Pounded Yam and Leopards

This is not a story about pounded yam and leopards, or maybe it is; just not quite the way you imagine. But it is definitely a story about a couple- a couple whose marriage is threatened by, not unfaithfulness or lack of love but by the monotony of stereotypes and old-fashioned beliefs.

Cupid is thought to be accurate, pairing hearts deserving of one another. But sometimes- and nobody knows why- probably for his own private amusement, he sets two seemingly contradictory characters together, settles back with whatever passes for popcorn in his world and watches. Just as he did with Romanus and Ezinne.

Romanus 42, an international textile merchant with an ego the size of Owerri’s own Grand Canyon (that deep gully erosion after Egbu, along Mbaise road) is great at what he does. An astute businessman with ties spanning across Singapore, Malaysia and greater China, Romanus controlled majority of market share for imported lace and similar woven fabrics in Eastern Nigeria and some parts of Lagos. With his amicable charm and tenacious attitude, there was no doubt he could sell fire to a dragon as he often boasted to his numerous Chinese dealers.

Evidently, he was rich and successful, but that was business. Unfortunately what Romanus gained in wealth, he lacked in domestic matters. For starters, he was an absentee husband and father. Not to be mistaken, he loved his children and was very affording, but his idea of family was merely providing all that they needed as long as money could afford it. However, raising them was not his responsibility…after all that was why he had a wife, right?

Ezinne, his young wife, a first-class graduate in Physical Ergonomics (not economics) and a former Miss Federal Poly Nekede was now a modern stay-at-home mum. Not by choice though, they had both agreed (well, Romanus mostly) that it would be far more suitable for their children to be brought up by their mum rather than unknown nannies with questionable backgrounds, as he put it. Not one to argue much, Ezinne gave up her promising 9 to 5 job to manage their home.

For many, it may seem that to Ezinne, life was good. And it should have been, they lived in a mansion on Nollywood side of Owerri, complete with a swimming pool, several white Grecian columns and enormous leopard-head sculptures carved into various parts of the impressive edifice. This included the entrance to the house which was shaped like the open jaws of a leopard. For some reason, Romanus was obsessed with leopards; and had even once considered having one as a pet but Ezinne had to put her foot down on that.

In spite of all the extravagance, she wasn’t contented at all…why?

You see, Romanus had many positive attributes about him but the one thing that threw a monkey-wrench into the whole fairy-tale life of Ezinne’s marriage was his archaic, out-dated, old-fashioned, antiquated, obsolete (I have run out of synonyms!) way of thinking. And it was such a shame because he was exposed to several foreign cultures from his many trips yet neither of them opened his mind to more contemporary ways of luxury living.

I have often believed that Romanus strict traditional upbringing by his village-wise father is responsible for most of his ancient values and I may be right but that is a long parallel story that shouldn’t be told with this one.

One such belief Romanus held was that the meat in any household MUST be bought by a man. African men were hunters in the past, and it was their sole responsibility to handle the meat. Today, even though men no longer hunted food per se, it was their duty to buy. 

Because of his frequent trips, Romanus never allowed meat to run out in his home so he put up a large cold room which he frequently stocked up with large hanging chunks of beef, goat-meat and grass-cutters, antelopes and whatnots whenever he was in town. If for some reason they ran out, his family would have to feed on fish until he returned. Ezinne had been warned.

Another quirk about Romanus was that he always expected his “nri ji” (pounded yam) to be actually pounded in the traditional way. He disliked factory processed ones like “Poundo yam” and abhorred using pounding-machines; to him they never tasted like the real thing. This would have been okay with Ezinne only if he didn’t insist that she did it herself.

According to him, he couldn’t bear some stranger’s sweat dripping into the mortar while they pounded it. So it wasn’t unusual to see Ezinne, former Miss Federal Poly Nekede, pounding away in the kitchen with her polished nails and all.

