Sometime in the 80s, while visiting Uncle Joel Odezue at the post graduate hostel of the University of Ife, Ile-Ife, I stumbled upon a handwritten manuscript he called Ihelemeonu. I was a secondary school student spending my long vacation with my uncle. I spent the day reading Ihelemeonu, the story of my grandmother, Mrs. Jemimah Obijanu Ihelemeonu Okonkwo Odezue. At the end, I developed a deep understanding of the woman we called Eeh-eeh- the woman who called me nothing but Ezeobidi - her husband.
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Sometime in the 80s, while visiting Uncle Joel Odezue at the post graduate hostel of the University of Ife, Ile-Ife, I stumbled upon a handwritten manuscript he called Ihelemeonu. I was a secondary school student spending my long vacation with my uncle. I spent the day reading Ihelemeonu, the story of my grandmother, Mrs. Jemimah Obijanu Ihelemeonu Okonkwo Odezue. At the end, I developed a deep understanding of the woman we called Eeh-eeh- the woman who called me nothing but Ezeobidi - her husband.
From what I read, it became clear to me how my father’s compound became a center of activities and enlightenment within our community. Ihelemeonu was amongst those who had the vision, inspired it and achieved it. She went to a great length to make it real. Though she never went to school, it was common to hear her use English words and make simple and sometimes complicated English sentences. I remembered those early days we visited home from my father’s teaching post, we were made to greet her only in Igbo language because she could not understand a word of English. With time, she started responding to “Good Morning”, even though her response was “Moni”. And for “Good Afternoon”, it was, “Afum.”
The content of the manuscript triggered my interest in my family history. When I got back home, I asked Alexander Odezue, another uncle of mine, series of questions about things I read in the manuscript. He disagreed with some details in the story. But he did not question the core of the book, that Ihelemeonu was the matriarch of Ezeobidi family who helped make it what it is.
Many years after, I forgot some details in the book. I asked my uncle for the manuscript. But he had lost it. Despite all prompts, including promises of financial reward, my uncle has not been able to rewrite it. The Ihelemeonu in the book remained a phantom in my mind.
Based on the sense of loss I felt about the missing manuscript, I asked my father to write his autobiography. I also used prompts including promises of publication. I wanted to know what my father had to say about his life and that of his mother, Ihelemeonu. I wanted to read about the special relationship between my father and my grandmother. She was not just called Ihelemeonu, she was also known as Nne Onyenkuzi (Teacher’s mother- because my father was a teacher.) As my father wrote, I made arrangements to get the hand written pages and to have them typed and saved in electronic form. These were many years ago.
***
On that rainy August morning, I stood beside the body of my father and watched as close family members streamed in to pay their final respects. Uncles, cousins, aunts and in-laws walked in, heads bowed, tears streaming down some cheeks. Some women sobbed. Some wailed. I listened to the comments these relations made. Some simply called my father by his name, old names, new names, titled names and even names he had rejected, like Nzekwube(When the custodians of our culture and moral speaks, I also speak). Some said words of praise. Some showed gratitude. Some recalled a great moment they shared with him. They paid their respects and moved on, leaving us, his children, in the room to be consoled by others. We, his children, had accepted his passing, yet the air was tense. My heart and the hearts of all the close family members in the room were tense over what would happen when my grandmother, Ihelemeonu, made it into the room. Four young boys had been dispatched to her side of the family compound to escort her to the room where her first son lay.
At almost 100 years old, Ihelemeonu needed assistance to walk. On this day, she needed more than mere hand holding. She was informed of my father’s death within the last 24 hours even though it happened over two months ago. Since then, she had been weeping, asking why she was not informed when he fell ill. She said if she had seen him and touched him, he would have been well again. Ihelemeonu, the great mother of the family was fragile in more ways than one. Everyone was concerned about her than about anyone else.
First, the streaming in of relations into the room stopped. I noticed two men by the door, temporarily sending mourners away. And then inside the room, I heard whispers outside. Ihelemeonu was making her way to the room. Her once gong-like voice, now reduced by age and pain, filtered in like a coarse murmur. She was speaking as she walked. At the door, she let out a loud grunt. Her body wanted to give way but four men, two on each side, propped her up. They helped her wobble to the bedside where she could see my father’s face and touch his hand.
