Chapter Eleven (The Grey Wedding Pt. 1)
African Surrealist Fiction
Anyi woke early on the day of his sister’s wedding. It was not the first wedding in the family, but it was the first he could remember witnessing. When the one before this had occurred, he had just about seen five rains, maybe four. His memory of the event was at best a blur. This one was different, with him being old enough to call himself a man, even if only a fresh initiate.
As tradition dictated, what was going to end up a feast of goat meat, dance, and palm wine drinking, had started many moons before this very day. In the beginning of the beginning, one could say it started with his older sister, Isioma, sneaking out of their obi to be with Eziokwu, the boy from down the street that played the opi flute so well the elders joked that perhaps he had two mouths. Anyi knew that their father was wise to Isioma’s supposed clandestine operations. Nnanyi who could kill his game by ear alone could surely hear the doors creak when the moon was high and all asleep. But as the saying went - it is not everything seen by the eyes that should be spoken with the tongue. After all, how else was she ever going to find a man to marry her if she was imprisoned in an obi where most would rather die than face her father’s piercing gaze.
Isioma visited this young man at first once or twice in a moon, and then later it became a weekly affair, sometimes even creeping to take two or three days of the week. It was like this until her mother, the first wife, made a joke. It happened one morning when Isioma burnt the akara she was making, sleeping by the firewood.
‘Hmm, perhaps you will sleep better in Eziokwu’s house. I hear he plays a good tune that soothes the chi.’
The other women laughed and Nnanyi was in earshot too. Isioma watched him with large eyes, waiting for some kind of admonition.
‘It is better to stop running close to walls in the dark, tell that boy that we do not take kindly to rats in this house. He must come and let his intentions be known. There shall be no tapping or harvesting from trees he has neither planted or paid for.’
It was all Nnanyi would say on the matter, and for anyone that knew him and cared to listen - it was already too much. Shortly after the remark, a visit ensued.
The inyo-uno visit was one of strategic importance in Ogbi tradition, even if to the uninitiated, it appeared to be just another rite of passage with no inherent meaning besides having an excuse to drink and eat kola nuts. As was customary for this visit, the groom would be led by an older man, his father if he were still alive, and they would come with strong drink and kola to see the woman’s father. It was believed that a young man was far too irresponsible to be given a wife, hence he needed an older man to receive the woman on his behalf and stand as a guarantor that the woman would be treated well. In essence, the Ogbi’s believed it was the man’s father who married the wife on behalf of his son.
On the inyo-uno visit for Isioma, Eziokwu’s father had come with kai-kai so strong it stank out the hut, and kola so bitter no child could bite it with a straight face. They were welcomed into the master obi, and they were served catfish pepper soup to help with their drinking. On the first day, they spoke of politics, the appearance of more pig-men in the kingdom, the orientation of the Eke youths, and tales of wars and times gone by. Anything but about marriage. Even a hint of it would have been a rude thing to utter.
A second visit followed a few weeks later, and again, it was a meeting of men to discuss things that had nothing to do with marriage. This time the visit lasted longer, carrying on deep into the night and leaving all attendees of drinking age in a staggering state. Still, not a word about why they were there. Anyi who was now well on the journey to manhood could drink, but no more than a cup or two. He has not yet earned the right to be drunk, but he had to start preparing his head and tongue. When the guests were gone, he teased Isioma about her bride price and Eziokwu’s apparent shyness. She laughed and he laughed, and everyone around laughed.
And then, there was a third visit. Like with each visit, the eldest in the room was to speak a prayer to the ancestors - mostly asking for long life, good health and good fortune in the face of tragedy. After the necessary incarnations, libation was poured, and then a younger person like Anyi would be given the kai-kai jar to share into horns and bamboo cups. This is how it started on this third visit, and it was going as it usually did, with talks of the next New Yam festival in the air before Anyi’s father cleared his throat to garner special attention.
‘Ermm, Ikechi, father of Eziokwu, once you have brought wine and I have drank without question. Twice you have brought wine and I have drank without question. Now again, for a third time, you bring wine again.’
The room was silent, eyes looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Anyi’s father continued.
‘They say the man that does not ask why he is offered wine will eventually drink with men that have come to marry his wife, so may I ask. Have you come to marry one of my wives?’
Eziokwu’s father clicked his fingers, ‘mmba nu, alu - no way, abomination.’ The theatre of it all amused Anyi. This is because he knew his father had already conducted the process of iju ese - the tracing of a family’s lineage to uncover if they were honourable and what medical and spiritual conditions were common in the bloodline. The presence of madness for example was a red flag, suicides and murders were frowned upon as was theft and other such acts that brought shame to a name. Nnanyi had sought the answers to all these and more, quizzed the young man and his father on their position on many issues to get a sense of their family ethos, and still, he pretended like he was clueless as to the reason for their visits.
