Adaora Onyechere Sydney Jack
In the hue of the season, often adorned with the joyful colours of laughter ringing from the hearts of the children on the streets of the village called Amagu, somewhere in Ihube, a quiet village on the hill in the cashew forested area of Okigwe, in Imo State, the children gleefully were neither here nor there only running around in excitement clanking on empty plastic buckets, loud enough so that those in even in far Eke-Ukwu could hear them chanting “Christmas” a biala! “Christmas” a biala! (Christmas has come, Christmas has come)
Oh, their excitement, the familiar fever of enthusiasm at seeing everybody come from far and wide to see their loved ones, with new hair dos some in long plaits called Bob Marley, the older aunties in Anita Baker’s hairstyle or so they claimed as it was the trend, for this was a period for many of them to shine their best as suitors would be shooting shots, inu kwa!
From Mama Amagu to Nne Nta, to mama Umueze as their grannies were fondly called with hair washed and shinning in shear butter strutting their new wrappers and white blouses going house to house from one kit to another kin, their children and grandchildren shouting “unu alo umum! unu alo umum! kedu ihe g’otere m?!!!! (You’re welcome my children. What did you bring for me?).
A parcel here, a gift there! New neck scarves and of course you had to add a new purse for the “gbara m Christmas” that would rent the air during the hour after the “Christmas” sermon.
Their freedom of communion with everyone who came, the jolly jostling for the biggest piece of meat as hands muddled together while they ate from mama’s tray.
The race from Ezewara the Water Fall to “mission” where they could just taste through the smoky whiff from the barbecue man the tastiest bush meat ever while they dodged the masquerades.
Not far off was the parade of the “men’s” or umu okorobia as they were often referred to by the ladies… dancing and shouting “ onwa December n’oru la” ( the month of December is here!!! ) which signifies that there was going to be a bonfire that night when all the “children” had gone to bed and they could bring the chase on for indeed there will be the beehives of aunties dancing in the sand to the beat of the udu, twisting their waist to meet the beat of the ogele. There were usually whispers of what happened after amidst the giggles of the grannies.
This wasn’t so long ago yet now.. it feels like all that ever happened was in a dream when love and laughter were free and lives were precious.
Now … the little village on a cashew forested hill Amagu is rubble, deserted with ashes of what used to be homes.
The waterfall of Ezewara is no longer home to the echoes of songs from the children but the place where their blood has been mixed with the earth so much so that the earth revolts and nothing grow anymore.
Insecurity – Plateau now crisis free – Gov Lalong
The light has since gone and the sun hiding in the dusk, the gift of the season lost to the fear of survival and old people left to their aid as the young ones have fled the land that once blossomed with family.
It is not certain in the hearts of many what is going on in the little town on the hill anymore. Umunna and the heads are at the end of their wits. The life has paralysed the local economy, Eke the great market is no more as it had been burnt down to the ground, mission and the famous shops by the road side all silenced by the hazy fear of the presence of both the known and the unknown walk in the land with Sit-at-home orders flying out of every street corner.
Hunger and unemployment are accentuated. Opportunistic criminality has joined hands with sundry subterranean ills to enforce confusion.
The beautiful village of Ihube, a transit village between Enugu, Abia and Imo lies in twists and turns piteously in subdued pain.
There is an unvoiced gnashing of teeth and a bitter forbearance. Denuded, ridiculed, swindled and roundly scandalized on all fronts by an elaborate pretence at cleansing of the land of its odds. Its gifted, energetic and bold youths are forced to scavenge around the fringes of faith and sometimes self-defeat.
The broken hearts are written on the faces of the unborn and those becoming whose “Christmas” has been stolen, their voices unwilling to speak especially when freedom is not guaranteed after speech.
Hearts broken with their love taking their hearts and all that they have with them far away searching for a piece of peace in a land where they could breathe.
Sons of Ihube no longer sons but victims in their own land.
Daughters anguished, broken for the weakness is obvious in their once colourful strides, weakened by the endless escape into the nearby forest once a nest for a forbidden love.
The Dark shade of the moon was scarred even worse by the loss of the song of tales by the moonlight.
Mama’s heart is broken into little weak pieces, Seating by the window in her room whilst rocking her frail body back and forth, staring and listening at the silence of the death and the fear that has consumed the land, her lips tracing the words Christmas ala n’ulo, ( There is no more “chrismas” in the village).
She gasps for the umpteenth time again, “Ebi do le ha ogba aghara ozo? (Are we at war again), no mama comes the reply of her grandchild Uru, but you must be taken away from here… hapu m aka ebe a ka amurum ebe kam ga anwu !! Was mama’s response. (Leave me! This is where I was born and this is where I want to die).
Uru Curling by the corner with a heart too heavy to cry, faintly whispers…indeed there is no more “Christmas” in the village mama, there is no more Christmas, suddenly the cock crows, Uru brings herself to stand and takes her granny by the hand with the other by her waist and leads her towards the waiting car… she turns to look at what used to be the playpen for the children and says “mama if the cock can still crow and the sun can still shine after a flood, I have faith that one day there will be “Christmas” in the village again…and there it was a faint of a smile on mama’s lips, she may not have heard all the “oyibo” but she sure understood every word. That was all the faith that Uru needed.
