Tales from the East (3)

So I am late I know... Okay, that didn't come out well. I mean this post should have come out before now. But I have been busy with hectic villa activities and maybe I praised that WIFI mast at Umudike market square too soon after all. Thankfully the network is back and now I can continue...

There I was, looking for all the interesting spots I used to know in my hometown back when I was a kid.

Unfortunately for one, Obinna the boy I used to play ball with then was now a village fugitive on the run, wanted for theft and thuggery. He had actually served 'jail time' for stealing chickens and mugging elderly women. The last time he was caught he was made to swear before the Eze and council chiefs that if he ever stole again, he would be executed village style. As old habits would have it, he was caught draining diesel (for re-sale) from the telecom mast generators at Umudike market square but he ran away before the police could arrest him. Rumors had it now that he was at Aba, honing his 'craft' with die-hard kidnappers...

Secondly, the stream my village is famous for mmiri ndu (Water of Life) didn't really hold much excitement as it did back when I was younger. Maybe because of all the education and exposure, I was able to see the water for what it was.

It definitely wasn't the crystal clear picture our local African writers painted in their novels. I'll be honest, it was murky brown, and clogged with every kind of material you could find in it. And more disappointing was the absence of those young topless maidens supposedly carrying calabashes on their heads. No, what I saw were elderly women with pendulous breasts and gaunt children struggling to fill their jerricans with the brown water. I think all those 'maidens' are now in the 'big' city pursuing aristos greener pastures.

                                                 
 However, on a more interesting note, the festivals were still as colourful. My hometown Umuoma celebrated its Christmas season in seven festivals, one for each of its seven famous clans; Umudike, Umuofia, Umuazu, Umuikuku, Umuezi, Umuala and Umuoma proper.

Every year, in a bid to compete as the best, each clan tried to out-class the other by producing the most daring hunter or prettiest women-dancers or most agile wrestler. It was always fun.

This time it was the week for Umuoma. The masquerades were creatively dressed and psychadelic, and the girl-dancers were very attractive. Mounds of akpu, ofe oha and ofe okazi were in quantities large enough to feed all seven clans comfortably and have some twelve or so baskets left over. It was just pleasant and I was happy to be present.

Later during the bon-fire, one elderly man was standing too close for comfort behind one of the girls under the pretext of watching the fire-eater perform. She later claimed that he was actually coping a free feel, and told her masquerade boyfriend.  He would have none of it and rallied his colleagues to carry the old man out of the arena. It caused a scene and some people tried to stop them. When things turned ugly, the stand-by policemen were forced to make some arrests. As their van drove by I noticed some of the offenders were still in their masquerade out-fits.   

I think I went to bed by 1.00am that night. The palmwine I had consumed was probably enough to drown all the grass-cutters in Umudike village. When I woke up the morning after, my grandmother told me that when my friends brought me home I was singing 'Nwa baby' by Flavour at the top of my lungs.

I was embarrassed.

It was the day of our umunna meeting. My household happened to be hosting it this quarter. All preparations for food and drinks had been made. One thing we Igbos never lack at home is good food, especially yam. There might be no palmwine but yam was always in abundance. So most of the meals available comprised of yam; ji mmiri oku, ji mmanu, ji ose, ji awii and so on.

The meeting started and after the elders had prayed, I was asked to break the kola (probably as the host or as the youngest person present) and that was when the drama began....

Ricardo: My elders and kinsmen, I have kola here... I began.

Mazi Ogbuefi: Chineke! O bu gini?  (God! What is it?)

Mazi Odom: Biko nata ya oji a. Oji a 'naa sufu bekee! (Please collect that kola from him. This kolanut does not understand English!)

And there was a raucous about whether I should countinue or not. I realized that if I didn't rescue the situation, things might get out of control.

Ricardo: Umunnam, e wela iwe. E nwelem oji, oji rue uno, okwue onye chere ya....

And immediately there were nods of approval from the red-capped heads in the room.

I hadn't yet recovered from last night's hangover, and that afternoon as I continued with the ceremonial rites, I knew it was going to be one of the longest days of my young life.

                                              

Tales from the East (2)

Last night I had a strange dream. It was as strange as it was funny. Wonder where I get all these stuff...

