Tales of Jideofor

By Farastein Mokwenye

Could life be but a dream within a dream?

 

Tales of Jideofor is a work of historical fiction set in the 18th century at the zenith of the transatlantic slave trade. It follows the life of a young lad, Jideofor, from Il

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tamarind Hill Press
• Release date: Jul 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781915161826

Farastein Mokwenye

Farastein Mokwenye is a Nigerian freelance writer, budding entrepreneur, agriculturist, and orator. He had graduated from the department of chemical engineering at the prestigious Federal University of Technology, Owerri, before delving into writing, agro-business, and internet startups.He is an avid reader of philosophical articles and books that pertain to spirituality, the nature of reality, and the purpose of life. Farastein spent a substantial amount of time researching and digesting reports on dreams, death and the afterlife, as well as traditional African beliefs on these subject matters, which are well incorporated into the storyline of Tales of Jideofor. An indigene of Illah, Farastein is quite familiar with the folklores, history, and traditional beliefs of his people, which feature brilliantly in the current story.

Book preview

Tales of Jideofor

By Farastein Mokwenye

For the millions who were stolen from their homes in Afrika.

Published in 2022 by Tamarind Hill Press

Copyright © Farastein Mokwenye 2022

Farastein Mokwenye asserts his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication, may be reproduced, stored in a retrievable system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the permission of the author and copyright owner.

ISBN Paperback: 978-1-915161-81-9

ISBN eBook: 978-1-915161-82-6

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Nwazodoni Samuel Ifechukwude

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Tamarind Hill Press Limited

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Prologue

"Row, row, row your boat; gently down the stream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily; life is but a dream."

– an old English nursery rhyme

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PART ONE: Afrika, My Afrika

Chapter 1

Jideofor stared at his new thatch roof as he laid on his wooden bed. He could not sleep; he did not want to. He had been tossing and turning throughout the night, not exactly because he was uncomfortable in his new hut, but because he was afraid, afraid of his dreams. One in particular. He had been haunted for a few nights now by this strange recurring dream. Sleep had become a recent torment where he would wake up sweating and anxious.

It was not difficult to recall the specifics of his nightmare, unlike other dreams which would normally fade off from memory in the morning. This dream was quite different. It was as vivid and colourful as everyday reality, more like real life than a dream. In this dream, he always found himself in the middle of the thicket of what he adjudged to be the forbidden forest, being forced on a helpless march through the dense, dark jungle. It was not a dream one could forget.

Ifeoma and Chijioke must be fast asleep by now, Jideofor thought to himself. His recurring nightmare had started when he moved into his personal hut, just some few days ago. He had been recently initiated into the masquerade cult for adolescent males in his little hamlet of Ukwumege, and by tradition, was required to have his own room for his privacy as the first son of his father and as the diokpala. A young man was less inclined to commit the abomination of divulging the secret of the masquerades to women or uninitiated younger males when he slept alone or with other initiated males. Being the first heir of his father, Jideofor was to build this hut where his brothers would join him later after their own initiation ritual. He had built his hut with the aid of his friends, cousins, and other members of his age group, supervised by his father and uncles.

His new palm frond thatch roof was still green and made his room smell funny. The fibres of banana stem on his raised bed did not exactly provide the cushion they were intended for. His wooden pillow made matters worse. His neck was arched at an awkward angle that ensured he would wake up sore. Although he was expected by his small society to be happy, this expectation had little correlation to his present reality. He felt anxiety instead of contentment. His younger playmates envied him, as he was to be regarded as a young man by all and sundry, completely responsible for his decisions and ready to contribute his own quota to the progress of Ukwumege and all of her sister communities.

Sincerely, he envied his younger ones who still had to cuddle together on the woven mat by the foot of their parents’ bed, listening to their father’s loud snore. Although they were just a few metres apart in the adjoining hut, Jideofor still felt all alone. He was a man now, and he had to face his fears like he did during his initiation ceremony to the masquerade cult. He was not exactly afraid of the dark or of sleeping alone. He had always been a moody child and preferred his own company. It was something else.

His fear and the consequent nightmares had begun the evening he had gone down to Ma azi Oboli’s compound with his younger siblings and playmates, like they had always done almost every sunset since he could remember. They had gone to listen to the fables and folklores of the people from the oldest man in their clan—the Iyàsé of Ukwumege. That evening, he had told them of the story of Ikweano and the people of the small hamlet of Òsu Obodo. It was not exactly a new story; everyone in the nine sister communities that made up the settlement of Illah grew up with this tale. Every child grew up with warnings to avoid the forbidden forests bordering the banks of the great Oshimili river. Hunters could only tread through after their initial sanctification by the community medicine man and oracle—the village dibia. The medicine men themselves, being the only other class of society who ventured that far away into the jungle. It was a place for the beasts and spirits of the forest.

