The Grey Wedding Pt. 1

Anyi rose up unusually early on the day of his sister’s wedding. It was not the first wedding in the family, but it was the first he could remember witnessing. When the last one had occurred, he had about seen five rains, maybe four. At best, his memory of the event was a blur. This one was different, with him being old enough to call himself a man, even if only a fresh initiate.
As tradition dictated, what would eventually become a feast of goat meat, dance, and palm wine drinking had started many moons before this very day. In the beginning of the beginning, one could say it all started with his older sister, Isioma, sneaking out of their obi to be with Eziokwu, the boy from down the street who played the opi flute so well that the elders joked he must have two mouths. Anyi knew that their father was wise to Isioma’s supposed clandestine operations. Surely, Nnanyi, who could kill his game by ear alone, could hear the doors creak when the moon was high and all were asleep. But as the saying went, not everything seen by the eyes that should be spoken with the tongue. After all, how else was she ever going to find a man to marry her if she was imprisoned in an obi where most would rather die than face her father’s piercing gaze.
At first, Isioma visited this young man once or twice in a moon. Then it became a weekly affair, sometimes even creeping up to two or three times a week. It was like this until her mother, the first wife, made a joke. It happened one morning when Isioma burnt the akara she was making, dozing off by the firewood.
‘Hmm, perhaps you will sleep better in Eziokwu’s house. I hear he plays a good tune that soothes the chi.’
The other women laughed, and Nnanyi was within earshot. Isioma watched him with wide eyes, waiting for some kind of admonition.
‘It is better to stop running close to walls in the dark. Tell that boy we do not take kindly to rats in this house. He must come and let his intentions be known. There shall be no tapping or harvesting from trees he has neither planted nor paid for.’
It was all Nnanyi would say on the matter, and for anyone who knew him and cared to listen, it was already too much. Shortly after the remark, a visit ensued.
The inyo-uno visit was one of strategic importance in Ogbi tradition, even though, to the uninitiated, it appeared to be just another rite of passage with no inherent meaning beyond being an excuse to drink palm wine and eat kola nut. As was customary for this visit, the groom would be led by an older man, his father if he were still alive. They would come with strong drink and kola to see the woman’s father. It was believed that a young man was far too irresponsible to be given a wife, so he needed an older man to receive the woman on his behalf and stand as a guarantor that she would be treated well. In essence, the Ogbis believed it was the man’s father who married the wife on behalf of his son.
For Isioma’s inyo-uno visit, Eziokwu’s father had come with kai kai so strong it stank out the hut, and kola so bitter no child could bite it with a straight face. They were welcomed into the master obi and served catfish pepper soup to help with the drinking. On the first day, they spoke of politics, the increasing presence of pig-men in the kingdom, the orientation of the Eke youths, and tales of wars and times gone by—anything but marriage. Even a hint of it would have been a rude thing to utter.
The second visit followed a few weeks later, and again, the men discussed things that had nothing to do with marriage. But this visit lasted longer, stretching deep into the night and leaving all attendees of drinking age in a staggering state. Still, there was no word about why they were there. Anyi could drink now, as he was well on the journey to manhood, but no more than a cup or two. He had not yet earned the right to be drunk, but he had to start preparing his head and tongue. When the guests were gone, he teased Isioma about her bride price and Eziokwu’s apparent shyness. She laughed, and he laughed, and everyone around them laughed.
And then came the third visit. As with the previous times, the eldest in the room spoke a prayer to the ancestors, mostly asking for long life, good health, and good fortune in the face of tragedy. After the necessary incantations, libation was poured, and Anyi, being the youngest person, was given the kai-kai jar to pour into horns and bamboo cups. The visit proceeded as usual, with talk of the next New Yam festival in the air, until Anyi’s father cleared his throat to garner attention.
‘Ermm, Ikechi, father of Eziokwu, once you brought wine, and I drank without question. Twice you brought wine, and again, I drank without question. Now again, for the third time, you bring wine.’
The room fell silent, eyes darting everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Anyi’s father continued.
‘They say the man who does not ask why he is offered wine will eventually drink with men who have come to marry his wife. So, may I ask, have you come to marry one of my wives?’
Eziokwu’s father clicked his fingers. ‘Mmba nu, alu! No way, abomination!’ The theatre of it all amused Anyi because he knew his father had already conducted the process of iju ese—the tracing of a family’s lineage to uncover whether they were honourable, as well as any medical and spiritual conditions common in the bloodline. For example, the presence of madness was a red flag. Suicides and murders were also frowned upon, as was theft and other acts that brought shame to a name. Nnanyi had sought the answers to all these and more, quizzing the young man and his father on their position regarding various issues to get a sense of their family ethos. Yet, he pretended to be clueless about the reason for their visits.
