KWENU! Our culture, our future

Septuagenarian Bounty: Homage to the Momahs

In Lieu of A Book Review

OSELOKA OBAZE*

selonnes@aol.com

Saturday, 1 April 2006

This is about a book, a biography not yet written, of two personalities who have jointly enriched so many lives over forty years and across three continents.  Like most immigrants, they too have a story.  They left the old country, Nigeria, at a time it was tormented by war.  After a hiatus in Europe’s neutral land of Switzerland, America -- God’s own country --  beckoned.  They responded in kind, arriving at its shores, not in search of the Golden Fleece but to sojourn and give their added value to democracy, capitalism, restoring the dignity of man, and making a better world. 

And they did.

And here in New Jersey, they found a home to ensconce themselves and their children, a haven in which to embrace their manifold circle of friends.  Somerset, New Jersey would become their habitat, and they, its loyal denizens for twenty-seven odd years, until the threshold of retirement was passed.  Only then, did the duty of family obligation beckon, dusting and revving up the simmered wanderlust long suppressed.  But through all these, they never lost their love, vision, devotion, and affinity to their own native land -- Nigeria.  Neither did they lose the inveiglement and allure of the Igbo custom, culture, and sense of community.  Unsurprisingly, they loved their Nigerian compatriots with gusto and aplomb and their Igbo community no less so.

In a lifetime, one inevitably meets and makes acquaintances of several people.  But only a few of such encounters blossom into enduring friendship and turn into a life-enriching encounter. Anyone, fortunate to have met Chief Chike and Ethel Momah will vouchsafe that they truly belong to the latter cadre.  Certainly, no affirmation is needed here.  But let me offer one, just in case:  Chief Chike Momah is familiarly called Nnabuenyi – a doting father of mammoth proportion. Ethel Momah is fondly called Arunne – a mother’s all-embracing bosom.  Both monikers are engrossing terms of endearment, uttered by their users, not just in reverence and love but with utter sincerity and an affirmation that those who bear them truly represent what they stand for.  

Nnabuenyi and Arunne Momah are blessed with three biological offspring, Chidi, Ada, and Azuka, but they are also blessed with many more surrogate children, being that they personify for many, including this writer and his wife, the ideals and wholesomeness which everyone looks for in a beloved parent as well as other endearing qualities we cherish; qualities that impel us to admire or emulate other people.  The Momahs provided for many that came to know and associate with them, an irrefutable and palpable circle of comfort.  In the Nigeria community in New Jersey, they were the unquestionable first couple, both in age and in order of precedence.

So why write a tribute to them?  Honor is due to whom it must be accorded.  But more importantly, I recall attending and listening to a recent lecture by the legendary novelist Professor Chinua Achebe, a livelong friend and schoolmate of Nnabuenyi.  I took many things away from that lecture on the use of language.  But one line stuck with me.  It gratifies me immensely, therefore, to use it in a tribute to his dear friends- Nnabuenyi and Arunne.  Achebe said, “The integrity of language is stronger than any currency.”  So, since I have neither gold nor silver, or for that matter, any currency to offer Nnabuenyi and Arunne in tribute and appreciation for who they are, I will offer the use of language as I know best.  I do so, reassured by Professor Achebe’s words, and hence the knowledge, that had I offered them dollars, Euro, Naira, or indeed any other currency, such offering would all still pale in the face of a linguistic acknowledgment.  After all, Nnabuenyi and Arunne were both worth their weight in gold and then some.

Last Sunday, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Boundbrook, NJ, the congregation gathered to pay tribute and bid farewell to two long-standing members of their congregation, septuagenarians Chike and Ethel Momah.  Sprinkled in the congregation were a handful of Nigerians, friends of the couple and, I suspect, one or two who might have also been members of the St. Paul’s Church.  For the umpteenth time, the Momahs were being honored by a segment of their extended family and the broad-based communities to which they were professionally, nationally, ethnically, religiously, or socially affiliated.

There was nothing extraordinary about the Church event.  After all, these were very simple and humble people, utterly devoid of any airs.  Their vicar, Rev. Murphy, knew them well enough to know that nothing grandiose would have been acceptable.  Hence, the ceremony’s deliberately structured simplicity and honesty of purpose was very touching, exhilarating, and moving.  The tears that flowed were sincere; tears of joy, tears of nostalgia, and tears of a void to come.  In all, the tears spoke volumes of two wonderful people, who as mere mortals were close to being as humanly perfect as mortals can ever be expected to be.  Customarily, worshipers congregate in Church to worship.  But if by coincidence, a time devoted for worship was used by a congregation to pay homage to their fellow beings, there must be something extremely special about those living souls.  For my part, one does not engage in levity, trivialities, or insincerity in the house of God.  So, we joined as one kindred spirit to honor the Momahs.  Thereafter, Dr. Noel Ilogu and his ever-charming wife Sandra hosted a luncheon reception at their Belle Meade home for the Momahs.  The occasion was remarkable for its conviviality and the abiding attestation it represented. 