There are a few other peculiarities which I hesitate to include in this story- one of such that includes Romanus’ bedroom habits but let us keep this mainly PG13 for now. So Ezinne’s dilemma was quite understandable and while her peers envied her lifestyle from the outside, few knew what was really happening within. And, whenever she tried to voice her discomfort about any of these issues, Romanus would get into a fit and yell; “Do you want me to give up my omenala (tradition)?” Or 
"That is how women always did it in the past; my mother pounded yam and so should you!” Such statements usually ended the conversation immediately.

And so it was, one fateful night just before Romanus went to sleep, they had just had an argument about Ezinne’s plan to start a yoga class for other stay-at-home mums in the Nollywood estate (remember her first class in Physical Ergonomics?). But Romanus who couldn’t understand why women would want to wear skin-tight pants and stretch all day turned it down; saying if it were in the past, women would be too busy raising hunters and warriors to think of “yogurt” pants.

Ezinne cried herself to sleep.

I know many people do not believe in karma but let me quickly say here that there is always a consequence for anything you do whether good or bad. It just has different names used to describe it. That night, Ezinne’s tears reached Aleruchi, the goddess of divine feminism- if you believe in that sort of thing- and she decided to give Romanus a taste of his own medicine via the phantasm of a turbulent nightmare.

It began as all dreams do, suddenly finding yourself in the middle of something or somewhere with no recollection of how you got there. For Romanus, he was in the thickets of a dense forest very much like his hometown, he didn’t know what to make of it but he knew something was not right.

In the dream, it is dark and hazy; surreal in a Lynch-esque manner. Romanus can hardly see clearly in front of him and while trying to make his way through the bushes his hand brushes something sharp and bristly, like the muzzle of a cat. The feeling is unpleasant and he begins to run blindly towards the nearest source of light.

Before long, he runs into a group of men who ask him if he has seen it. He doesn’t know what it is but he suspects that they are hunting something dangerous, because they all have spears and knives. As one of the men leans forward to explain, a large cat swoops down on him and begins to rip his neck apart. The hunting party yells and thrust their spears at the creature.

Romanus tries to break away from the pandemonium but someone hands him a knife and pushes him inside the mob. By the faint light of the moon he can recognize the unmistakable patterns on the animal’s skin. It is a leopard.

Blackout.

Most dreams come in phases which we often can’t tell where they begin or end. In the next phase of Romanus’ dream, he finds himself inside what looks like small mud hut with a thatched roof. He is with a heavy-set woman in her 40s (who is not Ezinne but is Ezinne). There is something unusually off about her.

The Ezinne woman asks him if dinner is ready. Submissively, Romanus offers her a bowl of what appears to be pounded yam. As she eats, he sits by her feet on the earthy floor and begins to pound more yams. It is never enough because she keeps requesting for more and he tries to keep up by pounding faster. But why is Romanus the one pounding yam?

He looks closely at Ezinne and sees why she really isn’t Ezinne; she has a beard on her chin. A beard similar to the kind he grows. It dawns on him then that the Ezinne woman is actually he. Which makes him wonder, who is he?

Romanus stretches his forearms; they are uncharacteristically feminine and covered in henna dye designs. On his left wrist he observes a familiar birthmark belonging to his wife, puzzled he walks up to a mirror and sees that his lips are also dyed black. He is wearing hessian fabric as a skirt to cover his hips…and breasts. He is a woman! At this point Romanus begins to scream…

He woke up to see his wife Ezinne (the real one now) staring at him. She looked scared. There was a patch of sweat on his pillow. Romanus was relieved to find out it had only been a dream. 

"Sorry, I was having a bad dream", he explained. But she wasn’t worrying about that.

"I think somebody is in our house. I heard noise downstairs", she whispered.

Downstairs he found a flashlight by the stairs, for some reason he decided not to switch on the light bulbs; he went to the sitting room and into the kitchen. They were both empty. A kitchen window had been left open and the wind was blowing the utensils against each other like a wind chime. That was probably what Ezinne had heard.

Romanus often blamed the unwarranted paranoia of women for the stress many men suffered and this was one of them. He shut the window and started to ascend the stairs when he heard a sound. It was faint but repetitive like the idling engine of a car and it appeared to be coming from outside where his garage was.

