KWENU! Our culture, our future

Towards Atoning for Igbo’s Greatest Shame

Rudolf Ogoo Okonkwo

rudolfokonkwo@aol.com

Friday, May 30,  2008

Our people say that the heads the soil has swallowed are many.

Three million Igbo sons, daughters and children, amongst them, thousands of Biafran soldiers who died in defense of the freedom we enjoy today. From their graves, marked and unmarked, they all cry out in the words of that revered poet:

“Tell them of us and say For your tomorrow we gave our today”

But how many of us hear their cry? How many pause in our daily pursuit of material wealth to pay tribute to those who made the ultimate sacrifice for us?

Because the dead are not here with us, we pretend we do not owe them. We pretend they did not give their today for our tomorrow.

But then, there are the injured. There are there with us. Along Enugu-Onitsha Expressway, precisely at Oji River/Ugwuoba sector, we see them begging - a stark reminder that we have failed them.

As a keen observer of life, very few things bamboozle me. But twice in the last couple of years, I have been stumped.

One was the day I was derided by other Nigerians because Okonkwo of Things Fall Apart spoke Yoruba before he spoke Igbo. It was the day the Yoruba edition of Things Fall Apart was published.

The second was the day I was ridiculed by other Nigerians after they passed through Oji River and saw ex-Biafran soldiers on the street side begging. They disparaged me thus:

“You are dreaming of another Biafra when you haven’t cared for the veterans of the first Biafra.”

“I thought you said the Igbo are never beggars.”

My Primary school teacher, Mr. Ifeanyi Obiakonwa, said that a bride does not flaunt her beauty while a festering wound sits on her head.

We the Igbo have a festering wound on our head – the appalling state of the Biafran veterans. Yet, we have had the audacity to flaunt our beauty. And we wonder why no suitor is knocking on our door.

We deceive ourselves but we do not deceive the world around us. If we do not care for those we sent at their prime to fight for us, men who paid for our freedom with their youth, if we look away while they live in squalor, it shall never be well with us.

It is in the natural law. We can silence our conscience but we cannot escape the consequences of our mistreatment of the very people to whom we owe our existence. Our collective failure in this regard will continue to undermine our individual accomplishments.

For us to sit and wait for death to deliver our heroes from the misery we abandoned them in demeans our very humanity. Even when we let ourselves be desensitized, our lack of sympathy will only guarantee us that dreadful place that Dante Alighieri said is reserved for those who in time of great moral crises feign indifference.

Our falls are not all caused by enemies who gag our steps, many our caused by the yoke of guiltiness that weighs down our souls. It stops us from souring. It stunts the flight of those of us who managed to climb us.

We live in the greatest and richest and strongest nation on earth. We are the lucky ones. We are the privileged few. Our privileges come with great responsibilities. Many less endowed look up to us for leadership. Though we may not know it, we are the people many of our people are waiting for to show them the light. Without being immodest, we are the last best hope for our people.

And what will it take to heal this long festering wound? Why has this great race of ours failed at this most sacred of all tasks? Who have we being waiting for? How did we prefer to lose our moral authority than to rise up and make whatever sacrifice is needed to permanently heal this festering wound?

It is a shame. It is our collective shame.

• Shame on you for spending $1,000 for your baby’s Christening but cannot afford $10 for the restoration of our brave men’s dignity.

• Shame on you for spending $1,000 to mark your birthday but cannot afford $10 to help our veterans live one day more.

• Shame on you for spending $100 on the latest agbada but cannot afford $10 to cover the grief of our heroes.

• Shame on you for spending $100 a-sitting hanging with your boys but cannot afford $10 to support our Biafran boys.

• Shame on you for calling yourself a chief but cannot be counted in the effort to rehabilitate our champions.

Making amend is past due. None of those men should be allowed to again die broken hearted because we failed to make him feel appreciated and valued. All it will take is you and me. Margaret Mead noted that we should “never doubt that a group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world.” She said that, “indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.”

Please support the Aladimma Project. I sincerely urge you. Do it for posterity sake. Do it for our children. Do it for our children’s children. Do it for the memory of all those who cleared the way for us to be where we are today. Do it so that your name will be excluded from that dreadful list of names that elicit a sorrowful Tufiakwa from our forefathers.

To the first ten people who will donate $200 or more to the Aladimma Project, I will give an autographed copy of my book, Children of A Retired God.

“All our gods are weeping. Idemili is weeping. Ogwugwu is weeping. Agbala is weeping and all others. Our dead fathers are weeping because of the shameful sacrilege they are suffering and the abomination we have seen with our eyes.”

 – Chinua Achebe in Things Fall Apart

We can stop our gods from crying. We can change it all if we act today. Just $10 a year from six thousand of us you can help us atone for Igbo’s greatest shame.

Yes, we can. For when we say yes, our Chi concurs.

See also: M. O. ENE: Help the Healing Happen

www.kwenu.com: Simply surprise yourself yonder!