Twilight: The tree of life

KWENU! Our culture, our future

Twilight: The tree of life

Roland Bankole Marke

Florida, USA

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

An azure sky romanced the soothing Atlantic sea breeze whispering through respite palm and baobab trees. Granny Henrietta stood on solid antique stool knitting several names of her deceased relatives on a model quilt she was skillfully crafting. Almost intuitively, it crossed her mind that her time clock was ticking to tow the line with her ancestors in Beulah terrain. But not until the extended family had assembled for a concluding communal Awojoh ceremony that she had planned to host. Her handicraft resembled ‘Joseph’s coat of many colors.’ Granny had observed a pattern of disrespect for the elderly, and stunned with bewilderment she said, “Age is a symbol of respect that is carefully knitted as thread to hold the family tree together.”

She peeled carefully her window curtain in order to catch a glimpse of movements outside while people moved to and fro amid the alluring sunshine. Mentally, she recalled the numerous sunrise and sunset she had weathered. “Honor like respect is a deep rooted tree that adds wit to our beloved culture,” she echoed. Her house stood on a precipice, where one could catch a panoramic portrait of Freetown, Sierra Leone. Granny has a wonderful personality: and her compatriots had painstakingly erected her magnificent cottage.

She is the oldest survivor on the paternal side, who did not look her age despite having turned four score, a milestone in the family’s genealogy. 8.30 am on Saturday, Effuah, her daughter dropped off Abiola her son at Granny’s house; while she went on a weekend trip. “I love to go to Granny’s house,” Abiola said. Excitement sparkled from his bright lit eyes like a flame. Granny makes cookies for kids: including toffees, gingerbread bun, and pepper-mint and coconut cake. These are homemade snacks that kids love because of the aroma and juicy taste. Henrietta loves telling spellbinding stories to kids.

Usually the squeaky hinged front door is flung open so that people can easily walk in: this allows fresh air to trickle in since Granny had no fan or air conditioner unit. Her front and back doors are flung wide open whenever she is home. Abiola’s eyes peeled with wide-eyed probing as he walked inside the house. Culture as glowing charm seemed to dance and breathe in unison. Several antique family portraits animated Granny’s parlor that displayed the artistry of the late Nigerian photographers Adenuga and Jonathan.

“Good morning Granny,” he greeted. “Good morning Abiola, how are you today?” she said. “I’m fine ma,” he answered. Like a weird trance, he inhaled a pungent familiar smell while wrinkles invaded his smooth youthful face. “Oooh!! Again? It is nasty and bitter I hate it,” he screamed. He’s in trouble again, since he has to gulp this bitter concoction whenever he visited Granny. At dawn, she ritually gulps down a cupful of Agbo—a bitter blend made from roots and herbs, before breakfast. With the cup in her grip, she religiously sipped the fuming potent brew to boost her health and longevity. She had never visited a doctor in her lifetime.

“This is for you Abiola, drink it ready steady go before it gets cold. Drink it in one gulp before I make breakfast,” she coaxed him. “I don’t like it, it’s nasty and makes my mouth bitter,” he protested. Trusting her invested love in him, Abiola shut his eyes and nervously swallowed this strong brew. Instant grim expression ruined his face as he drank the mixture. Granny said, “Yeaaah good boy,” as she monitored his emotion with lighted supportive eyes. Soon, the boy gave her an empty cup. She clapped heartily praising his child-like obedience.

“You’re my best grandchild, patting his head. Now we can eat and tell stories,” she said. He needed water to kill the bitterness that had ruined his taste bud. She bent under the table dipping a cup into an old country-pot that stored well water. The refreshing drink then slowly restored his taste bud. Subsequently, Abiola feasted on a bowl of Quaker Oats and baby bread –small sweet bread molded and baked in the shape of a doll, that he washed down with a cup of sweetened lemon grass tea creamed with ‘Cow and Gate’ powdered milk. Since he was extremely hungry, he ate ravenously as a starving cub.