None of his cars were on; he had gone outside to inspect them. But he saw a light on in the window of the cold room. Why didn’t Cook switch it off? As he approached the door, he discovered that that was where the sound was coming from. When Romanus entered the cold room, nothing in his 42 years on earth prepared him for what he saw.

All the frozen meat he stored was now alive; the hanging chunks of beef, headless suspended antelopes, pigs and even the birds- without their feathers- cried out as they swung from the racks on their iron hooks. A nearby pig with its hollowed-out belly and eyeless sockets clawed at Romanus as it cried for attention; they all appeared to be in pain. Everything was hazy and surreal…again.

By now you may have guessed that Romanus never really woke up from his first dream. In fact, he is in another phase of his nightmare; a dream within a dream…the worst of nightmares.

He is now on the floor crawling and shivering, more from fear than the cold. The horror before him can’t be tamed. Yet Romanus is aware of another presence. One that disturbed his assorted meats; an evil presence he doesn’t want to see but can feel. It lands noiselessly- on all fours- on the cutting table with precise feline agility and leaps at a suspended antelope, taking it down with its powerful jaws. The antelope’s cry is one of anguish and resignation.

Bloodcurdling.

Romanus watches quietly. He is trying not to draw attention to himself. At the moment it is backing him, feeding voraciously on the now silent antelope. The door is only a few feet away, if only he can crawl quietly to it… Unfortunately, the creature stops mid-meal and sniffs the air in typical cat-like fashion before turning quickly in his direction.

He has been seen. It approaches him unhurriedly with the grace of a patient animal; a deadly one that knows its prey can’t elude it, no matter how hard they try. It is huge, almost six feet high at upright length with a face unlike anything on earth. But the markings on its skin are unmistakable.

Oddly, the song that begins to play in his head at that moment is Bushmeat by Sound Sultan. Romanus had always liked the song but right now, not so much.

He is stiff in hypnotic shock as its bristly wet whiskers brush his neck. Then the only light in the room goes off and he is left in a staring match with a glowing pair of callous yellow eyes. A sharp pain surges through his neck as he feels its teeth cut through. The last thing he hears is the gushing sound of his jugular emptying its contents into the creature’s open jaws…

The first thing Romanus did when he woke up was not to pray for his Chi to bind the evil elements and principalities from his life. No, It was call his chief architect, Mr Wei Tin Chang. The Chinese engineer was to come and demolish all traces of ‘leopard’ from his house before the end of the week. From the building entrance to the leopard grotto he had set up by the pool, everything was to be removed.

Ezinne was surprised when a few days later she received a home delivery of a Yam Pounder from Konga. It had been signed by Romanus himself. He had also told Mr. Wei Tin Chang to include a studio in his new design, one where she can teach her “yogurt” classes. An elated Ezinne couldn’t understand her husband’s recent ‘strange’ behaviour but happily welcomed it.

As for Romanus, if anything, he now appreciates his wife more. The last time he attended the Ichies’ meeting in his hometown, the other chiefs noticed that his traditional Ishiagu shirt now had lion head patterns on it (which was the proper way) instead of his trademark leopard heads.

Maazi Romanus still feels somewhat uncomfortable about entering his cold room alone at night. Of course he wouldn’t admit this to anyone. He buys the meat in his house though, that’s the one part of his father’s nketa (legacy) that still remains. Maybe Aleruchi would have to come down herself and battle him on that.

-The End-

Click the audio file below to hear the song Bushmeat by Sound Sultan Ft Tuface

Nneli's Confession

As a rationalist Ebuka had always believed that two and two made four, that life was simple and there was nothing really that could make it more complicated than that. Life had its rules and it followed them logically; well, that was until he met Nneli and found out that there was nothing simple or logical about life.

