Urhobos Once Spoke Great 2

Part 2

The town of Jeidi in Otọ Urhobo is autonomous. It’s under the indirect rule of Ọresuẹ, a light-skinned people from the north faraway who settled here decades ago. The new Ọkpakorode, Big Elder of Jeidi, suffers continual frustration. His attempts to rouse the emọtọ, children of citizens, to revolt against their oppressors fail. He has had enough disappointment, and he resigns. Ọresuẹ dread in this town is too much.

“Please, Mukọkọ! , I am hungry. Cook me and Enemuadia food,” Urhie hollers to his wife, who acknowledges, “I have heard.”

Tuvie, the son of Ọgadiẹ, the first Big Elder here, arrives Jeidi and heads straight to Urhie’s house. His arrival will whip up rampant gossip in Jeidi. Tuvie is Ogadie’s second son and heir, despite having a competent first son, Ẹkẹmẹ. Tivẹ, when twenty-years-old, endured persistent nightmares of a white tree in the forbidden forest that breathed as if it had lungs. One morning, he went looking for it.

Unknown to Tuvie, at the roots of the tree Ọgadiẹ, his father, had met a massive snake large enough to prey on him. Out of fear he ran away and lost his ancestral spear there decades earlier. That same morning he learns of his son’s entry into the forbidden forest and he chases after him. The tree was as real as he had seen it in his dreams. Without hesitation, Tuvie touched it. Ọgadiẹ arrived in time to behead the mighty python, salivating for Tuvie’s flesh at the base of the tree.

Ọgadiẹ reclaimed his spear from the very spot he had left it. To his horror, the light of leadership emanated from the spear and hovered around Tuvie’s head, similar to a halo, before seeping into it. Ọgadiẹ had no choice but to surrender the leadership of his lineage to Tuvie. Tuvie later built Ọkoirhiẹn where the tree grows, a quarter mile inland, to the river, a mile to Jeidi. It was his way of giving his older brother, Ẹkẹmẹ, the chance to take over from his father. For security, Ọresuẹ bought folk bought Ọkoirhiẹn outright for a generous fee to use as a military camp. Tuvie left the lands of Jeidi to live elsewhere.

Sitting on the veranda of his house, Urhie races out to welcome Tuvie with a big hug that lasts a couple of minutes. Without words, just cheer Urhie, lead Tuvie into his common room and offer him a seat. This is the happiest I had seen Urhie since he became Big Elder.

“Tuvie, it’s been long since we last met. I am glad to see you back in Jeidi. How are things going for you now?”

“Big Elder, I and my family are living good. I’m so happy to see you too. I miss Jeidi sometimes, but my father’s and Gbaimon’s politics are too mufugbenous. I am not here to judge Jeidi and its leaders.”

Urhie nods with cheerful approval.

“Miguẹ,” I say to Tuvie.

“Vrẹdo” he responds.

“Do you remember Gbaimon’s boy, Enemuadia?”

“The one with the Ọresuẹ friend?”

“Yes. He is the most trusted confidant of mine, a wonderful young man and Ogbueta.”

“That’s good Enemuadia, in future you can be my confidant too. Not that I will steal you from Urhie.” Both men laugh.

Tuvie brings a medium-sized keg of ogogoro, local gin, from his travel sack and three kola nuts and places them on a side table in front of Urhie. That was the tradition. An ọrọra guest, presents the ọrebrẹ, host, with drinks when the visit is a matter of importance.

“Enemuadia, rọwudi na, accept the drink [and kola.]”

“Ọdovavwerọ, what is your nickname again?” Tuvie asks Urhie.

“Otitipriti,” Urhie says. It’s a codename.

“Otitipriti, Tuvie calls out.

“Ohoromuenu’u, a vagina is never bitter,” Urhie responds.

“Ọdovamẹ ọye, my nickname, is Orẹrologbo, Tuvie says. It means the festival of cats.

“Orẹrologbo” Urhie hails.

“Okhro yivwẹte’e, cats dare not attend,” Tuvie responds.

All Urhobo nicknames are responsorial. They can be anything from the reverent to the mischievous generating spots of humour, shock, or wisdom.

I go through the motions and pour a ganas of ogogoro for Tuvie. First, I thank Tuvie for his gift of drink and pray he receives abundance in return on behalf of Urhie. Then I accept the drink on behalf of the house. I go on holding the keg in my left hand in such a manner it would not fall and the glass in my right hand. If done well, the drink pouring has a drama of its own.