In the historical lore that had been passed down for several generations, Ikweano was the ill-fated founder of Òsu Obodo. This was the little hamlet on the opposite bank of Oshimili, separated from the nine other sister communities that made up the city-state of Illah by the mighty Oshimili and the lush forbidden forests that laid on the opposite banks of the river. Ikweano had committed an abomination; he had been in the village farms that led deeper into the forbidden forests after sunset.

Only witches, àmòsu, were said to visit the farms after sunset or on an Éké market day. These market days and odd hours of the day were reserved for the spirits of the forest who were considered the original inhabitants of the lands before they were claimed for the village farms by the ancestors of Illah people. Ikweano had not only been in the farms after sunset, but he was found by a hunter on the path that led deeper into the forbidden forest. He had been missing for two days until he was found half-conscious by the foot of some wild shrub, confused and murmuring words to himself.

According to the tale, Ikweano had forgotten his hoe at the village farms during the rush home as the clouds had gathered for a heavy downpour one evening. It was the most irresponsible mistake a farmer could make. "Igwe—the God of metal crafting, ingenuity, warfare, the voice of the heaven—did not drink water. For if He did, the blood of the slain would clot the shiny blades of His art," said the elders. Rust was a sign of misuse of the implements of Igwe; a high-priced sin that could cost a man his food, shelter, clothing or even his life. Ikweano knew he had to get his hoe before the downpour began. He knew his new hoe would tarnish rapidly if drenched and decided, against the traditions of Illah people, to brave the storm to retrieve it.

The specifics of what had happened to him in the farms are not exactly clear, as each sister hamlet have their own unique account of this tale. Some say he was struck by lightning during the downpour for trespassing, others say he had visited the realm of the spirits in the two days he had been missing where he was cursed. Cursed with the knowledge of things he should not know. He came back with  accurate accounts of stories that had happened way before he was born, which he could not have known. He seemed to be able to pry into the thoughts of individuals and dig up the past deeds they had done, something even the dibias could not achieve. A man’s thoughts are his own private and personal belongings after all. His new abilities alienated him from the rest of his kinsmen and society. Soon, all ill-happenings in the lands became associated with Ikweano who somehow knew details of them he should not have known.

It did not take too long before Ikweano was ostracized in one of the village councils, where the elders and the chief oracle of Illah, the Ézé mmuò, had adjudged him cursed for desecrating the communion of the spirits in the village farms. The recent bouts of windy storm that had destroyed several crops were blamed on him, and he was banished to the evil forest on the opposite bank of the Oshimili river, never to step foot into the lands of Ukwumege and all of Illah again. As the diokpala of his father who had once been a member of the Nze Elder chieftains when he was alive, Ikweano had been gifted some òsu, the accursed of society with whom he founded the Òsu Obodo community ages ago. Hence, his little abode had been nicknamed Òsu Obodo by indigenes of Illah, meaning "a settlement of outcasts—of òsu."

***

It would be Jideofor’s first day at the Ukwumege village farms tomorrow. As part of contributing his own personal quota to society, he had to own and tend to a farm. He was officially no longer a little kid. Unlike boys his age, he had never been to the farms to help out. His mother overpampered him, and would not allow him to accompany his father and uncles to the village farms like his cousins did theirs. Truth be told, he was not keenly interested in farming even though he was from an illustrious heritage of farmers. His father was a farmer, whose father before him was a farmer and so on, since Ukwumege had existed. He had a heavy reputation and status to uphold. He instinctively took a liking to studying the herbs and shrubs of the forest, and to studying the animals as well as the people to reveal more of their chi like the dibias of old, like his late maternal grandfather.

This was what made him anxious. He was having performance anxiety. He did not want to end up as a tale like Ikweano. A tale to discourage others from taking the path he had chosen. He understood the source of his fears, but still could not fathom how they translated into his strange nightmare.

Chapter 2

Jideofor woke up with heavy pangs of anxiety. It felt as if a stone was in his chest. Although he could not tell for how long he had been asleep, he knew it could not have been for very long. The moonlight was just beginning to stream into his hut through the door. He had slipped into slumber unprepared, disturbed by thoughts of his recurring dream and his performance tomorrow at the village farms. He had woken up breathing heavily, still facing the roof of his hut.

I have just exposed myself to these àmòsu. No wonder tonight’s dream was the strangest, Jideofor thought to himself. It was believed in Ukwumege that sleeping with one’s chest facing the roof made one overly vulnerable to the activities of witches. It was deemed best to sleep in the foetal position facing the entrance of one’s room to best protect oneself from enemies in the physical world and enemies from the world beyond, from the spiritual realm. Witches and ògbànjé themselves were believed to exit our physical world into the realm of the spirits, sleeping in this very position; face up to the roof.