“Onyenkuzi,” she called out. “How could you leave me here and return to the spirit world? Didn’t we have a deal? Didn’t we agree that you would place sand on my coffin? Who would now place sand on my coffin? Who would tell them about me the day I will join Jesus Christ?”
She continued on and on and on. Underneath my dark sunglasses, tears long held back rolled down. I looked around, everyone else had their handkerchief up in the eyes, including the video man. Outside, the rain drizzled but for what looked like eternity, we listened as Ihelemeonu let her mouth loose. She recalled the past and questioned destiny.
With a backlog of people waiting outside it was clear that the ceremony was running behind schedule. But nobody had the courage to tell her it was enough. She had things to say and she had earned the right to say them. Eventually, her daughters came into the room and told her it was enough. As tears streamed down her face, the four men beside her led her out. Concerned about her, I quickly left my father’s side and went to her house to visit her. She sat on the bed, her daughters and granddaughters sat around her. She had not stopped her lamentation.
“It would be alright,” I said to her as I sat down on a small stool someone relinquished for me as soon as I came in.
“Ezeobidi,” she called me. “Dim (my husband).” She held my hand and called my name again and again. She had always called me Ezeobidi or her husband for I was her husband that reincarnated. “Who will tell them about me the day I will join Jesus Christ?” she asked again. It was an important concern for her.
I excused myself and went up to my room. I returned with a posthumously published autobiography of my father called, “Onyenkuzi, the Early Life of Hon. J. C. Okonkwo Written by Himself.” I showed the book to Ihelemeonu. On the cover was a picture of her son holding the Book of Prayers.
“Everything that is needed to be said about you is in this book,” I said to her. “Onyenkuzi wrote everything down before he died. On that day, one of your grandchildren would read it.”
Ihelemeonu took the book from me and held it close to her chest. She flipped through the pages, stopping here and there as if she could read the words in it. I stayed for a little while as she gradually calmed down. She passed the book to her daughter who scanned through it and passed it on to her granddaughter. As the book made rounds within the room and the discussion shifted to how thoughtful Onyenkuzi was, I made my way out of there- back to the place where Onyenkuzi laid in state.
Ihelemeonu did not make another public appearance for the remainder of the three-day funeral. Relations visited her inside her house within the compound.
After the funeral ceremony, as I prepared to leave for Lagos, I went to say goodbye to Ihelemeonu. It was the day women married into my kindred were having a meeting in our house. Though Ihelemeonu was almost 100, she was not the oldest woman in our kindred. The women had to meet in our compound because she was the first to be married into our kindred.
According to the story, Ihelemeonu’s marriage to my grandfather, Ezeobidi Okonkwo Odezue was predestined. While on a visit to the palace of Ihelemonu’s father, Chief Ogbuagu, the grandson of King Ezeodimegwu of Otolo Nnewi, to report of a trespass into his land, Ezeobidi arrived just as Ihelemeonu’s mother, Nwonye Ogbuagu, had just had her. As custom demands, on the third day, my grandfather went back to perform the ‘Ikpo-oku-nwa” ceremony, a form of betrothal.
Ihelemeonu continued to visit Ezeobidi until she was old enough to marry. When she was finally married into our kindred, she quickly established herself as an outspoken one who said what was on her mind. She was a passionate advocate for those who had no voice. That reputation for equity and justice stayed with her all her life. She became a respected arbiter of conflicts within the community because everyone knew she wielded the sword of truth. She never felt inferior to anyone and always said that indifference was more damaging than hate.
Ihelemeonu had nine births but only five reached adulthood.
