The Days of My Fathers

By Mike Ahamefule

DAYS OF MY FATHERS is a nonfictional tale of the lifestyles of my father's generation; particularly the Igbo tribes which occupy the eastern Nigeria geographical location. The book is a collection of native phenomena that occurred before the 80s. It is a reality creation and a partly onstage celebration of Chinua Achebe's celebrated fiction "Thing Fall Apart.”

DAYS OF MY FATHERS is a nonstop read that evolves a nostalgic feeling among adults who witnessed the period in question, and leaves awe and doubt in the minds of the younger generation. It is compiled to assist the lgbos and their children, especially those in diaspora, understand their origin.

In the educational sector, it is absolutely appropriate to include the knowledge of culture traditions, literature and history of the lgbo race all embedding practical illustrations and explanations into the curriculum. The book also describes the lifestyles of other nationalities interrelated with the Igbo nationality. The case study of expressions are mostly the traditional lifestyles of some regions where I was raised: Amucha, Umuchima, Umuozu, and Nkwere, all in Orlu region of lgbo land. It also covered some areas in Etiti, Owerri, Umuahia, Okigwe etc. In a nutshell, the goal of this book is to keep record of some of these lifestyles that are quickly fizzling out and to preserve such for the unborn children.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Ahamefule
• Release date: May 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9789785879780

Book preview

THE DAYS OF MY FATHERS

The Nostalgias of Our Time

Copyright 2021 by Mike .C. Nathan Ahamefule

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9-789-785879-780

All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copy right laws of United States of America and The Federal Republic of Nigeria.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the publisher.

Permission will be granted upon request.

Published by

EDEN CHRISTIAN MINISTRIES

7001 New Hampshire Avenue

Takoma Park.

Md 20912

INSPIRED BY

Prof. Chinua Achebe’s classic

THINGS FALL APART

DEDICATION

To

Evangelist Emma Ifeanyi Ahamefule.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Days of my Fathers

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter One: The Salt of my Days

Chapter Two: The School System

Chapter Three: Food and Market Days

Chapter Four: Traditions and Beliefs

Chapter Five: Growing up Experience

Chapter Six: Fashion and Lifestyle

Chapter Seven: The Effect of the War and Survival

Chapter Eight: Folktales

Chapter Nine: Child Training and Discipline

Chapter Ten: Nutrition

Chapter Eleven: Music

Chapter Twelve: Farming

Chapter Thirteen: Church and Religion

Chapter Fourteen: Beauty and Fashion

Chapter Fifteen: Maternal Homes

Chapter Sixteen: Information and Communication

Chapter Seventeen: Marriage

Chapter Eighteen: Social Life

Chapter Nineteen: Lifestyles

Chapter Twenty: Rights of Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-One: Health and Hygiene

Chapter Twenty-Two: Death and Funerals

Chapter Twenty-Three: Christmas

About the Author

THE DAYS OF MY FATHERS

"KPUKPUMKPU OGELE OGELE OGELE NKWA

ONYE N’AKPO OGELE

OGELE OGELE NKWA

PAPA N’AKPO OGELE

OGELE OGELE NKWA

KPUMKPUMKPU OGELE

OGELE OGELE NKWA."

"AKPANKORO KPANKORO

AKPANKORO KPANKORO

UDU MUO OGELE, UDU MUO OGELE

ONYEOMARA SU YA YA YA SU YA".

PROLOGUE

It is a republic but not sovereign.

It has an unwritten constitution, but the norms are supreme.

It has a people not having dos and don’ts hung on their necks, yet the society is governed well.

They have no king, yet the government is strong.

A people guided by unconstituted authority, yet devoid of a police presence.

Laws are obeyed, just like the present American society without much coercion. Naturally, the Igbo race is a system that is not structured with a ‘king’ figure; hence, the saying IGBO ENWE EZE.

"Igbo kwenu…heeei!

Kwenu…heeei!

Kwezuonu…heee"!

INTRODUCTION

An elder wakes up in the morning not responding to greetings from anyone but the first thing on his mind is his spiritual meditation.

