We Must Hear All the Stories: And Here Are Some More of Mine:– My Musings – My Reflections.

Copyright 2014 Chief Nnamdi A. Ekenna.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1107-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-4152-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-1108-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914601

Trafford rev. 07/15/2014

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Contents

Preface

Part I      No Better Time Than Now To Tell (Y)Our Story

Part II     You Don’t Have To Dig To Find Your Story

Part III    Of Youth, Growing Up, And Pursuing Education

Part IV    We Were Looking For Uncle Pancy

Part V      Your Read Of The Music Informs Your Step To It

Part VI     The One Room, One Bed Philosophy

Part VII    Gracefully Surrendering The Things Of Youth

Part VIII   And So Also Are The Phrenetic Experiences In Them

Part IX The Conclusion

Epilogue

Appendix I

Notes On Appendix I

Appendix II

Notes On Appendix II

Author Biography

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EKWE KŲ Ọ, AMA AGBA A!

The Town Crier was THE HERALD, THE VANGUARD, THE VOICE, the ONLY mode by which proclamations reached our people in the days of yore. Those are the BEACON alerting the people that at the sound of the gong will follow the exposé. I heard one or two myself in the village as a kid, volunteers who announced emergencies, especially of impromptu meetings of the elders, closure or rescheduling of a market day, or sudden deaths. In times erstwhile, the message was ensconced in the sounds of their ogele {gong} or talking drums decipherable only by the initiated. Of course they had no bullhorns – I tried, but could not find a befitting illustration of The Town Crier – so I settled for the above.

Also by Chief Nnamdi A. Ekenna

Growing Tall Amidst Obstacles

ISBN-13: 978-1490914008 (CreateSpace-Assigned)

ISBN-10: 1490914005

LCCN: 2013912751

BISAC: Biography & Autobiography / General

Chief Nnamdi A. Ekenna is known among his family and friends as a talented writer whose essays, thoughts, and commentaries cut through the complexities of life to reveal universal truths. Growing Tall Amidst Obstacles collects Chief Ekenna’s writings for the first time, showcasing the talent and wisdom of a remarkable man.

Many of Chief Ekenna’s stories center on his childhood and adolescence in Nigeria. The seventh of nineteen children born into a traditional polygynous family, Chief Ekenna grew up in circumstances that may seem exotic and strange to anyone not familiar with Nigerian Igbo culture. Chief Ekenna has a gift, however, for finding the common experience within his tales, making the unfamiliar seem familiar despite cultural differences.

More than a collection of personal reminiscences, Growing Tall Amidst Obstacles records Chief Ekenna’s exploration of his family’s past. After long conversations with his father and uncle, Chief Ekenna discovers the life of his grandfather, a man he never met. Learning of his grandfather’s career as a respected practitioner of traditional Nigerian medicine adds an additional layer to Chief Ekenna’s understanding of his personal heritage and the richness of his culture.

Ultimately, Growing Tall Amidst Obstacles represents a dialogue between Chief Ekenna and the reader. His stories invite readers to examine the apparent simplicity of life and take pleasure in even the most mundane of events. Chief Ekenna’s message is universal; we may all be products of our environments, but somehow we all share common experiences and bonds

to ‘Oba

who has

shown me that impartation of knowledge

is strengthened by listening

When it takes a long time for one to have a child{ren} of one’s own, one’s nieces and nephews, and ALL of one’s Godchildren, become, in their own right, one’s children. That is not relinquished even if one happens to be Blessed with child{ren} of one’s own and as a result, they are loved equally with the adoration and respect one would bestow on one’s own child{ren}. Singling one of them out from time-to-time for specific exaltation does not in any way indicate favoritism as in my choosing to DEDICATE this Book to my lovely niece, ‘Oba—Kelechi [KC] Ekenna.

In talking with ‘Oba, I saw, for the first time, the depth of conviction, the sincerity of viewpoint, and the simple, yet effective openness, outlook to issues that impact her. She is one of those LOVE of helplessness that I speak of and she inspired me in ways that she would never have envisaged by educating me through further opening my eyes to discernment and surrender.

‘Oba, I couldn’t love anyone more. If you continue to be you and to be true to self as you have further opened my eyes to appreciate—we shall be alright—you and I.

There are other sectional dedications in the body of the Book, but I choose you for the entire dedication because I came to you and you gave without knowing that you did.

Your Uncle, Nnamdi.

