Isn't it amazing how certain moments could live on, like the immortal gods we read in tales and stories.
Well, we ( my mum and I) travelled from the city to the village after a really long while. We met so many people in the course of our journey,
"Emeka you'll need to learn how to start speaking your language" one of the public bus passengers whom I interacted with during the long trip to the village, said. I laughed it off but deep down I felt somewhat embarrassed knowing fully well that I was the first son.
Where I come from, the first son is obliged to visit the village more often than others. It was sort of a tradition, something I wasn't used to, owing to the fact that I grew up in the city.
We eventually arrived at the village and to be honest, I wasn't as excited as I should: the rough roads, mud houses, vibrating sounds of generators, and street hawkers roaming about speaking a local language (my language to be precise) But to me, they seemed foreign, funny right?
On arrival, we met an uncle of our's "uncle Chima" he ran towards me, and was like... "Okpara" which translates to first son in Igbo tribe (my tribe).
We took pictures to mark that day. From the left: I, my mum, my uncle, and then my brother
Well, I stared at him for a while thinking of what to say — I'm not the emotional type anyways— he hugged me and pulled a little bit backwards to have a proper look of how grown I'd become. Last time we met was over 15 years ago, I was still a child then, though I could remember a glimpse and snapshots from the past but definitely not the full picture.
"Come on let's go in. this is a call for celebration" he ecstatically said, while leading us into our village house. he also admonished us to bath, rest, and have a change of clothes as we were going to have a big celebration in the evening.
The village house is a where members of the extended family are expected to gather for a reunion during holidays, more like a get-together. Although traditionally it's literally owned by the first son. My Dad was the first son before he kicked the bucket about 10 years ago, so by culture, I was meant to be in next in line.
In the evening, we had a big party, one bigger than expected. The whole villagers came around to celebrate our presence.
My uncle bought lots of drinks, mainly non-alcoholic though. There was also a local drink we call palm wine" they were lots and lots of drinks.
My Uncle setting up the drinks just before the party started
I was skeptical about having a sip at first but then I turned right beside me only to see my mum gulping and eating an unhealthy amount of drinks and food.
This is my mum on the extreme left
What more could I do than follow her footsteps. They were lots of clatters chatters, murmurs, and movement both within the house and outside, just within the compound.
This was just before the party had kicked off
Everyone who came for the welcome party walked up to me to acknowledge my presence. I felt important, not sure I had ever felt so important before except on a certain birthday of mine last year.
Yeah, least I forget, we started off with a prayer to God. A typical Nigerian party would never start without a prayer.
I had a taste of every delicacy while trying not to take too much of a particular delicacy so as to create a space for other meals to fit into my rumbling stomach. Well, I'm pretty sure most Africans will relate to this 😉. You ever get that feeling where you start to feel so important? Yeah that was me!
Finally, we all gathered and paid a tribute to my late Dad... A perfect way to end a long reunion indeed.
I felt like I finally belonged somewhere, to a community, to my people... To my culture!
This is an an entry for the #Aprilinleo daily prompt
Check it out here here