Ekeoma Sunday Ezeh

Aunty grew up with my dad, she was like a sister to him. When Aunty told me she would like to keep in touch, she input my name in her phone, then offered it to me to input my number. I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw: first name – Ekeoma, last name – Sunday Ezeh (my father’s full name). Today marks 20 years since my father’s death. As someone whose dad has been gone for that long, the vast majority of people in my life never knew my dad. Which means, I usually have to rely on myself for a reminder that I am my father’s daughter, Sunday Ezeh’s daughter.

In Igbo culture, it is common to be known by many names. Of course you have the names your parents give you, which usually end up on your official documents. However, it is also common for your grandparents to choose a name for you that only they will call you, and your aunts and uncles or other relatives might do the same thing, and if you get married one day, your in-laws may choose another. These are not nick names or pet names, these are actual names that people in your life take time to think about and name you, the same way parents do. In Igbo language, names always have meaning, so the names your loved ones give you are representative of what you mean to them, how they feel toward you, or what they dream for you.

Now, in addition to all the names you may be answering to on a daily basis, there is also a practice known as itu aha. It’s usually done by parents, or people in a similar position like grandparents or older relatives. Itu aha is when parents call their children, especially the ada (first daughter) or ọkpara (first son), by their many names or titles which are representative of their parents, ancestors, and ancestral lands. It’s basically a personalized, spiritual/ancestral pump up speech. It can be done anytime from just lounging around the house to after a great accomplishment, whether that accomplishment be an A+ score on a spelling test or graduation from medical school. Itu aha reminds the child of who they are and the grandeur they come from, and encourages them to remain true to that sacred identity.

There is incredible power in itu aha and my father used to do it for me on a regular basis. But for the past twenty years, its been a privilege seldom bestowed upon me. Even though I unfortunately don’t have the language ability or even the geographical knowledge of my ancestral land to itu aha for myself, last year when I found myself hiking to the tallest mountaintop in the Caribbean, facing my most daunting physical task to date, it was my father’s daughter, Sunday Ezeh’s daughter, that I channeled. “You can do this. You are Sunday Ezeh’s daughter,” I quietly and repeatedly muttered to myself as I willed my legs to keep moving.

This month marks the culmination of my digital nomad journey. I spent the last several months in Nigeria, surrounded by people that not only knew, but also loved and respected my father. People who saw me and saw him, and saw him in me. People who could and did turu m aha. As I embark on this new chapter, I feel bolstered and renewed, as Ekeoma Sunday Ezeh, to charge forward.

Signed,

N.A.