The Land of My Ancestors Genevieve Anakwe-Charles
The night sky is a clear, dark and deep backdrop for the brilliant array of sparkling stars. The night air is warm and kissed with the softness of breezes. I am sitting on the balcony of my father’s two-story house. The surprisingly soothing sounds of owls are interrupted by the humming of electric generators. Fireflies sparkle in the night, and tall palm trees sheathed in the shadows stretch up like arrows into the sky. I am back in my father’s hometown of Abatete, Southeastern Nigeria. This is the land of my ancestors. A land entrenched in rich traditions and beliefs. I close my eyes and breathe in the crisp air. The memories of being here as a child flood back into my mind like a sea tide. I remember my siblings and me sitting by our father’s leg under the moonlight starry-eyed and mesmerized by his incredible tales of the Biafran War. He would boastfully tell us how he fought so gallantly during the Biafran War of the 1960s. The Biafran War was a political conflict that was caused by the attempted secession of the southeastern province as the self-proclaimed Republic of Biafran. The Igbo people, Ndiigbo, fought for an equal stake in the national stage. The remnants of this old ethnic and religious tension are still felt in Nigerian politics today. Looking back now, his stories seem so outlandish, but, as a child, I hung on to his every word. Now I just nod in agreement when he talks about his adventures, taking it with a grain of salt. 62
“I killed over one hundred persons in my compound alone!” he would say. But this is my father; he never ceases to amaze. My father has an imposing presence with bravado to match. He is fearless both in physical propensity and intellectual prowess, a striking six feet and four inches in height with piercing brown eyes that had a hint of enigma and adventure. His calloused hands are a blatant symbol of his hard work. And at seventythree years of age he still has the tenacity and zeal of a man half his age. And, he never hesitates to make that known. He would say with vehement conviction, “I can fight a twenty-year-old man and win!” We jokingly call him Eze wan mmadu amongst ourselves, meaning leader of people. My father’s war stories were often accompanied by tales about the Igbo culture. Deep-rooted traditions and superstitions governed the practices of Ndiigbo from generations to generations. The Igbo traditional religion, Odinala is the foundation for the Igbo culture, Omenala. Every story is a puzzle piece to this enduring tapestry of culture and history. Everything I know about the Igbo culture, I learned from my father. He would often speak in proverbs, especially when he wanted to emphasize his point. He would say it in the Igbo language and tell us to ask mother if we did not understand. Whenever my unruly brother misbehaved, my father began the scolding with