Do Pig-Men Dream?

The man’s obi was a cluster of nine huts with a large farm at the back. Vegetables, beans, and yam all grew there. Chickens also wandered around with their swarms of hatchlings trailing them. There was the master hut, uno-diokpala, which is where he slept whether alone or with any of his wives. Each wife had her hut too, all three of them. The rest, save for the cooking hut and chamber pot hut, belonged to the children. The walls inside and outside formed one large mural, with patterns of multicoloured shapes, symbols of ancient spells, and stick writing of quotes from the Great Ape Men. The boy’s favourite was the sun, known to all as Anya Anwu-Anwu, the eye of the undying. His father’s hut was marked with this large blazing sun, red and hot to look at. The boy dreamed of the day he too would own such a hut, perhaps with his own wives and children. He was distracted by a slap on the head.
‘Ozi, stop looking for my trouble o. One day I will beat you.’
His little sister was already far away and laughing at his words. He made his way to the kitchen hut, where two wives sat cutting up ugu leaves for bitterleaf soup while something boiled in the iron pot.
‘Ahh, this one is big o. Are you sure it is not pregnant?’ one of the women asked as he set down the hunting basket. Nneoma was the first wife, and in many ways, the mother-wife. She did not lord over anyone, but she was respected and revered. Her rank as isi, the first, was unquestioned. And she earned it too, for her endless wisdom and tireless work. She was as much a mother to her daughters as she was to the younger wives and their children.
‘I was so close this time. Ask Nnanyi, he will tell you. It remained small like this,’ he gestured with two fingers almost touching, ‘I would have hit it in the stomach!’
The women had to smile at him and his boyish excitement.
‘Don’t worry Anyi. One day, you will be hunting with your eyes closed.’
‘It’s the same thing Nnanyi said. I don’t know about eyes closed o. Let me first hit it with my eyes open.’
‘Ehen, you will crawl before you run,’ the last wife offered. ‘Your mother is on the farm now. Please, tell her to bring more pepper if you see her.’
In Eke culture, it was rude to command another woman’s child, so orders had to be denoted with conditions like ‘if you see her’. The children knew this, and so Anyi wasted no time running to the farm where his mother worked with two of his sisters. His younger and only brother carried a basket for the rest to harvest into. At his age, it was just about all he could be trusted with.
’Nne’m, Nne Amaka said you should bring extra pepper. I think it’s because the meat is too big.’
‘So, you caught big meat?’ his mother asked.
‘Nnanyi shot it,’ he looked down, ‘but I was close, very close.’
‘Don’t worry, in no time…’
‘I know,’ he interrupted, ‘I will be able to hit it with my eyes closed. Everyone keeps saying that.’
His mother shook her head and chuckled.
‘That is because it is true. Now go and wash yourself. There is water in the bath house and freshly pressed palm soap.’
‘Don’t finish all the soap!’ Isioma, his eldest sister shouted, ‘I want to use some after.’
‘Why? So you can smell good for that town crier that plays the flute?’ Anyi teased and everyone within earshot chuckled.
‘Anyi, you will not go away and mind your business. What are you even talking about?’ Her defensiveness did not help matters.
‘It’s okay, I’m not saying anything again. It’s not like it is me that will marry you.’ Where there was once chuckles, full-chested laughter now roared. The sister in question threw a tomato at Anyi but he shielded his face, still laughing.
‘Leave here before I give you something to do. You think I don’t know about you and Onyi,’ his sister spat.
Anyi ran off still laughing at his own humour before anyone could extend the joke about him and Onyi, the Eze’s daughter.
He ran first to the hut he shared with his little brother, and then to the bath house after he grabbed his towel and removed his jewellery – beads and small wooden figures worn on his wrists and neck. He did not take off his title necklace though, a single string with a bone for a pendant, sculpted in the shape of a claw. It was a gift from his father, gifted to him by his grandfather, and before that, from his great grandfather; all the way back to the ancestors they now poured libation for when the moon was high. One day, he too would bear a son. And when the son was named in the ways of the ancestors, the necklace would be passed on as family tradition demanded.
He found the bath house empty. A small cubicle made of bamboo pillars and palm frond walls. A large clay drum rested on one end and a calabash for scooping water floated atop. He took what he needed in a smaller wooden bucket and found the black palm soap. He sniffed - hibiscus nectar. He washed himself quickly, singing the songs he always did – tunes about the beginning of time, the history of their people, and the rules of life. He sang these songs with word and note but he bothered little to really think about what they meant. When he was done, he dried himself quickly with the furry animal skin towel he had brought before rushing to his hut to find dry clothes. With a fresh wrapper cloth on his waist, he went back to the farm.