Chief and Mrs. Chike Momah were not relocating to their native Nigeria.  They were, however, shifting base after a twenty-seven year sojourn in New Jersey, where they spent a greater part of their working lives serving humanity, he as an international civil servant, and she as a nurse -- the quintessential Florence Nightingale.  But if their American interlocutors and fellow congregants loved them, that love, I suspect was nowhere as intense as the love the Nigerian community had for the couple.  For the Nigerians and especially the New Jersey Igbo community, the Momahs were exemplars beyond adjectival qualifications.  As a couple, they were like an apple cleft into two.  It was in this vein, that Dr. M. O. Ené referred to them in tribute, as the “Soul of New Jersey; the moral mainstay of Igbo community.”

Watching the Momahs being honored by their own people has been elegiac.  But truly, they were being celebrated, for all said, they were both “prophets” with huge followings and acceptance in their own community.  But why?  The old Igbo saw goes that claiming one’s entitlement is not tantamount to greed.  (Ihe onye luru og ya, awughi usa.) That’s why!

The Momahs could have written the book on the power of kindness, the joy of humility, and the essence of sociability.  They chose not to; instead, they lived it everyday.  Never once have I seen either exhibit a negative capability.  Both were an embodiment of civility.  As I pay homage to them, the one line that encapsulates their genuine bonhomie comes from the insightful words of President Theodore Roosevelt, about doers and noble souls; “who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause; who, if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement; and who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.”  The Momahs were far from being timid souls; rather, they were refreshingly human.  Never have I known two people who love to laugh and, with great ease, did so with each other, with friends, and at themselves.  This attribute was a mark of self-assurance.  It was also a mark of spiritual harmony and not being vain.

Nnabuenyi Momah, in the words of Bertrand Russell, “belonged to a school of men with scientific training and philosophical interests, unhampered by the traditions of the past…” A man great humility, diligence, responsibility, and integrity, his dedication to camaraderie and peace was deemed synonymous with excellence.  This was a fair-minded and inquisitive man, but also a person with the capacity to be objective on any issue.  Frequently, I marveled at how his serenely benign disposition masked his deep convictions and fortitude on matters of integrity and equity.  He was a hardwired and implacable foe to injustice.  Railing against injustice was devotion he pursued even at great personal cost.  A non-corrosive, non-coercive character, he was once described as “a person with no mean bone in his body.” 

To me, Arunne Momah personifies the Biblical Esther, “a godly woman with the courage, wisdom, and strength” and she was like Julius Caesar's wife Calpunia, unquestionably beyond reproach.  Figuratively and literally, she was Nnabuenyi’s partner, his “rib,” and his armor.  Her maternal warmth was legendary.  Her political pedigree made her a natural peacemaker, but the place her family filled in her life did not foreclose on her service to her community, to those medically under her charge and to her social and cultural calling.  If tirelessness were a virtue, she reveled in it. 

Nnabuenyi and Arunne Momah were not community socialites in the sense that they coveted recognition.  But they were committed to fellowship with their fellow Nigerians in times of comfort, controversy, pain, or upheaval.  They were a couple of all seasons.  It was hardly surprising, therefore, that in tribute to them at their Church, the music director chose a passage from Ecclesiastes, which stressed that:

 To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.  A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

The choice of the passage was no mere happenstance. In a final gallant effort to convince the Momahs to stay in Jersey, Ed, the St. Paul’s Music Director, did add with utmost sincerity that the passage had conveniently omitted “a time to move.” The foregoing passage, which was essentially about living life to the fullest, personified the Momahs; they lived in dignity, giving easily and freely of themselves and their resources, even to strangers. The Momahs were altogether ubiquitous, since they seemed to honor every invitation they received.  They loved to dance and indeed danced so much that they may have both worn out their respective kneecaps, which resulted in their both having had knee surgeries.  They still dance, regardless.

My family and I were regular guests at the Momahs and,  I must admit, sometimes uninvited.  Frequently, they too graced our home with their presence.  Regardless of the circumstance and occasion, these were memorable and felicitous occasions, marked with genuine air of camaraderie.  The Momahs were renowned for their unstinting faith in our humanity.  Frequently they gave one a sense and, as a matter of fact, a modicum of hope for our increasingly effectless humanity.

Over the fifteen years that I have known and associated with them, a period far much less than other Nigerians in New Jersey have, I have come to appreciate certain qualities in the Momahs, of which I think the most outstanding is their Influence of Example.  Nnabuenyi and I shared a common passion for Igbo idioms, often fishing and trading them in light-hearted banters.  Nnabuenyi and I also share an equal passion and grasping respect for our respective Alma Maters.  I often jokingly said that Chief Momah went to a “great school” --  Government College Umuahia but that, in comparison, I went to a “better school”  --  Christ the King College Onitsha.  In reply, he would merely say and almost self-effacingly that I knew better.  It is worth adding here, perhaps, that he belonged to the cream of pioneering students that went to UI – University of Ibadan, Nigeria’s premier and unquestionably most respected university.

