Tales of Aetiology - a review of Pamela Kola's 'East African When Stories'

One day, in a time of reasoning, a vulture, an eagle and a crow, took the initiative, formed a diplomatic triumvirate, and went to see the Hare. Hare? When did he get elevated? Whether he's Sungara of the Swahili, Kalulu of the Bembe or whichever culture has the hare as trickster, he's usually described with words such as cunning, shrewd, clever, manipulative, less so as wise! He's the consummate hustler. But in this tale - I don't know from which people in East Africa – he is a kind of advisor/oracle figure. But when you think about it, from all his manoeuvring and experiences, he must have gained a portion of wisdom along the way. Anyway, the three envoys go to see him in a time of flooding, when everything lived on the ground.

The preceding gives an insight into the first story – When Birds Began To Live In Trees – of a small collection of five, entitled East African When Stories. Tales of aetiology: original beginnings. The Caribs also have a 'when' story, around a flood and the animals, featuring Irraweka the monkey

When Death Began tells us of that infamous decree - when we first began to pass way - which is found throughout sub-Saharan Africa. As in other creation and death stories throughout those regions, the Chameleon is featured in this one. He appears in the Zulu death tale and the Yoruba creation story. Considering that the Yoruba are in West Africa and the Zulu in South Africa, is there an essay or monograph waiting to be written? About the preponderance of the chameleon, in the tales of first breath and the last. The stories of death often revolve around two messengers – one faster than the other – and an impatient God. The faster messenger is often the chameleon, or another lizard.

Then we have a tale of intended infanticide. About a well of salvation; the good spirits, who remind me of the Nunu, referring again to the Zulu; and as in many stories around the world, a prince who saves and marries her, in the story When People Stopped Killing Twin Girls.

As a lover of citrus, I was glad to read the next one, where the writer, Pamela Kola, had chosen a member of this family, the orange, to represent, in the tale, When People Began Growing Fruits. One of those tales that tell of honesty and the reward it brings. Wish the chosen member of the family had been lemon!

The first one began with a flood; the last, interspersed with song, tells of a famine. Its one of those stories about a domino effect and the results of the chain reaction: When The Guinea Fowl Stopped Living With People.

Because I've enjoyed this quintet, I look forward to reading other stories written by the author, published by the East African Educational Publishers, based in Nairobi.

For more on this book, see the African Books Collective

The Cowpea Chronicle: a review of The Adventures of Asuom by John B. A. Agandin

All over, they speak of Anansi: Ghana, Surinam, Jamaica, Grenada, other countries in the Greater and Lesser Antilles, as well as England, Holland and so on - so let me take this opportunity, to introduce you to his northern Ghanaian counterpart, Asuom. This hare deserves to be up there, alongside that more well known spider, in the super league of tricksters, that includes Mbe the Igbo tortoise. I encountered the manoeuvrings of Asuom, in a collection of ten stories, by John B. A. Agandin. After reading the first story, I got comfortable on the sofa and read the rest of them.

In the first story, we meet his dupe, Apiuk, the hyena of eternal victimhood; like Uncle Bouki in the Haitian folktales, always losing out to Ti Malice. Apiuk doesn't appear to have too many good ideas, but to agree to go into business with Asuom, has got to be one of the worst ones; their venture of boat and net, where only his partner ate the fish they caught!

In the tale that follows, we come across the first mention of the legume of the title, offering an insight into the Builsa culture, where these stories come from. Cowpeas, also known as black-eyed peas - an important crop of these people - is featured in two other tales. I thought only humans possessed the ''silver tongue'' - but Asuom does also! He easily persuades all the other animals to invest time and energy, in a farming collective. The results of their efforts, cowpeas and millet, are stored in two barns. As you've no doubt surmised, he eats all the produce, replacing it with Apiuk dung, so he gets the blame for the missing crops. Asuom had to work for that one though, trailing Apiuk for his waste!