The first time he saw Nneli, she was washing her clothes by the village stream mmiri ndu which literally translates to ‘water of life’. In the past, barren women were said to have had their bath in a fertility ritual there at midnight on the first Sunday of April every year if they wanted to conceive. But that was long before the Irish missionaries brought Christianity to Umuoma and expelled such fetish practices.

That afternoon, the sight of Nneli scrubbing innocently at the stream bank, her anthill complexion glowing in the twilight sun, and her straight long legs modestly tucked to the side was a beautiful vision that stole Ebuka's attention beyond anything else he had ever seen. At that moment he knew she would be his bride.

Being a city boy with a buddng future he wooed her in only the way he could, with the promise of love and loyalty, in spite of several wealthier but older suitors who fell heavily at her feet. Unlike other rural maidens Nneli wasn’t materialistic; it was hard to imagine that a beautiful girl who could have asked for anything she wanted was merely contented with his fidelity. However, Nneli had just one request, to be allowed to stay in Umuoma where her family was.

This request baffled Ebuka very much, he couldn’t understand why his new bride wouldn’t want to join him in the city where his work and friends were, where the big dreams and opportunities lay; it was just the right thing to do. Traditionally it was the usual thing for the wife to do.

But Nneli insisted, it was the only condition if they were to be married. And without further ado, he eventually agreed. He would visit her every fortnight when he could.

The first two years were blissful; life was good, Ebuka made progress at work and rose quickly to management roles at his firm, a feat unheard of at the company for somebody so young. Somehow everything in his path seemed to give way to his good fortune. Soon enough he became quite rich. He had often heard of blessings that came with marriage but this to him was simply arcane.

Nneli remained in the village and his visits were as agreed, every fortnight weekend. They were however, yet to have a child. Before long, the excitement and distractions of being rich caught up with Ebuka and his regular fortnight weekend visits to Nneli became less fevered. There were months when she wouldn’t even see him and whenever she called, his excuses were always the same; work.

One evening while working late at the office, he noticed one of the new associates, Laide was working late too. Pretty and ambitious, she had her reasons for being at the office that late. Before he could think twice about his vow of fidelity to Nneli, Laide’s soft seductive charm clouded his consciousness and will-power. He gave in; after all it had been long…

He shouldn't have.

When Laide didn’t show up at work the next day everybody thought it was the usual flu or something, however news soon reached the office that Laide had never made it home the previous night, in fact she was brutally murdered in front of her house. Her assailants remain a mystery to this day.

Things didn’t fare well for Ebuka either, the office security revealed that he was the last person who left the office with Laide the night she died and autopsy tests confirmed he had had sex with her too. In order to avoid the scandal of the investigation, the company fired him. After exhausting his savings on numerous litigation fees he lost everything and had to lie low in the village for a while.

Nneli didn’t ask for much explanation, he was even surprised at how understanding she was. He had after all failed to keep his promise. Instead she maintained her wifely duties and went on about her work without so much as bringing up the topic again.

One dry harmattan morning, when Nneli had gone to Afo’oru market Ebuka decided to change the sheets and noticed that there was a single muddy footprint on her side of the bed; at the time he didn’t think much of it until he saw it again few nights later. Perplexed, he meant to ask her about the muddy foot prints that kept appearing on the bed-sheets but he forgot.

One night he woke up to notice that Nneli’s side of the bed was empty, assuming that she had got up to use the toilet he went back to sleep. Another night he woke up suddenly again, or maybe something had woken him…it was the sound of Nneli leaving the room. As he watched her, he observed the odd manner in which she walked, it was the way someone would walk if they were in a trance and he decided to follow her, wondering why he had never noticed her sleepwalking before.

Nneli was barefoot; now Ebuka’s mystery was solved but was that all?

As he walked behind her he became worried, if she was asleep should he wake her? He had often heard that people who sleepwalked were not to be woken suddenly or it would affect their mind orientation severely. With that in mind he resolved not to wake her up but to guide her carefully back to bed, but that was going to be hard as Nneli was already several steps ahead of him. She didn’t walk like she was sleepwalking anymore, she moved like someone with a purpose…a destination.

