To See Nwautam

Every 26^th of December was for Ekpo Nwautam at Eche road field in Aba. I had heard so much about Nwautam but had not seen it for once. Nwautam was the spirit masquerade that they said came from the world inside the waters. They said it came out from the Ogbo Hill waterside river every December. It was the Ekpo that mummy-water had given powers of appearing and disappearing at will. “I am going to see Nwautam tomorrow” victor had said to me as we sat looking after his mothers stall. he looked me in the eyes for some reactions and I didn’t say anything but watched him as he continued cooking the stories about Nwautam’s magical powers; how Nwautam used to steal scared children away to waterside for rituals; how its followers used to disappear with it at the end of their performances and many other incredible tales. Victor was three years older than me but I was taller than him.

“It doesn’t walk like us humans” victor said “it is not human; It just appears wherever it wants to be at will.” Victor’s big eye balls looked as if they where bulging out of his small round face as he told the astonishing tales. I was stunned to speechlessness. Kalu had told me this same story of Nwautam some time ago. It could not be a lie. Right there, I decided to go and see Nwautam the next day.

“This December,” I beat my chest and said, “I must see Nwautam”.

 26^th of December 1997 was a Friday. The weather was cold and dried with harmattan in the air. The dried dusty harmattan breeze hissed at intervals, rocking tree branches and blowing leaves and papers and cellophanes in the air in a whirling move; the kind of whirling breeze they said could carry away even little children of my age.  I was barely 12years old. Fridays was the day we attended our mid-week services of theocratic ministry school and service meeting as Jehovah’s Witnesses. My mother had gone out for preaching. She had wanted me to go with her but I pretended to be having a terrible head ache. I was still lying feebly and pretending to be sleeping on the broken bench in front of our house when my mum left. It was one of the benches we used for visitors on my father’s burial the year before. It was the bench that Ete Ndukwo and the members of his age grade had broken when they argued that my late father will not be buried if my mum didn’t pay the dues my father owed the age grade for not attending all their meetings. I peeked hazily through the tail end of my eyes at my mum as she sashayed out into the street. The streets of Aba looked deserted amid the frenzy of Christmas festivity. Many people had travelled to the country side. We didn’t celebrate Christmas as Jehovah’s Witnesses. So we stayed back with the Ngwa people and people made jest of us and called us; “Ala-bu-out”.

I stood up from the bench and peeked behind the unpruned bushy hibiscus flowers in front of our house, into the street to ensure that my mum had gone far before I went over to meet victor. As I watched my mum get out of sight, I said a silent prayer that people should not throw knock-outs on her.

Victor came dressed in a pair of blue jeans trousers under a black and white striped T-shirt to match. I didn’t have jeans wears because my mum said they were immodest and debased dressing; that Jehovah’s people must dress modestly to radiate Jehovah’s holiness. I had worn a pair of plain trousers under an over sized T-shirt that was more like a gown on me and we hit the street. In the street we could still see people dragging their luggage to the park and other kids heading for Eche road field to see Nwautam.

Eche road field was randomly rowdy and noisy. There were too many people roaming about in their December best wears. Even little kids of my age were loitering and throwing fireworks everywhere. I had no knockout because mama said I would be participating in a pagan celebration if I threw fireworks during Christmas. There was so much smoke in the air, so much noise in the air coupled with the choking stench of the knockout everywhere. Even in the rowdiness of the arena, it was easy for me to identify the different mafia groups locking in the corners of the street. There, was Dibia under the mango tree behind the goal post area. Dibia was the small boy that broke bottles on his palms. It was he who had stabbed Uncle Mark on the neck and robbed him of all his belongings on his way returning from the market. I remembered vividly how Uncle Mark demonstrated the smallish size of the little boy that robbed him.

“That one under the mango tree is the devil they call Dibia” victor had pointed at him surreptitiously and looked around to ensure no other person heard him and added with adoration, “he is the capon of Ajagba maf. He has graduated from the middle of the street to the corner. His boys are now working for him as small as he is. He has so much jaz.”

In the middle of the field, where everybody ran around with fireworks, were other street boys parading their mafia identities and extorting money and other valuables from people. Besides the gutter across the road was a girl in a gown that had been white before, crying helplessly. Somebody had thrown a knockout inside the dirty muddy waters of the gutter that had refused to dry even amid the hash harmattan. The knockout had blasted and bathed the girl with the dirty water as she passed by. The small boys sitting at the veranda of the bungalow in front of Eche road field laughed uncontrollably. At the other end of the street a boy was screaming for help in the middle of three ugly looking boys with scars on their faces and their heads, dragging his pocket. One of the boys held him on the neck and punched his face in a swift jab, yet he held his two pockets tenaciously with his hands despite the creamy blood that gushed from his nose. People crossed freely and nobody seemed to look at their direction. The boy did not leave his pockets until he saw one of the boys brake an empty battle of bear with the flap of a white handkerchief. The other boys tore his pocket and kicked him down on the ground and ran away with all his belongings.

“You see that one in red running down there?” victor whispered and I nodded and he continued; “they call him Okiriko. He breaks bottles with handkerchief. He is…” Victor was about to tell me more about Okiriko when the noise in the field increased, announcing the arrival of Nwautam. I regretted that I didn’t see him appear from nowhere as victor and Kalu had said. I couldn’t see Nwautam clearly from the back where I was. Many people had converged to see it.

From Eche road it was hard to tell that over 70 percent of Aba inhabitants had travelled to their various villages for Christmas. The Nwautam started pursuing people. I ran too and stumble in the middle of the road. My over sized white T-shirt turned something between brown and coffee with dust and I ran to the corner of the street for shade from the blazing sun, not even for Nwautam that I couldn’t see. I didn’t see victor again. I searched through the crowd and victor was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know my way home; I didn’t want to ask the way from anybody. I was afraid of Ngwa people – with the tale of human flesh eating and head hunting. Soon the noise died gradually, the day was getting dark; knockouts were still firing; and people where dispersing. Nwautam had gone. I didn’t see it. I followed a group of grown up boy at the back as I sought my way home. I was wallowing in the confusing streets till I saw a man walking hastily with a bag that looked like a Jehovah’s Witness. I ran after him.

“Brother good evening” I said and asked if he was a witness. He said yes and I told him I had lost my way.

“Where is your house?” he asked keen to assist.

“36 Okezie street” I answered sounding throaty like I was about to whimper. He asked what brought me to the town and I didn’t answer him. I didn’t want to let him say I had participated in a pagan celebration. He took me home. My mother had flogged me with the cane she had bought specially for me and rubbed some pepper in-between the parting of my buttocks. I cried all night till I slept off. Even in the dream I didn’t see Nwautam.