Abosuk the viper, is the casulty of the third tale. Reptiles don't do to well in this collection, as in the next vignette, the victim is Ajimkpang the cobra.

Then we come to a story of wider West African telling, often based in a time of famine, when a character enters the belly of a cow or elephant, to cut meat for the hungry. I have read stories on this subject matter from countries such as Nigeria, Mali, Burkina Faso, Sierra Leone, Liberia, Gabon and throughout the Caribbean. In this case, it wasn't due to famine, but envy of the royal cattle, fat and edible. Once again, Apiuk doesn't come off too well.

Next up is a story of fried termites and baby crocodiles and Asuom wants them both. Its based around another recurring them in the oral traditions. That of the trickster offering to look after the children of a predator, while they go out hunting, so he can access his hidden agenda.

Number seven must rank amongst the most unique of the moonlight stories, as it features Akoluk, Mr Testicle. In one of the illustrations by Edmund Opare, we see a big scrotum, topped by a little head. It is one of the funniest stories, where Asuom experiences multiple death and resurrection and learns a lesson.

Next, the trickster comes up against his worthy opponent: Akalaasing the nightjar. He appears to be the only animal, able to match his portfolio of ploy and ruse. And this is a first for me, reading of this bird in African folklore. I've come across the hornbill of the Mongo and the crested curassow of the Caribs, but never a nightjar. Hare against the nightjar, who do you think wins? These two have another encounter in the penultimate tale and once again, I won't tell you the outcome!

The last one sees him at his unscrupulous worst, as he steals the food of a lonely old window, while her three sons Agoanaab, the buffalo, Ayauk, the elephant and Abiak the dog, confront him one after the other.

A lovely compilation, offering laughter and thought in equal amounts. Four of the stories have song content and there is a helpful glossary at the back. In the Note to the Reader, the author says ‘let them serve as a record of a people who love storytelling or once did’. I hope these and other stories of the Builsa will always be told, in Sandema and wherever people gather after twilight to listen.

I consider this – The Adventures of Asuom - one of the great trickster collections of recent times, alongside The Stories of Kulang Toat, by Weiral Baluang and Yoruba Trickster Tales by Oyekan Owomoyela.

You can find out more about this book at the African Books Collective website.

A Review of Caves of Nazimbuli, by Steve Chimombo.

As soon as I saw the title, I placed it on my list of books to review. For me, caves in African folklore mean first and foremost the Nunu. They are the beautiful little people of Zulu oral tradition who reside in caves and care for everyone with equal affection, human as well as animal. My second reason for requesting this book – The Caves of Nazimbuli - is that in the folklore section of my library (the largest section) I don't have much literature on the oral traditions of Malawi. I know of some of the people, such as the Chewa and Tumbuka, but not of their moonlight stories.

The writer, Steve Chimombo, begins by giving us an insight into Malawian childhood: the tasks of the morning, the girls' house, kuka; the boys' house, gowelo; and the most important figure to girls, after their mothers and grandmothers: the namkungwi, their facilitator to womanhood.

Then, there is the conversation that ignites the journey to the caves. Nansani discovers her sister Alinafe, who has been missing since the morning, in the kuka, chanting to a nephew Nansani had no idea she had! And what one has another desires, but quickly getting over her shock of the little one Nansani rapidly exits the house before hearing crucial guidance from the new mother.

Chanted

In too much of a hurry.

Patience went elsewhere:

You should have waited Nansani.

The second chapter, where her adventure commences, describes the geographical features of the region. We are told that the river Mzimundilinde was formed by the movement of a snake known as Napolo. Immediately, I thought of the folklore of the Chagga, where the tallest peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro were formed by the interaction between two giants - Kibo and Kimawanzi. The snake, demonised in Europe, often carries great significance in Africa as a talismanic and fertility figure. He meanders through the fireside stories too, such as Bida of the Sonninke, Arwe of the Amhara and the one killed by a prince in the stories of the Hausa.

