Occupying Nigeria at Greenwich Bar and Suites...

Today is the second day of the Labour strike and I am at home. After seeing courageous Nigerians protesting on TV yesterday I was filled with a sense of pride for how patriotic some people could be. So this morning when I received a BB message from a friend that interested patriots were to meet at New Market, Lekki Phase 1 by 8AM to start 'occupying' Nigeria, I jumped up with excitement at the opportunity to 'fight for my children's future' (as a friend put it).

However when I got there I was dissapointed. There were people there alright and they were ready to 'occupy'. But that wasn't the problem.

For starters I seemed to be the only one (or one of few) who had something to lose. I had made the mistake of driving there (A big no-no in these kinds of convention). Secondly it appeared I was over-dressed for the occassion, but I wasn't expecting the kind of mob I met there. Where were the Lekki residents who sent those broadcasts on BB? I couldn't even find my friends. Then someone tapped me...


"Oga take this thing, if the police begin worry make you just throw am for their front and dem go move back small. Nothing dey happen".


The guy was handing me a bottle filled with small stones and some shrapnel. Probably his home made version of a Molotov cocktail. That was the last straw. I thought it was going to be a peaceful protest, but to incite the Police? And the Nigerian one for that matter? I turned around and went back to my car. I made up my mind to "occupy" Nigeria in other ways different from rowdy and improperly planned conventions.

                                              

After leaving New Market at Phase 1, I stopped at my usual spot to buy airtime but I was told that the vendor was on strike and had gone to protest too. The craze had caught on fast. I was slightly worried. If these people took over the protests without proper control and guidance, the situation might get out of hand and we might be singing another tune very soon. When I got home I watched Japhet Omojuwa and Olumide Gbadebo on TVC speak about the the supressed rights of the Nigerian people. Now that was one way to 'Occupy' Nigeria effectively.

12PM, three hours later...

 My phone rang and woke me up. I had dosed off. It was my friend Mike calling me;

"Bro how far, where you dey?"

"House things. What's happening?"

"Snooker, we playing at Greenwich. Ejiro is here too. Are you coming?"

I yawned, I was still groggy. Greenwich Bar and Suites was a resort cum relaxation spot not far from my house. I usually hung out there with guys when I didn't want to go far for trips. It had a bar, barbeque grill and a snooker table by the poolside. Anything beat sleeping at home by this time. God, I hated being idle.

  

"Give me fifteen minutes", I answered.

  

I joined them not long afterwards. They were already done with the first round of shots. 

Mike was an old friend from university days, he worked at MTN now and Ejiro was on his own doing something with a Real Estate company. I told them about my 'occupy' experience and we had a good laugh. After a few more shots I went to get some beer and Suya.

At the Suya stand the Hausa vendor was a bit chatty. That was a first.

"Gimme Suya N1000"

"Okay Oga...but Suya now na N300 for one stick". 

His accent was very heavy and I could barely understand him. He sharpened his long knives enthusiastically as he smiled. I didn't like the sound.

 "Really? Is it part of the subsidy thing?  Okay put N2700 for me".

While I waited, the vendor brought up a very surprising subject.

"Oga na true say Boko Haram wan bomb Shop Rite for Lekki"?

"What"? I wanted to be sure that I had heard properly.

"Boko Haram naa, I hear they say dem go bomb Shop Rite for Lekki".

"Sorry I don't know Gboko Haran, I have never heard of them". I replied, deliberately mispronouncing it.

The knife sliced the meat very easily, I could see that it was extremely sharp.

"You no know them? He persisted, na dem dey bomb church for Abuja naa".

I remained silent. At that moment some stupid guy (who was probably drunk) joined me at the stand and changed the whole situation completely.

"Ah Abdul, you still dey Lagos? I think say you for don run go Bornu by now. Una people say make you come back. OPC go tidy you here oh".

Abdul's face changed.

"Why OPC go tidy me. I don bomb anybody?" He sharpened his knives more enthusiastically and this time he wasn't smiling.

 "But you be their brother naa. Your people too wicked".

 I didn't like the direction the conversation was going. I looked at the Fish grill section at the other end of the poolside just by the Food Court. The woman working there was alone and her fish were already done. I had an idea.

"Emm Abdul, I don't want suya again just forget it."

Later when I met with Ejiro and Mike they were surprised that I got fish instead.

"I thought you wanted Suya?"

"The one I saw there looked like 404 so I just changed my mind and went for fish instead." I replied.

We played a few more rounds till we were tired. As we stood to leave, I heard a raucous at the Suya stand and people were running away from the spot. Later some security men emerged from there with Abdul. His hands were tied and they bundled him towards their Pick-up van.

Another set of guys were carrying a young man in a makeshift stretcher. The cloth over him was stained with blood. I recognised him as the same man I had met at the Suya spot. He had got into a heated argument with Abdul and had been slashed mercilessly during their altercation. Thankfully he did not die.

As we left the place I could hear an ambulance siren in the distance, probably hurrying to save the young man's life.

When I got home I turned on the TV, 'Occupy' Nigeria was still in the news. I tried to get the thought of Abdul and his knives out of my mind but something told me I wouldn't be eating Suya for a very long time.

