The children of Umuike kingdom gathered at the Oziobi. The night moon was bright. The Oziobi palace was illuminated by the moonlight. The glowing hurricane lanterns that lit the huts were shining with impeccable gusto. Logs of fire were made to keep the Oziobi warm. Roasted corns and pears were kept beside the fire place. The children were learning new moonlight songs for the forthcoming Okwumba festival. When Ikeobi emerged from the inner chamber of his Obi, the children became quiet. They bowed their heads and chorused: “Nnanyi we greet you’’! “Nnanyi we greet you’’! Ikeobi, the Onuowu and the famous warrior of the land waved his hand to touch the children. Obidike; the tallest and the bravest of the children stood up.
“Nnanyi,” we greet you,” The father of the land we greet you,” he said respectfully. “We have come to listen to your legendary tale. Children of Umuike are here to listen to your words of wisdom.” “My sons and daughters, you are all welcome to the Obi,” Ikeobi replied smiling cheerfully. Ikeobi was a kind hearted man. He loved telling great stories to the children of Umuike. He began his tale, after clearing his throat. “Our patriarch’s name was Ike, meaning strength. It was from Ike that we derived our name Umuike, meaning children of strength, and with the passage of time, we increased in wealth and population.” He said looking at the children who were listening attentively. Ikenga, a fearless warrior, great and Legendary, was the founder of our village. His son Dike was my grandfather who bore my father Ikechukwu. Ikechukwu was his first son and was brave like his ancestor. The story about our people, culture and heritage is a fairly long one, an epic indeed. For time, I shall be brief, Ikeobi said munching the roasted corn placed on the table. I come from a lineage of warriors. My grandfather Dike a seasoned hunter, wrestler, farmer and a Merchant of palm oil married many wives and had so many children. He was a man of exploits, warlike and hardworking. He was tall, strong, industrious and handsome.
He told me this story so many years ago. He lost many of his children to the cold hands of death when Iba attacked his family. My father was the only surviving male child. It was an Eke market day, my grandfather called me to his Obi where he told me the story of our land. I was his favorite grandson. I carried his bag on so many occasions and ceremonies. That made me know so many things about the history of our people. I became a repository of historical tit-bits. My grandfather told me stories of national conflicts and inter-tribal wars. He said his mentor was Sundiata, son of Sogolon of old Mali. He also told me of Osei Tutu, Osei Kwame, Shaka of South Africa. In my grandfather’s Obi were professional bards who were responsible for recording the victories, history and the glorious qualities of our ancestors whose war exploits they extolled with panegyric songs. They sang with flutes and beat the Okolo drum during festivals such as new yam festival, Itu aka, and ibuza ceremonies. “Our people were really great people,” Eze Ikeobi said, touching his white beards with the back of his palm. Umuike clan became so popular among neighboring communities when my grandfather Dike led the war against the fetish Mbaike people. They had planned to invade our land and take over our farms, property, wives and children. They were envious of our prosperity and growing fame. Those days, the Mbaike people were renowned in war conquest. They have conquered many communities across the rivers and boarders. They were advancing fiercely towards the eastern lands. It was this war that took great warriors of our land, like Nkume, Igiriogu, Mbajiogu and my father Ikechukwu.
I was a young boy of thirteen years old. Prior to this great war, my father was told by Agwotumbe, the great debia of our land to fortified me and entrust the mystery sword in my hand. The Mbaike and Abam teamed up to defeat us. We fought and resisted. They killed so many of our warriors but we dislodged them from taking over our farm lands and oil well. After the death of my father Ikechukwu, My grandfather Dike taught me the act of warfare, the mystery of the sword. He fortified me with charms and amulets that fuelled my aggression during battle.
He was still burning with chagrin at the death of his finest warriors including my father. Many young men of my age were gathered in his Obi, He invited several medicine men from Ohafia to pour libations to our ancestor Ikenga. Ikenga had never lost a battle throughout his conquest across the rivers and boarders. These medicine men made incantations and sacrifice of goats and chicken to rejuvenate our strength. Women were not allowed to come close to us for fear of contamination. We stayed in the shrine for several seasons. After the tenth seasons in the year of the full moon, we came out and roared like lions. Propelled by the death of our Hero warriors, we attacked the Abama and Mbaike people. They saw war and warred no more. All their property, sheep, cattle, chickens and warriors went down under our magic swords. We also lost some men. It was the mother of all battles. Mountains and highlands vibrated at the clatter and clang of swords and lances. We made a mince meat of them. Blood flowed like river and we saw victory. It was a most brutal war; beyond tongues could tell. Beautiful maidens were captured and they returned with us. My grandfather passed on at the ripe age of 130 years. The Okwumba festival is done in the honour of him and other fallen heroes. “Sons and daughters of Umuike, this is my story, your story, our story. The moon is strolling gently to his peaceful abode I can hear the voices of night ants fading away. You must go home now,’’ he said with a warrior voice. The next Eke day, I shall tell you the story of our resistance against the Alien culture. Ikeobi said amidst cheers from the excited children of Umuike.
DoubleSpeak 