FOREWORD

By

Sister¹

I am most honored by my younger brother, Chief Nnamdi A. Ekenna, Esq., whom I call Court, to write the Introduction to this book—WE MUST HEAR ALL THE STORIES.

This is the second in what I expect will be a series of books like his first, Growing Tall Amidst Obstacles, that touch on the human experience, condition, life, growth, suffering, joy, pain, etc.

In the first book, a young child chronicled his life from a town in Nigeria through many stages and changes to the United States of America, a world away; never losing his roots, never forgetting the lessons from his rich culture but, in the process observed the similarities of the human mind, experiences, and conditions.

This book attempts to continue his observations but, this time tells many stories that are either black and white, as well as many shades in between. The story of the world—the longest movie, soap opera, or narrative—is the story of all of us. The stories are told in different languages (spoken/unspoken), tongues, cultures, in religious, political, administrative, estate and family, situations; but they all have many and sometimes opposing sides to them.

One of the most modern and equitable ways of hearing all the stories is through the judiciary system. In court, all sides are allowed to tell their stories before either the Judge alone or the judge and Jury. Who wins the case or argument, and who is believed, is based on many factors such as preparation, recollection, representation and corroboration. Even in this organized setting, all the stories may not be heard.

Court has made a great effort to tell all the stories from his perspective and the ones of the subjects and situations in this book. Every story needs to be told in full but, sometimes it is impossible to complete this task, even when the story is our own individual story and about ourselves.

The world has just lost a most deserving hero and leader, President Nelson Mandela of South Africa. As much as is already known about this world leader, his stories are incomplete and have only just begun. We have heard so many more stories about him than we ever knew and he joins all the others who have gone before him: George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, John F. Kennedy, Rev. M L King and others, whose stories are a continuum and come from different angles and views each time they are told.

Some of the stories in this book are personal but, many more are about situations and descriptions on the facts, and/or fictions, related to these situations.

The stories allow us to understand and reflect, to learn and to teach, to encourage and to empower us to view all sides and to deliberate. Above all, they allow us to keep open minds to our differences/diversities, to hear all, for, it is not in hearing that we lose but, in not hearing or trying to tell the stories, however different they may seem from what we thought or expected.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the intrigue and challenges in the stories. The author does not attempt to answer all the questions in each story, does not claim to have covered all the angles of all the stories but, encourages us all to have the courage to tell our stories in full, as well as allow time and the fortitude to simply hear all the stories, ours and others. I know that you will find the book as satisfying as I have and that it will stimulate your hunger for more stories.

Court, thank you again for asking me to do this. I look forward to many more stories and challenges from you.

Very Proudly Your Elder Sister.

Sister.

MY EXPRESSION OF GRATITUDE TO SISTER

I EXPECTED THE BEST FROM YOU, BUT YOU MANAGED TO EXCEED MY EXPECTATION—YOU JUST MADE ME LOOK BETTER—THANK YOU!!

Sister, I have no way to describe my take on reading your Introduction—it actually shames the book itself—shames it in the sense that you have given the book more meaning that I envisaged when I was putting it together. Hopefully, that answers not only the question as to being worth the time I put in, in writing it, but also validates my confidence in you to do this.

I couldn’t have anticipated a better Preface, I couldn’t have wished for a better Introduction to the book.

Thank you so much, your take gives more and better meaning to my discourse—what I’m trying to say is that you’ve made me seem like I know what I’m talking about and like I had a plan—thank you again.

It is better than best. It is perfectly written. THANK YOU, Sister.

Always,

Court.

PREFACE

While I was concluding my work on the book—GROWING TALL AMIDST OBSTACLES,—I heard that Professor Chinua Achebe had passed away. I was distraught. I had hoped I would send him an advanced copy of that book to preview, for his advice on if it would be worth ‘wasting’ a publisher’s time. Death denied me that privilege.

At the said time, I was reading, and hadn’t concluded, his book—THERE WAS A COUNTRY—his take on the History of Biafra. While at it, I was particularly drawn to his simple comment on p. 60 and the sentence therein, and the paragraph, from which I sponged the title of this writing:

My position, therefore, is that we must hear all the stories. That would be the first thing. And by hearing all the stories we find points of contact and communication, and the world story, the Great Story, will have a chance to develop. That’s the only precaution I would suggest—that we not rush into announcing the arrival of this international, this great world story, based simply on our knowledge of one or a few traditions.{Emphasis added}²

This isn’t the first time that Professor Achebe’s words have inspired me and I sincerely do not believe it will be the last time that they will. In life and in death his icon still lives. Even in death his influence still looms, now maybe, even larger than when he walked these grounds.