  

The Curious Case of Otenkwu Okeke (2)

The mourning had carried on in the village for two days and before long the vultures had settled in. Patiently they waited, cried (or seemed to) and looked as sad as possible. But everyone knew what they had come for; their own share of Otenkwu's hard earned wealth.

Obioma, Chiedu and Ofor could never have looked more desperate as the family members gathered to discuss the burial arrangements. I was invited to bear witness to the whole event, as a neutral observer's point of view was deemed necessary. I still recall that even Chiedu looked sober and Ofor was quite 'normal' that dim afternoon as we sat in the Okeke family obi.

Before the discussion for burial began, the village judge Onuka, also the chief council man brought out an earthenware calabash and set it in the middle of the room. Everybody knew what was inside and remained silent. The only sound heard in that room at the time was Chiedu's harsh breathing. Sure enough marijuana has its side effects after all.

Onuka then began to empty the contents of the calabash right there in the center of the obi. At first, there came out sand, lots and lots of it. When I began to think that there was nothing else in it, the chief council man reached into the small heap on the ground and brought out a piece of paper. Almost everybody in the room gasped audibly, even Obioma sat upright in his chair like he was about to jump on the judge.

The elderly man smiled and held up the paper for all to see. He began the tradition of saying a short eulogy of the deceased. But only that the eulogy wasn't short and after what seemed like an hour people began to shift uncomfortably in their seats and suddenly Obioma shouted:

Old man we have heard you! Now tell us, what is in the paper?

The judge looked at him in a derisive manner and opened the note. After a short sigh he read:

My good family, as you read this I have died. Kindly bury me just as I am, in my land at Nkwo junction under my favorite palmtree. Please do not untie my clothing or try to wash me.
P.S. My houses go to my wives according to their positions.
                                                                                                                           Thank you.

Everybody stared at each other. That was it? No wealth sharing? What happened to his fertile timber lands, the purported numerous bank accounts and the cars? Who was going to manage the timber company?

Obioma was most affected by the news that he reached for the calabash and smashed it on the ground. Using his feet to scatter the sand, he searched the ground for a note Onuka might have missed but found nothing. Ofor's senses suddenly too leave of his mind and he started to mutter incomprehensibly to himself. As for Chiedu, he brought out something from his shirt pocket and began to roll it up in a familiar fashion.

It was as this point everybody began to disperse. There was nothing more to be dicussed.

I watched the events of that afternoon with personal amusement. What was Otenkwu's plan, and what did he mean by do not untie my clothing or try to wash me? That sort of thing was common among charlatans. Already people were beginning to say that he was in a cult and that was their rule after death. I wasn't buying that, rather I imagined there was more to it. Things were obviously not what they seemed.

Later that evening, when Otenkwu body arrived the compound premises, it was customary for family members to look at it in state before finally laying it to rest. As we moved to pay our last respects, I noticed he was still in the clothes he had died in. Strands of tree fibre were visible on them.

...Do not untie my clothing or try to wash me.

Those words kept echoing in my head. And it must have been doing the same too in Obioma's head because as soon as the last set of visitors left the room he rushed into the coffin and began to struggle with Otenkwu's shirt buttons!

The remaining family members in the room watched in horror at the event that unfolded before their very own eyes! Shortly after some of the younger men recovered from their shock and started to struggle with him, trying to disuade him from desecrating his father's corpse.

Obioma: Leave me alone! Leave me!! He can't take away my birthright. He can't cheat me out of my birthright! he cried.

I watched with real amusement because I must confess I was curious myself and wanted to see how this would turn out. Every passing minute was an interesting drama playing itself out.

As it seemed, Obioma must have been either too strong for them or they were afraid to touch the dead man's body, because they left him and started to watch as piece after piece of clothing came off the Mazi's body. A few minutes later the corpse was totally nude save for two strong ropes tied around his waist. The rope was the kind used only by palmwine tappers. Nobody knew how long the ropes had been on Otenkwu but it must have been very long for they left deep indentations on his skin.

Notwithstanding, the rope was not the only thing on Otenkwu's body. Right underneath the first knoty layer was a small crumpled note. Several mouths dropped open in shock and disbelief as Obioma snatched and began to unfold it. The room was deathly silent as the written content was demystified. It simply read:

                                               

Even as I read, I shivered at the contents. It was scary, like some message from the afterlife. How did he know that Obioma would disobey his wishes. Was it pure coincidence or did he simply know his son that well or was it by some paranormal force?

Undeterred Obioma hurried on to the next layer of rope and began to untie it with vigor. After some minutes and expended efforts he got the other note out. He was sweating profusely by now. This one was bigger and seemed more detailed. I couldn't see its contents from where I was but I noticed that the young man's hands were shaking with excitement (or nervousness?) as he read. Suddenly he screamed and threw away the paper.

Bastard! Bastard!! No way! You cheated me, nooooo!!!!