As I sat with Ihelemeonu in her room, she did not have a lot to say. The last time that I was home before this, I interviewed my father, Ihelemeonu and any old person I could see on tape. Like other people, I asked Ihelemeonu about Ezeobidi. With a glitter in her eyes, she said that Ezeobidi was a very nice man who, despite his hard work, was not blessed with akanchawa (prosperity). But she said that he was compensated with honesty and reverence. She said to me that Ezeobidi was a contented person who was always cheerful. When I was leaving during that visit, Ihelemeonu told me if I hear that she died, I should not bother to come home. “Just say a prayer for me as I march up to Jesus Christ,” she said. She did not know we would see again. She could not have imagined that it would be at my father’s funeral.
In my father’s book, he told a story of how Ihelemeonu sold all the jewelries and animals she had to raise one pound sterling needed to complete my father’s school fees at the teacher’s training college. She was an advocate for education. She lived a life of service and sacrifice for the larger Ezeobidi family. She raised the young children of Ezeobidi’s first wife who passed away during childbirth. Though my grandfather, Ezeobidi, refused to convert to Christianity, Ihelemeonu became an avid Christian. She encouraged her children to embrace modernity and western education.
Ihelemeonu’s proudest moment in life was when she stood in front of the Archdeacon of St. Simon’s Church Nnobi and answered correctly all the questions she was asked as a fulfillment of the requirement to be admitted into the Mother’s Guild. She was also proud of her membership, at a very young age, of Out-Iyom Nnobi – female lawmakers. As a member, she sat with King Solomon Ezeokoli, the Igwe 1 of Nnobi.
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Ihelemeonu is survived by the following sons, Mr. Festus Ogbuagu Odezue and Dr. Joel C. I. Odezue; daughters, Mrs. Catherine Ezeume, Benedeth Odunwa Emenari and Mrs. Theresa Enujioke Ogbuaholu; daughter-in-laws, Mrs. Comfort Chinwa Okonkwo, Mrs. Mabel Odezue, Mrs. Patience Odezue, Mrs. Comfort Odezue; Grand children, Mr. Rudolf Okonkwo, Dr. Webster Okonkwo, Mrs. Uzoamaka Okeakpu, Mr. Churchill Obinna Okonkwo, Mrs. Ijeoma Iheanacho, Mr. Anayo Okonkwo, Miss Adora Odezue, Miss. Chinonye Odezue, Mr. Wisdom Odezue, Mr. Dozie Okonkwo, Mrs. Victoria Uzuegbunam, Mr. Chibueze Okonkwo, Miss Mary Odezue, Mr. Chidi Odezue, Mr. Udoka Odezue, Mrs. Chisom Eluogu, Mr. Felix Odezue, Mr. Martin Oguaholu, Mr. Jerome Emenari, Miss Ngozi Ezeume, Mr. Chukwuma Ogalue, Mr. Ifenna Ezeume, Mr. Obinna Obioji Odezue, Master Tochukwu Odezue, Miss Nwanoyi Odezue; Grand daughters-in-law, Mrs. Edna Nneka Okonkwo, Mrs. Chioma Okonkwo, Mrs. ChiChi Okonkwo, Mrs. Adaeze Odezue, Mrs. Chinyere Okonkwo, Mrs. Ifeyinwa Okonkwo. Her children who passed before her were Hon. J.C. Okonkwo, Mrs. Beatrice Ogalue and Mr. Alexander Odezue.
All my life, I had known my grandmother, my first wife, as Ihelemeonu Odezue, the woman who concentrated in doing the things she could do to optimize the blessings God bestowed on her. She was generous but not an apostle of charity. In my memoir, Because I Am My Grandfather, she grounded me in my identity of what my history, heritage and home really are. But it was only when she passed away on Friday, September 2 that I appreciated what Ihelemeonu really, really meant. Ihelemeonu meant shame on the mouth that fails to speak up.
On Friday, October 21, 2011, we will commit the body of Ihelemeonu “to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection.” But her essence will continue to manifest in the loved ones she left behind.
Eeh-eeh, I will continue to speak up, especially when Ndi Nze, the custodians of our culture, have ceased to speak. I will continue to speak up for those who have no voice. I will continue to speak up even when the language fails me. I will continue to speak up for that is the most appropriate way to honor you and uphold your legacy.
Adieu!
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