To Name A Dream

Anyi and his father carried on after the encounter, mostly in silence. When the boy’s mind became too heavy with his question, he spoke.
‘Nnanyi, how…’ a small pause caught him, as if to convince himself he was not being rude to question his father, ‘How come you know how to speak pig tongue?’
The question left his mouth and his body lighter, as if he had shed a great burden that weighed in his heart. His father was silent for at least ten paces. He too had something to weigh. He sighed and then, he spoke.
‘After I graduated from Ekpe on my fourteenth rain, I joined the Eke warriors and was to follow a battalion to war.’
‘War?’ the boy couldn’t hold his tongue, ‘You’ve been to war?’
‘Shhh,’ Nnanyi hushed his son, ‘I do not speak of it. We do not speak of it.’
‘But it is a great honour. You are here… alive. You survived. Like a great warrior.’
Now Nnanyi was gazing far ahead but his eyes appeared vacant. He shook his head. ‘You will not understand.’
‘I won’t tell anybody, I promise. Not even my mother or small Ozi.’
His father said nothing.
They continued to walk, cutting through streams and climbing small hills. The great d’bia they sought did not live with mere men. The journey in itself
was a test of how much the worry bringing one was worth.
‘I am ashamed of the war and my part in it,’ his voice broke, ‘I even fought with a gun.’
It was Anyi’s turn to be silent now. He looked at his father with new eyes, trying his best to imagine him holding a rifle like some hunters did. Even when he managed a picture in his head, he just couldn’t see the older man pulling the trigger.
‘The pig-men had known we and the Oras had our disputes, so they supplied weapons to them. In the first wave of attack, my battalion was slaughtered. Of the five hundred men, less than a hundred made it back, cowering under the sound of explosions like rats scurrying from a yam barn.’
’Nnanyi, there is no shame in fear,’ the boy said, not sure if it was okay.
‘Yes, there is none. But there is shame in cowardice and even greater shame in letting a stranger come between brothers.’
‘But you said we already had a dispute with the Oras.’
‘Yes, much before the issue of who owns what land, the pig-men had sown the seed of discord by paying the Oras to kidnap our people to be sold into their lands across the seas.’
Anyi did not know when he stopped moving.
‘You mean to say that there are Eke people in the pig-men land? What do they do there?’
‘I don’t know, nobody knows. The pig-men claim that there is fertile ground there and that the taken will be made to work like we work our ohu – our captives from war. No one that has ever crossed has come back.’
The boy sighed and hummed. ‘Perhaps one day I will go.’
His father froze in obvious panic.
‘You must never go there!’ He bent down to grab his son’s shoulders, staring into his eyes, ‘Do you understand me? You must never!’
Anyi nodded, surprised to detect what looked like fear in his father’s eyes… or was it concern? The older man let out a sigh and they resumed their stroll.
‘Soon after the Oras started taking us, we started taking them in return. It didn’t matter who brought whom. The pig-men had sacks of tobacco, barrels of strong drinks, gold, silver, and many other items strange to our lands.’ He turned to make sure Anyi’s attention had not wavered. The boy was as attentive as a leopard with eyes locked on its prey.
‘As expected, someone important like a d’bia or Ozo title holder was bound to be taken once in a while, and so a stranger’s wedge grew wider between brothers. The seed of war was blooming fast to bear fruits of blood.’
‘Well, they started it,’ Anyi offered in an attempt to comfort his father.
‘What does it matter what hand stained the other first with red oil? If they cannot rub together with water and palm soap, none will come out clean. Do you understand?’
Anyi nodded.
‘After our defeat at the hands of the Oras wielding guns, we had no choice but to deal with the pig-men again. This time, we wanted our own guns. That was when I began to learn their tongue. One of them took a liking to me – what they call a Reverend Father, their equivalent of our d’bias.’
‘Woah!’ Anyi’s eyes bulged, ‘Did he teach you any pig-men spells?’
‘That’s enough for today. Now, we must walk in meditative silence.’
Anyi did not probe any further. He walked in silence with his father, his mind still struggling to put a rifle in the older man’s hand. Perhaps that was why he hated the contraptions and the pig-men that sold them so much. He could not imagine Nnanyi shooting at people, fellow descendants of the Great Ape Men who spoke the same tongue. Indeed, a stranger's wedge had grown.
When the sun was white, blazing in the sky and burning all it touched with its light, they came into view of the grove they sought. A large rocky cave sat on the last stretch of a hill, with huge, shaded trees growing around it. They quickened their steps, pushing up the last few paces with tired breath.