Onward she goes, fearful of meeting the malevolent creatures of the forest, such as a dzimwe: a hyena ogre. Hyena monsters in the southern part of the continent were new to me, as I've only come across them in the Horn and Northern Africa, for example, the werehyenas of Ethiopia and Somalia, as well as the bouda of Sudan.

Nansani has an encounter with a water spirit, in the form of a frog, who hitches a ride on the shoulder of the traveller (the least she could do, after abusing him in their introductory chat). But she only took on the hitchhiker because she needed him as a guide to reach her destination quicker. Encounters with water spirits are usually a softer option than meetings with snakes; in folklore, the latter tend to be selfish and greedy (they are said to require an annual sacrifice) whilst the aqua people are usually kind and benevolent, like the Abantu Mamlambo of the Zulu tales.

Onward she goes, through Nyakalambo Forest: the forest of all and heartland of the healer, where all the herbs and roots can be found. Then another spirit appears, this time in the guise of an old and sickly woman, and once again Nansani's conversation carries words of offence.

Chanted

No cordiality,

Respect went elsewhere:

Should have spoken sweeter, Nansani.

In the third chapter, she reaches the caves of choice and wandering through them she meets again the old woman she left far below, realising that she's a nature spirit. After all, how could the decrepit one climb up the mountainside? And they speak. During the conversation the girl begins to learn, realising where she has erred. But as they say, the damage had been done; her impatience with her sister and rudeness to the water spirit and the old woman meant she never received guidance concerning the choice of pot, in which children have been hidden by the spirits. The pot she chose held a baby; horribly malformed.

Those she thought ugly – the old frog and the ancient woman - would have laid sweet stepping stones for her if she had shown them a little kindness. Initially horrified by the appearance of her choice, ''she almost dashed the baby against the wall.'' But she remembered her oath to the old woman, the Earth Goddess, to always love and care for the child, accepting him as he is as she should have accepted them.

The final chapter takes place back in the village, where everyone is mystified by the disappearance of both sisters, as the new mother, unbeknown to all, had followed the yearning one but was denied access to the cave. As they make their way back straight to the kuka, they are soon followed there by Naphiri, their very shocked mother and then by the namkungwi, Kumtotwe, who the girls call ''grandmother.'' Through the wisdom of the latter and the solidarity of the four, they are ready to answer all questions and queries about the miraculous birth of the two latest additions to the village. Kumtotwe insists that the whole village will still dance Chisamba for them, the last door of their portal to womanhood.

This book has what we like all great tales and epics to have – quest, magic and adventure. And if there's a didactic element also, that's always a bonus: Nansani learnt and touched redemption. I give thanks to the author for a lovely hour laying on the sofa while I read this story; now I'm looking forward to reading his other ones, such as Operation Kalulu and the Child of Clay.

Chanted

Restraint and courtesy,

Learnt a lesson or two:

Dance Chisamba for Nansani.

Shouting ''Adedeji'' - a review of Moonlight Stories, by Remi Adedeji

We are not told where the Moonlight Stories are from, but due to the author's name, references to Ifa and a place called Ojeje, I think they are mainly from the Yoruba. If so, then the tortoise who features in five of the ten stories, is Ijapa.

The first story is about famine, a subject matter in many folktales of sub-Saharan Africa. Another recurring theme, which is also featured in this tale – Elephant and the Tortoise - is of the little one conquering the larger adversary: the manoeuvrings of the trickster. In trying to feed his family and escape the prospect of death by elephant – erin in Yoruba - he causes the demise of deer and tiger. The interaction ends with the smaller antagonist having to depend on an even smaller entity, when his shell is smashed by the angry elephant. How he must have thanked and blest the kokoro – the ants – for helping him to put back together his shattered carapace.