He upturned the coffin and ran out of the room. The body of Otenkwu rolled out on the floor of the family sitting room in all its inglorious nakedness for everyone who cared to see. There were audible gasps of horror as people ran out to avoid the curse that accompanied such an unsavory sight. However, the face of Mazi seemed to smile as if in victory. He had had the last laugh and it was loudest. I couldn't help imagining how loud he would be wherever he was at that time.

Dear friends I must soon round off this story as I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.
But  you must be wondering what the other note contained that drove Obioma wild that fateful evening?

Simple, it contained details of several accounts in various banks and how much money was to be given to charities around the state. A whopping sum went to an NGO on reforestation projects around Umuoma and finally his beloved last son Iheme was given a trust fund and ownership of his business, only if he showed promise as a responsible person by the time he was twenty years old.

Otenkwu Okeke's case however peculiar it was, was indeed a wonderful way to wrap up my 2011 vacation at Umuoma. Happy New Year once again folks.

The Curious Case of Otenkwu Okeke (1)

Happy New Year Everybody...or should I say that just yet?

I am back to Lagos from my good hometown of Umuoma and I see that in a few weeks a whole lot has happened. It's almost as if my absense was the cue needed to kick-start these situations. What's with the toll collection at Lekki phase 1, the terrorist-style bomb blasts in Abuja and the sudden withdrawal of fuel subsidy from our budget? Like he-who-must-not be-named has forgotten his humble roots and started dining with the 'nobles'. 

I know this is an apolitical blog but I thought I should warn that one day the poor will have nothing left to eat but the rich. GEJ a word's enough for the wise!

I was supposed to be back much earlier, however certain 'çurious' events took place at the good village of Umuoma that I decided to sit it out and see how it ends. But before I start, I should ask, how many us have a Will?

Yes, the legal document that shares your belongings when you proceed to the hereafter, no? Well that little item is one of the most underrated pieces of paper in the world today, however it is very important as you will soon find out. One thing, it is never too early to write one. So if you have a wealthy uncle or aunt somewhere, find out where you stand sorry, if they have one, and advise them accordingly.

So my story begins with one man, the subject of this post; Otenkwu Okeke. By the way Otenkwu as any Igbo person will tell you means palmwine tapper. But don't be misled, the mazi was quite rich by village standards. He had several acres of fertile timber land, two houses in Umuoma, one in Owerri and a fleet of five lorries that hauled wood from the village to Owerri and Onitsha everyday. He was a merchant and got most of his wealth from selling timber logs to funiture and paper factories in the city.

Hence the question, how did he get his name? You see Mazi Okeke had a favorite past time. Right from his teen years, he loved palmwine so much, that he decided that rather than wait for the tapper he would learn the tricks himself and do the tapping whenever he felt like it. Before long it became a hobby and carried on long into his adulthood even till he was in his late sixties. So it wasn't unusual to see Otenkwu in the evenings, park his Jeep in the bushy thickets and climb the nearest palm-tree to extract the sweet brew. But I tell you one thing, it was a very funny thing though.

As successful as Otenkwu seemed, he had a big problem that bothered him like a toothache every passing day of his life. The palmwine lover had six children; four sons and two daughters. The daughters he didn't bother much about (probably because they were women) but his sons were his biggest disappointment. Not a day passed that one of them did not bring him shame in front of his peers.

The first son Obioma, after several sojourns to Russia and Denmark for his education dropped out of school and decided he wanted to export cassava flour akpu to China instead. However when that failed, he settled in Onitsha and claimed to be a contractor for Julius Berger. Everybody knew that was a lie, because whenever he ran out of money he would show up in the village and make trouble with Otenkwu. Sometimes he would even threaten to send robbers to collect the money in his place.

The second son Chiedu was a hemp junkie. In his early teens he had started with plantain leaves and when that wasn't strong enough he graduated to marijuana and today he is a renowned dealer of the substance within several kilometers of Umuoma village. But the term "Don't get high on your own supplies" meant nothing to him as he was perpetually high. On many occassions he had been arrested but released based on Otenkwu's connections with the local DPO.

Ofor the third son unfortunately was a mental case. One morning, for no apparent reason he had woken up and run straight into Umudike market square. There would have been nothing wrong with that, if he had his clothes on. No one knew why he did it, but as village rumors would have it, it was believed that he had been cursed by the local dibia for raping his daughter.

So it was safe to say that all Mazi Okeke's three sons were riffraffs in the highest order and a big shame to a man of his timbre and calibre status (not that he had much anyways, not after the way he climbed palmtrees all over Umuoma).

Iheme was the name of the fourth son and last child. He was still a toddler of four years, born by Otenkwu's beautiful second wife. This one was Otenkwu's last hope of dignity in a son. So far he had hadn't been tainted yet and perharps that was why the Maazi loved him so much. He even prevented any form of interaction he might have with the previous three.

And so it happened, one morning I woke up early to take my grandmother to the local market and there were some women wailing loudly by the roadside. I stopped the car to find out what had happened and was told that Otenkwu himself was dead. He had fallen out of a palmtree during one of his tapping sessions the previous evening. He died indulging in his famous hobby. Why he continued to climb trees at sixty-five still beats me, infact I was surprised he made it to sixty years at all...

To Be Continued...