Tuvie says a prayer upon the drink I hand him for the wellbeing and success of Urhie and his family. Throughout the prayer, Tuvie shakes his hand a little to spill droplets of ogogoro on the ground for our ancestors to drink their share. That is the way we pray.

Urhie is younger, requiring him to go on his knees during the prayer, but he is Big Elder. Big Elders do not kneel before anyone. At the End of the prayer, he hands the ganas to Urhie to drink. I then pour one for Tuvie, who prays upon the drink for himself and drinks it. The third drink |I pour is for myself and I receive a prayer too. Tuvie then breaks and places the kola on a saucer, which I distribute in the order of the drinks.

“Have you come back to stay?” Urhie asks Tuvie.

“No, I came because you resigned the position of Big Elder. I know what happened. If you still want to lead Jeidi, you can. I have come to handover my father’s spear to you. You need it to lead Jeidi.”

“You are a kind man, very kind man. But I cannot take it. Since Ọgadiẹ and Agburẹ went to join our ancestors, Jeidi has lacked good, strong, honest leaders. My older brother, your older brother, and I were harvesters of privilege, not leaders. I am a good leader now, but I have squandered my right to govern for mere conveniences.”

Tuvie giggles through a stern face.

“What do Ọresuẹ do to our people now that they did not do when I last lived here?”

“Enemuadia, no vex, enter my bedroom and bring my Ehara beside my staff.”

I oblige and hand him his request.

Urhie opens the ehara, twirling it round on its handle’s axis. He the closes the ehara, showing its potential use as a walking cane.

“You see this. Ọresuẹ brings new things to town, tools, weapons, materials, and other gimmicks. These things dazzle us, naïve, self-righteous, pleasure-seeking, uncritical emọtọ. Each new thing they front we fall for with delight and a new law or rule or condition falls on us too. They got us with this thing I am holding called Ehara, proto umbrella. Waxy cloth fixed firm on a circular web of equally spaced folding ribs at the top of a walking stick. Thin like a walking stick, you can open it like a shade. When it rains the Ehara protects us from getting wet. Or from the direct heat of the sun. Two ehara each to all Ọguediọn, and it bought a little of our souls. Women even found us old men attractive for using Ehara. We, the leaders, are the easiest to buy.”

“You are too harsh with yourself. Why make yourself like a terrible person?”

“A man carrying the spear in your hand should never hide behind excuses like that–a leader takes care of his people, and their interests not become a receptacle for gifts and bribes. Ovie siọvwẹ’ẹ, the king never rejects gifts, it is the thinking that has ruined kings and kingdoms. It ruined Jeidi or what it has become.”

“I sympathise and what you say is full of sense. I know the people turn to you for leadership, but you do it with reluctance. To me, that is a sign. It shows you have not squandered your right to rule.”

“Tuvie, you hear so much about us or are you now a ground-looker?”

Tuvie stands from his chair, lifts his ancestral spear and, with the force of his right arm, drives it about a fifth of its length into the polished clay floor of Urhie’s living room.

“You refuse the spear, but you cannot. If you can remove it out of the floor, I will take it with me when I leave. If you cannot, it stays here in your custody.”

Urhie is younger than Tuvie and in their youth and stronger. He takes the challenge. After exhausting his strength, Urhie cannot pull the spear out of the ground. Urhie goes straight to the door.

“Okoro,” Urhie shouts twice.

Okoro appears.

“Baba, I am here.” Okoro says.

Okoro is a tall, muscular farmer with the ability to cut down trees better than anyone else in Jeidi. Aged twenty-six years old, he is a great nephew of Urhie.

“Come here.”

Urhie beckons Okoro to where the spear stands.

“Pull the spear out of the ground. Don’t break it, just pull.”

Okoro attempts to pull and twist the spear over the better part of five minutes, showing well-developed lean muscles in action and working up quite a sweat. The spear stays fast inside the ground.

“You can go now. Thank you, you have done well.”

Puzzlement shows on Okoro’s face as he leaves the common room.

“The spear stays here,” Tuvie says.

Urhie is speechless.

