After Ichie Omee-Okachie Spoke to Ejindu

By Okey Ikechukwu

Ejindu was a young man whose voice had not yet become strong enough to be heard during the meetings and conversations of elders. He had always disliked the behaviour of the King and others who were supposed to be the leaders of the community. And his closeness to his grandfather, Omee-Okachie, gave him deep insights into community affairs and human nature well beyond his years.

He had become an old man in a young body, because of his inner maturity. Yes, his years of carrying his grandfather’s bag and accompanying him to the meetings of elders have not been in vain.

Earlier in the day, during a public event, the King was behaving so disgracefully that an old man in the Village Square shouted, as he was leaving in rage and indignation: “Does it mean that there is no young man of character who can say ‘Eji ndu eme gini’and put an end to this nonsense and debauchery.

It was this incident which Ejindu witnesses in the Village |Square that made him to seek out his grandfather for a conversation. 

“What is the full meaning of my name?” the young man asked his grandfather, as he entered the old man’s house and sat before him. Okachie, his grandfather, smiled at his grandson and was silent for a while. He surveyed his visitor with a satisfied air that could only be noticed by the most discerning. The young man had not turned out badly, thought the old man to himself.

Then, addressing Ejindu, he said: “Is it now our custom in Alaoma for young men not to greet their elders? Has it also now become our custom that someone who has come in from the midday sun after a long day should not first sit down, even have a drink of water?

In a mildly caressing, but dignified and firm, tone Okachie demanded an explanation from his grandson.

Ejindu apologized for his behaviour, but declined the invitation to drink water. What brought him to his grandfather at that time of day was more important to him than life itself. As the people of Alaoma would say, personal comfort is the last thing on the mind of a man who has crossed seven rivers and seven evil forests in pursuit of a goal.

In response, Okachie said: “Before I go into the full meaning of your name, let me first confess that was recently beginning to ask myself whether you were indeed the person I thought you were on the day your mother gave birth to you. Now that your time has come, I must tell you that you are the one to find out the true meaning of your name and live up to it.”

This was not what Ejindu expected to hear. What does the old man mean by saying that ‘his time’ had come? He prodded his grandfather further.

Then Okachie said: “The words in your name cannot be easily explained, but your name asks the question: ‘Of what value is one’s life if it is not spent in the service of what is good? This name is for people who easily act out of conviction and concern for truth and justice, because they want what is right. Such people will rather die than save their lives and positions, while living for nothing.”

Ejindu sat still, like one in a trance, even as Okachie continued speaking. Besides the first two sentences about the meaning of his name, he actually did not hear the rest of what his grandfather was saying. All he could sense in his soul was: “Oh, so I was right all along, after all. I was not mad each time I thought of challenging the wrong things in Alaoma community”. 

After the visit to his grandfather, after their conversation that lasted for hours and after Ejindu has had time to reflect on so many things, he spent the next twelve months meeting different age grade associations, groups of titled men and women, elders, women leaders, tradesmen and others. What was he doing? What was he planning? At every such meeting, he would remind the people of how things used to be in the past and how it could now be again if they all rejected what was wrong.

Neither Ejindu nor any of the individuals and groups he spoke could understand, or explain, how the young man acquired such the deep knowledge of these things that was evident in his words; and also in the solutions he offered.

And, wait for this, Ejindu made out time, now and again, to sharpen his obejili. This was a machete of such excellent workmanship that it put every other machete in Alaoma to shame. Then twelve months passed since Ejindu’s conversation with his grandfather.

The people were now preparing for yet another New Yam Festival. Ejindu spent the last three days before the festival reviewing his activities of the last twelve months. He also still made out time to sharpen his Obejili regularly.

When the day of the festival finally came, Ejindu’s mind was clear. His determination was also firm. He arrived the Community Square on time. As the King came in with his retinue of shameless elders and reprobate titled men, he knew what to do – or so he thought.

On sighting the King as he entered the Square, Ejindu was so overcome with anger and loathing that he instinctively began to draw his Obejili from its sheath. But then, all of a sudden, before he could pull it out completely, raise it, or walk into the Square to strike the King, it was as if the very gods themselves whispered words of wisdom into his ears. He slowly and calmly put his half-drawn machete back into its sheath. Fortunately, no one noticed anything.

Pausing for a moment, Ejindu collected himself surprisingly quickly. He had realized in an instant that to kill the King would be to commit murder. That would not be the best way to get the people to come around to what he had been preaching to them.

If he wanted the people to re-invent themselves and restore the lost glory of Alaoma, if he wanted them to create a new society that would really be their own, then he must make them remember all he had discussed and agreed upon in the periods and months of his quiet consultations with them. He must give them the chance to prove that they were the people he believed them to be.

Resolved to bide his time and pick his moment, Ejindu waited for the King to begin his usual empty speeches. When, as was now the norm under this King, eight men formed two rows and went down on all fours, for the King to use them as steps to come down from his horse, Ejindu stepped forward.

He stood tall, imposing and defiant in the Square. Then, turning to the crowd, he spoke in that bellowing voice he inherited from his ancestors: “People of Alaoma, is it our custom for Kings to walk on us as foot stools?”

The Square fell silent; so very silent! You could almost touch the silence in the air. The King turned, astonished at the presence of what he considered ‘a nobody’ standing in the Square. In his presence? Someone dared to enter the square, while he, the King, was there?

Worse still, this nobody found the voice to also speak; again, in his presence? Regaining self-control, the King laughed at the Ejindu’s audacity and addressed him thus: “Young man, why are you in such a hurry to join your ancestors before your time?”

Many people in the crowd feared for Ejindu’s life. They knew the usual fate of anyone who annoyed the King. But the drama was only just beginning.

“I asked our people a question”, Ejindu replied without even looking at the King. “You say you are King, so you are not the people. Allow the people to answer my question.”

One of the sycophantic elders found his voice and gave a shrill cry of feigned outrage. Facing Ejindu, but at a safe distance because he had seen the young man’s Obejili and the sheath housing it, he shouted: “Is there no limit to insolence? So, because of your senseless question, which is an affront to the King, you will not allow royalty to come down from the horse that has the honour to carry him? What do you think …”

But Ejindu interrupted him, replying without also looking at the man: “There is no royalty sitting on this horse. The horse has dignity, but the burden on it does not.”

The crowd moved uncomfortably and a few subdued voices tried to warn Ejindu. Others tried to repeat what he said.

He continued, “This horse has suffered long enough. I shall now save it from the humiliation of this demeaning task. At the same time, I shall help this no-King to come down from the horse.”

With these words Ejindu drew his machete, raised it and struck just one blow. It was the type of blow Alaoma village had not seen for many generations. The head of the horse was neatly separated from the body and the King tumbled to the ground, shaking in terror.

Some people scattered out of fear, and also because of the restive and headless horse, but quickly rallied again.

As the King and his crowd of scoundrels were shivering in discomfort, an old man shouted from the crowd, “Alaoma people are you surprised? Have I not been saying it for a long time now? Our people say that a bad dancer has no right to expect gifts from the audience. A King that is un-Kingly also has himself to blame if there is no genuine cry of outrage when he is humiliated in public.”

Another voice replied from the opposite end of the Square, saying: “A masquerade that destroys market stalls and flogs its drummers cannot blame anyone, or say it has been desecrated, if a woman defiantly walks up to it to offer unsolicited advice, or even gives it a slap.”

When no one else made any further comments, Ejindu turned his back to the King and began to address the people.