Godwin Inyang's Blog

The urge to cough was so strong that it was hard for Abong to resist. It was quirky. In the situation he was in now, it was an unforgivable sin for him to make the slightest sound, say, with his feet walking or closed lips. His hands only brushed the leaves dangling on his path. Abong did everything possible to suppress his cough. With his palms, he covered his mouth to prevent any sound escaping from it. Then, the urge made him wriggle his feet about and he knelt down where he would not meet dead sticks or dry leaves to make them snap or rustle. With the back of his cupped hands on the ground, he coughed into them. Done coughing, he was somewhat relieved he had been able to muffle the sound as much as he could but he was perplexed at such an occurrence. It never happened to him before during any of his escapades. He sat down on the ground and stared at the bumper bunch of plantains with a few bitten by bush babies and pecked by the birds. One mind told him it was a bad omen while the ...

Ukoko's father was the 'akwa ekpo', the bare-faced leader of the ekpo masquerade, who shook his 'ekpud', the hand-held wooden musical instrument with clappers, chanted and sang from the village square to favoured homes across the clan. When entering a house, the masked man walked backwards, removed his mask and sat on the floor. The ekpo remained ekpo from the start to the end of his activity and the owner of the house or whosoever was free to join them, and of course only initiates, and would never identify them by their real names. When done eating and drinking, the masked men warmed the house with their songs and the rendition would be charming. Apart from the 'ekpud' shook by their leader, the song and the accompaniment were made by the voice. When departing the house, the masked men walked backwards. During the stipulated days of the week for the adult ekpo masquerade, no feet other than those of the initiates walked the paths of the clan. All the basic...

THE drums pulsated rhythmically all night and the choirmaster was gripped with fear. The seven high-pitched lead drums recited familiar themes like the thief who caught a thief, the skinny girl who overthrew the superman and the husband who fancied himself a teacher, measuring every piece of fish with a ruler. The drums had rolled that night in the village square to announce to the clan the start of the adult ekpo masquerade season. The choirmaster who had embraced the new path and was spreading the message of the foreign missionaries with their strange gods as an interpreter had lost favour with the custodians of their tradition and had to vacate his home three days in the traditional week (comprising of eight days) throughout the adult ekpo season. He put a few belongings in his raffia bag, strung it across his shoulder and sneaked along the dirt track to his maternal grandma's place in a neighbouring clan. He was safe there as it was a taboo across the clans for grandparents...

  Ekam Dan made her reference to the incident to buttress her point for her belief but her grandson had since after the robbery had his eyelids, left or right, twitched and struck his foot, left or right, till it hurt and no one thing, negative or positive, had happened. Was the fault with him? Not too long ago, he had personally planted a farm with two sets of corn. The first set was done at the start of the rain and the second set was done towards the period the rain was getting intense. In both, Dan ate till he was satiated. During harvest, the cobs of the first set were full of seeds while a lot of the second set had a lot of spaces on them. Based on his observation, he had told his grandmother when they had their argument again that the time of planting rather than the state of your stomach could be responsible for a poor or rich yield. Who do you side with? This tale also Ekam Dan had made reference to. A certain man had a very charming daughter who he gladly married off ...

Dan lazed on the bench at the rear veranda and watched his grandmother, Ekam Dan, busy prepare a meal of yam and plantain in her open and detached kitchen. A twinned plantain she put behind her back and her hands had dragged them to split. The first time Dan had seen his grandmother do it, he had asked her why and though she had long past the age of menopause, she said she was doing it so she would not have twins (probably in her next life, if you asked her grandson) and by extension, so that her offspring would not have them too. Dan had laughed then and still laughed now over his grandmother’s antics and wondered out loud why she was still hanging on to some uncanny tradition and doing things bordering on superstition. ‘Well, my child, I was born at a time quite different from yours and saw some horrible acts. I thank God for our new ways of life and doing things,’ Ekam Dan had replied. ‘But our people only have the new ways hanging on them like a white shirt while underneath it ...

The ekpo masquerade is segmented into three – the adult, youth and children. Every year, the best dancer is crowned (in the hearts of spectators) king or prince of each category. A king of the adult category or prince of any of the junior categories is identified by his thighs – they wear briefs – and mask as the masked fellows are never ever addressed by their personal names. The ekpo is only identified as an ekpo (a term which also means ‘a ghost’) till the mask is off. The ekpo masquerade season starts immediately after the planting season and ends in the New Year just before the farm-clearing season. The adult masquerade appears first and its season lasts the entire length of the rainy season and terminates just as the dry season saunters in. The youth masquerade would receive the baton shortly after and would last the early part of the dry season. As harmattan and the New Year approach, with all the festivities towards the end of the old year and the beginning of the New Ye...

With the rains setting in, long-distance farming became a gamble. Eka Atim had a not-too-cheering outcome today. The sun dimmed, trees reeled and the wind whooshed through leaves. Across the sky, sturdier birds glided leisurely. The women called one another, carried their loads and hurried along the tracks to the village. Sad though Eka Atim was, a thrill ran through her body as she met a Jeep parked at the front of their mud-walled, iron-roofed house. She thought it could be Godsend. Ete Atim, her husband, was hesitant about educating their teenage daughter. He'd said educating girls was a sheer waste as they would end up as other men's possession or come home with unwanted pregnancies. He reserved his finances for his four sons. Though Eka Atim had great dreams for her only daughter, poverty worked against her. But she'd kept praying for that benevolent woman, who had been coming to pick children to train in the city, to find her way to her doorstep soon. ...

Tailor had owed until he was no longer creditworthy. Mama Pam’s conviviality had faded to a grimace and brief greeting – the only polite way she could hint payment for things bought on credit for weeks was long overdue. He understood, then curtailed his visits to the kiosk. Tailor suppressed the urge for a cigarette since morning but gradually the feeling was intensifying. He had jobs that were waiting to be collected, some of which had stayed with him for a year. If such money was forthcoming, then he could cross his name out of Mama Pam’s blacklist. Tailor wished too he had succeeded in keeping the resolution he’d made earlier in the year. But he felt restless not smoking for two weeks. Then he’d strolled to the kiosk, lit a cigarette, drew on it; and the madness had vanished. Tailor realized breaking a habit is like swimming upstream; not long you’d get tired and be swept away by the current. It’s better; he thought ruefully, you don’t get hooked to anything in the first plac...