The Star in Me

By Dorothy Chika Akpamgbo

The Star in Me is a memoir of a woman of African descent raised in a humble family. Dorothy was not born with a silver spoon in her mouth but in her quest for education she made an excellent in-road into achieving success in her early age. However, her dreams to acquire more education was challenged by the Nigerian civil war that wrecked her nat

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Oct 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781638378402

Dorothy Chika Akpamgbo

Noble Lady Dorothy Akpamgbo, (BA, LL.B, B.L, MA, LAUX- KSJI), is a graduate of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka (UNN) where she first obtained a Bachelor of Arts Degree (BA) (Hons) in English/Education. Later, she went back to University of Nigeria Enugu Campus and secured LL.B Degree (Hons) before proceeding to the Nigerian Law School, Lagos, where she received her legal education, Barrister-at-Law (B.L) and was called and enrolled into Nigerian Bar Association as a solicitor and advocate of the Supreme Court of Nigeria. When she relocated to the United States of America and in her quest for more knowledge, she went back to school. She attended California State University Dominguez Hills, and acquired some education credentials and Master of Arts (MA) in Multicultural Education. Dorothy Akpamgbo is a seasoned educator and a legal practitioner. She is married with children. She is widely traveled and has been exposed to diverse experiences and cultures around the world. She is a survivor of the Nigerian civil war.Growing up, she was a very brilliant student and became a teacher at a very tender age of about thirteen years. She spent about five decades of her working years as a lawyer/an educationist before retiring from/under the State of California Education System. As a community leader, she championed many women organizations both in Nigeria and in California. She uses her expertise in education, law, and life experiences to offer guidance, counseling, and support to many individuals, families, social groups, and cultural organizations both in Nigeria and in the United States, where she currently resides. She is a recipient of many academic and leadership awards both in Nigeria and in the United States of America. Dorothy is a school founder and a benefactor. She is kind-hearted and always willing to use her time and resources to help people in need. In this regard, every year in Nigeria, she uses her proprietorship to subsidize school fees and award scholarships to students from low- income families in her school community.

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Chapter One

The Framework of My Life

I

T WAS NOT EASY TO RECALL THE BEGINNING. How did it happen? I did not know. All I knew was that I came to be me. I was born into the family of Mazi Emmanuel Anyaoha and Nne Nwafor Felicia Obilo of Eziachi town in Orlu Local Government Area of Imo State, Nigeria. My father was a handsome man of great valor, honor, and substance. He was the last child of Obilo Chilamdu of Umuokeanu family. His brothers, Fred and Francis, lavished him with great love and protection. He was almost a spoiled child, but his zeal for independence took an upper hand in his upbringing. Growing up, Father was a strong man and a renowned wrestler in his town. His wrestling fame grew far and near. In those early days, storytelling as well as wrestling provided great entertainment during moonlight nights for people. However, wrestling remained the most popular recreational and competitive activity of all time in towns and villages. He won so many trophies in his wrestling bouts and was nicknamed the Champs.

Father was a proud young man and very well revered in his community. He was described as a man who walked in measured steps with a smile on his face when he was in a good mood but who wore a hard face when upset. When he put his stone face on, his mates would move out of his way; if he exploded in rage, he could do something stupid, especially against the weaklings and local hoodlums. He was family oriented, and as a man of prowess, he believed that men should work very hard and be responsible enough to make earnings for the family.

Father was a sawyer. He would go into the forest and cut iroko trees into logs. He would lumber the timbers and saw them into planks to sell to builders. This was his occupation, and he used it to motivate a lot of young men of his time to take up some sort of trade or handiwork to support their families.

