WHEN UMUCHU ANCESTORS VISIT AT CHRISTMAS

Every Christmas, My hometown Umuchu swiftly takes the shape of a fascinating mosaic of activities. Families forced apart by ingrained quest for survival that has scattered us all across diverse geographies often reunite in the village. Parents give their children out in marriage under the gaze of elders and keepers of the people’s mores. Illustrious sons and daughters come together to undertake development projects and often scholarship to youngsters who hold some promise. Age old disputes are resolved and the building bricks of peace are freshly laid.

However, newly completed and tastily furnished homes are opened. The coronation of ozo and chieftaincy titles is given to men of calibers by the Igwe on the Ofala festival. And when you see a cloud of dust spiral upwards in the distance or hear the boom-boom of cannons, don’t panic; it is Christmas in Umuchu.

 I have to say this, Umuchu is the best place to be at Christmas because everyone is happy and everyone smiles at you even though hostility belongs to a different time and age. And this is why our ancestors choose to visit at Christmas too. Yes, they return to us, but not in the shape we knew them. They come as masked spirits or masquerades. Sometimes, they are flamboyant as Ijele. And other times, they return with the wretched outlook that had marked their prior existence on earth as humans.

 There are colourful masquerades and also dour ones whose very appearance evokes the dread of poverty and misery. Then, there are some who cry a bemusing sneer that seems to indict us for not behaving any better than we did when they left us.

Whichever way they choose to manifest, it is interesting to see that they love visiting at Christmas. Driving through Nkwo Umuchu last Christmas, during the uku and Osete Day festival, I came across many of them. Each time I wound down the window to hand out a naira note, I gazed into their wise eyes to see if any of them had my grandfather’s eyes. I wondered if he has come back as the benign spirit which smiled at me in the ntunye omu uku or the mmonwu igba masquerade  that danced at Umugama Day. Whichever way grandfather may have chosen to reconnect with us, I was certain he wasn’t the masquerade I saw in one of the neighboring towns, with the thick smoke curling out of its head, including fiendishness and silent magic that keep people at arm’s-length.

How I wish though, that grandfather would return as Ezeugo, (mmonwu Cameroun of Osete day) with its mystic aura. I would love him then in more ways than I did when he lived among us.

I have to say this though; I am intrigued by their growing interest to visit at Christmas these days. I am intrigued at the fading line between certain aspects of our rich cultural heritage and a more tolerant Christianity. Perhaps in time, we would be better able to know what to throw away from our past and what to keep.

Compiled by

Stanley Chilota Nwosu