‘Do you know that these trees were planted by the Great Ape Men themselves? It is from the trunk of these that our ancestors built the first sail boats to spread their wisdom and blood across the world. The stories say that they mated with strange creatures in other lands – half-men, giants, trolls even.’
’Nnanyi, are you sure this is not just a myth?’
‘For those of us that believe in it, it is not. Just like the pig-men, they believe the first man was made, moulded from clay and breathed into life with chi.’
‘But I do not feel very much like a clay sculpture.’ Anyi smiled and his father managed one too.
The cave spotted two men at the door. Dressed only in short goatskin wrappers with their bodies chalked in patterns of white nzu paint, Anyi struggled to take his eyes off them. They greeted the pair and immediately moved out of the way for them to enter.
‘They say Nneala can see you before you see her. If we were not welcome here, they wouldn’t even let us in.’
The cave was lit with oil torches and the walls covered in too much to take in – long stick writing passages, pictographic depiction of events and stories, paintings, markings – it was rare to see a space so untouched. Children ran around, sunborns with red eyes, milk skin and golden hair, dread-heads, and wanderers who would not look at you or respond to their names when called. As much as the other children called them to move out of the way, they appeared busy with the sticks they played with and paid no one any attention.
‘Nnanyi, I have been waiting for you. You and the little one, Anyi.’ Nneala’s voice appeared as if from the shadows. In a dimly lit corner, the d’bia was sitted on a small stool, fanning what appeared to be roasted corn.
‘How does she know our names?’ Anyi whispered.
‘I already told you, Nneala sees with a third eye. There is nothing you can hide from her, past, present or future. They say in uwa mmuo, time is one big moment.’
Nnanyi was silent when they were close to the d’bia.
She turned to face them. Nneala was a large woman, broad-backed and large-chested. She wore only a white cover cloth over her breasts, but her grey locks extended to her waist in fat strands. Her right eye, circled with the nzu chalk appeared grey in the low light. Her arms were home to many tattoos carved out from her skin like tribal marks. Her voice was throaty, almost tired.
‘Nneala, we greet you.’ Nnanyi bowed to show his respect and Anyi was fast to follow.
‘Sit down, sit down.’
The pair sat on the clay earth and soon, the d’bia passed them a cob of corn each. Anyi waited for his father to take a bite before he did. They ate without speaking, their eyes drifting to watch the playing children. Now and again, one would come towards Nneala who would hand him or her a boiled salted pear.
‘Some of the children don’t hear,’ Anyi only looked to his father to find out if speaking was okay after the words were out.
‘It is not that they do not hear, it is that they hear only the spirits. Are we deaf because we hear only the living?’
Anyi turned to look at them again. He wondered what it was the spirits said to them, and why it had to leave their eyes vacated in the way that it did.
‘They are blessed in ways most cannot understand, so people call them mad and bring them here. The ones not as touched, I prescribe herbs and potions for. The ones I see to be very gifted, I offer sanctuary to.’
Anyi wanted to ask if the parents were okay with this, but he knew not to. An osu, one who dedicates their life to the service of the spirits, had no place in the rest of society. They were considered to be even more sacred than the Eze, the kingdom's priest-guide. Sometimes one was born with the gift, ama as they called it. Ama for metal casting, ama for herbal science, ama for spiritual divination, and other such things. One with ama was thought to have an innate knowing from the spirits nested in the person’s chi, the person’s soul. If one bore such a child, marked usually by dreads, sun-coloured skin, or hollow eyes, one might choose to raise them until they were adults who then decided whether to stay or leave, or one could dedicate them as children. To attract blessings, most were quick to give up the child.
‘The older osus help me raise them as part of their training until they graduate and become Ama-osu – knowing osu. Then, they may leave this place and travel to further spread the knowledge. They may never know women or men. They may never own property or bear children too.’
‘Isn’t that lonely?’ Anyi asked.
‘One that speaks with the spirit is never lonely, my child.’
Nnanyi was now done with his corn and knew it was time to get down to the business of his visit.
’Nneala, they say words should always crawl around the issue, that the wise can see the centre. But I am afraid I do not know how to crawl around this one.’
The d’bia turned to face him.
‘So then, tell me your dreams. That is why you are here, is it not?’
Nnanyi did not waste time. He opened his mouth and began to speak – reciting the sequence he had seen on one too many nights with as much detail as he could manage.

