African Folklore: The Story Grandma Told Me

By Patricia Itohan Aina Ph.D and Raymond Aaron

"Have you ever thought of exploring or understanding the diversity of cultures? If yes. Then this is the book for you."

The book is about growing up in a typical African traditional setting. Insight is thrown into the cultural dictates that made the typical African child. The ways of transfer of a sense of conduct which influenced the lifestyle, and provided a way of response to life situations. This teaching is shown through the stories, cultural practices, cultural beliefs, taboos, and myths shared by a desperate grandmother with her young grandchild.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781772775006

Book preview

Introduction

This book is about growing up in a typical African traditional setting. It reflects the cultural dictates that made the typical African child; the teachings that are expected to build the person and the personality; to have tenacity, morals, strength of character and body, dedication and hard work. The narrates, stories, beliefs, traditions and culture are shared by a grandmother with her young grandchild. The setting is an African village community in the 1950s and early 1960s. The reader will be:

•Well informed, educated to appreciate the values of the typical traditional African culture regardless of the age, culture, belief or religious inclination;

•Able to learn important life lessons, as well as gain any character traits that might be resonate with the reader;

•Allowed to experience the ways a society develops a sense of moral behavior in its youth; and children, can learn from this rich heritage which provides both a window into other cultures, and a mirror that allows viewers to reflect more clearly on aspects of their own culture.

•Helped to appreciate other traditional cultures and explore new ways of seeing the world, and of interpreting why people do what they do.

•Served to communicate morals and traditions to the young in preparation of life’s obstacles.

Chapter 1

Leaving the City for the Village

Coming out of your comfort zone is tough in the beginning, chaotic in the middle, and awesome in the end …. because in the end, it shows you a whole new world.

—Manoj Arora

1

The Announcement

The day still remains vivid in my mind. That bright, chilly December morning, with the dry, cold wind blasting its way through the city, when I packed my little life possessions to go and live with my paternal grandmother in the village. We all called her Iye, a shortened word for Iyenokhua, the native translation for grandmother. For how long I was going to live with her, I did not know. All I was told by Daddy and Mummy was that I was leaving to live with her, to keep her company. Little did I know that the experience was going to be a major transformation in my life. It was to be a meeting with my long-hidden desire to get to know the bare roots of life in the typical cultural setting: the practices, the beliefs, the taboos, the myths and the code of conduct. It was to be a deep insight and better understanding of the culture, exposing everything that made life intriguing in the serene natural environment of a typical African village.

My parents had just returned from visiting my grandmother. This has always been the practice, except that it became more often after Grandpa passed on a little more than a year ago.

The visits were now more frequent; they visited her every month, and the preparation was now more elaborate. Daddy had to buy gifts for every aunty and every uncle in the village. Mummy went as far as buying textiles for the ladies and agbada for the men. Agbada is a flowing, wide-sleeved, traditional garment worn by men. The little children in the neighboring homes were not left out. Candies, coconut-sugars, biscuits and fizzy drinks were some of the popular treats she bought for them. That is the culture of the natives. You gave gifts out, even to those outside the household. Gifts are given to all those who welcomed you.

On their return trips, Mummy brought plenty of local traditional foodstuffs, most of which she gave out to her friends in the city, and kegs of freshly tapped palm wine drink, and locally processed tobacco for Daddy and his friends. These may also be gifts received from the local indigenes reciprocating their gestures to them. This was typical of the people as well.

The prelude to the announcement of my going to live with my grandma, was hearing Mummy and Daddy talk in hushed voices all through the previous night. The discussion must have taken quite some time, because when I accidentally woke up in the dark, I could still hear them talking. Mummy sounded reluctant, and Daddy was doing a lot of explaining.

Well, that was not the first time that Daddy and Mummy had gotten into deep talks, except that this was unusually long. What did that matter to an eight-year-old child?

Ours was a closely knit family, full of laughter, joy and discoveries. We are eight in the family, with two boys and four girls. It could reasonably be classified as a middle-class, urban elite family. Daddy had this German-made car that had been in the family long before I was born, I was told. The car was still quite strong; at least, it took daddy everywhere.

Mummy was a petty trader. She traded in virtually anything sellable. Mummy would trade in corn during the corn season; she would trade in textiles, close to the annual festivals, when the demand for textiles was high. She has had to travel to bigger cities far away to get these textiles for sale during such seasons. Mummy would also make us sell freshly fried buns in the nearby office complex. Mummy was very industrious and creative. Maybe she took after her mother- in-law, Iye. The typical African woman was known to be hardworking and industrious.

The bomb was dropped after our late evening family dinner together. We had all finished eating; it was time for the usual chatty talk, when Daddy or Mummy would normally engage us in small talk. Daddy adjusted his seat, as he would do when about to make a very important announcement. He cleared his throat and, after a few seconds, allowing Mummy time to refill her glass with water, he made the mind-blowing announcement.

Mummy and I have decided to send one of you to live with Grandma in the village.

We were all shocked. We all readjusted our seats in unison. Others pulled their dining chairs far back, because we were not expecting this. Little Tinyan, the baby of the family, jumped in her seat. Igbin, my eldest brother and the oldest child in the family, was the first to speak. He had returned home on holiday a week earlier, from the boarding school where he spent most of his time.

What? Why go live in the village? What would we be doing there?

My reaction was not different from the others. My mouth was wide open, but I was not uttering a single word. I just could not get any words out. That was very much unlike me. I was the one in the family who was known to be very talkative and assertive. I was always quick to talk, and I would ask questions most often, and reasonably. Daddy always said I took after him. On this particular occasion, I was dumbfounded. I could not think, nor could I make any verbal expressions.

I should have seen it coming: that night of unusual long discussion between Daddy and Mummy; the need to attend to Grandma’s needs; the fact that she had been living alone in the three-bedroom home she had shared with Grandpa for more than 60 years; the need for a companion and support; the trip taking about 4–5 hours, if the weather was clement; and the mechanic working fast enough to get the car fixed.

Did I also hear them say something about sending one of the grandchildren to stay with Grandma? No. Definitely not. That, I did not quite remember.

I was virtually lost in my thoughts. After what seemed like a very long wait, Daddy’s next words bounced me back to the harsh reality. It had been decided between them that I should go live with Grandma! To which Mummy, to my shock, nodded, affirming her support and approval.

After gathering enough strength to utter a word, all I found myself saying was, Why me? Why me? with tears streaming down my face uncontrollably, and stamping my feet hard on the wooden floor.

It is not fair; it is not fair. If someone must live with Grandma, then let all six of us go live with her.

This was to the amazement of my five siblings. I can still picture the excitement on Osas’s face. Osas is my immediate older brother; he is older by two years, and was always on my case. He made me cry so often with his pranks. On this special day, he stuck out his tongue at me, and followed that with a nod in support of the decision Daddy and Mummy had made. I wasn’t surprised at his reaction because we were always on each other’s case. Daddy always said we were like cat and rat. Whatever that meant was no longer of any relevance to me. The issue was that the decision had been made; I was the chosen one to live with Grandma.

I later got to know from Mummy, who visited us in the village routinely, that of all my siblings, Osas missed me the most, after I left to live with Grandma. Could it have been because he no longer had anyone to play his pranks on, or to do his Tug of War with? No, No. I missed him the most also, of all the lot. He brought out the tomboy traits in me, and he made me laugh a lot when he made those funny faces of his.

The answer to my question, Why me? was later provided by Daddy, who explained that it was because I was Grandma’s favorite grandchild.

"She will be particularly glad to have you come live with her; after all, she always