As Kingsley expertly maneuvered the Toyota Camry through the streets of Enugu and we headed towards Isu-Awaa, we drove past a billboard with a picture of the Governor proudly announcing that “Enugu State is in the hands of God”. I got to understand that the good people of Enugu State had accepted the Governor’s confession of incapacity and so had resorted to looking up to God for good governance. This public abdication of his responsibility is typical of the Governor of the State whose name I never remember for some reason. Kingsley had a perfectly logical explanation for that though: he wasn’t stealing so he wasn’t making noise. “Bros, you see, when dem begin to make noise upandan, dem don dey tiff money be dat. Ugwuanyi na gentleman. He no dey tiff. Na food he sabi chop. The guy like food ehn!”. That was quite an interesting postulation but I’m not sure what he would say if he understood that the pension package his ‘gentleman Governor’ is pushing for provides, amongst other perks, for an annual health allowance for the Governor’s wife which is equivalent to what a Level 6 Civil Servant would earn in 36 years. I guess the silent ones probably deserve more ‘respect’ than Kingsley was according to Ugwuanyi, AKA ‘Gburugburu’.
I looked forward to arriving at Isu-Awaa. I had not seen Mama in almost 2 years. Seeing her always warmed my heart and made me wish I had been more attentive in my Igbo language classes in primary school. The truth was that learning the language had not been my primary motivation for taking the class. When the management of the Command Children’s School got the bright idea to introduce ‘vernacular’ into the school curriculum, those of us in Class 6 had been given the options of Yoruba, Igbo or Hausa to choose from. I had ended up in the Igbo class because Hadiza, my secret love interest at the time, had chosen Igbo before it got to my turn to choose. This was a very foolish move as my main contender for top position in class was a girl called Toyin. She was brilliant, studious, and a maths genius. I was more inclined towards English and the arts but it was still a close call. That is until love led me to pick Igbo as a subject of study and Toyin wisely chose Yoruba. The contest ended right there. At every subsequent exams, Toyin scored in the 90s in Yoruba and I barely made it to 40 in Igbo. Anyway, how was I supposed to have known that I would later go on to have a mother that spoke only Igbo while I would congratulate myself if I remembered to respond “o dinma’ when someone said to me “kedu ka odi”!
Isu-Awaa is a small ‘town’ with a population of between 8000-10000 people. My friend and brother, Ifeanyi, whom was my reason for being in Isu-Awaa had suggested that the voters register would give a more accurate number of the population. He had just come in from the United Kingdom so I could forgive his naivety but I had to explain to him that I would not be surprised if, unknown to him, he has been voting in every election since the return of civilian rule while at the same time casting his ballot for Jeremy Corbin in England. He didn’t understand how that could be possible and I didn’t bother to explain. This was my second time in Isu-Awaa and the changes since I was last here 10 years previously were pretty obvious. There seemed to be more new structures than old all across the community. While it is cultural for young Igbo sons and daughters to leave the village and go seek greener pastures abroad or at least in Lagos or Abuja, Isu-Awaa has a higher than normal proportion of her citizens holding dual citizenships. This is reflected in the number of new, and ornate buildings that had sprung up like mushrooms since the last time I was in the sleepy community. This time around, there was nothing sleepy about it as it was alive in celebration of the transition of arguably its most illustrious son, Sir Kingsley Chukwuakasiemobi (K.C.) Ibeh, the Ochili Ozuo 1 of Isu-Awaa.
I am quite intrigued by traditional titles and always want to know what the titles mean. I find most of them laughable and asinine saps to the egos of the title holders. Once in a while though, you come across one that is fitting and befitting. ‘Ochili-Ozuo of Isu-Awaa’ literally means “he that gathers together and lifts up the people of Isu-Awaa”. The stories told about K.C. and his generosity are the stuff of legends. Though his formal educational pursuit was truncated by an eye problem as a child, he made it his life’s work to educate as many of his kinsmen as were ready to seek education. He started supporting the education of others by the age of 19 and by the time he was 28, had set up a Foundation to ensure that no child of Isu-Awaa was denied a university education on account of lack of means. I was regaled by tales of his generosity to people, regardless of tribe or religion. I heard testimonies from people who could not understand why he took up their cases the way he did despite having no relationship with them whatsoever. Several were non-Igbos. This is not surprising as he lived the greater part of his life in Kaduna where he made his fortune and where he eventually died. K.C.’s brand of philanthropy is worthy of emulation. It was not the type that had cameras following him about or journalists singing his praises. It was not a springboard for politics or some kind of government patronage. It was the persistent, selflessness driven by an uncommon conviction to do good to others because he was in a position to do so. Amongst several interesting anecdotes I heard was that a lot of those whose education was sponsored by him were advised not to tell their parents who their benefactor was so they wouldn’t come to thank him. I don’t know very many people who would do things for people and would not at the least desire to be appreciated for it, even if they do not expect to be repayed in like manner.
One of the stories I heard about this rare gentleman gave me an insight into his mindset and also a better understanding of the quote from Abraham Lincoln, the 16th President of the United States of America: “and in the end it’s not the years in your life that count; it’s the life in your years. He recognized his own mortality and so took the opportunity to do that which he could to make the world a better place for others. A man had gone to him for help with a problem he had. He had presented his petition with the following words: “I know I have come to trouble you again…” and K.C. had stopped him with the reply: “Please trouble me now while it is still possible for me to be troubled..”
Rest in peace, Ochili-Ozuo1 of Isu-Awaa!