The Dibia, Part III, Boko Haram’s Impact, and Storytelling

I don’t have an update on the kidnapped girls for you. But I read about Boko Haram’s impact on Nigeria’s people in yesterday’s blog post from Vinnie Ferraro at Mount Holyoke College. He posts for the students in his World Politics Course at the college. I follow his blog for his concise summaries of major world political events with links to learn more.

His post yesterday was about the tragedy of displaced people who have fled the area where the Boko Haram are active.  He says three million people are affected, with hundreds of thousands internally displaced. (IDP’s are internally displaced persons.)BokoHaramIDMC June 2014 Ferraro

Professsor Ferraro says that this is placing a huge burden on the country. I grieve for the country and hope for success in combating Boko Haram and finding and releasing the missing girls.

And yet, despite its problems, I celebrate Nigeria’s rich history and traditions.

Storytelling

Storytelling by moonlight is one of the traditions that was strong in my husband’s childhood. I believe it continues in many settings in Nigeria and other countries in Africa.

Storytelling in the village

Storytelling in the village

The organization Creative Connections establishes educational exchanges between children in the U.S. and children in other countries. Their program director gave me this picture from a 13-year old in Nigeria. The painter said, “Children are sitting with their grandma in the village at night listening to her stories.  This happens in the village when people are relaxing outside before they go to bed.  Children learn from these tales.  The value I am depicting is family, home-education and love.  It is important as a parent to use this avenue to communicate wisdom to children.”

My memoir includes a story about consulting a traditional healer for help in preventing rain. Here is the next installment.

Third installment of the Dibia

My last post included part II of the Dibia. It ended with the Dibia, or traditional healer, saying to my uncle-in-law Obi and me: “Yes, you are correct that I am the one who can talk to the spirits. I have practiced my craft for many years. I can ask the spirits to hold back the rain.”

I was impressed by his calm manner and self-assurance, but they didn’t make me a believer. He’s hedging his bets, I thought, as he continued, “I cannot say if the spirits will comply. I know that Samuel’s life (my father-in-law) was long and his children many. The whole village mourns him.”

He reached again into his leather bag, retrieved a few dry seeds the size of lima beans, and scattered them on the mat in front of him. He prayed, then gathered and threw the seeds two more times. Finally he made his announcement.

“With the correct offerings and the instructions I will give you, the rain will stay away,” he said.

yams from Osuji appliancesHe asked us to come back with five large yams, like those in the picture, two chickens, five kola nuts, a jug of palm wine, a bottle of schnapps, and 1000 naira, about $25. He insisted that the chickens should be “okuko agric,” or agricultural chickens, from a farm that was operated by the district government to produce larger, tenderer poultry than the chickens that ran around the village and fended for themselves.

Obi protested, “This is a very heavy offering that the spirits request. We have many expenses because of the funeral. We have to buy not just one but two cows, and we must also pay the butcher.”

“You are asking me to halt the rain in this, the rainy season. You think that it is easy? The spirits need to be appeased if they are to comply,” the Dibia said.

“I know it is not easy, and I know that you are the expert,” I said, despite Obi’s instruction that he should do the talking. After all, I was proud of my bargaining skills and Igbo language ability, and this was an ideal opportunity to put them to work. “That is why we are asking for your intervention. But we are only asking you to halt the rain for one night and one day, not for a week!”

Here I was using my learned negotiating power to bargain in a tribal language with a Dibia to get him to halt the rain. Had I lost my mind? What if my parents or US friends could see me now? I was caught in the spirit of the moment, but part of me felt as if I were play-acting.

Eventually we reached agreement on the necessary offering: two large yams, one agric chicken, 500 naira and the other items. We thanked him, promised to return in two days, and took our leave. Obi and I divided up the tasks.

Coming Up

Next time I’ll take you with me as we go back with the gifts for the ancestors that the Dibia requested. And I’ll tell you about his instructions to prevent the rain!  Do you think it will work?

I’m planning a talk for the Friends of Nigeria gathering in Nashville on June 19. I want to talk about community – how the sense of belonging is different – and in some ways stronger for me – in Nigeria than in the United States.

How do you know you belong to your community, as part of your extended family, and in your social gatherings? Are there signals like secret handshakes? Is there a common language? Do you have an emotional bond that comes from your childhood?

 

 

 

Author: Catherine Onyemelukwe

Author, blogger, speaker. Born in New York, grew up in mid west United States, lived in Nigeria for 24 years, back in U.S. since 1986. Advocate for racial justice.