The next one – How The Tortoise Married The King's Daughter – is tortoise at possibly his most daring; using ploy and ruse, in front of the king, his court and a growing crowd. Trickery is his trade and he has mastered it. Cool and unnerved, he wins her hand in marriage. He must be a legend in the fraternity of tricksters, alongside Anansi, the Akan spider and Sungara the Swahili hare. Talking of hare, I first heard this story through the Fon of Benin, where the main character is a hare, who also becomes groom to a royal bride.

After reading these first two stories, having time on my side, I read the other eight and thought that the children of the author, must have looked forward to after school time. Following the task of homework, the tales of mother. I can imagine that's how she got them to do their homework sometimes: a kind of bribe! If you don't do your homework, then no....

In the third story, The Forgotten Bird, we get a reminder of ''not to judge a book by its cover.'' Whose to say little Tintin can't do as well as larger Ostrich? I like the way he proves his point, through the use of song, rather than trickery? The triumph of a little bird.

And song accompanies victory in the next story: The King's Only Son. A tale of the vying for power and rightful ownership. With song content in three of the four stories so far, I imagine her encouraging the children to sing, generating a vocal jamboree: Adedeji style.

Reading through the next tale, briefly took me north-east of Yorubaland, into Cameroon, where the Tikar reside, because their trickster is a dog. A salient feature, when we know that the conniving one, is usually a hare, spider, tortoise or fox. In this story, because of his greed, tortoise becomes the victim, outwitted by a dog. Abanda, the dog of Tikar stories, would have been proud of his canine counterpart, further south.

In the seventh story, I can imagine the children singing for Tanwa, calling to her mother, in How The Oil Palm Got Its Nuts. Singing louder, desperately reaching out to the mother, trading in a distant town called Ojeje. Singing to save the life of a peer, because the senior wife, like the evil stepmother, is concluding her project of death.

The next one in the collection – Why The Vulture Has No Hair On His Head - is a tale about humility and flaws; humility, that the vulture possesses and the flaws that mentally disfigure the other animals. Its another story of famine. But this time, hunger can be defeated, by a bird taking a sacrifice to heaven; but vanity takes over and peacock, weaverbird and hawk, refuse the life-saving mission. Vulture takes on the task, saving all and losing his hair.

Story number nine I've heard in variation; in countries such as Cameroon, Sierra Leone and Haiti. Why The Tortoise's Back Is Crashed, is another tale of famine, in which the animals agree to kill their mothers for food. I imagine the children round the fire, at first shocked by the idea and then laughing at the unbelievable thought of it. Once again, dog makes an appearance and once again, he outwits tortoise, who needs repair to his shell. Both this and the last tale feature a song, obviously intending to keep the little ones focused; the song of the vulture is one for contemplation.

In the penultimate one – The Tortoise and the Monkey - tortoise takes off his trickster face and puts on his advisor one; but when the advise is not adhered to, he removes the advisor's visage, replacing it with his learn a hard lesson face. Monkey is the recipient of the advise and the hard lesson: learning through sweet bean balls.

Entitled The Missing Calabash, the last story passes a spotlight over the beauty of kindness and the waves that it produces, in opposition to what greed generates.

Songs to sing along to, stories to learn from, favourite animals and characters of fun; a well-balanced, engaging collection. I think that after reading this, every child will dream of moonlight time, listening to Remi Adedeji.

Their parents talk of Soyinka,

Debating Achebe.

The children stand on the rooftops,

Shouting ''Adedeji.''

The parents speak of Okigbo,

Discussing Ekwensi.

Their children climbing trees,

Shouting ''Adedeji.''

Find out more at: https://www.africanbookscollective.com/books/moonl...

Master Storyteller: a review of Stories From Uganda by James Appe

These stories contain the ingredients of our lives. The gentleness of Kenyi and the arrogance of Hare, in the story named after them. False friendship, when Little Chick eats Millipede. And at our worst, in the story of Two Brothers; ravaging each other with revenge, because vendetta flag flies highest. But the most salient aspect for me in this collection, is tortoise in a new role. In most of the oral traditions of sub-Saharan Africa, tortoise is the trickster; so for example, in Nigeria, amongst the Igbo, he's called Mbe; Yoruba say Ijapa; Ijo use the term Ikaki. So I was pleasantly surprised, to see him elevated to the role of diviner! Talk about transformation: from master manipulator to respected advisor! This anomaly has generated an interest in me, to dig deeper into Madi folklore.

