Why They Hate Us: A Weary Sojourner's Take On Igbophobia

Lagos

INTRODUCTION

January 2015

This book is my inevitable conclusion after in-depth reflections on my native origin and on my sojourn among diverse ethnic extractions in Nigeria.

I am Igbo, born and bred in Sabon Gari, Kano, northern Nigeria, where I had my primary education. I attended secondary school in Ikot-Ekpene, Akwa Ibom State, south of Nigeria, and pursued undergraduate and graduate studies in Ibadan and Ogbomoso, both in Oyo state, south-west of Nigeria.

I have lived in or visited towns and cities in all the geopolitical zones in Nigeria and have decided to share my experience in order to challenge other people to bring theirs to the discussion table on the social environment, national integration and nation building. It is meant to encourage people to voice their opinions and feel less guilty about their socio-cultural affiliations and preferences. My intention is to tell Ndigbo that their status is not the more important factor for their integration and progress in Nigeria but the opinion of others, which, as it were, have tended to undermine their immense contribution and their potentials for greater economic and political development of Nigeria.

I was at a gathering in a friend’s house, one evening, for the inauguration of a sorority club; Ezi Enyi (Good friends), a women’s support group whose objective is to encourage themselves socially and economically. The gathering was predominantly of Ndigbo.

After the lavish entertainment and while the women continued with their agenda, the men settled into conversations of mutual interest, including the diminishing power of men under the pressures of socioeconomic evolution and the rising influence of women.

Hardly would there be discussions amongst Ndigbo without it veering into Igbo politics, origin, culture, business and, inevitably, the fear of and hatred for Ndigbo by other ethnic groups of Nigeria. As expected, opinions differed along individual experiences.

As we sat discussing in California that day, I realised something troubling; even though these discussions hold anywhere Ndigbo gather, in Nigeria or abroad, no one ever raises the critical question; no one asks why? Why are the Igbos hated?

I am usually very intrigued by the rush to label a person ‘Igbo hater’ because he or she overtly or otherwise expresses his or her disdain or suspicion of the Igbo agenda. It is this familiar kind of discussion along with my heuristic knowledge that has encouraged me to tell a story that mirrors the sentiments of the average non-Igbo. The difference here is that I am Igbo.

Globally numbering over forty million, the origin of Ndigbo is still a subject of speculation. Their traditional homeland is around east-central and south-eastern Nigeria; however, I believe that Ndigbo are one of the ancient tribes of the Middle East, toughened by war and driven southward to the extreme and evil forestlands of south-eastern Nigeria. They progressively conquered fear and adversity to dominate their new homeland. The general perception that Ndigbo can survive under any condition and their proclivity for aggression lend support to this opinion.

The origin of Ndigbo is a challenge to ethnologists, etymologists, archaeologists, political historians, and even certain esoteric researchers; this has made understanding Ndigbo difficult. Knowledge of Igbo history and origin may help change the opinion, fear, and suspicion of Ndigbo, a people endowed with great potentials but in limbo on how to harness and galvanize these potentials for their benefit and that of their society. This will also hedge against a progressive historical and socio-political destruction of the Igbo heritage.

This book is intended as a historical narrative; deliberate, concise, and incisive. It may poke your conscience and challenge you to reflect on the insensitivities of your daily interactions with others in the social environment. This book reveals nothing new. What may be unprecedented, however, is an Igbo lending credence to the familiar sentiment of hatred for Ndigbo and engaging the question of why the Igbo are so hated.

This book also intends to challenge Ndigbo to come to terms with the rapidly evolving social systems and redefine themselves in line with socio-cultural imperatives and etiquettes. It should elicit some soul searching and open discussions among the Igbo population and social structure.