As a young man, when he was ready to marry, Father did not marry from his town, as was the practice in his days. Rather, he chose to search for a wife outside. According to him, his choice of an ideal wife was guided by skin color and manners. He saw what he was dreaming for in Ndowere in the town of Orlu, in the person of my mother. He saw a dark-skinned girl in the market and started making inquiries until the relationship matured into marriage. Mother was the first daughter of the reputable Akwaja family. She grew up with humility, respect, industry, and neatness. Father fell in love with her shiny dark skin and renamed her BB, meaning Black Is Beautiful. Our father described our mother's physical appearance as ebony color, beautiful slim figure, sparkling white teeth, and sterling behavior to woo her as a wife. On the other hand, Mother had no resistance to accepting his hand in marriage because he was a man of handsomeness, fair in complexion and full of energy. He was good husband material with fine looks. His fair appearance was such that he could easily lure a woman to fall for him as a husband.

Mother exhibited some sort of timidity and/or shyness, which seemed to be normal, an acceptable demeanor for good girls in the olden days. Father took advantage of this quality because he would not stand for a woman who would challenge his authority. The marriage between Father and Mother was said to have been celebrated with all the traditional marriage rites prevalent in those days. After Father's proposal was accepted by Mother, the rest of the marital rituals were turned over to the families to guide and complete, which rites followed one after the other. (In the traditional society, marriage discussion or gathering was forbidden on Eke Market day). First, the introductory rite, called ‘Iku-aka’ (knock on the door), was carried out, making the betrothal formal on both sides. Mother followed the betrothal family home to return kegs of wine brought to Mother's family for this custom. She spent four days with the suitor's family. During this visit she was kept under the watchful eye of Ma-Agnes, the most senior brother's wife, who was to supervise, evaluate, and be the general overseer as to Mother's manners, comportment, and industry, as these qualities related to her marriageability. Mother's behavior, carriage, and demeanor spoke a lot to win her a great benchmark from Ma-Agnes.

Mother was home after the four-day visit. On her return, it was believed that her own mother bombarded her with questions to evaluate her visit, situation, and all the paraphernalia of the husband's family. She gave positive remarks to affirm her willingness to go on with the marriage. Thereafter, the eight-day visit, known as Ima-Uno (knowing the family), was fixed. On that day, Father's family returned with more kola nuts, kegs of palm wine, hot drinks, tobacco/snuff, and some soft drinks/soda. Discussion continued in a more friendly and happy mood to indicate their approval of the union. Mother's family received them with a sumptuous meal and drinks.

Mother left with them for eight days, during which she received stricter scrutiny than on the first visit. She was loaded with more domestic chores to test her endurance and ability to take care of a family. After she came back with the same note as the previous visit, the sixteen-day visit was scheduled. It should be noted that after each visit, Mother came back with lots of gifts (wrappers, necklaces, bangles, earrings, and all forms of apparel and fabrics) from her husband's family, to denote love and welcome. After the sixteen-day visit, both sides were in consonance to give their unreserved blessing on the couple to proceed with the bride-price and then the dowry.

On the day of the bride-price, there was a lot of company. There were speeches and speeches by the elders from both sides. The ceremony was consummated with lots of food, drinks, music, and dances. One week after this traditional ceremony, Mother was sent away for six months to the Amefule family in the town of Ozubulu for grooming as a young married bride. While she was there, she lived with five other newly married young maidens who were undergoing the same training. She remained with Mrs. Amefule for her tutelage and training to be a good wife—in domestic work, sewing, housekeeping, gardening, motherhood, and maturity.

When she returned from training, having been certified by Mrs. Amefule that she was mature and well-groomed to make a good wife and a caring mother, their marriage bell rang. Father and Mother were joined in Holy Matrimony by an Irish reverend father in the late 1940s at St. Mary's Catholic Church, Amaigbo, in the then Owerri Archdiocese, Nigeria. The event was highly attended by relatives, friends, and well-wishers. Father's age-mates and other attendees lavished them with gifts. Mother's parents presented her with her dowry, which included but was not limited to money and household property (pots, bed, plates, sewing machine, hoe, wrappers, kitchen utensils, crops, and so on) as a way to start and support her new home.