My first encounter with the Madi people happened in the nineties, when I read a collection of stories called Flight, by the author of these folk tales. He was a refugee then, having fled Uganda, into Sudan and finally to England. I still have the collection and re-reading the title piece again, after finishing this book, established for me, James Appe as a master storyteller. Whether interacting with the hilarity in these stories, or the heaviness of enforced travel in Flight, it's a pleasure to sit back and bask in his choice and sequence of words.

Other subject matter in this selection includes favouritism, trickery amongst thieves, infanticide and the tragedy of misunderstanding. One is quite unique; a tale of dung in the last story, The Cattle Plague of Lefori. Two others are part of the oral traditions of all sub-Saharan Africa; the wonder child and the tests of marriage. The wonder child is here called Loo-Boo. We find his counterpart as Akoma Mba amongst the Fang; Ryan'gombe of the Hutu; the Mongo call him Bokele and so on. Of miraculous birth, as in the other stories, so here: the heroic youth Loo-Boo steps in and saves the day. The other perennial dealt with here, is the one of every youth, wanting to marry the most desired peer of the other gender: so tasks are set, seemingly impossible. I think every culture has this story. There are two within this collection. One, where animals compete for a young woman; using the aid of song, Chameleon marries Liia. In the other, young women, facing the prospect of drowning or crocodile attack, must cross the Nile to an island, where Pereni-Denge is waiting.

After reading these stories, I wondered if on occasions in the refugee camps, he took his fellow sufferers away for awhile - hunger deferred and laughter stepping in – engaging them with his Stories from Uganda.

A Melody for Peace - a poem for Desmond Tutu by Natty Mark Samuels

Come Liyongo,
Let us work together,
Traversing the continent,
Inviting the great poets,
To an evening reading down south.
On the way,
We'll pick up Okigbo and Senghor,
Dipoko and Neto,
And the other masters of beauty.
Just got word my friend,
That Angelou and Gorman
Will be coming from America,
Walcott and Marson from the Caribbean,
Zephaniah and Johnson from England.
Come Liyongo,
Help me in this gathering,
As we move towards destination,
To a village called Klerksdorp,
To sit around the fire,
And sing of a man,
Whose life was a melody for peace.
We have sung of him before,
Let us eulogise him now,
Chanting his way to the ancestors.
Izibongo,
Izibongo.
Let us gather them together,
For a moonlit workshop,
To write a poem for Desmond Tutu.

Liyongo/Liongo – historical poet and central figure from Swahili and Pokomo folklore
Izibongo – generic Xhosa and Zulu term for poems/songs of praise
©Natty Mark Samuels, 2021. African School

Homage

Come with me to the Art Cafe,

Up the stairs to the first floor.

Where the walls are festooned with Africa,

So you'll be glad you stepped through the door.

The Art Cafe in central Oxford, is currently hosting an exhibition of art by Nadine Nabawanuka Williams, her fourth solo exhibition; and once again, she celebrates a continent and her heritage.

So as you step onto the first floor, your eyes are immediately attracted by one of the larger pieces, an iridescent collage of the continent, which sparkles in diamond shapes, through paper that glitters in shades of blue, red, gold and green; emblazoned across the middle in capital letters, is the word Africa. Its like a statement of affirmation, welcoming us to her ancestry: one of my favourites.

Either side of Africa are two pencil drawings; one of the freedom hero Nelson Mandela and the other of a child, from the imagination of the artist, entitled 'Kiki.' I've been informed by her, that this drawing will be the front cover of a book she is writing, about trans-racial adoption. As well as a creative spirit, she is also a social worker, as well as a mother and community volunteer. An example of her writing can be seen below 'Africa.' in a poem entitled 'Someone Should Have Told Them: here is an excerpt.