Henrietta’s calm, persuasive words had more voltage than electricity, warmly smoothened with her passionate authority. She became the rallying factor and spiritual guru the whole family cherished. She had arranged other Awojoh feasts or reunions before. Neighbors wanted her to grease the wheels of time to accelerate more lavish feasts. She’s a brown-skinned beauty that’s endowed with wisdom –“Tree of Life.” She loves to sing her favorite tune, “I know ee go well with the righteous ee go well with the righteous….when I reach home.” Briskly, she chose the ideal movements and the intonation to match.

The inviting rendition sent Bandale peeping through his window to watch her singing. “I love Mammy Henrietta’s sweet, lovely voice,” he said. Her songs really touched him. “She helps me to forget about my worries too,” his wife supported. Granny had earned the accolade singing “Nightingale,” because of her legacy of infectious choruses and angelic voice. The couple had been enduring financial hardship, resulting from the gruesome civil war in Sierra Leone that left them devastated and depressed. The songs practically lifted up their spirits that were plagued with anxiety or destitution. Family and friends enjoyed her solos too as the “Songbird” wrestled with humanity’s shortcomings. For Granny, each challenge had a peaceful salvage that is crafted in a therapeutic song.

She was inflexible to embrace modern convenience or technology, and did not consume imported cultures. Abiola reached for his toothbrush and paste, while Granny starred at him speaking with penetrating eyes. She had never used a toothbrush before, singing she picked up her chopstick, adding charcoal and salt to brush her teeth. “You are a toothbrush and paste generation,” she said. With a passion for natural produce, she resisted the enticement of processed goods loaded with chemicals. She lubricated her skin with animal fat - orie or nut oil. Granny made her own bathing soap –black soap made from nut oil and herbs. As she smiled, Abiola admired her sparkling white, healthy teeth, which she took pride to maintain, including her carefully groomed appearance.

Her favorite color was white: she hand washed her clothes that left her hands rough and hard: and she soaked her white clothes overnight in soap powder. Next day, she would bleach them under the sun: washing the clothes with the aid of a laundry board before rinsing them. Her dresses appeared spotless, sparkling clean. Henrietta wore no perfume or makeup, to nurse a virtually natural appearance. It was an ordeal to seduce her to try modern amenities. She often traced the footsteps of her parents or beloved ancestors. Her favorite slogan was, “When two elephants fight it’s the tall grass that suffers.”

“With my golden gray hair, I have one foot in the grave as my days draw closer to its twilight, she said. Being the oldest family member alive my duty involves nursing unity, peace, love and understanding among us all. We must endeavor to uphold the rich tenets and beauty of our tradition or culture. The gift of life is neither a paragraph nor is death a parenthesis. Our children and grandchildren must get to know each other, and should avoid dating or marrying each other blindly. It is a taboo and a serious unhealthy practice,” she stressed. She spoke with a seductive voice that depicted her warm persona to seduce the entire family. While she spoke, sobbing tears slowly trickled down her sagging cheeks.

But, in other families, close relatives are blindly dating or marrying each other like stray chickens. Granny strived to arrest this growing cancer in the bud. Since she was no demagogue, she strived hard to coax the family to inculcate her ideals. Awojoh ritual equates the feeding of the five thousand in the Bible, or Thanksgiving celebrated in the US, a family reunion. This gathering brought the extended family together to socialize, and get to know each other better on a more personal and relaxed atmosphere. The event also united people from diverse backgrounds. Folks usually eat from the same bowl at the same place: the gathering blossomed into a communion between the living and the dead.

“Our ancestors are intermediaries between the celestial and terrestrial domain. It is necessary to maintain a healthy marriage between these two worlds,” she said. The feast required no formal invitation whatsoever. Heads of families would contribute towards funding the event. Large-scale variety of dishes would lavish the charity event that drew mammoth crowd. She had a passion for charities amid an endearing fellowship among people. Granny founded the Daniel’s Band cottage group to cater for the needs of the poor, or neglected people. As part of its agenda, the group visited needy homes including the city’s King George’s Home that housed the homeless and destitute.

She had a passion for organizing rituals for needy folks. Some of the neglected people had no relatives or friends, amid dire needs. Society had practically given up on them. She served tasty home cooked meals and distributed toiletries and clothes to the residents. It is so heart warming and transforming, simply gratifying to ignite blazing smiles on their neglected or worried faces. But she avoided serving those with mental problems. The feast catered for all irrespective of one’s needs.