I didn’t have to search deep, not any deep at all, to realize the meaning, and the power ensconced in the simple phrase:

we must hear all the stories.³

I soon got to thinking, a luxury of some sorts, because it is an endeavor I do not engage in as often as many-an-unsuspecting may think, but really, I got to thinking that maybe, I could still tell some more of mine.

This time, not necessarily, and particularly, or even restrictively, mine, as in ‘my story’, but my story as in the simple fact that I am the one telling it.

I believe I have a voice,

I believe I should be heard.

I believe I have a gift to make myself heard,

something the lack of which delimits others

who may have the same belief as I do, but not the medium.

As such I believe it will be a disservice not to use that gift,

as my voice could be a voice to them too.

I agree with Professor Achebe, and I hope I am keeping his hopes alive by doing this, by contributing my bit in answering to his clarion call that all the stories be told, for how else can we ‘HEAR’ them ‘ALL’ if they were not told in the first place.

I am also doing a little bit more in this ‘attempt’. I strongly believe that if an unseasoned, and weak, and unaccomplished, and unsung, person like me steps up to Achebe’s challenge, and tell my story, a story, any story, that it will do a little bit ‘more’ in encouraging others, similarly or even better placed, who have a story—but not the fortitude to tell it, for writing could be an adversity—to come forward. It is quite simple really, it is exactly like the Everest College TV commercial that encourages enrolment and study by always having the pitch end with "TAKE IT FROM ME, I DID IT, YOU CAN DO IT TOO" or IF SHE CAN DO IT YOU CAN.

Being bold in deciding to write, to write something, to write anything, is not an assertion of eruditeness or perfection, it is just an affirmation of an understanding, a rather basic, rudimentary take on a stand of strength, position, of just doing it. So:

NEITHER A GENIUS NOR A HERO CALL ME

I have found that there is no genius in writing.

The stories are already there,

all the words to tell them are also already there.

All the writer does is arrange them,

put them in order, sort them properly,

accord them correct grammatical and syntactical usage

—and boom—

you have a well told tale.

And if you like telling tales, like me,

and have found the time to arrange the words

of the ordinary happenings around you,

I see no genius in that.

I reject the term genius, in this respect,

as I reject the accordance of hero to one

who rises to the occasion to do well a job for which

that one has been properly trained and is being paid to do.

I, therefore, am neither worthy of genius

nor pretentious to hero.

I want to write about simple things, things that are personal to me—in the sense that they are my actual experiences—that’s the only way I know I can be original because it does seem like everything, and all things, have already been written about.

I decided that I would want to steer clear of being THE CRITIC, THE COUNSELOR, THE ADVISOR, in my writings. It is easier said than done, because no matter how you try, you will find yourself sucked into commenting on something, be it an abnormality, irregularity, or departure from the norm, or even a viewpoint on an accepted practice. Whichever, and whatever, it is, those comments make you one, or the other, of the above. You’ll see what I mean down the road in this journey when explorations into discourses open the awaiting doors of analytical judgment and steers prescriptive guidance.

It is a natural tendency to subject the critic to the highest standards of scrutiny. That has always been the fate meted out to the critic, for to be able to ‘critique’ one has made oneself a faultfinder, a nitpicker, and a complainer. Once in any of those genre, not necessarily a category, one’s critic status becomes automatically subject to be catechized. And believe me, if you subject anything to examination, especially to systematic examination by questioning—source, content, and authenticity—it is hard, very difficult, not to find fault. So, eventually the faultfinder becomes the one avoiding, evading, and dodging, the appraisal. You can then understand and appreciate why I do not want to be a critic.

My experience has revealed that people give advice and counsel contrary to their conduct. If you relate to the adage, ogbu ịshị anaghị ekwé k’akpa ya aka n’ekwè—a headhunter never lets anyone into contact with the base of his skull—you’ll agree that it is the evasive and parrying nature of man. In most cases it is not a conscious effort to evade, but some subconscious concealment of true character or ‘questionable’ inclination. It appears clear enough, when you put a thought to it, that their purpose is to steer you off any suspicions towards their engaging in the particular conduct. So, many perceive the counselor as some sort of a hypocrite, and that helps my desire of not wanting to be seen as counseling in this writing.

