celebrating my age group’s last rites of passage as elderly men, (old men, actually if you wish).  It is the last ceremony we have to undertake which accords the rights to being recognized as old men.  Of course, there have been many other ceremonies before this, which are celebrated after you reach a certain age - from the time you are born, to the first things you have to do as a man, to the things you have to do before your age grade is accorded a name, to this last ceremony.  This ceremony is both for the men and women born around the same years.  With the mortality rate and longevity statistics, many in the age group have since died. 

My village, Okagwe, is one of the 25 villages that make up the people known as Ohafia.  Because of its strategic location, it plays a major role in guarding Ohafia from invaders, although it is not one of the major villages in the group.  What I mean by this, is that it is known for its warriors, for taking swift action against those who would attempt to encroach on its territory or any Ohafia territory for that matter and being merciless in retributive justice.  Okagwe shares borders with Abiriba and Edda, which has now been included in Ebonyi State, which continues to petition to be left to be part of Abia State.  Before the creation of more local government areas, both areas were in the Ohafia Local Government area (LGA).

I remember the shock I experienced when I was sent from Port Harcourt to go back to the village to start my primary school.  Imagine being uprooted from a township such as Port Harcourt was in those days, and being taken to what I thought was then a bush place.  Which would be a stupid description, because at that time the village already had two people in America, one who became the first Nigerian to have masters in chemistry in Nigeria, and one of the first batch of civil engineers - Mr. Ukoha Igwe Ukoha and Mr. Nkata Kalu Abba, who became the first Area Engineer for the country.  Unfortunately, we didn’t have a set of people who followed in the stellar achievements of these two individuals.

Anyway, as I said I remember vividly my experiences the first day I went to school to attend primary school:

“Raise your right hand over your head and touch your ears on the other side,” the teacher shouted at us.  The children numbered about 20 in a long line.  In the January harmattan morning chill, we wore short beige khakis, and white shirts.  There was only one girl in the group, and she wore a long white/blue dress.  I was one of the other 19 boys.  Most of us were bare footed like me.  We were lined up in the field where other older children were congregated, children who had already been attending school.

The people in this line were to be the new primary one students.  The tests of whether we were ready to start school, was what was being conducted by the teacher.  No matter how old or young you were, if you couldn’t raise your right or left hand over your head and touch your ears on the other side of your head, then you weren’t ready to start school.  This way of finding out whether you were ready or not to start school, made it difficult for those who didn’t grow tall enough to start school.

As I stood there watching what was going on, the teacher walked up to me.  “Okay, let me see whether you are ready to start school,” the teacher said to me in the Igbo language.  Actually, it was Ohafia language he spoke to me, which is a variation of the Igbo language.  In fact, at times, other Igbo are unable to understand what Ohafia people say even now.

“What’s you name,” the teacher asked.

“Chika,” I answered.

“You say, Chika, Sir,” the teacher corrected me.  “Now, say that.”

“My name is Chika, Sir.”

“Who is your father,” the teacher asked me.

“My father’s name is Dennis Okite, Sir,” I answered appropriately.

The teacher wrote my name on the notebook he was carrying.  “Okay, now raise your right hand over your head and touch the other side of your ears.” I raised my right hand and put it over my head.  My third finger easily touched the top of my ears.  The teacher went around me.  He looked at the finger, and looked at me.

“Do you know how old you are,” he asked me.

“I am five years old, Sir,” I answered, and the teacher smiled, and thought I must be a quick learner.

“You are a bit young, but your finger touched your ears.  You are ready,” the teacher told me.

He proceeded to the next child.

“What’s your name,” he asked him.

“Okite,” the other child answered.

“Did you hear me telling the other child that he must address me as ‘Sir’ when he answers.”

“Yes, Sir,” Okite answered.

“Okite, what’s your father’s name.”

“Chika, Sir,” he answered.

The teacher looked perplexed.

“Are you too brothers,” he asked.

“Yes Sir,” both of us answered.

“How old are you, Okite,” the teacher asked.

“I’m six years old, Sir.”

“So, you are the older brother to Chika.  Both of you have the same father,” the teacher remarked.

“Not true Sir,” I answered.

“What’s not true,” the teacher asked as he looked sternly at me.

“His father is ‘Papa Ukwu” and my father is “Papa Nta,” I replied.  His father was my father’s senior brother, so we addressed him as “Papa Ukwu,” older father, and addressed my own dad as “Papa Nta”, that’s younger dad.  I know that at a certain point in time, we started addressing “Papa Ukwu” as “Papa Nkro,” that’s grasshopper dad, as he harvested all kinds of things and brought them home, to eat, and then my dad was known “Papa Achichara”, that’s dad who brought biscuits home.

The stern look on the teacher’s face disappeared and he laughed.  “So his father is your faher’s older brother,” he remarked.  Both children tilted their heads in agreement.  Of course, it should be noted that this conversation was still going on in the native language. 

“Okay, Okite, let me see your finger touch the other side of your ear.  You seem to be the same height as your cousin,” he muttered.

Mind you there is nothing like cousin, or niece, or nephew in the native language.  Everybody was brother or sister, whether they were your cousins, nieces or nephews.  The native words were “nwannam nwoke,” (brother), “nwanem nwanyi” (sister) or “nwanem ukwu” could be interpreted to mean “my big brother or big sister”, or “nwannem nta” for either younger brother or sister, cousin, nephew or niece.

