Shadow dove

Okonkwo was well known throughout the nine villages and even

beyond. His fame rested on solid personal achievements. As a

young man of eighteen he had brought honor to his village by

throwing Amalinze the Cat. Amalinze was the great wrestler who

for seven years was unbeaten, from Umuofia to Mbaino. He was

called the Cat because his back would never touch the earth. It was

this man that Okonkwo threw in a fight which the old men agreed

was one of the fiercest since the founder of their town engaged a

spirit of the wild for seven days and seven nights.

The drums beat and the flutes sang and the spectators held their

breath. Amalinze was a wily craftsman, but Okonkwo was as

slippery as a fish in water. Every nerve and every muscle stood out

on their arms, on their backs and their thighs, and one almost heard

them stretching to breaking point. In the end Okonkwo threw the cat.

That was many years ago, twenty years or more, and during this

time Okonkwo's fame had grown like a bush-fire in the harmattan.

He was tall and huge, and his bushy eyebrows and wide nose gave

him a very severe look. He breathed heavily, and it was said that,

when he slept, his wives and children in their houses could hear

him breathe. When he walked, his heels hardly touched the ground

and he seemed to walk on springs, as if he was going to pounce on

somebody. And he did pounce on people quite often. He had a

slight stammer and whenever he was angry and could not get his

words out quickly enough, he would use his fists. He had no

patience with unsuccessful men. He had had no patience with his

father.

Unoka, for that was his father's name, had died ten years ago. In

his day he was lazy and improvident and was quite incapable of

thinking about tomorrow. If any money came his way, and it

seldom did, he immediately bought gourds of palm-wine, called

round his neighbors and made merry. He always said that

whenever he saw a dead man's mouth he saw the folly of not eating

what one had in one's lifetime. Unoka was, of course, a debtor, and

he owed every neighbor some money, from a few cowries to quite

substantial amounts.

He was tall but very thin and had a slight stoop. He wore a haggard

and mournful look except when he was drinking or playing on his

flute. He was very good on his flute, and his happiest moments

were the two or three moons after the harvest when the village

musicians brought down their instruments, hung above the

fireplace. Unoka would play with them, his face beaming with

blessedness and peace. Sometimes another village would ask

Unoka's band and their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with

them and teach them their tunes. They would go to such hosts for

as long as three or four markets, making music and feasting.

Unoka loved the good hire and the good fellowship, and he loved

this season of the year, when the rains had stopped and the sun roseevery morning with dazzling beauty. And it was not too hot either,

because the cold and dry harmattan wind was blowing down Irom

the north. Some years the harmattan was very severe and a dense

haze hung on the atmosphere. Old men and children would then sit

round log fires, warming their bodies. Unoka loved it all, and he

loved the first kites that returned with the dry season, and the

children who sang songs of welcome to them. He would remember

his own childhood, how he had often wandered around looking for

a kite sailing leisurely against the blue sky. As soon as he found

one he would sing with his whole being, welcoming it back from

its long, long journey, and asking it if it had brought home any

lengths of cloth.

That was years ago, when he was young. Unoka, the grown-up,

was a failure. He was poor and his wife and children had barely

enough to eat. People laughed at him because he was a loafer, and

they swore never to lend him any more money because he never

paid back. But Unoka was such a man that he always succeeded in

borrowing more, and piling up his debts.

One day a neighbor called Okoye came in to see him. He was

reclining on a mud bed in his hut playing on the flute. He

immediately rose and shook hands with Okoye, who then unrolled

the goatskin which he carried under his arm, and sat down. Unoka

went into an inner room and soon returned with a small wooden

disc containing a kola nut, some alligator pepper and a lump of

white chalk.

"I have kola," he announced when he sat down, and passed the disc

over to his guest.

"Thank you. He who brings kola brings life. But I think you ought

to break it," replied Okoye, passing back the disc.

"No, it is for you, I think," and they argued like this for a few

moments before Unoka accepted the honor of breaking the kola.Okoye, meanwhile, took the lump of chalk, drew some lines on the

floor, and then painted his big toe.

As he broke the kola, Unoka prayed to their ancestors for life and

health, and for protection against their enemies. When they had

eaten they talked about many things: about the heavy rains which

were drowning the yams, about the next ancestral feast and about

the impending war with the village of Mbaino. Unoka was never

happy when it came to wars. He was in fact a coward and could

not bear the sight of blood. And so he changed the subject and

talked about music, and his face beamed. He could hear in his

mind's ear the blood-stirring and intricate rhythms of the ekwe and

the udu and the ogene, and he could hear his own flute weaving in

and out of them, decorating them with a colorful and plaintive tune.

The total effect was gay and brisk, but if one picked out the flute as

it went up and down and then broke up into short snatches, one

saw that there was sorrow and grief there.

Okoye was also a musician. He played on the ogene. But he was

not a failure like Unoka. He had a large barn full of yams and he

had three wives. And now he was going to take the Idemili title,

the third highest in the land. It was a very expensive ceremony and

he was gathering all his resources together. That was in fact the

reason why he had come to see Unoka. He cleared his throat and

began:

"Thank you for the kola. You may have heard of the title I intend

to take shortly."

Having spoken plainly so far, Okoye said the next half a dozen

sentences in proverbs. Among the Ibo the art of conversation is

regarded very highly, and proverbs are the palm-oil with which

words are eaten. Okoye was a great talker and he spoke for a long

time, skirting round the subject and then hitting it finally. In short,

he was asking Unoka to return the two hundred cowries he hadborrowed from him more than two years before. As soon as Unoka

understood what his friend was driving at, he burst out laughing.

He laughed loud and long and his voice rang out clear as the ogene,

and tears stood in his eyes. His visitor was amazed, and sat

speechless. At the end, Unoka was able to give an answer between

fresh outbursts of mirth.

"Look at that wall," he said, pointing at the far wall of his hut,

which was rubbed with red earth so that it shone. "Look at those

lines of chalk," and Okoye saw groups of short perpendicular lines

drawn in chalk. There were five groups, and the smallest group had

ten lines. Unoka had a sense of the dramatic and so he allowed a

pause, in which he took a pinch of snuff and sneezed noisily, and

then he continued: "Each group there represents a debt to someone,

and each stroke is one hundred cowries. You see, I owe that man a

thousand cowries. But he has not come to wake me up in the

morning for it. I shall pay you, but not today. Our elders say that

the sun will shine on those who stand before it shines on those who

kneel under them. I shall pay my big debts first." And he took

another pinch of snuff, as if that was paying the big debts first.

Okoye rolled his goatskin and departed.

When Unoka died he had taken no title at all and he was heavily

in debt. Any wonder then that his son Okonkwo was ashamed of

him? Fortunately, among these people a man was judged according

to his worth and not according to the worth of his father. Okonkwo

was clearly cut out for great things. He was still young but he had

won fame as the greatest wrestler in the nine villages. He was a

wealthy farmer and had two barns full of yams, and had just

married his third wife. To crown it all he had taken two titles and

had shown incredible prowess in two inter-tribal wars. And so

although Okonkwo was still young, he was already one of the

greatest men of his time. Age was respected among his people, but

achievement was revered. As the elders said, if a child washed his

hands he could eat with kings. Okonkwo had clearly washed hishands and so he ate with kings and elders. And that was how he

came to look after the doomed lad who was sacrificed to the

village of Umuofia by their neighbors to avoid war and bloodshed.

The ill-fated lad was called Ikemefuna.