A Trip to Eha-Amufu; Part 2

I arrived at Eha-Amufu with great expectations, the kind Charles Dickens illustrated to us about Pip in his English classic novel. Eha-Amufu was a smaller village compared to Ngwo, with little glimpse of urban development, and the local dialect was far different from what we spoke back home. It didn’t look like what it was described as in the many mystic stories brought home to us. Ghosts of dead men were not wandering its paths nor the shadow cast of dead relatives with the same birthmarks as us, rampantly roaming. Though it had a calm and normal village setting, divination was so big in this village. Mr. Obi Okolo, my math teacher, once disclosed to me that whatever I seek to find on my voyage to Eha-Amufu might come in clues and crumbs. He highlighted the need to pay attention to details if I’m to return with a thing. He further stated, “Scientists and Artists spend lots of time in their workspace to learn these clues and crumbs AND use it to form the bigger picture.”

Literally, almost all the homes were mud houses, and each household had a little family deity by a tree within the compound where they poured liquor and invoked the spiritual realm. A day before the essay writing, I set forth with my newfound friend Ojiako Jonathan Enyuche, a stout young boy in his mid-20s. He was from Nneobi, and he has a way of communicating with forest trees 🌳 and leaves 🍃. The things our creator placed in men are certainly unmeasurable. Ojiako Jonathan later became a doctor of psychology at University College Ibadan. His mother was a trader, and he brought a lot of foodstuffs from Nneobi with him to Eha-Amufu. He was also a realist like Mr. Obi Okolo, a believer in the power of the universe. We both shared a discussion last night, and we decided to capitalize on our visit to this village and sort out what Mother Nature holds for us in this world. We both commenced the visit to one Mazi Orinya’s homestead; we had heard that he was a man of destiny, just like John D. Rockefeller. His divination was directly dropped on his palms ✋ by his maker and not learned like many others. When we got to Mazzi Orinya’s homestead, his boy servant instructed us to sit outside his obi, so he would go and fetch his master. Three tapping ropes hung on the red earthen walls of his huts. His house was the last house before the crossroad that led to the village's major streams. He lived a bit isolated from the other homesteads in the village. The compound was fenced round with a raffia palm tree, but the fencing by my left was a bit higher than the others. Mazzi Orinya was in the backyard attending to his goat 🐐, according to the boy servant's inappropriate usage of words. Honestly, our motive here was to sort out our fate in life, and what Mother Earth would give to us to assist us in rolling our boat. But deep down I had another motive that I hadn’t shared with Jonathan Ojiako Enyuche. I wish to see my late grandmother Oyiwee, who raised me and a few of my relatives, to further certify the claim by many travelers from my hometown. As we waited for Mazzi Orinya to arrive and meet his young guests, something unusual occurred. I started hearing the musical flow of a local drum beating from across the other side of the fence by my left. It grew louder and clearer as it continued; and then Jonathan asked me if I was hearing the same drumming, and I answered in the affirmative. As the drum continued to sound, after a while, it started getting familiar to my ears 👂. By the time I figured out the sound, it was the beats of our famous Okanga Ngwo. Like I often said, “Our Okanga was quite unparalleled nationwide, just like my granny’s vegetable soup. It has stood the test of time.” From the communication happenings across the fence, it seems like a drummer and a dancer doing justice to the local song. There was no way we could see through because the raffia palm was thick and tall. Then came a voice singing out loud, quite familiar like that of late Agu-NwaNgwu-ode “eka n’aku nkwa,” and late Ashua-nwaObodo-Ude, the gifted dancer. It was late Ashua-NwaObodo-Ude that led the Okanga dance in post-war Ngwo jamboree after the war took those it took. He smiled whenever he danced, and spectators often fell in love with him, but he died of a mysterious sickness. Agu-NwaNgwu-ode was my kinsman in Ngwo, while Ashua nwaObodo-Ude was from the oldest clan in Ngwo, but because of music, the two were always seen together. After a dance show-off in a neighboring village, the two developed leg swell, and that was the end. In our local dialect, people said, “They were charmed.” I was filled with shock at what I was hearing; the sound grew higher with their voices thundering, and my skin stiffened and overran with goosebumps. It was quite obvious that these two townsmen of mine were rehearsing across the raffia palm fence. Gradually I picked up my kola nut, bid Jonathan farewell, and left immediately, and Jonathan tagged along. Jonathan kept asking me what was wrong, but I couldn’t say a word; I just increased my pace. I hurried back to my hostel, packed my belongings, and left for Ngwo. I forfeited the essay competition and joined a Ugbo-nku heading to Now let’s talk about the mystery behind why I left. My maths teacher, Obi Okolo said earlier, “Whatever you seek to find might not portray itself obviously, but it might present itself as clues and crumbs for you. The very suitcase 🧳 I traveled from Ngwo to Ehamufu with was given to me by the late Agu-nwa Ngwu-ode, the drummer. He gave me the suitcase as a gift when I emerged as the best graduate student at Cosco varsity Ngwo, during my secondary exposure. “De profundis ad lucem 1966 Boys will forever be ash.” Ever since then, the suitcase has been my old friend of many years.

I was seeking Oyiwee, my granny, yet the universe chose to show me those with whom I had deeper connections. Jonathan once told me at Nnobi, where pythons 🐍 are sacred animals, that when a python visits your home, you can use a stick to remove it outside. But when you are done, leave the stick out there; else, the python will follow the traces of the stick back to your home. The spiritual realm needs the tiniest of contact to begin its manipulation. Keep your head high.