As a couple, Nnabuenyi and Arunne Momah are unrivalled in their dedication and involvement in Nigerian community-based organizations.  They were not just followers or mere spectators; they gave leadership impetus and brought panache to all they did.  They served, they volunteered, they organized, and they contributed by no small measure.  If a community organization event happened and they were not present, then that was a non-event except, of course, if they had been out of town.  Nnabuenyi Momah once described, and I suspect reluctantly, their kinship and commitment to Nigerian organizations thus:  “We have been in the best sense of the expression, organization persons.”

There were other facets to Nnabuenyi Momah.  One strand was literary.  The other sportive. As a writer he was indefatigable, though he said himself, that this might have been a result of his coming late to the trade, and perhaps, trying to play catch up with his bosom friends and schoolmates, Chinua Achebe and Chukwuemeka Ike.  Since retiring from active service in 1991, he has written well over five books of which three are today in print.  He is also a regular blogger.  But if writing thrilled him, his love for cricket consumed him.

Nnabuenyi Momah is a master of the superlative use of language – both in spoken and written form.  Though not necessarily bestowed with the gift of the gab, he is puritanical in his advocacy and adherence to the English form.  He is equally unrelenting in his propagation of the correct usage of his native Igbo tongue, perhaps less so about its written form.  Predictably, he practiced what he preached by writing some of the most easily readable books.  In doing so, he joined his contemporaries in that esteemed class of the breed called authors.  I had at a different time acknowledged them.  (See “AIM:  Celebrating the Umuahia literary trio”).  It needs to be said that Nnabuenyi was galled humongously that his native Igbo language was becoming an aberration and indeed had been classified by the United Nations as a “dying language” and that many who spoke it, himself included, could hardly write it.  This, perhaps, explained the almost childish trill and glee on his face, when Prof. Chinua Achebe revealed on 28 March 2006, at a UN Lecture Forum, that his classic novel, Things Fall Apart was being translated into the Igbo language, or as he had put it, into “Okonkwo’s native dialect.”

I can safely claim to have worked up close and personal with Nnabuenyi Momah.  I had the privilege of serving with him on the editorial board of a community-based journal, on which he served and still serves as the Editor-In-Chief.  From him, during that stint, I learnt the diligence and devotion to the form and art of writing to please.  Indeed, in assessing his most recent book, “The Shining Ones,” I noted that, “Momah through his lively writing and great dexterity in the use of straightforward prose thrills the reader with his story telling.   The all-too-familiar old school tales are interwoven in a mesmerizing and succulent fugue worthy of Bach.”  I stand by the rendition.  However, one needs to imagine my surprise  to have discovered that Arunne was indeed  Nnabuenyi’s best critic and editor, amongst other things.  Perhaps, this was the provenance needed to ground firmly the old cliché, “behind every successful man was also a successful woman.” Like the popular song says, Arunne was also “the wind beneath his wings.”

This chapter of the book not yet written about the Momahs could drag to no end.  But suffice it to say that the Momahs lend credence to the premise that “little deeds of kindness, little words of love, help to make the earth happy like the heaven above.”  Undeniably, of kindness and love, they gave a heavenly dose.  Now in their blissful diamond years, the Momahs are an uplifting pleasure to behold, and be in company of.  Their ease with the young can easily transform and mesh with their affinity to the aged.  They are exceptional people, and especially incomparable and straightforward Nigerians.  They transcend clannishness and the tribal divide and counted among their friends, people from all works of life nationalities race and cultures.  Many were indeed their life-long friends.  Up close, they both seem to have imbibed Mark Twain’s exhortation as their guide and daily mantra: “Always do right.  This will gratify some people, and astonish the rest.”  In sum, Nnabuenyi and Arunne Momah were like the Chinese fortune cookie: cultured, universal, cosmopolitan, recognizable, positive, inoffensive, non-acetous, and acceptable to all comers.

It is needless to say that the Momahs are mere mortals, albeit of a different breed and customization.  Their uncontested standing within the Igbo community has helped in validating the hypothesis that one of the greatest psychological challenges facing mankind, is the ability of people to overcome the mindset of internalized envy, and muster the courage to accept the accomplishments and popularity of their friends and contemporaries.  But the burden of this failing has never been theirs, but that of those who demur in giving to these two, their well-merited septuagenarian bounty and homage.  In closing, I can only wish them farewell as they transplant to another state.  The gain of the Lone Star State is the loss of the Garden State.  But I know this for a fact; many more lives are just about to be enriched.  Of that, I have no doubt! 

Good Cheers and God Bless to Nnabuenyi and Arunne Momah.  The other chapters of your very worthy lives will be written in solid Gold.

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