Someone should have told them,

That progressive thinking is imperative.

We stand tall, move forward and achieve

Blessed by the richness of our heritage.

Everyone should read that poem at least once. And in between the two sheets of text, there is a raised, clenched fist; a collage of gold and brown, a shimmering paean to Nelson Mandela and all those who work towards dignity for all. I sat in a little reverie, while I waited for my veggie breakfast. Let me take a moment here, to mention the choice of sausages and the mushrooms which carried their own blessings: culinary delight sometimes comes with the visual one.

To the right of those just mentioned, are two black and white offerings: of a smiling Maya Angelou and a Martin Luther King, speaking. The former is a personal heroine of the artist, alongside Oprah Winfrey - and the civil rights hero, remains an icon of peace for all.

On the wall adjacent, there are larger pieces: a triumvirate in colour. Two paintings and a collage. On the left, there is 'Veronica,' dedicated to her mother. We see two women in silhouette, one seated on a rock outcrop, the other standing, carrying a pot on her head. Two female silhouettes against a sunset of purple, orange and yellow: a beautiful tribute to womanhood. Next to this is 'Afrowoman.' A head and shoulder painting – black top and afro – and in between, a face and neck coloured orange, yellow, blue, purple and white; like God was painting the first rainbow, before he hung it in the sky. Next to this, is a collage. On a black backing, we see a kora, one of the traditional instruments of the Mande people of west Africa. The artist gives us this stringed instrument coloured terracotta, orange, yellow and white; like a reflection of a street in Timbuktu, of sun and Saharan sand, where the jali – griot – would sit in the evening time and retell the epics of his people. My favourite kora player, Toumani Diabate, should have a copy of this.

On the wall space above my head, is a black and white sketch of Augustus Pablo, the roots reggae pioneer, associated with the melodica. Of Pan-Caribbean belief – her mother was Antiguan – she drew a picture of a Jamaican musician, whose plaintive, entrancing sound, has brought solace and joy, to millions across the globe. Mentioning her mother, her father was Ugandan, hence Nabawanuka: ''sent with blessings.'' The son of Augustus Pablo, Addis, who continues the melodica legacy, should have this as his next album cover.

Further along from this tribute to the Melodica Man, are two paintings. We see 'African Cherry Orange.' The continent in black, with depictions of the aforementioned fruit and its cousin, the lemon. The former is native to West Africa and carries the potential for better health, that the other members of the citrus family bestow on us. Alongside this is 'Tribute to Lois Malou Jones': one of my personal favourites. Based on the work of this truly pioneering artist, we see three boys - water carriers - with a border of a mask and geometric patterning, in aquamarine, pale and royal blue, terracotta, ochre, brown, green, red and yellow. A fitting tribute to someone I think of, as the Patron Saint of Colour. Next to this is a tribute to another artist, to one of the great creative spirits of the Harlem Renaissance, the sculptor Augusta Savage. A black and white sketch based on one of her pieces. We don't often see sketches of clay figurines: I hope we see more of them from this artist.

The penultimate piece of my viewing is 'Nefertiti': a collage of the head of the Egyptian queen. I've seen quite a few paintings of this famous head, but this is the first collage of her that my eyes have seen. The crown and the neck clothing are black, embellished by red, gold, green and blue; one, thicker band of the aforementioned colours on the crown and two thinner stripes of them, on the clothing. A wide band of gold, encircles the base of the crown. And in between the crown and neck, we are treated to a truly regal face, glowing with gold, browns, black and the red of lips.

The final work is a painting, 'Tribute to Solomon Wangboje.' One of the great printmakers and art educators of all time, this is also another tribute to womanhood, as we see a woman with a child wrapped on her back in a cloth. Browns, black and orange here and there, this is another favourite of mine: a eulogy to motherhood.

