The Return of Kiliwee Powers

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.

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

 UPDATE:  After further research, scientists and Kiliwee scholars (yes there’s such a thing) have concluded that the palm oil he doused his body with to emphasize his muscles was the reason he never got pulled out of the circle. With oily arms so slippery plus such strength, it was actually a struggle between he and the first boy alone…the nineteen others behind never stood a chance. Did he know this? I guess we will never truly know.

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