‘We do not come to marry your wife, but we do not come only to drink wine and eat kola.’
Eziokwu did not speak. Rather, his father spoke on his behalf. After all, he was only a young man, not mature enough to handle matters of marriage, which was meant to unite the two families.
‘Okay. At least, I can carry on drinking knowing that my wives are safe. Perhaps it is my obi you want? Well, this land will cost you more than a few barrels of strong drink.’ Nnanyi took a large swig and placed his empty horn on the wooden stool before him.
‘No, no, no, it is not land we have come for. We do not even have enough hands to harvest our farms.’ The man now looked at Nnanyi as he spoke. ‘Perhaps you have an extra hand for us, one that will bear other extra hands.’
‘Hmmm.’ Nnanyi’s lips curved downwards, and Isioma walked in to place a fire on the torch holder. She was gone as quickly as she had arrived. It was taboo for her to listen in on these conversations, and the silence she was met with was enough warning to convey this.
‘So, you know that I too have a large farm, and all the hands I can get are important. Surely, you do not hope to reduce my harvest to grow your own.’
‘We would never do such, mmba!’
‘So, I ask you again, why are we drinking strong drink?’ Nnanyi pressed. ‘You may call your purpose by name so that it is clear.’
‘Ermm,’ Eziokwui’s father continued, ‘we are here because we have seen a great tree in your farm, and we wish to harvest it.’
‘Interesting. So you wish to reap where you have not sown?’
‘We are prepared to pay the price,’ the man offered eagerly.
There were murmurs and smiles as the theatre of custom and tradition unfolded.
‘Okay, at least you are not possessed by greed or laziness. So, now I must ask, what tree do you speak of, as there are many in this house? Beans that are barely germinated, mature oak trees rooted deep in the earth, and beautiful hibiscus flowers just about to bloom.’ Nnanyi paused. ‘And perhaps I should also ask, who do you wish to make this harvest for? Yourself, or your son whom you have brought with you?’
‘Ahh, Nnanyi!’ Eziokwu’s father was quick to reply, ‘I fear I am now too old to harvest the fruit we have come for. My waist has since lost its oil, and now, such work is only for the young. It is my son, Eziokwu, who will be tending and harvesting. I am only here because someone must guide him, and I am his father.’
Nnanyi filled his cup with more kai-kai, and Anyi poured himself a second round of palm wine. It was still sweet, which suggested that it was fresh and not strong—nothing like the fermented kai-kai that attracted flies that ended up drowning in it.
‘And the young man, have you trained him in the ways of a farmer?’ Nnanyi asked.
‘He has trained a sheep, nursing it from infancy until its horns were strong.’
In Eke, there was a saying that the man who could not raise a goat or sheep had no business taking a wife. It was believed that patience, tenderness, thoughtfulness, and other such qualities required to nurse an animal from infancy to adulthood were necessary for any man hoping to put a woman under his roof.
‘Very well, I have heard you.’ Nnanyi’s tone was final. ‘Let us carry on drinking. I will meet with my kinsmen, and we shall decide what is owed for the harvest you seek.’
With that, they returned to drinking and the topic of harvesting did not come up again. Instead, they spoke of recent news from the town crier—the establishment of the pig-men spelling schools in forbidden forests and how they had begun to convince even some of the wisest to send their children to be educated in the ways of their Xrist and God. By the time the last drop of kai-kai was done, the fresh palm wine had only lost two cups to Anyi. The jar would be sealed for later fermentation, but for now, the guests had to be seen off. Anyi and his father bade them well, and so, the wedding plans were well on the way.
Two whole moons passed before a date was fixed for the wedding celebrations. During this time, the kinsmen met and many conversations ensued. In the end, a list of items was drawn up; goats, yams, red oil, and a barrel of fermented yam liquor. The groom and his family protested nothing. On the appointed day, dressed in their finest threads, appropriate caps and finely wooden-carved walking sticks, they made their way to the bride’s father’s obi to fulfil the last rites.
Whereas previously the theatre was a close affair, this time at least ten kinsmen sat in for the bride’s family, and ten witnesses for the groom. How else would it be known that all the customs were being followed? Meanwhile, music played in the compound, and guests crowded the chairs, stools, and even tree roots. Until the dowry was settled, it was believed that the marriage had not yet taken place. For all Eziokwu and his family knew, their tender could have been rejected, and they would not have been able to complain much. Of course, this was never the case, but it was fun to bargain.
‘Nnanyi, we have finally come to harvest that tree we discussed earlier. We have also brought the things you asked for.’
Nnanyi pretended to be unimpressed, bending his lips and crinkling his nose.
‘I see you have brought food and drink for my kinsmen, but what have you brought for me to show that you understand the worth you claim from my house?’
There was silence, the drums and flute from outside the hut flowing in uninterrupted.