In summary, this celebration was marked with pomp and pageantry with blasts of joy and happiness. I learnt that my father's marriage acted as a beam of light on his contemporary world. He was looked upon as a role model and trailblazer to young men of his community.

Mother and Father started to build their family. They lost their first children, Rose and Agartha. Then they bore Julie, Dora (me), and Pee, and frustration set into the marriage. The joy that enshrined the marriage started to wane. Father's relatives and friends started to mutter that Mother was only bearing female issues, and there was no hope for a male child. Castigations against Mother were conspicuous and unscrupulous regarding her inability to give Father a male issue who would inherit after him. The pressures that were hitherto placed on Pa-Francis shifted to Father. Pa-Francis had been blessed with five girls and no male child. Relatives had been ruthless in their pressure on Pa-Francis to marry another wife who would bear a male child for him, but he adamantly rebuffed them due to his personality and religious beliefs.

Pa-Francis was very religious, with a strong character, though he was humble and loving. In fact, he was the opposite of Father. While Pa-Francis's wife was loud and stubborn, Mother was humble and timid. Unlike Father, Pa-Francis received elementary education and worked with white doctors as a health-care officer at the dispensary/clinic at Eziama. He used to dress up neatly in black tie, white shirt, and well-tailored khaki shorts or trousers, with leather boots that were shined every morning with polish. The boots looked so impeccable that onlookers would think they never touched the ground.

Every morning, Pa-Francis mounted his bicycle and hung his white bag with the inscription RED CROSS on his shoulder and rode to work. The ringing of the bell on his bicycle signaled his return from work, and children would run out to welcome him. He would search his bag to share whatever he had bought for us: biscuits, sweets (candies), nuts, or fruit. Pa-Francis was a very pious man.

Part of my cherished childhood memories was that my family had a deep-rooted and devout Catholic foundation. It was a routine to go to mass every Sunday and to say the rosary every night. Pa-Francis ordained, monitored, and delivered this duty religiously daily. At about 8:00 p.m., he would ring the big bell three times to signal rosary time in the big parlor, where he gathered all the members of the kindred together for night rosary. Litany was recited with the rosary. Some children, including me, responded to the litany by saying, Ame se nos (Have mercy on us) and Jises deririos (Jesus deliver us). I learned the proper responses of the litany when I was in standard three. This faith-based practice that Pa-Francis left behind continued to be a guiding principle of the family to this day. Hence, night rosary with the litany was highly emphasized and observed reverently in the Obilo-Chilamdu family, and this prayer routine became a habit for all the off-spring of the ancestors as time passed.

Father was in a dilemma about whether to take another wife. He loved Mother, but the ache of wanting a male issue became a cross he could not compromise. Due to his boisterous personality, competitive tendency, and the desire to be successful and never to be rated as an unaccomplished man, he resolved to marry another wife. He started to search for one who he believed would bear him a male child. He got several leads from people and eventually became entangled with a woman from the next village, Umori, named Eunice Obiageri, from the Obiako family. This woman was a groundnut seller. Father started visiting her groundnut stand/shed every market day to patronize her trade until he finally married her and brought her home. Mother, on the other hand, did not put up a fight but quietly accepted her situation.

That same year, Mother took in with her sixth pregnancy. She was depressed and worried about the sex of the unborn child. However, she continued with her trading business irrespective of her pregnancy. She attended different markets on different days just to ensure she supported Father in feeding the family. She was perceived as the most industrious woman in the larger family, following the footstep of Ma-Agnes, whose husband, Fred, died in the early forties and left behind five children. Ma-Agnes was never seen at home crossing her legs to gossip around. She was either seen on the farm working or in the market selling to earn money for her children.

One evening, when my siblings and I were playing outside, we saw Mother walk past us with sweat all over her body. We quickly stopped our game and ran after her. Julie took her basket from her and shouted in a hysterical voice, Nnem Ogbedie, please come. I need you now.