‘We do not come to marry your wife, but we do not come only to drink wine and eat kola.’
Eziokwu did not speak, rather, his father spoke on his behalf. He was, after all, only a young man - not mature enough to deal in matters of marriage which aimed to join two families together.
‘Okay, at least I can carry on drinking knowing that my wives are safe, perhaps it is my obi you want. This land will cost you more than a few barrels of strong drink.’ Nnanyi took a large swig and placed his empty horn on the wooden stool before him.
‘No no no, it is not land we have come for, we do not even have enough hands to harvest our farms.’ The man now looked at Nnanyi as he spoke, ‘perhaps you have an extra hand for us that will bear other extra hands.’
‘Hmmm,’ Nnanyi lips curved downwards and Isioma walked in to place a fire on the torch holder. She was gone as soon as she had arrived. It was taboo for her to listen into these conversations and the silence she was greeted with was enough warning to convey this.
‘So you know that I too have a large farm and all the hands I can get are important. Surely, you do not hope to reduce my harvest to grow your own.’
‘We would never do such, mmba.’
‘So I ask you again, why are we drinking strong drink?’ Nnanyi asked, ‘you may call your purpose by name so that it is clear.’
‘Ermm,’ Eziokwui’s father pondered, ‘we are here because we have seen a great tree in your farm, and we wish to harvest it.’
‘Interesting, so you wish to reap where you have not sown.’
‘We are prepared to pay the price.’ the man stated.
There was silence, and smiles masked with the theatre of custom and tradition.
‘Okay, at least you are not possessed by greed or laziness. So I will have to ask, what tree do you speak of - there are many in this house. Beans that is barely germinated, mature oak trees rooted deep in the earth, and beautiful hibiscus flowers just about to bloom.’ Nnanyi paused, ‘and perhaps I should ask, who do you even wish to make this harvest for? Yourself, or your son you have brought with you.’
‘Ahh, Nnanyi,’ Eziokwu’s father was quick to reply, ‘I fear that I am now too old to harvest the fruit we have come for. My waist has since lost its oil and now such work is only for the young. It is my son Eziokwu that will be tending and harvesting. I am only here because someone must guide him and I am his father.’
Nnanyi filled his cup with more kai-kai and Anyi poured himself a second round of palm wine. It was still sweet, suggesting a freshness that meant it was not strong - nothing like the fermented kai-kai that attracted flies that died when they fell into a cup.
‘And the young man, have you trained him in the ways of a farmer?’ Nnanyi asked.
‘He has trained a sheep, nursing it from infancy till the horns were strong.’
In Eke, there was a saying that the man that could not raise a goat or sheep had no business taking a wife. It was believed that patience, tenderness, thoughtfulness and other such requirements for nursing an animal from infancy to adulthood was a necessity for any man hoping to put a woman under his roof.
‘Very well, I have heard you.’ Nnanyi was final in his tone, ‘let us carry on drinking. I will meet with my kinsmen and we shall decide what is owed for the harvest you seek.’
With that, they returned to drinking and the topic of harvesting did not come up again. Rather they spoke of recent news from the town crier - about the establishment of the pig-men spelling schools in forbidden forests and how they had begun to convince even some of the wisest to bring their children to be educated in the ways of their Xrist and God. When the last drop of kai-kai was done, the fresh palm wine had only lost two cups to Anyi. The jar would be sealed for later fermentation, but for now, the guests had to be seen off. Anyi and his father bade them well, and so the wedding plans were well on the way.
Two whole moon passed before a date was fixed for the wedding celebrations. In this time, the kinsmen were met and many conversations ensued. In the end, a list of items was drawn up; goats, yams, red oil and even a barrel of fermented yam liquor. The groom and his family protested nothing. On the appointed day, dressed in their finest threads, appropriate caps and finely wooden carved walking sticks, they made their way to the bride’s father’s obi to fulfil the last rites.
Unlike before where the theatre was a close affair, this time, at least two kinsmen had to sit in for the bride’s family, and two witnesses for the groom. How else was it supposed to be known that all the customs had been followed. For the most part, music played in the compound and guest sat on chairs, roots of plants, and stools too. Until the dowry was settled on, it was not even believed that the marriage had taken place. For all Eziokwu and his family knew, their tender could have been rejected and they would not be able to complain much. Of course, this was never the case, but it was a fun to bargain.
‘Nnanyi, so we have finally come to harvest hat plant as we discussed earlier. We have brought the things you asked for too.’
Nnanyi pretended to be unimpressed, bending his lips and crinkling his nose knowing well his daughter was already getting adorned in the required attire.
‘So you have brought food and drink for my kinsmen, but what have you brought for me - to show that you understand the worth you claim from my house.’
There was silence, the drums and flute from outside the hut flowing in uninterrupted.