Nlo Nnanna - Nnanna’s Dream

I have been having the same dream
Over, and over again
I look up, the sun is the colour of blood
Bleeding into the earth in drops like molten iron
I see our land on fire
Obis and farms alike
My ears are filled with screaming, crying, wailing and weeping
I walk down the streets to see the dead
Men, women, children, and goats too
And then there is thundering, so much thundering
I stare at the ground and beg Ala to help us, to save us
There is only silence, deep silence
The dead awakens
I see their eyes flicker open
But now, where there was once honey brown
All I see is river blue
Now that I think of it
It is the same blue as the pig-men’s, too
Pause…
This is my dream, Nneala
What does it mean?

Anyi sat in silence whilst the d’bia watched with furrowed brows and a lined face. When Nnanyi was finished, she shook her head, sad and defeated.
‘You are the third with such a dream this moon alone. Same dream. Small differences, but the same altogether. I am afraid we are now at the end of an age.’
‘End of an age? I do not understand.’ Nnanyi did not hide his confusion.
Nneala turned to the wall. Inscribed in pictures of ancient art, one could make out a circle denoting the four Ogbi ages, each in its quadrant. Nneala started with the first at the north-west quadrant.
‘They say in the beginning of the beginning, all existed in unity in uwambu. Man and the celestial chi were inseparable, giving our bodiless form complete access to the divine mind of Amadioha. Whenever we wanted, we could commune in obi-chukwu – the heart of Amadioha, a perfect garden from which we plucked the kola nut that stays with us today.’ Nneala threw a whole lobe in her mouth and chewed.
‘In this time, we had no need for food, no sensation of pain or death – only a state of perfect being in commune with all the chi in the entire universe. We call this time, Uga Aka, and the light beings that traversed the plane, Umu Aka.’
Anyi’s eyes tracked blobs of light scattered like stars throughout the first quadrant, condensing into a pair of termite hills with thunder striking at the top. His mind also flashed back to the Ogbi word, umuaka: Eke-speak for children. He made a mental note of it but asked no questions.
‘It is believed that over time, Amadioha had to let us go so that we, too, might grow to manifest the full potential of our chi. Just like how eventually, your father and mother must leave you to find your own akalaka. Only you can find your own destiny.’
In the middle of the painting was the sun, like an eye beaming in the centre of a stone tapestry. On the north-east were pictograms of apelike men – first signing with gestures, unable to voice a language. They managed homes in groves and under trees. The same groves and trees that would later be called sacred, for they were kind to the Ape Men when most things were not. The Ape Men worked with tools of stone for at the time, there was no fire and no iron. They killed and ate their meat uncooked, and they did not bother with coverings. Then one day, somebody spoke. Nneuwa, the first of d’bias, the mother of mankind.
‘It is said that our Afa language came whole to Nneuwa, a gift from Eke, symbolised here as the snake. This age, we refer to as Uga Chi because it denotes our chi’s separation from the infinite chi. You can imagine how much of a shock this must have been for humans.’ Anyi’s eyes tracked down the image of a serpent he was familiar with. ‘It is believed that life is what happens not inside any one person, but in the spaces between us that connect all. Afa is the light from which we try to make these connections – language is what binds us. To each other and to the beyond.’
‘Why is her head marked with the fire?’ Anyi asked, his eyes fixed on the legendary Nneuwa.
‘With the illuminating power of Afa, came the knowledge of good and evil; an awakening of the first chi in humankind. It was an event as bitter as it was sweet.’
Anyi’s eyes tracked the icon. It was the first upright person in the sequence.
The d’bia continued, ‘Soon, she spoke to the others, casting the spell of language on them and waking the latent chi that slept in them. The women took to it first, biting the fruit of knowing and then, passing it on to their men. Over time, everyone began to straighten their backs. To stand upright. It was in this era that we first learned about spelling, concepts like mmuo were revealed to us, and we built the first shrines as portals to channel the chi within us to connect with the infinite chi. In the end, we discovered fire and the first body of memory we have till date is projected on this wall. The very wall we are now staring at.’
Anyi found himself staggering backwards in reverence. Something about knowing how old the image before him was made him feel small with humility.
‘Some say the third age was the Golden Age, the age of the Rising Sun, Uga Anwu,’ the d’bia continued.
The third quadrant showed boats being assembled, metal being casted, art being made. It showed the fruits of travel as the Great Ape Men went around to share the spell of language. And it showed interbreeding too – sometimes, with pig apes. This was when the stick language was invented. The Ape Men made sure to leave it on rocks wherever they went, and in one unspecified location, it showed a library of stones believed to hold knowledge of things now forgotten.
‘The stone library of Mmuo-Ozi, do you know where it is?’ Anyi asked.
Nneala managed a smile.