As to names, people answered their father’s first names as their last names.  Since my father’s name was ‘Okite’, that’s why I registered and started school as ‘Chika Okite,” while my cousin registered as “Okite Chika.” You would want to know why my full name now is ‘Chika Abba Onyeani.” When I got to Standard One, I read one of the psychology magazines (I believe, Psychology Digest), and adopted my grandfather’s name, Onyeani, is my last name - which paved the way for my siblings to answer their last names as Onyeani.

“Okay, both of you are ready to start in primary one,” said the teacher after examining my cousin touch the other side of his ears and proceeded to finish with the tests of all the other children on the line.

That was my first taste of the village.  In my class, almost everyone was older, except maybe the girl. 

The first age group ceremony we had to go through was to be given a name, that’s those of us born between 1-2 years apart.  It is a major campaign by the age group to be given a name, a name which is suitable to their temperament and to how they see themselves.  We campaigned.  Normally, you are given the name of an age group whose members have all died off.  My age group objected to that, preferring to get our own name.  We chose OBIMBA - heart or soul of the village.

Initially, village elders objected, insisting we must follow the tradition.  But we were head-strong and bent on answering what we believed was an appropriate name for ourselves.  Remember, we were sort of the first group to really be engaged in serious education.  In the end, the village elders acquiesced and we kept the name OBIMBA.  But before any age group could be officially conferred with a name, it would have to undertake a major project for the village.  Some would promise to construct a road, of course not with tar, but cut the trees and make a passable road, some did bridges, that’s get a big tree trunk and make a place passable.  But for OBIMBA, we promised to erect a building for the village primary school.  That building is still standing till today.  Of course, we had a big ‘coming out’ ceremony to celebrate our coming of age, and being given a name.  Actually, we were already in our mid-20s when this happened.

The second ceremony is the “Igba Uche” - the “Middle Passage” - is when you are recognized as a leader, having attained some recognizable achievements.  These recognitions have nothing to do with your individual achievements - your education, your honors, your conferments of chieftaincy titles.  In fact, in the age grade, those things mean nothing in the order of recognition - you are on the same level with everybody. 

The “Igba Ekpe”, “The Last Rites of Passage,” will take two days to celebrate.  First day is reserved for the age-group and village events.  It involves all kinds of merriment.  We are expected to perform some duties for the village, but I understand that since so many of the people have died or infirmed, we weren’t able to fulfill this obligation, in which case we have been assessed a hefty amount in lieu of the task the village had assigned.

Preparing for this event is financially quite scary, especially if you happen to be coming home from “abroad.” A lot is expected of you.  You have to do things in a big way.  Since I haven’t visited home since 2002, I have been told my house is leaking, the house has to be repainted, planks, zinc, paint have to be procured; contractors have to be hired, and since there don’t seem to be “new furniture,” new furniture have to be procured - new bed and mattress, new dining table set and sitting room set, as if I couldn’t survive on using the old furniture.  Though there is electricity, it hardly works, so make sure you have a powerful generator to power a fridge, air conditioner, re-charge your electrical equipments, including your laptop and cell phones.  All these are to make sure that people understand your importance.  The figures you are given to fix these problems and make the purchases are more than staggering. 

My own part of the ceremony involves providing my guests with a lot of food and drinks.  When I get there, I will go to the cow market, or send people with money to go there and buy one or two cows, depending on the cost.  (My second son is yet to recover from seeing the head of a chicken cut off when he was five years old, since he had been playing with it).  I have been told that I must hire outside chefs because if you allow your relatives to be in charge of the cooking, there wouldn’t be enough meat left to prepare enough food for your guests.  A band will be hired to play for two days, the same band that would accompany me on my 1.5 mile journey to the Isi Ogwe (Official Village Square).  Decked in my regalia, I will dance as the band plays and accompanies me.  Of course, most people cannot afford the band or hire outside chefs.  Actually, some people would kill some goats or chicken, and that would be it. 

On that first day of celebrations, the band will accompany me to the Isi Ogwe (village square).  There, I will join with other of my age mates, men and women.  We will proudly be seated in our uniformed outfit, which I have already paid for.  After the gun salutes, the age group will be called upon to officially present whatever they have done for the village.  After the presentation, our names will be called individually to pay a certain amount of money to the village.  Individually, those who can afford it, it is at this juncture that you get up and offer a more substantial sum of money to the village, or agree to individually accomplish a task.

The second day is reserved for entertaining people who come to pay you homage.  Everybody comes, especially to eat and drink.  They bring you presents, including money, especially your influential friends who you have invited from all the country and even those abroad.  Some times you can realize quite a big amount of money. 

Once you get my invitation, you know what to do. 

The decision I am trying to reach is the necessity of being physically present at the event, given the deep financial crisis at this time.  And given the jaundiced nature of newspaper advertisements in this country.  If you had all the tickets for myself and my wife, you are talking about $18,000 or more.  So the question I am asking myself is whether it wouldn’t be a lot better to offer half of this money for the payment of scholarships to deserving students in my village?

I am really looking forward to being there, I wish we will be able to go, especially given the significance of the event - MY LAST RITES OF PASSAGE AS AN OLD MAN - quite an accomplishment given the mortality rate from where I was born.  It should be a CELEBRATION!!  And not a time to whine. 

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