It was pouring when she tied up the benevolent event. The entourage was dripping wet: consoling them Granny said, “The pouring rain was showers of blessings. In due course each one will reap the reward, but not in monetary terms.” A chartered mini-bus driver who transported the group turned down his balance of payment for the trip. He was touched by the compassion and dedication expressed towards the afflicted. He wanted to be a party to the humanitarian venture. The group sang choruses of love and praise as they headed homeward.

New Year’s Day was the date for the big Awojoh feast. Granny sent Abiola and Mariatu to uncles, aunts and cousins to remind them about the upcoming event. Cash contributions flowed in mainly from families living abroad. A handsome contribution of $300 came from her grandson Joko, while Auntie Phoebe also received money from her daughter in the US. Granny coordinated the details for the shopping list that included an assortment of food and drinks. Several experienced cooks volunteered their time to prepare various sumptuous meals. Helpers transported the extravagant provision of drinks, food and livestock including rented chairs.

Neighbors, including Mr. Cole took a peep at the excitement. He said, “Ar get for take purge so are go eat lek wolf: befor good eat wase nar me belleh go bos.” – He purged himself with laxative to prepare for glutinous eating. The tethered livestock - cow, fowls, goat and sheep were at the backyard waiting to calm the uneasy salivation of numerous guests. The sonorous booing of the cow, crowing of the fowl and bleating of the sheep and goat, attracted mammoth crowd including strangers to the event.

A vivacious and infectious musical blasted off that motivated several more people to attend the feast only three days away. Cooking took place at the backyard in a makeshift kitchen, suitable for huge spherical tripod firestones to hold the gigantic cooking pots. She reminded neighbors to bring large containers for take home food service. The Coles said, “There is no cooking here today we will kill the food at the Awojoh to substitute dinner.”

Before the ceremony, Granny visited three cemeteries to invite all her ancestors, requesting their presence and blessing. Vultures, dogs and cats got a tip too: and she poured libation to commune with the dead spinning lobes of cola nuts. According to the tradition, she tossed up an equal number of cola nut lobes in the air to land with an equal number of head or tail. Men dug two holes in front of the house to hold the blood of the slain cattle. During the ceremony, the animals’ blood sprouted into the air, while the vultures stood patiently observing loudly rattling on the rooftop. The smell and sight of blood attracted a drove of vultures to land with stampede on the rooftop, and they interceded in the butchery. Emboldened, they descended to snatch portions of meat away. “It is a good sign to be graced with their presence, our ancestors are pleased. It is a bad omen to organize an Awojoh and vultures not show up,” an old woman said. They feasted on the entrails, like the legitimate ancestors. “That old vulture resembles late auntie Katie,” she said.

Later, they feasted on the food provided for the dead cooked without salt. The meat was prepped and seasoned. Granny bought more cola nuts and a variety of fruits including bananas. On the eve, many volunteers helped with the preliminary preparation of the dishes. A bowl of black-eyed beans was prepped and ready to blend – later fried into akara –a tasty beans cake. A large pot of beans cooked with palm oil, pepper and onions goes with a favorite dish –aborbor. A vegetable dish orbiata - cooked with crain crain, goes with the foo foo –a product of cassava cooked and molded into dough. There was white rice, fish and beef stew, with a choice of either palm oil or groundnut oil stew. Early morning, helpers made a trip to the mill to blend the bowl of beans. Women who recently slept with their men could not handle the mix; they feared the mixture would turn flat as unleavened bread: even without adding baking soda.

The first of January was a public holiday, the date of the Awojoh. A diverse family, friends from afar, visited the cemetery early that morning to commune with the dead. It is a rite to visit the dead at least once a year, usually on New Year’s or Easter tide. Uncle Bob and his family wore their colorful Ashorbie - African attire as they arrived in a chartered new poda-poda van, local minibus. Men wore embroidered cotton lapel shirts, and women wore expensively crafted long flowing dresses. Alhaji Cole and his family the Muslim wing of Granny’s family appeared in white unblemished, long flowing robes.