‘If I did, I would not be in this cave. There is a small stone library in Onicha not too far away, but sometimes when I look to see it, it is not there anymore.’ She turned to Anyi, ‘Can you see the age we are in now?’
The third age ended with a great flood, wiping out so much to give way to the fourth.
‘You see, towards the end of Uga Anwu, it is said that the brightest of d’bias decided to start hiding their knowledge and insights. After we had built pyramids that followed the stars and boats that could travel the world over, arrogance had taken root. It became clear that mankind was firmly on the path to destruction as we drew further away from Amadioha’s will and the infinite chi through which we we accessed it. Instead of connecting to each other or even Amadioha, we chose instead to connect with material things and our own selves. Our fall had become inevitable and so, after the flood did its best to save us from ourselves, Ada’m the Fallen was born. The first blue-eyed man. The first completely material man incapable of perceiving Amadioha, even in thought.’
Nneala paused to allow Anyi soak up her words. Then she continued.
‘The fourth age started with the ascension of the material mind as we struggled to regain our place in a world now drowned. Ironic, isn’t it? Rather than learn to live with the laws of nature after the flood, man resolves to leave no stone unturned in his quest for dominance. He swears that in the end, he will control nature – nature from which he came but now thinks himself separate from and master of as Amadioha’s light and Eke’s consciousness die in him. You know, before the flood, many had visions. As many have now. Amadioha reveals these things to whomever he chooses. It is now left to us to ask Ala, ‘Why?’
‘But why? What did the people do to Ala that made it okay to flood the land before? Maybe it is what we are doing again.’ Anyi’s eyes had not even drifted to the last quadrant.
‘Have you not been listening, child? It was punishment for our hubris and ignorance, an attempt to help us save ourselves from our worst enemy; our own shadow. Whether we like it or not, it was here that civilization was born. We are the custodians that abandoned our mission to instead serve ourselves. Ada’m is our own creation. The manifestation of the deaf chi we had been sculpting as we removed ourselves from communing with the spirits, intoxicated by the thrills of material mastery. Some believe the cycle of karma will not be complete until we figure out a way to get these pig-men leading this lost age to see with spiritual eyes again.’
‘Are you saying the pig-men will rule us?’ Nnanyi asked.
‘I am saying they will have their own age, Uga Izu – the age of spiritual blindness and destruction.’
Anyi examined the last quadrant. After the flood, the great expanse of civilization they now knew as Afaraka, the great land of the Ape Men, had been reduced to rubbles. Sure, the pyramids still pierced the sky, but the knowledge of such technology had been washed away. People settled in tribes, birthing more languages. Some thrived and others did not. In the end, a red sun hung in the sky and there was fire on the land – a blue-eyed serpent beaming a spell over everything.
‘I am not sure I understand,’ Nnanyi said.
‘We have seen the age before ages, when the first ancestors dwelled with Amadioha and knew not of body or death – Uga Aka. We have seen the Cancerian Age of the Mother, with Nneuwa birthing language to awaken the sleeping chi, and allowing us to move out of the forest to settle on farms, build our first huts and channelling shrines – Uga Chi. We have seen the Age of the two-faced Gemini, when man learned not only to create from spirit, but also from mind; Uga Anwu – a corruption some say, a blessing according to others. Now, intoxicated with what the mind can do, we march into the fire age of Aries – Uga Izu. The arrogance of our mastery of power over stone, metal, and fire. This age they say will be characterised by the grey-eyed being ruled over by blue-eyed kings – it will become shameful to see in brown and many that do will pretend to avoid persecution. There will be much worship of symbols because their spiritual meanings and truths have been lost or concealed. Much obsession with the self and neglect of the earth as we plunder more than is our fair right. Unable to perfect our spirits, we will worship our bodies. So much pain, from so much blindness.’
Nnanyi interrupted.
‘So, what about the prophecies of the age after this Uga Izu? They say in the songs that we will see a return to an Uga Aka of a sort, achieving a perfect paradise here on earth.’
‘Yes, we await Uga Mmuo-Miri, the Age of Aquarius. Are you asking me what the prophecies say because you have forgotten or because you hope I will tell you that it has changed?’
She looked at Anyi and then his father who hadn’t seem to move an inch.
‘When the night is darkest, the light will shine again. But first, the dark is inevitable. It must be total and complete in its eclipse before dawn can break it again.’
Nnanyi wanted to ask if there was a way to stop this. A sacrifice acceptable to Ala or perhaps prayers to Amadioha. But he knew enough about the subject of time and ages. Enough to know that the will of one man was powerless against the winds of time – against the will of time. No one soul could flow against the collective tide of an aeon.