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It was a way of life of people called igbo's in olden days, and over here, olden days means from 1970 backwards. 90 percent of the population was concentrated in rural areas and their life was a routine, the same things, the same process everyday. You woke up in the morning, you sweep your compound, tidy your kitchen, fetch water water, go to farm return around 5 and 4 pm, prepare night food and then go for 'Tale by Moonlight' at the village square or any other minor gathering square in your kindred.
One interesting thing was that, it is interesting life style and it was never boring. The night gatherings were where the young men view their future wives in action and where the young ladies choose partners too. It is where things happen. Young girls dance their age grade dances and the boys show case their skills in traditional wrestling.
Most of these people were Christians and pagans at the same time, during that era, one local government area comprising of about 12 towns usually has only one church and other towns attends service at times once in a month due to distance and none existence of road.
Gab Akaja was seven years old when he became mass servant by luck. It will be recalled that Anglican Church had been in existence for twenty-five years before Roman Catholic Church came, most of the families that are Catholic today was actually Anglican before Roman Catholic came with their carrot system that pushed population to their side. Akaja's family was Anglican family.
One sunday, Gab followed their neighbours children to service and you will pass Anglican Church before getting to the Catholic Church. He passed saint peters anglican church and followed the family to Catholic Church.
As faith will have it, that very sunday, white priest came from Lagos to join the black central American priest that manages Madonna Catholic Church.
The white priest couldn't understand why they were only one mass servant in the alter when many five years kids were in the church there. He ordered all the five years and above that were in the church to move to the alter. Gab followed the group to the alter, he wasn't only mesmerized by what he witnessed, the sermons and activities were easy to follow too.
He never saw a white man in his life, what was surprising to him was that the man touched him and snapped pictures with them after the service and they later practiced for one hour and ate food in father's house later. He was was hooked not only by the food and the man but by the transformation that happened inside him under hours.
That was in 1952.
Back home, his parents were waiting for him to come back home, when they heard that he was with church coordinator from their town, they relaxed for many parents were planning to go for their wards.
When he finally returned, he was grabbed by his parents.
"What is the meaning of this nonsense?"
"What nonsense?".
"Where are you coming from?"
"Church"
"Church, which church?"
"Catholic Church"
"Catho what?, you are looking for who there?"
"I followed chiedu to there and sat sat at the alter"
"Doing what at the alter?"
He told them all that happened, how he snapped pictures with the white man, how they did practice, how they ate food at the father's house and how he will go to Rome to see pope when he grows up. The narration ended the quarrel and the whole family were eagerly awaiting next Sunday to come around, Not only to see their son st the alter, but to see the whiteman too.
Cynthia Okoro was about five years in 1957 when her parents joined bandwagon to cross over to Catholic Church in Umuogu community. It was the period Vatican decided to produce the first set of local priest and Reverend sisters in Igbo land. Many of the families turned to Catholic Church for advencement of their families and their wards in particular.
Many that don't understand what was happening followed others to the church and just sat there like others, all they knew was that along the way, something will benefits them and what they expect to happen, they don't know.
Now, the white priest had added fully what they heard queen Elizabeth came with, but they never experienced at close range. It was called 'school', now, the parents were being told that their children won't be following them to the farms as usual only on Saturdays. They will now be going to school to learn how to talk to the white man and God. That was where Gab saw Cynthia for the first time, she came to learn how to talk to white man and God too.
It seems that the priorities of Gab changed abit on setting eyes on Cynthia for he spent three years preparing on how to learn how to talk to her too.
Some parents were apprehensive of what the white priest were introducing in their midst, they decided to take precautions. They shared their male wards into two, sent half to white man and kept the other. Most of the females were handed over to the white man.
True to his vow, Gab entered seminary school and Cynthia entered convent. Gab had learnt how to talk to Cynthia them and whatever it was that they said that led to both entering convent and seminary, no one knows. After five years, both dropped out and entered colleges of education. They spent two years there and came out with level six Reasons for their actions, no one knows. It seems that they had coded language only both understand without opening their mouths.
They found works at the local government Secretariat. Two years later, they got married and started raising kids. Soon, civil war started and Gab enrolled into Biafran army and was made chaplain there. After the war, he was made director in department of education at the Secretariat and Cynthia went into teaching. Meanwhile, the five kids they had were growing up too. In 1993, their first daughter got married, ten months later, Mr and Mrs Gab Ajaja became grandparents and both went to Madonna Catholic Church to give thanks. Two years later, the same daughter became qualified doctor, Mr and Mrs Gab went to madonna to give thanks. Not minding that Madonna was in another town and their town Umuogu has about six Catholic churches now. Why both dropped from religious schools, people can guess, why both spent two years in college of education instead of four, no one knows that, why both always go to Madonna to give thanks, no one knows. Soon, they will be heading there again for thanks giving for their son will become qualified lawyer in a year time.
