We had intended to stay about six weeks in the killing zone. But we laid low for nearly six months. Those weeks gave me the opportunity to observe my home town and the people. Many of those living at home are impoverished. They include old folk whose children have gone to larger towns within or outside Igbo land to earn a living. These old people mostly indulge in subsistence farming, just eking out a living.
Many of these ‘abroad’ children remember their old parents who suffered bringing them up and send them money for upkeep. Some come and see them once in a while. For others who ‘hustle’ just to stay alive looking after their parents at home is not part of their agenda. Some others living at home include school children and school leavers, artisans like electricians, welders and bricklayers. Of course there are those for whom ‘home is home’. They will stay under any circumstances. Affluence is noticeable here and there where citizens living in large towns like Enugu, Awka, Lagos and even overseas have built modern houses not just for themselves but for their parents. They remit money to their parents. Some visit once in a while and paint the town red.
It is surprising that many of our youth shun farm work. This is left mainly for the aged. But some youth earn money trimming palm trees and cutting down oil palm heads in many cases to supplement their school fees. Some others gather around and drink palm wine or illicitly brewed hot drinks almost the whole day.
There are many non indigenes mainly from Ebonyi. They have taken over farm work from our youth and charge lots of money. They have also brought bad behavior including stealing and house breaking, sometimes teaming up with some of our youth. This has prompted some villages into registering non indigenes.
On Thursdays and Fridays the ominous sounds of gun shots, the famous nkponana, or bangers announce the days’ burials. The sirens of ambulances blaring early in the morning announce the arrival of the dead to their homes for burial. We have seven villages and several small towns around and burials are virtually every week. If it is not this village it is that. Burial is big business and a lot of money is spent. And people who attend such burials get well fed. We attended one or two.
In the churches, the worshippers are mainly women, young and aged. Some of the men stay home, or attend to their shrines and idols. It seems the churches which came and virtually forced us to move away from our customs and traditions are losing quite a few people. Now there are many ezemuos and ezenwanyis, ‘kings of spirits’ and ‘queens of spirits’. Many of these are youths. And in many cases, money is the target. And the churches are no longer only the Catholics and the Anglicans. All sorts of new generation churches are misusing their loudspeakers spreading their gospels.
On Mondays most people stay home or go to their farms, obeying the sit-at-home order by unknown enemies of the society. You would not hear any car on the main road. Those who know their ways about sneak around on motorcycles. Yes, IPOB rescinded its Monday sit-at-home order, but miscreants, kidnappers and other weird characters have seized the opportunity to cause mayhem. Fortunately, during my six weeks stay, there was only one incident when some armed ruffians invaded a drinking parlour one night and stole phones and cash from some people.
But elsewhere the story seems different. Three miles up the road is Oko, a Polytechnic town. A professor and his wife were gunned down there. And on social media we saw pictures of a character wearing all sorts of charms gunned down by police and lying by his car in the same Oko. There students who engage in secret cult and other antisocial activities are active. We also hear of killings in distant parts of my state bordering Imo. There was also the sad story of a gentleman Estate Surveyor, Gab Oforma, who was killed on his way to or from his Port Harcourt base. Gab had done me a great favour years ago. His firm had accepted to sell my book, Property Management Practice, in the middle to late nineties. That was when the powers that be in my former firm, Knight Frank & Rutley (Nigeria), now Knight Frank, forbade their Branch Manager selling it. May his soul rest in peace.
On the more pleasant side I have a mango tree standing just outside my boundary wall. The fruit had been brought by my wife from Lagos and planted years ago. It usually fruited in February producing the tastiest mangoes I ever ate in April into late May. As a diabetic, at first, I was very careful and ate a little. But as the fruit on the tree began finishing I ate more. The corn or maize season followed and I really indulged myself. Then a lot of feasting followed when I organized the funeral rites for Oge, my adopted daughter, featured in my book of short stories on Amazon, Bitter Sweet (My Daughter And The Shrines). I had a cow slaughtered and this diabetic forgot the rules and ate myself silly. On the day we were to leave for Lagos I did not really know where I was and just managed to bundle myself into the car bound for the Asaba airport. During the next fortnight in Lagos I was very sick with diabetes. I am happy that I survived it.