He takes a cup of water, rinses his mouth and hands. He takes a piece of kolanut, chews and throws out some to his ancestors and the gods of the land. Next, he takes a calabash cup filled with palm wine; he drinks some and pours out to his ancestors and the gods of the land. He starts invoking: The gods of the land, the spirit of our ancestors, if I have taken away any person’s belongings by force, if I have maltreated a widow or an orphan or if I have meted injustice on anyone, look at me and deal with me.

In May 2013, I visited a friend of mine in Maryland USA with my three children then aged eight, six and four. At the house, I realized he had a party of visitors from Nigeria.

There were two sisters aged ten and twelve in that party. I was excited as most of us living in the USA usually are when you come across someone just fresh from home.

Out of that excitement, I said: KEDU (How are you?). I was met with struggling smiles from both faces. I continued, trying to be friendlier. Enwekwere ihe unu wetaran’ulo? (Did you bring anything from home?) Suddenly, the mother rushed to bail them out. Sorry sir, they don’t understand Igbo she said, with a level of pride and unassuming posture.

I was now made to understand that these kids lived in Owerri with their parents though they attend a special private school. These kids had never lived outside Igbo land. That was of course their first time of coming to the USA.

On the contrary, my three kids were born and bred in America and had never visited Igbo land nor Nigeria. I tried my best to get them to understand the language and they did. I now had to invite my big girl Dora to interpret what I said in English to the two sisters. I said it in Igbo and my daughter interpreted it to them in English. What a daft irony! I confronted the mother and she passed the blame to her husband who had insisted that the kids should not speak Igbo in the house.

I now saw the dangers of losing the eras of the DAYS OF MY FATHERS. To further get this into perspective, I allowed the kids to play together while I watched from a hearing distance.

As the kids discussed and played, the repetitious word I kept hearing from the two Nigerian kids were, Huh! What did you say, ehh? This meant that they did not actually understand the English my kids were speaking. Whereas in Owerri, these two kids do not speak Igbo and when they speak English, people around respected them as speaking like Americans. Now in America, they could not understand the same American language people respected them for at home. So which language could they speak very well? They could not understand Igbo and at the same time they could not understand American English.

That was the day it was laid in my heart to put something down not only for my children but for the sake of posterity. Hence, the book title ‘The Days of My Fathers’.

My father’s legacies have become so desolate. Every one of us within this generation is focused on two things: education and wealth.

The Igbo language has been listed by UNIDO, an arm of the United Nations, as one of the major languages that may go extinct by the year 2030. Then, what will become of those legacies we cherished and grew up with?

Most times when I hang out with friends, I hear and watch them express those days with a feeling of nostalgia. You see the deep smiles on their faces when they recall those days. Why wouldn’t the legacies of those years be preserved for the sake of posterity?

It is obvious that I grew up in an entirely different world from the world my children are growing up in. It is not making our communication and relationship be the best. There are no more Omekannayas or Oyirinneyas. Children have become so driven away from the life of their parents as a result of the new age.

This development is mostly common with my own community. I live in a society that is the melting point of all culture and civility.

I have come in contact with citizens from almost all the countries in the world because of my divine calling as a minister of the Word of God.

You can hardly draw any difference between Hispanic parents and their children. The Indians, Chinese, Pakistanis, Germans, Caribbeans, the Jews and the Arab world have had their American children socially and culturally melted together with them.

Most countries from Africa still transfer their heritage from one generation to another.

You can hardly see a Ghanaian child who does not understand Twi or Ewe, or a Togolese child without a commanding knowledge of the French language. Check out a child whose parents are from Bamenda or Bamileke in Cameroun and hear them easily express the joy of their favourite meals: ero, nduole and achu or Ghanaian children with deep knowledge of the recipe for wache, kenke, shito or banku. The same goes for Caribbean children with sound knowledge of curried goat and curried chicken.

How has the mighty fallen and things fallen into different places? What is the difference between parents of these cultures and their Igbo counterparts?

Why do we pride ourselves that our children have good command of the English language and modernity over our own dear Igbo language? When has the good command of the English language become evidence that a child is smart? Children from other nationalities have even better command of the same English language and still are very good in their native language. I realized lately that the English you speak to your children today will not be the same English they will speak when they start talking. At this time, you will even struggle to understand their accents.

The time you used to give them instructions at home in English would have been better used to give the same instructions in Igbo. The earliest Igbo phrase