igbo culture – Signed, N.A.

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.

dedicated to Nenne m & Enyidiya

An Orchestra of Minorities by Chigozie Obioma

Language shapes understanding because we can often only conceptualize what we can linguistically express. One of the reasons I enjoy learning languages is that I feel it expands my capacity for thought and ideas. Colonialism, it’s linguistic arm in particular, has irreversibly changed perception in that it limits the understanding of indigenous concepts to what can be expressed in foreign language. In my personal case, I refer to the unfortunate reality that most of the little I know of Igbo cosmology and the spiritual beliefs of my ancestors I have learned and consistently analyzed through the lens of the English language. The irony of me writing this very reflection in English is annoyingly epitomic.

For this reason (and surely others) I’ve found a great comfort in reading novels steeped in Igbo-ness. If not in the language itself, in the people, the culture, the beliefs, and the linguistic mannerisms. I was utterly delighted by the intricacy with which Igbo-ness is woven into An Orchestra of Minorities: the frequent invocations of Chukwu (Almighty God) by his various titles, the effortless allegorical dialogue, the referencing of Jesus as the “alụsị [idol] of the White Man,” I could go on and on. Over and over again this book demanded that I shift my perspective, switch lenses, and steep myself in all things Igbo. I felt I was afforded a glimpse into an alternate universe in which I learned through, rather than learned of, Igbo culture.

And that’s not even to talk of the story itself! An Orchestra of Minorities is narrated by a chi (guardian spirit) testifying before Chukwu on behalf of his human host Chinonso. The book is a heartbreaking love story of a man, the woman he loves, and his chi who loves him. As the chi recounts the tragic yet endearing story of Chinonso and his love Ndali, and all that befalls Chinonso in his pursuit of her, we bear witness to the unparalleled love and devotion of the chi toward his host. The care with which Chinonso’s chi advocates for him is nothing short of mesmerizing.

Chinonso’s story in An Orchestra of Minorities is a shining example of the common Igbo saying: Onye kwe, chi ya ekwe. Before I get to what this means, a (not so) quick side note.

I am someone who lives by the phrase “say what you mean and mean what you say.” I always make the distinction between a definition and a meaning, especially in writing. Annoyingly so, I can admit. I am the person who understands what you’re trying to say but still corrects how you said it. It can be a hindrance in casual conversation, but it has aided me tremendously throughout the course of my western education. So, in that same vein, while writing this, I wanted to first share a translation of onye kwe, chi ya ekwe before explaining its idiomatic meaning.

The Igbo language and, in this instance, the specific phrase onye kwe, chi ya ekwe consistently teaches me that the concept of analyzing words and phrases like mathematical equations is foreign to Igbo culture and the Igbo language. Igbo is an allegorical language. In fact, my mother often points out that the language of the Old Testament makes an intrinsic sense to her because of its allegorical style. All of this to say, despite many attempts, neither I, nor my resident Igbo tutor whom I call Mom, could come up with what we felt was a truly encompassing translation of the phrase onye kwe, chi ya ekwe.

So let’s talk about what it means. Onye kwe, chi ya ekwe is a beautiful concept denoting that our chi’s always remain by our sides and will follow our lead as we take charge of our own destinies.

Igbo cosmology teaches that chi’s go through cycles of reincarnations, but their hosts, us humans, are not equipped with the explicit knowledge of what they have experienced in previous lives. In An Orchestra of Minorities, Chinonso’s chi has lived many lives before Chinonso, and has been the chi of some of Chinonso’s ancestors. Many times he sees things Chinonso does not, sometimes he disagrees with Chinonso’s decisions, but Chinonso’s chi always supports and accompanies him. Chinonso’s chi consistently sees the truth of his intentions and relays those truths as he advocates for him before Chukwu. Through all of Chinonso’s tribulations, his chi is always championing him.

It brings me peace to know that I too have a chi who knows and recognizes my earnest intentions. A chi who knew my ancestors and carries the knowledge they had which has been lost through colonization.

I cannot recommend An Orchestra of Minorities enough! Whether you’re Igbo or not. It is not only an incredible story of a complex and troubled man; it is also a glimpse into an entirely different world. For those, like myself, who are not intimately familiar with Igbo cosmology, An Orchestra of Minorities is a powerful exercise in shifting perspective and questioning what we consider reality.

Signed,

N.A.