So I dreamt that I was vacationing on an Island somewhere near Puerto Rico. I was excited, I looked forward to seeing really beautiful women; the likes of Vida Guerra and Gloria Velez. Unfortunately, for some reason, all the women I saw there were ugly and hairless. Puzzled by this, I asked why and was told that demand for women's hair had trippled since they started being exported to Nigeria and as a result many of their women were in a frenzy to cash in on the fad. In fact the commercial result was such a success to the Puerto Rican economy that their Government was giving incentives to local 'hair-farmers'. 
                       
It was dreadful and my holiday was ruined.

So in order to salvage what was left of my vacation, I quickly flew back to Nigeria hoping to finish it there. Co-incidentally, I came back to discover that the Puerto Rican men having missed their women's dark and rich long hair had migrated to Nigeria en masse to meet the now 'long-haired' Nigerian women. Soon it became a reason of concern when they started to fall in love and compete with Nigerian men for their women. And Puerto Ricans being all latin and exotic and, Nigerian women whose love for latin telenovellas is no secret were immediately drawn to them. It was a social-cum-biological engulfment and very soon there were Puerto Rican mix-breed babies and children everywhere!

The last straw was when my dream girfriend Chigor came with a preggy belly to tell me she was getting married to a Rodriguez. At that point I woke up with a scream...

My grandmother started to knock on my door but I called out to her that it was only a nightmare. I was sweating profusely and decided to take a cool shower to clear my head.

I have been in my hometown for sometime now, having left Owerri two days ago...(By the way kudos to All Seasons Hotel for their swift room service. You don't get much of that in Owerri these days). So here I am in my villa not Puerto Rico, I haven't been here since 2006 when my grandpa was buried. Five whole years and so many things had changed.

For one, I am happy to say that the WIFI service here is quite good so I am able to blog just fine. It's probably because of that huge telecom mast at Umudike market square.

However, I have also noticed that there are fewer palm trees now than there were before. I begin to wonder if deforestation will soon be a cause for concern. The place isn't looking so countryside anymore. I mean, if we didn't have that 'villa' feel, where would we go to relax from all the Lasgidi hustle and bustle? Sometimes I feel sorry for the indigent Lagosians, especially those whose hometown are in Victoria Island or Ikoyi or something but let's not dig further...

Secondly, there seems to be jump in the number of fast-food eaterys in the nearby town (though not in my home vicinity itself). I am thinking, if these junk foods start spreading towards our area, we would have a big problem considering our beloved akpu and mmiri-oku ji  which is our staple diet will be threatened with extinction. Not good, given that at a time that food saved my father's family during the civil war.

Another major change is in the youths. They obviously have been exposed to city-life just a bit too much. Am not surprised anyway, after all Owerri is only a forty-five minutes drive away.
The sagging jeans (not yet like that of Generation wiz though), colourful lifestyle, Brazilian/Puerto Rican hair (don't be surprised, I've seen a few so far. How real of fake it is, is still open for investigation) and BlackBerry's, yes BB's. My Grandmother  was complaining about them the other day. She said;

"You too you have that phone that is big like a book? Last week, Mazi Odom's son was using it and didn't know when he was crossing the road, a big car hit him and he is still in the hospital. I hope you don't cross the road like that?"

"No Mama. I hardly take it out when I am on the road, except when I really need to call." (I am indulging her)

"Does your own have that wire they put in the ears that make you not to hear too?"

"Yes Mama, but I didn't bring it."

"Good. And then she continued cooking."

 With my grandmother respect was key and I gave it to her always.

Anyways, back to the issue of Blackberrys. The BB fad has got here and the fever has caught very fast. I happened to accidentaly spy the chat on some kid's phone yesterday and the term OMG came up a few times. At first I thought it meant the usual Oh my gosh lingo. Imagine my shock when I was told it was O maka gini! An Igbo exclamation translating to 'Why?'

Now am wondering if LOL, LMAO or SMH mean the same thing or have their own local translations... I will definitely keep you posted on that one.

I have to stop now so that I can feed the goats and check the yam barn. The umunna meeting is a few days away. I will also keep you posted on that too. Cheers

Tales from the East (1)

Greetings guys, it's that time of the year again when the days are synonymous with holidays and fun. I can feel it already. Maybe it's the harmattan or the carols, either way the air is nostalgic of holiday mirth.

It's also the time most people make trips to their 'village'. Some to reunite with relatives while others use that opportunity to show off to the native folk that they have arrived. Well, I had a different reason to make a quick trip to my villa last week (by the way, that is where I am now).

