As children, we all had something we loved doing so much and
for me it was watching wrestling. No matter how many times my Reverend Sister Aunt
(who came around occasionally) tried to stop us, I always found a way. My favourite
WWF character was 1-2-3 Kid; his ‘fine-boy’ features and ring acrobatics won me
over and it wasn’t long before I was playing dress-up and diving off table-tops.
Needless to say, my sister’s large stuffed teddy bear suffered the brunt of my newly
acquired wrestling skills.
That was until I found out that wrestling was all ACTING!
How horrible that felt, it was probably the equivalent of an American kid
finding out that there is no Santa Claus or Tooth Fairy. I still remember that
day, my Uncle Benjy was taking me home from the hospital, (I had broken my arm
during one of my acrobatic exploits). Even with my arm in a cast, I kept
arguing with him and refusing to believe it till he showed me a wrestling
documentary.
I don’t know where he got the tape, but it was an expose on
behind-the-scenes of wrestling and I saw my beloved 1-2-3 Kid reading his
scripts and rehearsing with arch enemy Nikolai Volkoff. They were even laughing
together! How could he? Nikolai fought for the dark-side! I was crushed beyond
anything; I couldn’t eat or sleep. I nursed my heartache for weeks and Uncle
Benjy decided to introduce me to something more interesting than wrestling:
girls…
That was several years ago anyway, I would later find out that
girls brought even more heartache than 1-2-3 Kid. But I haven’t even begun my
real story yet…
So last week while I was at the villa I saw a poster on a
tree: ‘The Return of Kiliwee Powers’. The name sounded familiar and when I saw
the photo of a man posing in traditional wresting attire, I remembered the
story of a local wrestler my mum used to tell me about.
Cleytus Nwaozuzu alias ‘Kiliwee Powers’ started his teens as
a cement-blocks carrier at Onne wharf, carrying 400 to 500 bags of cement each
day. Soon, the effect of such rigour began to tell on him because at just 17,
he towered over everyone and was as built as the hefty blocks he carried for a
living.
One day, two men tried to cheat him off the day’s earnings
by lying that they would give him their share if he stood in for them but when
they refused to pay him afterwards, he lifted each by their necks and threatened
to snap it until they gave in. That single act earned him popularity among
other wharf labourers and they began to call him ‘mgbaji olu’ (neck breaker).
It wasn’t a big surprise when some men in oversized suits approached him with
an offer to make him rich if he joined their wrestling club. He accepted.
During those years, Kiliwee Powers, as he was later called (mgbaji olu was probably too native for
his now growing brand) fought briefly in local wrestling matches, no different
from underground fight clubs of today until he put a man in coma during one particular
event. He later withdrew from active fighting claiming that his church Rev. Father
advised him to. He continued his tours, performing acts of superhuman strength like pulling buses with his teeth and crushing cement block with his head, for a fee at local gatherings in Owerri which was probably where my mum watched him.
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| Kiliwee thrills an audience in Owerri in the1960's |
When I showed her the poster she laughed and told me that
Kiliwee would be in his seventies by now (maybe even dead) and this was some tyro
trying to cash in on the fame of the local folk hero. Nevertheless, I made up
my mind to go to the event. Maybe something in me still yearned for the 1-2-3
Kid type admiration, or I was probably just curious.
The show was a disaster.
To start with, the village town hall was scanty. Maybe not
many people remembered Kiliwee, or they just couldn’t be bothered. I watched with disappointment as a grown-ass man in white briefs and raffia fronds around his
elbows and ankles tried to put on a botched display of strength. First of all
he couldn’t even lift his assistant that smoothly, his arms trembled slightly (common
sense would have told him to hire a slim one or had she simply added weight
overnight?) The kids he called to swing on his arms kept falling off… hadn’t he
rehearsed at all?
When I felt I could watch no more, he drew a circle in chalk
on the floor around him and called for volunteers to attempt pulling him out of
the circle for a small cash reward. This was the real Kiliwee’s trademark
performance. It was believed that till he retired nobody ever succeeded in
pulling him out, in fact legend has it that at one show twenty hefty boys pulling
each other from behind couldn’t pull him out of the circle.
I thought it would be interesting so I stayed a bit. Two not-so-huge
boys came on stage, grabbed him by each arm and began to tug. At first he held
firm, but when they pulled harder I saw his foot slide, it inched near the
chalk line and people stood up to watch, this was getting more attention than
previous displays.
Without much effort these boys pulled the now fake Kiliwee
out of the circle and everybody cheered! But it didn’t end there; the mischievous
boys pulled him off the stage and out of the town hall arena towards the exits.
Outside, more boys joined and they kept pushing him until they got to his bus, where
they tossed him and his equipment in and forced the driver to drive off. Even
his chubby assistant wasn’t spared. The audience gave a big applause;
apparently that final display was the most interesting part of his performance.
I later asked village elders about the real Kiliwee
and they had different versions of what might have become of him. Some said
that he got so powerful that at a festival, a jealous spirit in
disguise of a masquerade challenged him to a fight. He won the fight but broke
his heel bone and never fully recovered. Others said he got married and retired
to Calabar as a simple family man.
Well, whatever the story, Claytus Nwaozuzu AKA ‘Kiliwee
Powers’ seemed like the real deal and would surely have made a true wrestling
icon…not 1-2-3 Kid.
Remember Uncle Benjy? READ HERE
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