As they came off the latest model Mercedes Benz, they greeted with handshakes and said, “Salamalaeku, Malaeku Ma Salaam,” to family and guests. Women wore silk veils and men wore hats, caftans, long gowns, mukays or slippers. Mr. Cole a Christian tried to shake Safiatu’s hand, but she bowed respectfully greeting him from a distance. He was boiling with emotion as he greeted relatives from abroad. In tears, he said, “If nar so die bin tan are go gladdie, usai una bin hide, tenk God for Mammy Henrietta.” I would be happy if death reunited us all with our deceased, where were you all living? I thank Henrietta for organizing this wonderful gathering.”

Spectators flooded to admire the fusion of beautiful bright colors. Folks had requests, complaints concerning loved ones, as Granny’s house was stormed by a flood of well-wishers. She sat on a regal armchair dressed in purple dress with head-tie to match. “Mammy Henrietta, I love your beautiful dress. Where did you buy it?” Salamatu Cole asked. “Oh I got it over fifteen years ago. Doris Davies made it. This is the third time I’m wearing it,” she said. A jubilant atmosphere beaming with anticipation reflected the true spirit of the celebration.

Cooking had progressed and some food was already wrapped on the table: the preparation of other dishes went according to plan. A variety of food for the dead was set on a table in Granny’s room, with a glass of water for the deceased. At noon, she said, “My dear ancestors this modest feast is for you to dine with us, please bless those who made it possible, and spread your wings of love, protection and provision over us. I have attained a milestone in being leader. I’m ready to join my ancestors on the brighter shore. May unity and love bind our family, as I wait for my time.”

The mystic rhetoric transformed her into a trance depicting reverence and dignity towards the ancestors. Subsequently, amid the merriment and celebration, Granny had prematurely retired to her room. Guests had reached the peak of a high-spirited entertainment, and no one noticed her absence. The Nyorleh ceremony, charity for the dead was about to begin, as the crowd took positions for a ‘Capu Capu’ free for all stampede. But Granny was absent from the designated site.

Suddenly, like a transfiguration, a fleet of vultures descended parading like an angelic train: rehearsing a solemn, melodious overture that nailed the consternation of everyone present. Simultaneously, the chime wall-clock had stopped working. And the family portrait suddenly fell from the wall and shattered. It was evident that something out of the ordinary was in the making. The thought of Granny’s memorable words finally resonated among the family. Instantly, everything stopped including time. A mad house began to ponder on the mysterious events. But no one noticed she had earlier on retired to bed, and quietly taking off her footwear.

Shortly, Henrietta closed her eyes as if she had taken a drug and began her sojourn to the citadel of the ancestors. A sensational flashlight and awe had possessed her. She reached out to hug the ancestors with a smile while beaming with excitement. There’s no night or day once she landed in the realm of the ancestors: where the lifestyle is organized with precision. She had anticipated this moment, whose advent epitomized a dream she could neither comprehend nor apprehend.

As she reclined on her bed her brittle spirit had divorced from its entrapped body. Granny had taken a mystic form that overshadowed the relatives’ understanding: who were thrown into disarray that stalled the feasting or socializing. It was getting dark and time for the guests to depart. The emotionally charged family invaded Henrietta’s room only to witness a transformed soul smiling on her bed. They peered, shook her with frenzy jaw-breaking screams, but she was as cold as she was unresponsive. She could hear and empathize with them, but a mysterious mighty river had certainly separated them. And she was peacefully reunited with her loving ancestors: deserting this enduring Awojoh fusion amid a shocking confusion.

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Roland is the author of three books, Teardrops Keep Falling, Silver Rain and Blizzard and Harvest of Hate. He is also a songwriter with three recorded CDs to his credit: The Gift of Life, Jesus Dwells in My Soul and Love and Happy New Year. His work has appeared in several publications including the World Press, Szirine and Florida Times Union. He is of Sierra Leonean descent. Reach him at: bankole@mindspring.com

See also: Roland Bankole Marke: Sierra Leona - My First Love and other poems