Nnem ran out from her house and pursued Mother. Nnem Ogbedie looked at her condition and called out loudly to another elderly woman, Daa Ahudie. Daa Ahudie, please, hurry, Felicia is in labor. Be fast!

These women and others rushed to the backyard and spread some wrappers on the ground to deliver the baby, as she was in labor. My sister Julie and I wanted to run to the backyard to know what was going on, and some of the women chased us out. Shortly after, we heard the loud cry of a baby heralding the birth of my little sister, Flore.

The first woman to come from the backyard was Nnem Ogbedie. With a mixture of anxiety and uncertainty, we asked her about our mother's condition. She could hardly talk to us. Instead she told another woman, "Felicia has given birth to the same sex she was used to—girl." Even as children, the statement did not go down well with us. We remained calm until Mother emerged with the new baby, sound and healthy, and we were gladdened.

The birth of Flore made Father relocate to another town far from home in search of better opportunities for his lumber business. He had an additional responsibility because his second wife was also pregnant and was always making heavy monetary demands from him. He moved to a town called Etche, near Port-Harcourt. He continued living there until Eunice gave birth to a baby boy, John. Father's happiness knew no bounds. He came home and celebrated the birth of his son. A year after the birth of John, Mother delivered a male child, Jude. Jude died some months later and left my family with a broken heart. Eunice started to treat both Father and Mother with disrespect, to the chagrin of Father, who continuously reprimanded Eunice for her sulky behavior.

Chapter Two

Chronicles of My Primary School Life

I

COULD NOT RECOLLECT SUCCINCTLY HOW I STARTED SCHOOL. I remembered that Mother was a petty trader and would leave home very early in the morning to buy her commodities from wholesale traders and then retailed the merchandise in her small shed. So, day by day, as she left for the market, she would take Julie, me, Pee, and Baby Flore to the village school near the Eke Market. Julie was in the kindergarten class. Both Pee and I were underage, but Mother continued to prop me up to babysit Flore at the school. She used to sit us on a mat under the mango tree to watch our little sister, Flore. When Baby Flore cried or needed attention or food, I would run to call Julie from her class to attend to her needs.

There were many other children in this category who were under the guidance and supervision of a teacher, whose role was almost babysitting. Such was our routine from Monday through Friday. Even though our underage group had an unofficial classroom under the shade of a mango tree, still some learning was going on. We would chant and recite the numbers and the alphabet in an informal classroom. Mothers took advantage of this makeshift class setup and were able to carry on with their small businesses or farmwork. Our class was nicknamed Ota-Akara, which in modern day was nursery class.

This school, Holy Rosary School, was a mission school, purely for girls, and it was administered by Irish reverend sisters. The administrators encouraged the setup of the system. Their broad aims and objectives were both to evangelize and educate as many girls as possible and to be watchful eyes after the small children whose mothers had to work to fend for their poor families.

Each day on getting home after we were picked up by Mother, I would recite everything learned that day by heart, which included poems, recitations, numbers, and the alphabet. Mother was highly impressed with the eloquence I exhibited in my chants and recitations. I could recite all there was to recite but could not write.

My sister Julie was writing very well with a slate and chalk or sometimes with a pencil and an exercise book Mother bought for her. Occasionally, I would plead with Julie to allow me to write on her board or in the book, all to no avail. She defended her refusal by saying that I was still learning under the mango tree and that that was not a formal class. Moreover, she was saving her resources so that she would not be in want. She said often, Dora, you have to wait until you start real schooling. You are doing ota-akara and don’t even know how to hold the chalk or pencil."

I replied to her, But if I don’t start now to learn, how will I eventually know how to hold the pencil or chalk? Just help me try it out.

When I found out that no one was supporting my request—not even Mother, who usually praised my oratory in my recitations and chants—I gave up.