His father sat on a wooden chair with armrests carved out like the face of a lion. In his hand was a sharp knife and a piece of wood he was scraping at.
‘Good, you are already dressed. I was looking for you.’
‘Nnanyi, I was in the bath house.’
‘That is what your mothers said.’
Anyi nodded and waited.
‘We are going to the top of the hill today for I must consult the d’bia. My dreams have been very troubling.’
‘The d’bia can interpret dreams, too? I thought they were just healers, herbalists.’
‘There are as many types of d’bias as there are types of sciences. But of all, the most revered is the agwu-d’bia. It is believed that a true d’agwu possesses a third eye inside their skull.’
‘And what do they see with that? Aren’t two enough?’
His father rose from the chair.
’The third eye inside is not for things the two outside can see. It is not even for this world, uwa anu.’
Anyi felt his heart race and did not know why.
‘They can see into uwa mmuo, into the spirit realm?’
‘They say we all can… all children of Ala can. But most only manage to when we dream because we have been separated from Ala in thought. It is why we meet d’agwu to interpret dreams for us. The furthest from Ala never even dream.’
‘Do the pig-men dream, too? Are they children of Ala like we are? Or do they come from somewhere else?’
‘Hmm,’ his father snatched his bushy beard, ‘I will have to ask one about dreaming when I have the chance. It is said that they have their ways, their chi, their Ala, and other things. We say it is the language of a land that the gods there speak.’
The boy knew little about dreams even though in his, he often flew over strange metal mountains and encountered strange creatures and even walked foreign lands. These things meant little to him, and he forgot most of it on waking anyway.
‘Can I become a d’agwu?’ he asked.
‘D’agwu’s are not made, they are born. Only one with the gift of the third eye can become d’agwu. If it is your calling, you may run from it, but eventually it possesses you.’
Anyi paused to imagine but quickly shook himself. ‘Let me go and wear my sandals.’
‘Bring my sword and a short knife for yourself.’
Anyi returned with his sandals, his father’s sword, a short knife, and they set off. The sun had come out and the streets had gotten busier. Women were making their way to the market, some carrying their trade items on trays balanced on their heads while others rich enough to secure a space at the market moved freely. Anyi watched the women and their various presentations. Eke, being a home to many Ogbi regions all linked back to the great Ape Men, was a metropolitan kingdom. Bare breasts, cloth covers, skin outfits, beaded covers, feather skirts – the styles were endless, as were the patterns of cosmetic paints and jewellery.
‘Who came first, nwoke or nwanyi. Man or woman? It must be nwoke, right?’ Anyi asked.
‘Have you ever seen a man give birth to anything?’
‘Only when I use the chamber pot,’ Anyi smiled.
‘And do babies smell like unwashed chamber pots?’
The smile deepened in mischief and the boy shook his head.
‘It is not by accident that Amadioha, the mind of nature, is nwoke, male. And Ala, the body of nature, is nnwayi, woman. They are two sides of one coin. Without one, the other cannot be, the coin cannot be. Ife kwulu, ife awku debe ya. Asking which one came first is a flawed question. A mind needs a body, and a body needs a mind.’
His father carried on about things of deep cosmic nature, stopping now and again to ask if the boy understood the teachings. Each time, Anyi claimed that he did even when he did not. For the most part, he just wanted to listen to the man speak. He loved more than anything else, to listen.
‘I know I talk too much, but you see… one day I will be gone, and you will have to teach these things to your own children. As nwa-d’opkala, you will have to administer my estate, too. It is important that you are knowledgeable, rich with the right ako - information. You must also be wise, sharp with your uche - mind.’
The boy looked up to his father, ‘I like listening to you talk even when I don’t understand. Though I miss the old stories with the tortoise and the hare, the ram and the tree.’
‘You have grown older than those stories now, so I tell them to your younger ones. It is time for you to begin learning the truth behind those tales. You are fast becoming a man.’
The boy had no idea if he was ready to become a man, and he wondered if his peers born in the same rain were just as unsure. He had thought about asking his friends earlier but a strange shame would not let him. He feared that they would laugh in his face and call him a tah-tah, a baby. Or worse, a coward - onye ujo. Oh, if there was a way to skip the Ekpe rite of passage!
‘What is it like being a man? With wives, and children, and war, and the councils. Do you ever miss being just a boy?’
His father stopped, his brown gaze inverting inwards as if to rescue some memories now long gone.
‘It is not easy, that I can tell you. But it is good. Sure, sometimes I miss the boyish freedom of my youth, but now I have you, my wives, the kingdom. I can think of no better way to honour the ancestors that struggled to establish the first civilisation. And I get to lay with women, a great pleasure no boy can know,’ he smiled, a flash of mischief on his face.