Come with me to the Art Cafe,

For a celebration of heritage.

Where the walls glisten with Africa,

Because an artist knelt down in homage.

Let me take this opportunity to introduce a trailblazing acronym to you. You already know of BLM, so let me smile, while I tell you of BWW: Black Women Walking.

In May of this year, four women of African descent resident in Oxford, founded this initiative, ''to improve our health and fitness'' and ''to get to know our local landscape and history.'' Sandford Nature Park and Shotover are two places where their boots and sticks have touched the earth. Once a week, they go walking through Creation, ''reducing the risk of hypertension, diabetes,'' celebrating sisterhood and survival.

I see them

Strolling through Angelou Avenue

And along Tubman Turn.

They count the blessings of benefits, of the emotional and the physical; and as they walk, a team is building. Some will go for a retreat; once a week, these women retreat into each other, and leave their weekend gathering the stronger.

I see them,

Strolling past Sisulu Strean

And over Binta Breeze Bridge.

Counteracting the possibility of hypertension and stroke, they hope to walk throughout Oxfordshire, especially the ''historic sites.'' Camaraderie carries its own cocoon, generated by the warmth of a shared saga.

I see them,

Strolling past Wells Weir

And through the Maroon Meadows.

Diminishing the chances of heart attack and stroke, enhancing knowledge of Creation and local history, we salute Junie, Dolcie, Evelyn and Eileen, for setting up a project that needed to be established.

I see them,

Passing by Morrison Marsh

And turning into Walker Way.

So if on a Sunday morning, between eleven and one, you see a group of Black women, along the river, or through the woods, talking and laughing, you've encountered the trailblazing BWW: Black Women Walking.

When last did you read a book that you couldn't put down? It happened to me the other day. I began it on the coach to London, continued on the underground, only pausing when I got to my sister’s, near the Arsenal stadium. I resumed after the visit: from Holloway tube to Marble Arch, then on the return journey to Oxford, during which I finished the book.

It reads like an elongated folk tale - a ballad of ancestry - because the writer of the book, Massocki Ma Massocki, is a master story teller. He tells the saga of his grandfather, as told to him by his father. And when we talk of Cameroon, we tend to focus on the Bamun, Fulani or Bamileke; Massocki introduces us to the Basaa, who speak of a shrine called Ngog Lituba.

The story of his grandfather begins with the sunrise blessing of his birth, by an Mbombog – elder priest – with water from the river, chosen herbs and a kola nut. His grandfather was named 'Bitek, which means soil, because Bitek will save his village.'

He grows up. During the day, he learns the skills of life, such as hunting; of traps and stealth and around the evening fire, he learns the beauty of heritage. We hear wisdom from the Mbombog, in such sayings as ''Oh, young man. You may walk faster than the old, but you do not know the way” and “A seated elder sees farther than a standing young man.”

We hear of life as a refugee after colonial intrusion; his time of circumcision, a totem of heritage. At this encounter with the wrestlers, he is told ''We are because our ancestors were; we are the continuity of our ancestors...'' and ''Circumcision is also about courage. Courage is not the absence of fear, but its mastery and control. At your birth, Gambi, the oracle, said that you would save the Ndog Mbog village from the hands of its enemies. How can you do that without courage?''

It is as a young man that we encounter the first incident that gives us the subtitle of the book – 'Bitek: He From Whom Death Ran.' He escapes death after a necessary exit from the village, after the chief finds out about his love affair with one of his wives, Kindap. She tells him ''I never gave my virginity to any man. The chief took it by force... The chief rules over our land, but you rule over my heart.''

One of the most beautiful passages in the book, is the imminent arrest of Mbombog Som and the passing on of the role to his son. There is a meeting at the grave of his father, in the presence of other elder priests. The blessings of kola nut and palm wine, spewed from the mouth of the father onto the face of the son and from the mouths of the other Mbombogs also. Handing him the bag of ancestral relics, his father says ''From now on, you are Mbombog. This bag is evidence that you are now the custodian of tradition'' Echoing that sentiment, the other nine patriarchs respond with ''There is no objection. Neither ancestors nor the living opposes your enthronement.''