‘Ehh,’ Eziokwu’s father started, ‘you will tell us what you want. But first, can we see the one we have come for? You know, they say if one does not ask well, he may part with another man’s wife after paying for a daughter.’
Laughter filled the room, and Anyi smiled.
‘Very well then. But be warned, the smile on your son’s face will be used to set a price.’
More laughter followed.
‘Anyi, go and tell them it is time to come,’ Nnanyi instructed.
Anyi leapt into action, leaving the room and weaving through the crowd to reach the obi where the women waited—his sisters, his mother, the other wives, and some female family friends. All were dressed for the occasion, but none was more adorned than the bride-to-be. Her akwa ocha wrapper cloth was the whitest white could dream of. Her lips were painted dark, and her hair was threaded into a crown of beads. In all of Anyi’s life, he had never seen her like this; even her skin shone like she had been soaked in honey.
‘Nnanyi says it is time.’
‘Oya, go back. We are coming,’ Anyi’s mother shooed him away hurriedly.
He returned to find the men still talking. At the centre of the table, an unbroken kola nut rested, a short knife by its side on the plate. A jar of palm wine stood untouched while the others in skin bags and small drums got emptied. It wasn’t long after Anyi took his seat in the corner before they heard the sound of a talking drum.
‘They are here!’
First came the first wife, dancing her way into the room, her large waist swaying to the beat of the drum. Her face was covered with a piece of cloth. After all, a man that could not tell his wife in the dark could not claim to love her—how could he be sure he was impregnating the right woman when the time came? All the women and some of the girls would appear with their faces hidden. This tradition was particularly tricky when the bride had a twin. Thankfully, this was not such a case.
‘Is this the one you want?’ Nnanyi asked.
’Tufia! Alu!’ Eziokwu’s father and his entourage clicked their fingers. ‘Madu adahi anu nne ya,’ one man said, ‘a man cannot marry his mother.’ They all laughed, and the first wife shuffled her way out. Next was small Ozi in her tiny wrapper cloth that wrapped her tiny self.
‘Ahh, okwa ndi oshi na asi, ma ocha bute, ma o’charo bute. It is the thief that asks to eat, whether the fruit is ripe or not. The good man knows to wait. We don’t want this one.’
Again, more laughter.
Next was another girl, one young enough to pass for the bride, but not quite Isioma. The groom and his men allowed her to dance for a little longer, conferring within themselves as if in real doubt as to the identity of the dancer. At last, they raised their heads.
'Nka amaka, kama ofolu ofu nfu oku. Oburo nke anyi. This one is good oh, but it needs to stay on the firewood just a little longer. It is not our own.'
'Are you sure?' Nnanyi asked.
‘We are very sure,’ Eziokwu’s father responded.
All this while, Eziokwu had not spoken a word to Nnanyi or the kinsmen. He had no authority to. He could only speak to his father, who then spoke on his behalf. After all, it was to the father that the bride was to be given, as head of the family she was being married into. Eziokwu was merely a caretaker. As Nnanyi had explained to Anyi, marriage was really about the joining of families through the bonds of extended kinship. While the wife was given to a young man who acts as the master of the land they would live on, diokapala—the man’s father—still acted as guardian, responsible for his son’s treatment of the wife should a case be taken to the elders for settling. This way, the onus was on the man to train his son in a manner that would not bring shame to his name before the elders. And if the bride passed away, only with her family’s permission could she be buried in her marital home. If not, she was to be brought back and laid to rest in her father’s compound. This was rare, but it was a tradition of great symbolism letting the woman know that even in death, she had a home in her father’s house.
‘We do not take dowry to sell a daughter,’ Nnanyi had said. ‘Any woman is free to return to her father’s house at any time. And if the man wishes to marry her again, he will pay another dowry after the first has been returned. She is not his property to do with as he pleases. She is a human being, not a goat or chicken.’
The talking drum rang louder as the bride swayed in, and Eziokwu’s face betrayed whatever composure he had hoped to maintain.
‘This is the one!’ he blurted.
‘Tah!’ an elderly kinsman shouted. ‘You think you can talk here? When you haven’t paid for anything? In fact, we are adding more cowries to your fee!’
‘He couldn’t even hold it in,’ Nnanyi laughed.
The men joined in.
‘Oya, go go go!’ Anyi’s father dismissed his daughter. ‘Now that we have seen that this young man likes good things, let us see if he is willing to pay the price.’
They argued over cowries, drinking and eating until the sun was finally about to set. This, too, was customary. In the end, Nnanyi accepted five cowries, one for each finger on a hand. In Eke, there was no stated amount; fathers generally charged whatever was symbolic to them. Now that the dowry had been settled, it was time for the celebration to truly begin.

‘Eziokwu, welcome to my family!’ Anyi’s father greeted.