GRANDPA
A Tribute
I dedicated my last publication, Kolanut: Food of the Gods, to my Grandfather. Ọzọ Agbanyie Madueke, the last of the properly titled men in my ancestral community. I dedicated the book to Grandpa because I learnt a whole lot of my culture and bucolic social orientation from him. And guess what: He was not a very talkative person. He always spoke in a measured tone, as if being careful not to waste words.
Grandpa or Papa Shinne — as we called him (meaning Big Daddy) was never loud. No matter the issue, Grandpa would sit and listen. As soon as he has taken in enough information to call a judgment, he would clear his throat mildly to attract attention. It always did, and his body language was enough to create absolute silence. He was not a loud person, so the abuse of “Igbo kwenu” chant was not his style.
Once the attention of the audience is secured, he would chip in his piece and back it up with experiences and facts known to those in attendance. Once he was done, he would drown his palmwine, put away his special gourd, pick up his bag, and head home.
An adherent and chief priest (Onyeishianị) of Igbo traditional religion (Ọdịnanị), Grandpa never told a lie that anyone knew of; if he was not sure of something, he would rather keep his peace than shoot in the dark. He abhorred injustice and preached constructive coexistence. I saw his contemporaries let go of elderly decorum at certain light-hearted moments, but not Grandpa. He appreciated a good laugh, but he would not trivialize serious issues.
In keeping with the faith of his forefathers, Grandpa never proselytized. Not once did he ask anyone to join him in any rituals or in occasional shrine sacrifices. On the contrary, when we invited him to annual Thanksgiving and Bazaar at our local Catholic church, he came bearing gifts for whatever project was being undertaken.
Grandpa instilled in me the importance of the culture of kolanut. He was very religious in offering the first morsel of any meal to the Earth Deity, from whose benevolence we derive food and into whose bowel we would all return someday. Unlike my grandmother, who would carpet you for the slightest mistake, Grandpa found teachable moments in all life’s mistakes.
Grandpa was an honest, humble, and hardworking man. Without his agronomical prowess, his knowledge of arboreal sciences, and his giving spirit, his children, sons-in-law, and their children would probably not have made it out of the Nigeria-Biafra War.
With his wife, Uka Eze (“Wireless”), he took everyone in, opened his house, his barn, and his heart to all. He protected the young and advised the adults on the virtue of patience. Grandpa was a paragon of patience in abundance. Thirty months later, they all survived the war and lived to tell the stories to his many great grandchildren.
I am probably alive today because of this great man. No, I take that back: I am alive today because of this great man—for he was the father of my mother. I guess what I meant to say is that I lived this long because Grandpa guarded and guided his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren with the sincerest of support and unalloyed affection.
Grandpa lived a good life. He started a nation. In my village, almost everyone is related somehow. It is no wonder that somehow none of my brothers and sisters married anywhere nearby! Grandpa’s great grandchildren are now leaving universities and joining the workforce.
Grandpa lived a good life. I believe he had no regrets. The last time we met, I didn’t get the feeling that he harbored any regrets. If there were any regrets, it would be that his beloved daughter (my mother) pre-deceased him. She had lived for him; he for her. It might also be that a grandson (one of twins) predeceased him, following a motor accident.
Grandpa lived a very good life, a life that many must envy, even with the gadgets of modern living. He lived long enough... across three centuries and across the century cordon! Now I am indeed an orphan.
Papa Shinne, jee n’udo!
MOE, September 2005