The next school year, when people were being promoted to a new class, I was also promoted to kindergarten by our ota-akara teacher. Mother refused my getting into the class because she thought that I was not yet ready for it.

The teacher defended her evaluation by showing Mother all my recorded performances at school. The teacher said, Even though the class was very informal, Dora has mastered all the skills that she was supposed to know.

Mother said, No, she is still underage to start school. I would prefer you give her one more year so she can mature.

The teacher reiterated, This girl is even ripe to challenge a standard one student if the opportunity is given her. If she stays back, she could be taught things she had presumably already known and this could make her to hate learning.

Mother, not convinced, said, Dora does not know how to write. She does not even know how to grip a piece of chalk or a pencil.

The teacher said in anger, Well, do what you desire to do. She's your child, and regarding her ability to write, she would learn to do that because she is a fast learner.

Mother finally told the teacher, My daughter isn’t yet five years of age. She is only four and will turn five next January. Mother said further, I don’t want her to be frustrated or overwhelmed with schoolwork because of her young age.

After this conversation with the teacher, the matter was referred to the headmistress. The headmistress thoughtfully went through available records of my performance in class tests—we never knew there were some test records kept by the teacher. The headmistress concurred with the teacher and said that I had performed over and above my age and should not be set back in the pursuit of my academic goals. With that said, I was promoted to the next class, and formal schooling started.

As time went on, Father came back from Etche and decided to separate Mother from his second wife by arranging to relocate her to his present abode, but to keep Eunice at home. After discussing his intention with his brother Francis, he took Mother and my other siblings to Etche, a town near Port-Harcourt, but left me behind with his wife, Eunice. I cried bitterly when Mother left with my siblings to the new place. I sensed it was not going to be a good relationship with Eunice. And my fears came to pass.

I suffered terrible hardship at the hands of this wicked woman. Describing what I went through could not convey what the experience was like. At about the age of six years, I would go with little or no food for some days unless I went to Ma-Agnes to get something to eat. Sometimes Eunice would not allow me to collect water from the pot to shower unless I fetched water from the stream, which was very far from home. So I used to walk more than three miles to fetch water from the stream for domestic use. On some weekends I could do two rounds of fetching water to please her, to no avail.

Ma-Agnes was my only safe harbor when I lived in the village with Eunice. Children never came close to Eunice. My playmates in the large family were even afraid to stop by our house to look for me. I was almost isolated unless I went outside to meet and play with other children. Father didn’t find it pleasant to visit home as frequently as he used to. He avoided coming home in order not to confront the menace of someone who was built with an illicit heart. Some days, out of mere malice, she would ask me to stay home from school. And in such situations, I would run to Ma-Agnes to report because I enjoyed going to school. Ma-Agnes was the only person in the kindred Eunice was petrified to deal with. Ma-Agnes would scream at her at the top of her voice and even threaten to report her at the Village Women Circle, who could fine or ostracized her for ill treatment of a child.

Ma-Agnes, the oldest woman in the Obilo family, was a womanly woman and never tolerated evil acts. She was not good at cover-ups either; rather, she would call a spade a spade, and damn any consequences. Eunice resented her and would scamper if she heard her voice approaching our house. She was ready and willing to put Eunice's excesses against me in check. She often sent warning messages to Father to bring his wife to order, else she would go after her each time she, Eunice, acted mean toward me.

At seven, when I was in standard two, something happened that stuck in my brain to this day. I was schooling at the Holy Rosary School, Eziachi. Most teachers in the school were female teachers. There was a schedule that was followed tightly by all students. Every Monday scholars brought water to teachers, every Wednesday we fetched firewood, and Friday was set aside for working on the teachers’ farms and cutting the grass lawns or weeding the gardens. That was the practice left behind by the early missionaries and their teachers. The same exercise had endured until our own time. It was an acceptable norm that could not be cut off or stopped.

It had rained heavily during the weekend, and all pots and containers for catching and storing water were filled to