Biji is a small loud smiley woman, always dressed in bright multi coloured Salwar Kameezes, gaudy pinks, yellows and ferozi colours with strange self-design patterns that I spend hours lying with my head in her lap and tracing with my fingers, when she sits in the courtyard of our bungalow in Amritsar Punjab. Her head is always covered with a bright dupatta, which somehow never slides down no matter what happens. She has a manly voice which so belies the fact that she's small, graceful and beautiful - still. We don't quite know her age for sure. She was 15, she says, around 1947. Which makes her about 89 years old. But if you've heard enough of her stories, then you know age is the interchangeable factor, based on the moral or the point of the story which she is currently telling.
Biji means your Dad's mother and Darji means your Dad's father in Punjabi language. Ji is the term we use to address elders in the house, especially if someone other than family is around. Alone I call her 'B' sometimes, and I think she disapproved for a bit, till she felt that it made her cooler, and closer to me somehow, so it became ok.
I still can't call Darji 'D', he won't stand for it at all.
and I said, ?Aini thand vich D?? Which means, ?Going out when it's freezing D??
Biji chuckled. ?Darr gaya mera sher?? which means I was chicken shit actually.
When it comes to Darji. I AM scared of him, and so are Dad and Mom. It's unspoken, everyone is intimidated by him The help around the house, my friends who come and hang out in my room, his two other daughters and one son who have married sons and college going daughters of their own, my huge coterie of cousins who all live in the same city and visit at least once a month, yes, all of them HAVE to visit once a month. They are all respectful and internally terrified of him.
She remembers exactly how they met and how they got together. And She told me the story when I was low and had just broken up with my girlfriend. I was 17 and completely heartbroken. My ex-girlfriend (who is so unimportant that I won't even name her) got mad because she found me ?undemonstrative' to which I said, ?It's a family tradition.? She hung up and never called me back. I didn't call her back either.
I hadn't told anybody, but Biji knew somehow and one afternoon as she sat on her chair in the courtyard, me on my knees, head on her lap, her hand on my head, and my fingers tracing the pattern on her pink salwar kameez, she told me about her and Darji.
It was November-December 1946. Biji lived in the old walled city at that time.
Amritsar, the old walled city is about 9 Miles away from where we live now. The legend is that Sikh Warriors began to build a wall around the city in the year 1821 to protect the golden temple, the holy temple of the Sikh religion, and the homes surrounding it from Mughal invaders. The homes inside ?The Walled City' were clustered together like people in a crowded bus or train, like they were shrugging their shoulders and pulling themselves up to occupy less space and somehow include more similar shrugging-shoulder homes. All these homes were 3 or 4 stories high and had adjoining walls. If you wanted, you could jump from terrace to terrace and probably get from one of the city walls to the other end of the wall, provided you didn't topple into those tiny jam-packed lanes crisscrossing between those homes.
Now the Wall has crumbled in most places and the main city has grown miles and miles around it. The lanes are gone and many thousands of homes demolished to build roads that can allow cacophonous traffic to reach the holy temple.
The third time Mohinderji came along too and he had pinni too.
In March 1947. The Violence in Amritsar began.
She passed the pinni shop. It was shut.
She neared the cycle shop and heard the screaming.
She says, ?Os wele meri jind nikal gayi sigi.? Which means at that moment I felt my life leave me.
Then she heard the roars.
From across the other side of the lanes, behind the cycle shop, she heard the noises. Things being broken. Loud and violent. Then she heard the people. The shouts - angry, loud and then the wails, the screams and the howls.
She couldn't move. They were coming.
She says that she didn't look back at Daljinderji.
A couple of moments later, they heard the mob outside.
Biji doesn't talk about what the mob did. She can't.
When the mob left, they wept because they had both lost their favorite person on earth.
She says she fell asleep while crying.
When he came back, he was clutching something. Three Pinnis.
Biji lifted my chin and looked me in the eyes and said, ?He never left me after that.?
?If this girl's gone, let her go. True love will find you.?
?Mohinderji never spoke much anyways, and maybe after Daljinderji, even less so. When he held me that night, he was just as terrified as I was, but I knew then, that he would put his love first. His love didn't need words.?
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