‘I have slept with Ozi many times. I know she is a girl, not yet a woman, but is it that different?’
‘Oh Anyi, it is very different. Very very different. As the Ape Men say, ife nabu na eyi, ma ha buhi ofu.’
‘Two things may look alike but are not the same thing,’ the boy echoed.
‘Don’t worry. One day when you know the difference between laying with a woman and laying with a woman, we will talk about it.’
‘Over palm wine and peppered snails?’
He smacked Anyi’s head in a playful spank.
‘So that is why you want to be a man, to drink palm wine and eat peppered snails?’
‘Ahhh! Help me, do something!’
The cry came from their right, pushing through the bushes to their ears. Without thinking, the Ogbu’agu unsheathed his sword.
’Stay behind me and have your knife out.’
They jumped into the bush, the father taking the lead with his eyes peeled open for traps. As they approached, they could make out grunts and some other sounds – thumps or stomps maybe.
‘What language is that?’ the boy asked.
‘It’s pig-men tongue, I’ve heard it before.’
They arrived at a space to find three men of pinkish skin standing over another one of theirs - the one screaming for help. A python wrapped around the man, squeezing his body so tightly that his bones were on the verge of getting snapped. He couldn’t have been breathing much either. Nnanyi feared his lungs were dangerously close to collapsing. The helpless soldiers had been trying to pry the snake off their comrade, hitting its head with the butt of their rifles and stabbing it occasionally with the blade attached to their barrels. Immediately they saw Anyi and his father, their guns were in the air, pointed at the pair.
‘Move away from him!’ Nnanyi commanded.
‘You speak Aglon?’ one soldier asked.
The boy turned to his father, shocked that he spoke the pig tongue.
‘You wan save friend or no?’
The men looked at each other and then at the sword that shone naked. Nnanyi slid it back in its sheath.
‘Help m…’ the pain suffocated the dying officer to silence.
‘Chi na eke, eke nke kere uwa. Eke anyi na efe, eke nke nwe Ala.’ Nnanyi sang this chant over and over, his voice dimming to a whisper before finally turning to a hiss. The snake hissed back and slowly began to unwrap itself to free its captive from the death grip. Breath found the man who had gone from pink to red in the face, and he gasped for every bit he could draw in.
When the snake was straight, it slithered around as if to mark the land, and then, it moved into the bushes and out of their sight.
‘What was that?’ one of the men asked.
‘You mean you do not have animal spells where you from? Surely pig-men speak to snakes. You build guns and ships, no?’
The men, uncomfortable with what they had seen, shook their heads. The man on the ground had mostly recovered from the squeeze.
‘Must be hot in clothes. You not like to breathe?’ Anyi’s father teased them for their military uniforms; the long-sleeved and tight-necked attire with the hats they wore on top of it all. ‘What bring you to Eke kingdom? Last I hear, the slave trade now over in Anglon land.’
‘We do not like to be called pig-men,’ one of the men spoke, trying to raise his chest to make an impression.
‘Why? You call us monkey men. If we as playful as monkey, you as greedy as pig.’
The men raised their guns.
‘On this land, kill me and the very sand you stand on will swallow you!’ Nnanyi spoke these words in his native tongue. Anyi who now stood behind him afraid could not see the cold resolve in his father’s eyes.
‘Are you people mad? He just saved my life!’
The man who was now standing appeared to be their superior. On his word, their guns came down and Anyi relaxed, if only a little.
‘What kind people are you? What you want with our land?’
The apparent leader cleared his throat.
‘We are here on the orders of our majesty, the Great Empress of Anglon, Bethany Liz the Second. And we come to bring your people civility and culture. Forgive my men and their haste.’
‘Civility and culture… haste’ Nnanyi paused to think, ‘Don’t know those words in pig-speak.’
‘It is lion-speak to you, and you will learn what those words mean soon enough, not to worry. Now, show me to your king.’
Anyi’s father was even more confused now.
‘King, what is a king?’
‘You mean Eke people have no rulers?’ one of the men asked.
‘Rulers, oh you should have said!’ He shook his head, ‘No no. We are the Ekes, children of the Ogbi, the first men that came from nowhere, the unruled. What we have is an Eze – a priest-guide who must earn his place and then vacate the position after seven years. Are you animals that must be ruled by men, like farmers rule goats? Are you saying that in your obi, a being, flesh and bone and born of a woman can tell you what to do?’
The men watched him with their jaws slacked, finding words that were now gone.
‘Actually, we have a Prime-’ when they tried to reply, he cut them off.
‘So, tell me, what is this civilization and culture that you speak of? And my son wants to know, do pig-men dream?’