I had received a letter from my 'brothers' back at home from across the Niger telling me that I had long since been due in joining the umunna. The letter amongst other things said I had to answer to my reponsibilities as diala and follow the ways of omenala ndi'ígbo no matter how educated I was. Normally I would have laughed off the contents of the letter but my grandmother's accompanying note made me change my mind. So there I was on the next available flight to Owerri...


My plane was due to take off by 4pm. The duration of the trip was only for an hour and fifteen minutes max. In fact I had been to the office earlier to send a mail before going to Murtala Mohammed Airport, Ikeja.


MMA General Aviation Terminal 2 was as expected a very busy place. Not rowdy-busy, but busy enough to have you bumping shoulders with strangers now and then. While waiting my turn on the queue for the usual checking-in, the air was suddenly filled with the sweet scent of J'ádore by Dior. I looked around for the culprit, but no one seemed to fit the profile.


Few minutes later, when I handed the attendant my boarding pass I looked up just in time to see an apparition in red, disappear through the departure gate. There was my J'ádore culprit, and she was going to Owerri too!


I only saw her from behind but I swear from what I saw, she could have passed for Toolz the radio OAP. I got into the plane and tried to locate my seat. It wasn't hard, the airline was an A340-500 seater Airbus. The longhaul sort and since I had a business class ticket, mine was seat B6, an aisle seat in the middle of the cabin just in front of where the economy class seats began, and a row of seats behind the lavatory and closet section.


I sat down and looked around. The Jádore culprit was not far. She also had a business class seat but hers was D5, a middle row seat directly behind the 'kitchen' and adjacent mine. Now I could look her up very well without being too obvious.


She seemed to have a facination for the scarlet colour. Her lips were painted blood-red, so was her body-fitting dress and her ankle-length heels. In fact, the only things on her that weren't red were the silver ear-rings dangling from her ears. She suddenly looked back and caught my eyes in a move that told me she knew I had been staring. That was when I noticed the mirror in front of her, hanging on the 'kitchen' door. I say, if I wasn't black, my face might have matched her dress as well.


Before long people had filled the seats around us. The flight attendant began to address the passengers on the usual safety drill but my attention was distracted.


'Scarlet' had a red scarf around her neck but it didn't entirely cover the curve where her neck met the shoulders. Her creamy skin was still visible. I looked at the mirror in front of her and saw she was watching me too. Then suddenly, she stood up and walked towards the lavatory. After a few minutes I got up and made a beeline for the lavatory as well.


When I got to the door I raised my hand to touch it but never made a connection. It swung open automatically and a hand pulled me in roughly. The air in the lavatory was redolent with the overpowering scent of Jádore by Dior. The effect left me a bit light-headed.


I was locked in a tight embrace with the Scarlet woman. I discovered that she even had a fuller figure now that I was with her. I nearly swooned from the surreality of the experience but got hold of myself, grabbed her face and kissed her fully in the lips. They were super-soft and tasted like lye.


She kissed back. Her reply had an urgency about it, like she was a diabetic on a dose of insulin. Slowly but purposefully, my hands left the tresses of her hair and wandered down her neck, her delicate shoulders, her curvy sides before coming to rest on her Toolz (ass). They were firm but pliable. I squeezed both cheeks. The result was a soft purring sound. Our lips had broken contact.


There was a rush of blood to my head and every other part of me.


It was strange. There I was, about 29,000 feet in the air above sea level having a quickie in a claustrophobic washroom with a stranger. It was the stuff movies were made of ! I heard zippers unzip and clasps unclasp. I wasn't sure which was mine. But I felt pain as those red Jimmy Choo heels dug into the back of my thighs.


In the frenzy of the whole experience, the taps were turned on and the toilet accidentally flushed. The whole cabin began to shudder slightly...

'Sir, sir...?'

The haze lifted from my eyes and I saw the flight attendant was standing in front of me.

'Please fasten your seatbelt sir, we are about to take off now.'

I looked around me. Everyone was seated, even 'Scarlet'. I quickly fastened my seatbelt and as I did so I noticed something else on her that wasn't red after all. It was a glittering band on the finger of her left hand. I wondered why I hadn't noticed that before. So much for lucid thoughts...

An hour or so later when we touched down at Owerri, I got a cab at the airport to take me to All Seasons Hotel. While still in the car I pulled out my phone and began to check for female contacts on my list that ended with 'Owerri'.

I had a case of the blue balls and I needed a cure...