Curiosity got the better of Ebuka and there in the dead of that moonlit night he decided to follow his wife’s trail which now led outside into the forest. With her extremely long hair draped over her white sleeping gown, Ebuka shivered at how ghostly Nneli figure had suddenly become now that they were in the darkness of the village forests. He didn’t bring a torch, he hadn’t expected them to walk this far. He was also finding it hard to keep up, she seemed to hover rather than walk.

She walked past the empty village square, the town halls, farms and further into the bushes where there were no more houses or living quarters. He recognised the route she was taking and suddenly realised her destination; Nneli was going to the village stream…mmiri ndu.

When they finally arrived there she slowly disrobed from her sleeping gown and began to walk naked into the water. The moon light bounced off the waters, shimmered over her smooth skin and accentuated the softness of her delicate curves. Her moonlit nudity was a glorious apparition of womanhood. All this time she had never looked back once.

Ebuka hid himself behind a tree and watched his wife, hoping that only he could hear the sound of his pounding heart. Midway into the stream when the water had risen to the level of her hips she paused and began to sing. She sang a sweet soulful tune; Ebuka had always known Nneli had a beautiful voice but this was different, the voice he heard that night could tame ferocious lions and put rabid wolves to sleep. It was truly mellifluous.

Immediately, three other girls like her emerged from the waters and they all began to dance. In the moonlight Ebuka could see that their wavy long hair did little to cover their mango-shaped breasts. They were just as beautiful as Nneli, in fact they could have been sisters. Somewhere at the back of his mind he wished he was dreaming but he knew he was not. These were water nymphs just like Nneli; he had married a water spirit, an mmuo mmiri.

He watched them dance and splash water at one another, and afterwards they groomed her hair; combing those long tresses he had always played with while they made love. Then it hit him, the realisation of it all; that for more than two years he had shared his bed with a spirit being. Aru! 

The panic came in strong and he tasted it on his tongue, it was bitter. He flinched backwards and accidentally snapped a dry twig, drawing the attention of the nymphs. He quickly withdrew into the forest and began to run…

He ran so fast, he ran so hard. He ran like a pack of wild dogs were after him, he ran like he had never run before. Most of all, he ran from the truth; the truth that he knew running was futile, unfortunately. The knowledge of this increased his fear even more and his head seemed to expand on his shoulders, and by the time he got home he could run no more. He opened the door to find Nneli in the sitting room, waiting for him.

“We need to talk”, she said matter-of-factly.

He couldn’t find his voice, either because of fear or from running so fast, he wasn’t sure so he nodded his agreement. That night Nneli confirmed what he had just seen and more.

Years ago her ‘human’ mother was barren and couldn’t have any children so she went to mmiri ndu one April night and dedicated her loyalty to the water spirit. Nine months later Nneli was born, she had reluctantly left her ‘water family’ to live in the human world but the nne mmiri (Water goddess) had allowed her to come back every three nights to play with her sisters whom she loved so much. She could also marry, and whoever she chose will come to great wealth and fortune, granted that he remained faithful to her otherwise he would suffer a grave misfortune. That was the fidelity vow Ebuka had failed to keep.

“As it is now, you can never succeed anywhere outside this village, you shall stay here with me and farm. Our destinies are tied together; if I die, so do you. Every three nights I shall join my sisters for the night and there is nothing you will do about it.”

“What if I tell someone about this?” Ebuka asked

“If any harm comes to me, be assured that you will suffer the same fate too.” She answered coldly.

                                           *****************************************

After that night Ebuka accepted his fate. He couldn’t risk anything happening Nneli; he was trapped. When I went to the village last week he confided in me about his dilemma and made me promise not to get involved. Unfortunately after seeing my formerly successful friend tying wrapper and using chewing stick like a village farmer I couldn’t not do something about it.

Please if you know any way or something Ebuka can do about his situation without losing his own life let me know so that I can help. I just miss my friend.

If you enjoyed this story, you will like this one The Curious Case of Otenkwu Okeke

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...