Leaving the village, he begins a wandering life; first reaching then Douala, then crosses into Nigeria, living in Port Harcourt. After time on the street, he is employed as a 'doorman and gardener', where he meets Amadi, who will become his wife. Through her, we get a little insight into the beliefs of the Igbo people, who have given us such pioneering artists as Uche Okeke and Ben Enwonwu. She tells Bitek, after giving him a gift of food ''It is pounded yam and egusi soup, my people's favourite food. For us Igbo people, yam is sacred. It was given us by Chukwu, our most powerful spirit. Each year, across Igboland, we celebrate Iri Ji Ohuru, the Yam Festival.'' It was during a Yam Festival, that a decree of death was passed on Bitek: once again he escaped. With the help of his employer, he takes his family with him, as far as the Nigerian/Cameroonian border. In a farewell talk to his children he states ''We are like trees and tradition is our roots. You cut your roots and you die....Ancestors are the lives of the living dead. One who rejects his tradition blinds himself. Only a fool pierces his eyes.'' and ''No one but the historian tells the history and the historian of tradition is no one but the patriarch, Mbombog.'' Amidst a tearful parting, after promising to return, he steps over the border into Cameroon.

After nearly twenty years, our hero returns to his village. As one who has escaped death on two occasions, he carries no fear within him. The chief, now an old man, as Bitek is ageing, offers him a kola nut, saying ''Sharing this kola nut with you means that I have forgiven you. No matter how the teeth and tongue fight, they always forgive each other. Because they both know that the mouth is their only home''

He joins a local congregation of the Presbyterian belief, as a way to deflect colonial friction. Once under German control, they are now under the French. The Death Cheater marries a member of the church and they have twelve children together. And this is where the father of the author of this book first appears, for in 1953, Bias gives birth to their last child, named Massocki, meaning 'the last one.'

We hear of the Independence struggle and a man called Ruben Um Nyobe, as elsewhere we heard of Kwame Nkrumah. And we hear of the maquisards also, as we heard of the maroons of the Caribbean. They buried one of the leaders, Manyanong, as the Blue Mountain residents buried Nanny Maroon. And as with any war, there are murmurings and factions. The colonial forces wanted to know where the rebel leader had been interred, but none would say, so torture and death began. One villager said ''The grave of Manyonong is a symbol of human dignity and resistance against humiliation, oppression, repression, colonialism and neocolonialism... Let them kill us all and at least our children will know what we lived and died for...'' Now an old man, Bitek counteracted with ''Alive, we will teach our children about courage better than with bodies.'' Knowing that he would be targeted by the rebels, but intent on stopping the torture and death of his fellow villagers, he tells the French where the leader is buried. The whole village is happy and they eulogise him. He stands strong during the ensuing interrogation by the forest fighters and is spared his life, once again.

Living in poverty, losing his eyesight in the late sixties and blind by the early seventies, the saga ends with a conversation with his son – the father of the author – as he senses death is drawing near. ''Those who only have eyes to see are the truly blind. Ancestors are the eyes of the living. They reveal themselves to whoever they want and show what they want whenever and in whatever way. Indeed, the soul belongs to ancestors and the body to the world. He who runs in every man perishes his life, just as the soul that runs in all souls perishes its spirit. I return to Ngok Lituba and I do not fear death, as the staff of ancestors guides and protects me''

Because of this book, I had one of my best journeys on public transport: between Oxford and London and the return. Massocki Ma Massocki celebrates ancient monotheism, ancestral protection and the great tradition of African storytelling.

More information:

Biték: He From Whom Death Ran by Massocki Ma Massoki - published by Pierced Rock Press

https://massockimamassocki.com/