Jungle justice in Nigeria
By Uche Nworah
His name is Akachi but we all called him Ngwori, ‘Ngwori the Specialist’ actually. Uncle Jonah who lives in faraway Kaduna had brought him home during Christmas a few years ago and introduced him to the rest of the family as the perfect man for the job of looking after his aged mum, Mama Caro.
It didn’t take long for Ngwori to warm himself into the hearts of all in the family and in the village. He worked hard at his job of looking after Mama Caro and still catered to some of our needs whenever we visited home. As far as male cooks go, Ngwori to us can hold his own, at least in cooking native Igbo dishes. This was actually how the name Ngwori came about as it is a loose term that refers to any exceptional Igbo delicacy. Akachi had himself added ‘The Specialist’ to the name to distinguish himself. This showed a man proud of himself and his work. Though from a neighbouring village but Ngwori to many in Ehime, was a proud member of Ehime village in Mbano.
Mama Caro, well in her 80s is a loving, deeply religious and kind-hearted woman. Since our mother passed on 20 years ago, she has become the matriarch of the Okoro family in Ehime Mbano. Ever cheerful and optimistic, Mama Caro always sees the bright side to every situation in life. She is one to run to in every difficult situation. Her famous lines ‘Oga adicha nma’ (everything will work out well) which she says with the strongest and deepest conviction have kept us all going all these years. She says it as if God had personally given her such assurances. Despite her failing health, Mama Caro still gets up early in the morning and on the days that her legs will allow her still tries to sweep the compound with her aziza.
How I wish that in one stroke, Mama Caro would sweep away the evil tide that is blowing towards my beloved Ehime village and country Nigeria, as confirmed by Uncle Jonah’s heart piercing message one week ago.
Sleep has eluded me since that day. On the few nights that my tired body and ravaged spirit has struggled to obey nature’s call, the bedside alarm which is permanently set to go off at 4.30am except on weekends ensures that I get up and carry on. I have to be at my desk in the office by 7a.m. This means that I must leave my flat in the Badagry area of Lagos by 5a.m in order to get through the hectic Lagos morning traffic.
On this particular morning at the Orile- Iganmu Bus Stop, as we waited in the traffic, I looked out of my wound down window and saw the screaming headlines in the front pages of Nigeria’s national daily newspapers. Boko Haram, the dreaded Islamic sect had attacked a Federal government secondary school in Yobe State killing over 60 students. How did we descend so low? How did human life become so cheap in my beloved country I desperately asked no one in particular? Despair, hate and death now surround us. I remembered the Aluu 4, a group of 4 friends and students of the University of Port Harcourt who were falsely accused of being robbers and subsequently beaten to death by some residents of Aluu in Rivers state of Nigeria. It appears jungle justice is now the order of the day in Nigeria.
I cast my mind back to Ehime, to a time in the not so distant past when life was sweet. Life then was typical of life in other villages in South Eastern Nigeria. Easy going, traditional and laid-back. There was no hurry. Everyone knew each other and treated each other with respect. Communal feasts and festivals were celebrated with great fanfare at the village square.
I remembered my childhood, the many mornings that began with sounds of cocks crowing at the break of dawn, children and young adults humming to native songs with their earthen ware pots perched comfortably on their heads as they make their way to and from the village stream to fetch water, even as crackles of burning firewood emanating from the kitchen huts complemented the aroma of the morning meal being prepared by Mama, Mama Caro and other mothers and grandmothers.
I always cherished every opportunity to return to Ehime, the same way indigenes of other Igbo villages living in the big cities look forward to making the yearly journey home, especially during the Christmas season. The homecoming allows us to re-connect and share love with friends, family and loved ones. I wondered how we will cope without Ngwori and how Mama Caro will cope also.
I have been struggling to digest the bitter news of Ngwori’s killing. He was murdered by Ehime people, the same people he loved and who loved him. According to Uncle Jonah, It was Pa Nwoko who first raised the alarm and reported Ngwori to the village elders accusing him of having a homosexual relationship with his young nephew Amaechi. Nwabu, Amaechi’s friend and age grade mate had also reported to the elders that Ngwori had slept with him many times thereby corroborating Pa Nwoko’s allegations. Ngwori did not live to defend himself.
These allegations broke just when the debate over the merits or lack of it of the passing of the anti-gay law by the Nigerian government raged on. Uncle Jonah said that Ngwori fled the village when he was initially confronted by the elders and other villagers, this may have been for fear of his life. He later sneaked back into Ehime one early morning for reasons no one could understand, whether to come and say his final goodbye to Mama Caro or to come and explain himself to her but a member of the village vigilante had sighted him and raised alarm.
It was as if the whole village descended on my family compound demanding that Ngwori be brought out to them. According to them, Ngwori has defiled the land. He has committed alu (abomination) and must be punished else the gods will visit their vengeance on Ehime. They dragged Ngwori out and clubbed him to death right in front of Mama Caro.
I am jolted back to the present by shouts of ‘C-M-S, C-M-S, C-M-S, C-M-S enter with your shange o, conductor no get shange o’. Everything will work out well I reassured myself.
Based on a true story