“With this spear you Urhie, the Ọmuvwiẹ and their well-wishers of Jeidi are safe from all forces and might. From now on, no one will see or feel it till you are ready to hand it over to a successor. When that time comes, you will know.”

Tuvie approaches Urhie, taking his right hand. He places what looks like a miniature of the spear in his hand. Urhie looks at the spot where the spear stood. All he can see is a hole in the ground where the spear once stood.

“So, what do I do now?”

“You lead your people again. You no longer must show off a spear as the symbol of our leadership; keep it in a clenched fist, the effect will be the same. I could have taken back Jeidi and Okoirhiẹn, but at the time the cost of the undertaking would be too high for the emọtọ. The cost has lowered with time. Soon or in the distant future, taking back Jeidi and returning it to the conditions of its original existence will be costless.”

“I cannot do that. I do not know the language of leadership.”

“Our elders of old spoke etarisueu, the language of leadership, well. And it is simple. Listen, it starts with this; ruogba, ruogan, ruokri wọ mivwe omamọ iroro wọ cha,” Tuvie says.

The words of leadership thought were ‘do it right, do it with effort, do it with persistence and support it all with wisdom.’ That was why our people were great in those days but now suffer oppression at the hands of the Ọresuẹ today. Ọresuẹ came as refugees but seized power over time as our leaders became lazier and greedier.

“Is that all the language is?”

“No, it’s a start. If you repeat those words to yourself during all your spare time daily with sincerity, you will master the language till it serves your every need.”

“Tuvie, you know I do not have that kind of discipline.”

“You have no choice. Your erhi, destiny, demands it.”

Urhie throws the miniature spear to the ground, but it defies gravity rising to return to his right palm in slow motion. As I saw it, Tuvie has brought us hope but Urhie cannot or will not see it so. He does not believe in himself enough.

“The spear’s loss brought Jeidi its current woes of oshenyẹ, oppression. It will never happen again. Wherever you try to dispose of it, a river, a toilet pit, a furnace, a depth in the ground or a foreign land, it shall return to the place it belongs, you right palm.”

“I don’t want it.” Urhie shouts.

“You can throw it away,” Tuvie says.

A yellow light hovers above Urhie’s head, so brightly he sees its glare. After a couple of minutes, it diffuses into the head of Urhie.

“My Big Elder, if you saw what we all saw just now, you are the person chosen by our ancient parents to free us from the oshenyẹ of the Ọresuẹ. Our ancient parents never give their living children responsibilities they cannot fulfil,” I say.

Urhie gives me a dirty look, but his angry eyes soften into a smile.

“You have a good confidant. Please treat him well. I must go now. My job is complete, though it’s inopportune for you. Your show of courage against Ọresuẹ with abọdiodi, empty hands, nominated you for the job. You will do well.”

Abọdiodi is an expression that means taking on an exceptional task without adequate tools.

“I am on my way to Okoirhiẹn. I intend to settle there.”

Tuvie leaves without saying goodbye. Urhie is speechless again. Afterwards, Urhie throws the miniature spear to the ground, but again it returns to him. Although he clenches his right fist tight, his fingers open, allowing the spear takes its rightful place.

“Does a man and his kin who have so undermined his society in its bid for consensus deserve to govern by the realism of popular consensus?” Urhie asks me.

“Big Elder, look at your recent actions. You roused the entire emọtọ without instruction, no announcement. Yes, you won a spontaneous consensus of approval. The past can be regrettable if we allow it. Life moves on beyond yesterday. I think you should, too.”

“It is good like that. I will govern without an official title.”

He smiled. Happy days may be here again soon enough.

Mukọkọ enters the common room with two bowls of water to wash our hands. She leaves to return with a tray of two ẹvwẹrẹ of big snails sizzling in aromatic amiedi, palm oil soup. Saliva slushes in my mouth.

Yes, the secret and facility for the power and freedom of the Urhobo people dwells and sometimes hides in our language. As our language loses currency to other languages, so our inherent power and freedom disappears.

I deeply wish to see how Urhie’s newfound power will translate into the decisive elimination of the oppression meted out to us by the Ọresuẹ. Ogidigan!

Yet Ọresuẹ stand so strong as a people in every sense I wonder how it will happen, if at all. The Ọresuẹ, speak a better language of war than we do and are fearless.

The story will continue in Urhobos Once Spoke Great 3.

Ayasiefa

Grimot Nane