FROM GENESIS TO PHOENIX

By

Oyet Ugbana

The journey of a thousand miles

Begins with one step

In March last year I went home to Calabar to bury my mother, the late Princess Eke Effiom Tete of the Royal family of Effiom Umo Effiom Tete of the division of Duke Town. Everyone believes his or her mother is the greatest, and I am no exception to the rule. I loved my mother dearly and to me she was the greatest woman that ever lived and I am yet to meet anyone that compares to her.

My mother had been ill since for some time, but it was in 1996 after we had moved to the UK that she had a proper diagnosis. Her illness first manifested itself as swelling in her feet, it seemed her feet were full of fluid. The doctor’s prognosis was that it was a liver problem. In the end the cause of her death was never explained, however the incidences that led to her death are as follows: on the Friday she had a fall and went unconscious; no-one knows for how long because she was alone in the house at the time. She was eventually taken to a clinic and checked over; by the Sunday evening the doctor was satisfied with her recovery and planned to discharge her on the Monday morning. My uncle went home to make arrangements for her to be collected from the clinic. However, very early on the Monday morning the clinic phoned to report that my mum’s condition had deteriorated, and she died later that morning.

While I was in Calabar I pleaded with the women in the family and those who came to help with the cooking and preparations that they should make ekpang nkwukwo for me. Ekpang nkwukwo is my favourite dish, it is a very popular dish in the Calabar area, it is made from grated coco-yams wrapped in tender coco-yam leaves and cooked with traditional herbs and spices, dried and smoked fish, peri-winkles, prawns and of course a "healthy" amount of palm oil. Just writing about it makes my mouth water. Those who have eaten ekpang nkwukwo will know what I’m talking about. To those of you who are yet to enjoy it, I advise you to visit Calabar as soon as you can or marry a Calabar woman; but make sure you ask for ekpang nkwukwo or else you could end up with ayan ekpang which is quite a different dish. The last time I had ekpang nkwukwo was when my mother prepared it for me in Liverpool, seven years previously.

So eventually I prevailed on my brother’s girl friend and she agreed to prepare ekpang nkwukwo for me. I remember how when I was only a child and we lived in the industrious town of Bonny bordered by the mighty Atlantic ocean I used to sit in our kitchen eating ekpang nkwukwo and watching the oil tankers journey past through the kitchen window as they made their way to America. My mum was a great cook and I remember always eating everything in my plate and then I would start to scrub the plate with my finger until the plate was clean and shining. I would then go to the dining room where my mum and dad and their guests sat to eat, and say, "Thank you ‘sister’, your food is very delicious". In those days we called my mother ‘sister’, at that time I didn’t know exactly why we called her sister, but I think it was because she was the oldest daughter in her family, Nne Adiaha was her pet name. Anyway, I called her sister because that was what everyone else called her, it did not occur to me at that time that I should call her mummy; I just did what everyone else was doing without asking why.

My brother’s girlfriend agreed to cook ekpang nkwukwo for us, but she did not just cook a simple meal she organized a veritable banquet. The venue was our friend’s luxurious residence with their own private pool; you know one of those expensive new apartments in Calabar. I thank God that ordinary man like me fit come enjoy and chop like big man.

We all gathered at this golden rendezvous, my two brothers, our distinguished hostess Effie, our excellent "wife-to-be" Ida, her friend Edna, my brothers’ friends, Edi, Alhaji and Edema (not their real names). I cannot stop thanking Effie and Ida for that evening. The first course was pepper soup, that pepper soup was serious. Even my brother who used to eat fresh pepper raw from the plant could not handle it, but I drank all the pepper soup. They were calling me "Americana" because I haven’t visited home for some time, but I showed them "I no be gentleman at all, I be Africa man original".

After the pepper soup came the moment we’d all been waiting for, even before the house girl walked into the parlour to serve us, the room was filled with the mouth-watering aroma of ekpang nkwukwo. I must confess my appetite was very whet. I could eat a whole mountain of ekpang nkwukwo that night. It was better than Christmas. It had been seven years since I last tasted my favourite dish. It was more than good. It brought back memories of my mother and the days when we lived in Bonny.

Although my plate was piled higher than mount Everest I was determined to finish it, and when I tasted the first mouthful I knew I could not let any escape. My brother was a lucky man, his girlfriend "wife-to-be" could cook, she could cook seriously. "A good wife who can find, she is more precious than gold", this one certainly was. Ol boy, marry that girl o, don’t let her get away.

Our hefty meal was washed down with cold bottles of Star followed by brandy. My mother used to say "never talk with your mouth full" and also "don’t chew with your mouth open"; so how we managed to carry on in depth discussion, analysis and evaluation of everything from the funeral arrangements, the war in Iraq, GSM, NEPA and of course the situation in our mother land Nigeria, I can only put down to human ingenuity.

We all agreed that the situation in Nigeria was critical, that although the government had made some token superficial improvements like GSM and repairing a few roads in Calabar, these were barely scratching the surface; the key issues have not yet been addressed. The most keenly felt of the pains and pangs affecting the majority of young Nigerians were unemployment and the high interest rates. Unemployment was relegating a whole generation of Nigerians to the scrap head, many were turning to quick fix solutions like crime and 419, and others just wanted to check out by all means necessary. The high interest rates meant enterprising Nigerians who wanted to improve their business or start a new venture could not afford to borrow from the banks hence many businesses were failing, others were ailing and simply hanging on, employee wages were paid late and in many cases payment was deferred, indefinitely in some cases.

Our conversation was very lively, in fact it got very heated; we soon had two opposing schools of thought. My brother and I maintained that the situation in Nigeria is critical and change is inevitable, our friends countered that the situation was not just critical but beyond redemption, any talk of change was pointless, they argued there was no hope for Nigeria. Nigeria, they said, is Army Arrangement, soldier come soldier go, soldier come soldier go; nothing would ever change. The fact that some of the ‘soldier’ were retired soldiers or cronies of soldiers made no difference.

We argued that change was inevitable and pointed to examples of similar situations in world history – the Renaissance and Reformation in Europe, the French Revolution, the Russian Revolution, the People’s Republic of China, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the fall of Communism in the former Soviet Union, the end of Apartheid in South Africa, and of course here at home, the independence of Nigeria and more recently the ousting of Babangida, the coup from heaven against Abacha and the eventual return to ‘civilian’ government. We argued that change was inevitable and in fact that change was coming. My brother added that change was coming very soon. Little did I realize how right he was.