SUNRISE IN KANO

Iwas born in Kano, Nigeria in the early hours of a Tuesday morning. It was a joyous day for my parents, especially as their new-born was male. There was a girl before me, but Ndigbo, like many ethnic groups around the world, prefer male children. The first male child is heir and consolidates a woman’s position and status in our patriarchal family system. In the classical Igbo social milieu, female children are considered other people’s property, as they will get married in future, adopt a new family name and be assimilated into that family. A man with no male child is usually viewed with suspicion and is often placed on the same level as the man with no children. In western culture and in some parts of Africa, like Ethiopia, women have the option of retaining their maiden names or taking their husband’s surname. This practice of retaining maiden names after marriage, sometimes in compound form, is beginning to appeal to some liberated Igbo women as incidence of divorces and multiple marriages gain traction in African societies.

My parents, Chukwuemeka and Chiabuotu met and got married in Kano. I was born when Chiabuotu, was eighteen years old. Ebele was their first child. She died of convulsion during the Nigerian civil war, one of the many victims of the war and inadequate health care. I was too young to understand what was going on.

Chukwuemeka had migrated to Kano, like many ambitious young men at the time, to seek economic opportunities having lost his father, Okeke, at a very tender age. Okeke was the son of Ogbuagu (the lion killer) of Umudunu, Abagana.

The name Ogbuagu, to this day in Igboland, is a prestigious and well respected name that is assumed only by any person who actually kills a lion. This feat is usually celebrated with elaborate festivities in the town square as a rite of accomplishment. Only warriors and brave men dared subdue a lion. In addition, Ogbuagu gbuluichi, meaning that he had the traditional and symbolic facial tattoo of a warrior and forthright person.

Ogbuagu is an achieved name. He was Erondu, a very wealthy itinerant yam farmer and skillful hunter. The shifting cultivation system of agriculture practiced in their days kept families moving from one homestead to another after every three to five years of cultivation. He was said to be the first to own cattle and other livestock around his domain. He was both feared and respected. Ogbuagu endured several communal, boundary, and clan disputes, as well as wars. He was said to be very brave, temperate, and forthright and the person to run to when faced with difficult issues and challenges. He was also very generous and cared for those who needed comfort and help. Even though he lived to a ripe old age, Ogbuagu died metaphorically when he lost his first son, Okeke, to an ailment. Ogbuagu joined his ancestors shortly after that loss. It was taboo in many African cultures for a man to outlive his offspring. The demise of Okeke dealt a lethal blow to the legend of the lion killer.

Ogbuagu was married to Mbeke, the daughter of Anudile of Nimo, the adjoining village. They had three children: Okeke, Uluaka and Obiora.

Okeke was also a wealthy yam farmer and successful hunter, but he succumbed to typhoid fever in 1950 when his first son, Chukwuemeka, was only seven years old. Okeke married Nwume, the daughter of Okpataozuora, of the same Umudunu village, Abagana. They had four children: Udeafor, Chukwuemeka, Nwafor and Ogugua.

Nwume died in 2006, aged ninety-two. She was a very strong woman and endured much hardship after she prematurely lost her husband, Okeke, and later, her father-in-law, the Ogbuagu. She persevered as Nwanyi ajadu (widow) to raise her children. While she encouraged them to have an education, it was not a priority. Survival instinct motivated her to dispatch her sons to early apprenticeships and give her daughters into early marriages. Life was tough for her and she quickly developed thick skin to weather the rough patches she confronted. In her days, as it is to this day, widows face numerous challenges from within and outside the family. It is not uncommon for common men to violate the legacy of the brave and defile their household. That is the nature of mankind. When the head of the house dies, the house becomes an empty shell. Nwume had to fight to have custody of her late husband’s assets. Attempts were made to strip her of her properties and farmlands especially during the prolonged mourning period that usually lasted a year. Widows were expected to endure the long mourning period in fulfilment of traditional rites to honour their late husbands. They were not expected to engage in any serious social, commercial or economic activities. Widows, at this time, lived off charity, general providence, and good will of the communal women and family members, nuclear and extended. Nwume was both feared and respected. She had a proclivity for aggression especially when she perceived her personal space was under assault or threatened. She was both vivacious and loquacious. She was dark, with drooping tired eyelids, and of average height for women. Nwume always had some experience to share, and she cared and loved her grandchildren. I always believed I was her favourite grandchild and she proved it to me with numerous kind gestures.

I was the first son of her first son. Udeafor, her