His dreams that night were particularly weird. He did not wake up with only the memory of his chi in the jungle, as he had in previous dreams. He had been somewhere else and had heard the strangest sound that eventually led to the most bewildering view he had ever seen in his life. This view could only have been that of what he had heard the merchants who had been to the southern lands describe; that of the lake that marked the end of the land, the view of ocean. But I have never been outside the lands of Illah, how can I dream of a place I have never been? Why would I? Jideofor wondered to himself. He had always pondered, unlike most folks his age, how one could dream of an event that had never taken place, or dream of a place one had never been in real life. Everyone had had the awkward dream of falling from a tree, cliff or any high place. It always seemed very realistic until one woke up with a pounding heart. Yet, few bothered to wonder how they could dream of falling from a height they had never fallen from in reality.

He had been blessed since he could remember with the peculiar gift of being able to recall his dreams. His mother had once told him that it meant he was blessed with a unique chi; with the soul of a dibia. She had said the ògbànjé, àmòsu, and dibia all shared a peculiar ability; the ability to be conscious of their souls’ journey to the realm of spirits in night sleep. ‘Our chi always leaves our body in sleep to visit the realm of the spirits. These voyages are what we recall as dreams in the morning, but they are just as real as our world here. In fact, the activities of this realm precede events in our world. We are not meant to remember that there is a world above ours, a world we had once been citizens of. That’s why we always forget our dreams in the morning.

‘The ògbànjé, àmòsu, and dibia folks amongst us possess the keen ability to be aware of their chi in these journeys. The ability to control their actions and decisions in the spiritual realm of dreams. They are able to decide the fate of events in this our own world from this realm of spirits as a result of this awareness, as the activities of the spirit realm directly preceded events in this physical reality,’ his mother had once explained. She had added that his ability to remember his dreams was proof that he was a dibia. Knowledge of one’s dreams was proof that one was meant to remember one’s activities in the spirit realm, that one was aware of one’s soul.

Jideofor reminded his mother of her late father. Jideofor was just as light-skinned as he was—an ònyé Igbo. This was one of the reasons she was very fond of him. He was her first surviving child, and he was believed to be a reincarnation of his maternal grandfather. His two elder siblings had died at infancy. This furthered endeared him to his mother; that none of his siblings after him had died. She called him "Nna’m, meaning my father," and would refuse to cane him like his younger ones when she disciplined him. This was the reason she thought of him as a dibia like her own father. Jideofor was just as inquisitive and intuitive as he was, and both possessed the same interesting ability to recall their dreams. When Jideofor would complain to be taken along to the farms, she would reiterate that his fair complexion would burn off in the sun. Ònyé Igbo meant red person, which was used to denote light-skinned folks who had been under the sun for too long.

Tossing over to his side, and facing the entrance into his room, Jideofor was mesmerized by the moonlight streaming in. For a moment, it seemed as if he could hear the roar of the ocean from the distance. He sat up on his bed and stared into the bright night. He was back from his thoughts on dreams, witches, and the world of spirits. The light drew him outside and soon he found himself staring at the full moon and the stars.

‘The stars twinkling are our ancestors and the soul of the Universe winking at us through time. When we too die, we shall ascend up towards the stars to wink at those we’ve left behind, as the stars do. There, we’re to lead and guide those still in this world in their path of life, like the stars lead and guide the merchants and voyagers in their path,’ his mother had once told him. Being the daughter of a dibia, she was particularly enlivened with wisdom and the means to teach it simply.

Jideofor thought of Ikweano and his weird dream that would not go away. Is Ikweano too somewhere up there winking at me this night? he inquired at his consciousness. He had inherited his mother’s strong emotive nature, and this made him prone to strong bouts of fear as well as equal bouts of ecstasy. Presently, his mind was consumed by anxiety about his day tomorrow at the farms.

Hoot-Hoot! An owl went off in the distance. The owl, like most nocturnal animals, spelt a bad omen. In her explanation of dreams and where our chi went whilst we slept, his mother had  proceeded to explain how an àmòsu could possess animals and attack their enemies, all the while having their own body asleep. According to her, àmòsu folks are born with or learn the ability to control their chi when it left their bodies in sleep. They commune, hold assemblies, attack sleeping enemies, and possess the souls of nocturnal animals like wall geckos, rats, insects, bats, and the notorious owl, all from the realm of spirits that is somehow interwoven with our physical world.

Who knows what evil these ones are planning to commit? Leaving the jungles where owls hunt to human society, Jideofor thought to himself. He knew he had to slip back into his room. Tomorrow would be quite a day. He had to be well-rested by the early morning. He had to return to the land of dreams, no matter how much he was scared of it.

Chapter 3

Before the first cock crow, Jideofor’s paternal uncle, Ositadinma had come to rouse him from his sleep. Jideofor felt a little light-headed. He had not had enough sleep with his nightmares preoccupying  his helpless mind. It was a chilly morning in the dry season, the rains were just a few days away but the air was still crisp and cold. He quickly rubbed on the ointment his mother had prepared for him. She had made it from perfumed palm kernel oil. She had also woven a farmers’ hat from raffia palm fronds. She had done all she could to prepare her pampered Jideofor for his first day.

It was a daunting trek that chilly morning to the farms. The majority of his uncles and cousins felt his parents over-pampered