Subjected to the substratum of our criticisms, counseling, and advice, our own catabasis may launch, and both us and our function, in those capacities, would be on the decline.

There is a dichotomy between private and public criticism, counseling, and advice, though. In private, intentions may be good, and clear of suspicion, but the opinionated distancing delivered in public, that is your clue, that could be the inadvertent defense mechanism. The conduct most publicly criticized by one is that to which they are most likely to succumb in private, or even one to which they had already succumbed and/or usually succumbs, and the public distancing is just a façade. This is not a tested hypothesis, but I’m just saying…

In their private, remote, wardrobe circumstance, many become the rabbit—which has a charming face—but whose private life is a disgrace. I heard that saying first as a kid, then, it didn’t make much sense. Not until I personally observed the rabbit, a kept rabbit, excrement on its food and turn around and eat it, it was then that I understood; it was then that the full purport of the saying dawned on me. A creature adorned with such a beautiful appearance resorting to such despicable habit only because it is its accustomedness.

In my writing, you might find phrases or few words, when appearing together, that will seem like something you’ve seen, heard, or read, somewhere before. You probably have, and there is no intention to plagiarize—copyright does not protect against use of Titles, Names, Short Phrases, and Slogans—to mention but a few. Plus the fact that similar thoughts have been pandered around for ages, generating one-liners, clichés and, adages and proverbs, that succinctly say what you want to say without much verbiage. Sometimes it is an innocuous translation from one’s local tongue that presents as a copy of the translation from another’s local tongue.

I have previously mentioned in an earlier writing that even though Jesus said most of the things Confucius said, and Bob Marley sang most of the things Jesus said, it neither insulted, nor injured the message, and it did not detract from the reception of the moral or point. My point—if it is good, worthy, moral, virtuous, unspoiled—even though old, and repeated, the integrity of the message remains intact.

There are not a whole lot of things I hate. But hate makes the roll in that few, the word hate itself I mean.

Hate. I don’t even like the word, this might seem repetitious, but it is well intended for emphasis. I don’t like the word.

Whenever there is need to hate, not the need to hate someone or something, but the need to use the word hate, I prefer to use the other relative, dislike, a rather more friendly form of hate. At least, with dislike, there is some room that you could ditch the ‘dis’ and go back to like; with hate, there is a hint of finality. It comes across as something that has been eaten—(h)ate—and about to be discharged from the digestive system. Few, very few indeed, like to ‘mess’ with excrementa—pun is fully intended. By the way, isn’t hate, they say, a very strong word to use simply because you do not agree with someone.

I want to get it out of the way as early, and as quickly, as possible, for us to try to eschew hate, not only from our lexicon, but also from our relations with other people. I have personally found that when someone I like makes a mistake, I quickly forgive them, well, even if you do not like the word forgive, I tend to condone and contain whatever negative action that may have ensued. This I have come to find is true of, and in almost, all instances and situations. This idea crystallized one afternoon as I watched one of my most favorite professional golfers play an all-round beauty of a third round on August 1, 2009 at the Buick Open Golf Tournament—IF YOU LIKE SOMEONE, IT IS EASIER TO ACCEPT AND FORGIVE (in fact, not mind) THEIR MISTAKES AND MISSTEPS. The converse is also true—IF YOU DO NOT LIKE SOMEONE, YOU ARE MORE LIKELY TO CRITICISE, AGITATE OVER, and PROTEST THEIR MISGIVINGS. The latter is even more pronounced as any misdeed by people who fall in that category with you produces an ennui, which leaves a bad taste in the mouth, and a general overall loathing and abhorrence—hate.

But there is something we can do to actually succeed in distancing ourselves from such a strong bad word—imbibing the disposition of Oscar Onwudiwe. His favorite saying was Taata a manarịa nyafụ. When I was a student at the University of Nigeria, Enugu Campus, I had the rare Blessing of having friends outside my peer group, one of those was my friend—Oscar Onwudiwe—I remember and memorialize him and the above statement he never failed to say to me whenever I bade him Good Morning—it simply translates: today is more beautiful (an even better) a day than yesterday. Oscar was shot point-blank by an armed robber, many years ago, with a gun pointed directly into his mouth.

He had a genuine, unforced cheerful personality. Because the smile that accompanied that