‘Ehh,’ Eziokwu’s father started, ‘you will tell us what you want. But first, can we see the one that we have come for. You know, they say if one does not ask well, he parts with another man’s wife after paying for a daughter.’
Laughter found the room and Anyi smiled too.
‘Very well then, but be warned, the smile on your son’s face will be used to set a price.’
More laughter followed.
‘Anyi, go and tell them it is time to come.’ Nnanyi instructed.
Anyi lept into action, leaving the room and meandering through the crowd to reach the obi where the women waited - his sisters, his mother, the other wives, and even some female family friends. All were dressed for the occasion, but none was adorned more than the bride to be. Her akwa ocha wrapper cloth was the whitest a white could dream. Her lips painted dark, her hair threaded into a crown of beads. In all of Anyi’s life, he had never seen her like this - even her skin shone like she had been soaked in honey.
‘Nnanyi says it is time.’
‘Oya go back, we are coming.’ Anyi’s mother shooed him away immediately.
He returned to find the men still talking. At the centre of the table an unbroken kola nut rested, a short knife by its side on the plate it sat in. There was a jar of palm wine too, untouched while the others in skin bags and small drums got emptied. It wasn’t long after Anyi took his seat in the corner before the sound of a talking drum could be heard.
‘They are here.’
First came the first wife, dancing her way into the room with a large waist swaying to the beat of the drum. Her face was covered with a piece of cloth. After all, a man that could not tell his wife in the dark could not claim to love her, because how could he be sure he was impregnating the right woman when the time had come. All the women and even the girls would be appearing with their faces hidden. This tradition was particularly tricky when the bride had a twin. Thankfully, this was not such a case.
‘Is this the one you want?’ Nnanyi asked.
’Tufia! Alu!’ Eziokwu’s father and his entourage clicked their fingers. ‘Madu adahi anu nne ya.’ One man said - a man cannot marry his mother. The room laughed, and the first wife shuffled her way out for he next. Next was small Ozi, in her tiny wrapper cloth that wrapped her tiny self.
‘Ahh, okwa ndi oshi na asi, ma ocha bute, ma o’charo bute. It is the thief that asks to eat, whether the fruit is ripe of not. The good man knows to wait. We don’t want this one.’
Again, more laughter followed.
Next was a sister, one young enough to pass for the bride, but not quite Isioma. The groom and his men allowed her to dance for a little longer, conferring within themselves as if in real doubt as to the identity of the dancer. At last they riased their heads up.
'Nka amaka, kama ofolu ofu nfu oku. Oburo nke anyi. This one is good oh, but it needs to stay on the firewood just a little longer. It is not our own.'
'Are you sure?' Nnanyi asked.
‘We are very sure.’ Eziokwu’s father responded.
All this while, Eziokwu had not spoken a word to Nnanyi or the kinsmen. He had no authority to. He could only speak to his father who could speak on his behalf. After all, it was the father the bride was to be given to as head of the family she was being married into. Eziokwu was merely a caretaker. As Nnanyi had explained to Anyi, marriage was really about the joining of families, through the bonds of extended kinship. While the wife is given to a young man that acts as the master of the land they will live on, diokapala, the man’s father still acts as guardian, responsible for his son’s treatment of the wife should a case be taken to the elders for settling. This way, the onus was on the man to train his son in a manner that would not bring shame to his name before the elders. And should the bride pass away, only with her families permission could she be buried in her marital home. If not she was to be brought back and laid to rest in her father’s compound. This was rare, but a tradition of great symbolism letting the woman know that even in death, she had a home in her father’s house.
‘We do not take dowry to sell a daughter,’ Nnanyi had said, ‘any woman is free to return to her father’s house at any time, and if the man wishes to marry her again, he will pay yet another dowry after the first has been returned. She is not his property to do as he pleases. She is a human being, not goat or chicken.’
The talking drum rang louder when the bride swayed in, and Eziokwu’s face betrayed whatever composure he was hoping to hold.
‘This is the one.’ He blurted.
‘Tah!’ and elderly kinsman shouted, ‘you think you can talk here. When you haven’t paid for anything. In fact, we are adding more cowries to your fee.’
‘He couldn’t even hold it in.’ Nnanyi added.
The men laughed.
‘Oya, go go go.’ Anyi’s father dismissed his daughter. ‘now that we have seen that this young man likes good things, let us see if he is willing to pay the price.’
They argued over cowries, drinking and eating until the sun was finally about to go down. This too was customary. In the end, Nnanyi accepted five cowries, each for every finger on a hand. In Eke, there was no stated amount and hence fathers generally charged what was symbolic to them. Now that the dowry had been concluded, it was time for the celebration to really begin.
‘Eziokwu, welcome to my family.’ Anyi’s father greeted.
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