Sakopikanja

By

Obododimma Oha

Are the bonds dead? Are the ties no longer there? Are the seeds of the oil-bean scattered  in various parts of the forest by explosive mechanism, no longer able to find their ways back to the parent tree?

I used to enjoy the ride on my immediate elder sister’s back and sing as we ambled to the next homestead looking for fun. Yes; the unwritten rule was that the immediate elder brother or sister should be able to carry and nurse the immediate younger brother or sister. The song of ridicule was

ọtọrọ ụmụ naabọ

Ekulighi otu!

(Someone who is directly senior to two siblings

But cannot carry one around!)

It was a thing of shame, and no child wanted to have the ignominious label. So, it was almost an obligation for my immediate elder sister to try to carry me around. And I enjoyed it. Of course, there was the most senior elder sister, daada, but she was a kind of grandma, mighty, her words always law. You dared not disobey her or question her words unless you were mad! But this “grandma,” special as she was, was highly loving and would go to any length to please.

I must have urinated and defecated on my destined carrier’s back and she must have cleaned me up, counting her blessings. Yes, my immediate elder sister was that kind of dutiful mule, always ready to serve. To add to it, she always tried to defend me in what was called ịgba ọgụ nwanne (coming to the aid of a sibling). Yes, there was that emotional attachment to siblings and the elder sibling just had to protect the younger.

 And was I not being taught this tradition of looking after the other fellow  naked traveller? Was I not being told to carry others on my back without complaining?

So, one grew up knowing the elder brother (deede) and the elder sister (daada) as one’s parents. They not only protected, as you will soon see, they also provided!

If my immediate elder sister was my destined carrier forever and proxy-mother, there was also my elder brother, who fathered us, stepping into that role proudly whenever our parents were away for a meeting or had an important social event that took them away for hours. It was at that time that my elder brother tried to play the role of father, starting with providing food. I recall how that actor of father put together all kinds of things he could find in our mother’s garden and in the venison basket and set the concoction to boil. After some time, the concoction was brought down as food and we were asked to eat. And we ate; we ate the concoction happily and the actor was beaming with smiles, having successfully provided. One of us summoned the courage and demanded to know the exact name of the food. Proxy-Papa happily announced its name as “Sakopikanja,” making us learn that name in a song that he improvised:

Sakopikanja!

ọ tọkata ụtọ,

o lube ilu!

Sakopikanja!

(Sakopikanja!

Sweet it goes,

Then, suddenly bitter.

Sakopikanja!)

We ate Sakopikanja and we sang! It is for our stomachs to sort things out later. We ate Sakopikanja and we sang Sakopikanja! And Proxy-Papa was beaming with smiles and felt highly fulfilled.

Sakopikanja!

ọ tọkata ụtọ,

o lube ilu!

Sakopikanja!

These days one does not see siblings roped together by invisible binds. One sees relatives that do not know that they are even related and do not care. If there are ties, they are getting more and more lax and may snap! There are no more proxy-mothers and proxy-fathers. There are no more deede and daada to give you a knock on the head if you complain too much.

But one remembers and celebrates Sakopikanja and those years of drama acting from which real men and real women emerged. Yes; it is not for nothing that those paths crossed and I hope they cross again. Sakopikanja!