by
Obododimma Oha
Those who have not enjoyed the warmth of having many uncles and aunties do not know what they are missing. What the Igbo calls "ikwunaibe" (kith and kin) circulates around uncles and aunties. They are a great treasure in a network of relatives who, once in a while, shower you with goodies and even try to spoil you as somebody coming up and who is under their care. Being a young one connected to an auntie or an uncle meant that one has love and this love is symbolized in what can be found in his or her handbag when that elderly relative is visiting or when one visits them. It is as if that uncle or auntie deliberately hides something good in his or her bag, hoping that through proper affectionate searching it would be found. And I think it is deliberate! "Come and search my bag," they seem to challenge the young relative. And, in our time, that searching was an obligation accomplished. We the young ones searched and found! We found love, found goodness well-wrapped as a piece of dry meat, groundnuts, akara buns, etc. Yes; we searched and found that we were in the midst of many loving relatives.
An auntie was visiting her brother or sister and she came with her companion -- the handbag. The bag contained something good for the children. There was always something for the children there. It could never come empty. It came with something because it had to accompany the visitor and to accomplish a necessary, though secondary, role. And it found us who were ready to help it fulfil its role.
When we sighted her still a long way off, we ran to meet her and to snatch her bag, which she surrendered without much struggle. Whether she had lipstick or make-up kit inside the bag was not of immediate concern. Of course, there could be collateral damage accompanying this bag snatching. Something could spill or get torn, but what was that other thing looking for in a bag destined for snatching? Did it not know that an auntie was visiting? And what could stand between us and her handbag in a situation like this?
When the bag was thoroughly searched and its contents shared and eaten with unwashed hands, it was casually returned to its owner who happily took it back. She was even happy and grateful that she could find young relatives who had snatched and had ransacked her handbag! She was visibly animated as she carried this little thief and that and wiped off their runny noses. She checked their tommies and scolded the mommy for not putting enough food there. Finally, she sat down and was offered something as a visitor. But she shared it instead and gave that watching one. That watcher must eat with her or the reception would not be complete.
But was it only her handbag she brought? No! She also brought a large image and we were glad. We get ready to be spoilt. Our mommy or daddy would not dare beat us in her presence. That would be terrible and every villager would hear of it. So, it never happened. We were never beaten, and trust us! We took advantage of that and did silly things, daring our parents to forget and pick a cane. She would playfully take over that cane and beat that assailant thoroughly, first with her hands, then her sharp tongue.
Our auntie was our auntie, and we chewed away carelessly like spoilt children. Our parents burned with rage. We saw this in their eyes. All their scolding and threatening with their eyes was a waste of time. For an auntie was in our midst and was in charge.
She did not even know where her ransacked bag was lying and did not seem to care. If it is today, she would be worried that one charm or another has been smuggled into her bag to make her barren or even kill her. She may even be wearing a protective mask against Coronavirus and would not touch those village urchins who had not had a bath for days. That is, if there is even an auntie allowed by social distancing to visit!
Today, I still remember how we attacked the handbags of aunties. I do not know how many there must have been. But, surely, we invaded many. And we were many, to her greatest joy. Each brought and took away a narrative. The narrative of a loving and visiting auntie. Today, one of those narratives is happily performed for aunties and their handbags.
Do aunties still visit and do their handbags still accompany them? And what could be hiding inside those bags? Lip-sticks? Mobile phones? Mirrors? What, in the name of Corona, is in that bag? She is vexed if you touch it or dare to open it. She would beat the living hell out of you and you have to run to your mom for consolation. How can you touch a big girl's handbag and hope to go home without a scratch?
But our auntie's handbag was something else. It gave us the spirit of love, of oneness, of connectivity. It welcomed, while handbags of aunties today scare us shitless.
Apart from this, those aunties of ours knew that the almost ruined, discarded handbags would one day be returned to their owners, newer, fatter, containing wads of appreciation, etc. One was not surprised that they were not worried when we invaded the bags. For the bags were our meeting points.
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