By
Obododimma Oha
Akụ rue ụlọ is currently being propagated in Alaigbo and its town unions as a worthwhile ideology and I like it. Indeed, there is nothing like home. No one is saying one cannot invest elsewhere, but one is reminded that one is safer somewhere than just anywhere. If one likes to build a house just anywhere, time may come when one is told to pull out the house like a mushroom because the owner of the land is the owner of the land. "Họrọ ụlọ gị ka ero" (Pull up your house like a mushroom). So, Akụ rue ụlọ wants us to shift our gaze towards home, instead of thinking that anywhere we build a house can be our home.
That expression is incomplete. A part of it is not there. We are subtly being invited to put the words back, to fill the blank spaces in our towns! The ellided part accuses us of irresponsibility and prodigality in forgetting our towns and developing elsewhere. I was once invited to a launch of a hall to be built somewhere outside Alaigbo by those who courageously called themselves "elders." I was wondering : what kind of "elders" do we have in Alaigbo today? Of course, I did not attend the launch and did not apologize afterwards. I was still very angry. Alaigbo is waiting and can be made economically attractive.
It was not just my little donation that the "elders" wanted, but a neglect of Alaigbo, the very home they were born. They wanted a declaration that this book man, too, supports it, a testimonial. But I did not give it. They wanted me to line up among "Ndị ihu hiere," (Those that have lost their focus) and to begin to shiver in the mouth while speaking.
"Akụ rue ụlọ" ideology wants us to understand that there is deictically the difference between "ụzọ ije" and "ụlọ," as spaces, in case we don't know again.
There is this memorable idea about "ụlọ" as the neglected old wife still there and managing. She is dirty and unattractive, but remains the first wife, the first love. The attraction and love of "ụzọ ije" cannot move her or take her place. She remains the first love.
When one is being pursued from here and there, when your interest is being sabotaged here and there, where do you run, what is the best place to go?
That Five-star hotel in the big city can also domicile and change the look and the meaning of your town. That giant mall that belongs to you and sleeps in the city can also sleep soundly in your town. Oh, are you concerned about gains and security? First, who says you can't make gains and shoppers won't come from far and near to patronize you? Who says that you are safer if you sleep in the city with only one eye closed when they are going round destroying shops and looting wares? That first love is patiently waiting.
A word or two more on the linguistic structure : the expression is actually a subordinate clause : "Akụ rue ụlọ..." (If or when wealth reaches home...). So many things, as we have seen can waylay wealth to prevent it from reaching home. Even checkpoints! Well, the issue is that the expression is left-branching and the main clause containing the main issue is delayed. This raises expectations : here the concern has shifted. Wrestling with the beginning parenthetical clause is our major concern. It is actually surprising if the main clause remains a given but the foregounded subordinate clause is considered more crucial!
Akụ rue ụlọ is calling you, asking you to give meaning to your wealth and to allow it to be felt by that first love. Akụ rue ụlọ is gently asking you not to allow "ụzọ ije" to carry you away with false and fake promises, to milk dry, to swallow you, and finally shit you and order you to go home with only a cellophane bag.
Akụ rue ụlọ is re-educating you, telling you sincerely that "ụzọ ije" is a big deceit. It is good and beneficial to discover it early enough. "Ụzọ ije" only wants to take from you and leave you to go back empty-handed. "Ụzọ ije" wants you to remain a traveler!
These days all those in "Ọrụ oyibo" may be targeted so that their earnings do not reach their hometowns. They may be lured by "ụzọ ije" and told not to retire to their hometowns, that their hometowns are unlivable. The chief means of getting the persuasion across is through the cooperative society. When many friends and colleagues join, one looks stupid not to join. But this band-wagon controls your money, while giving the impression that it means well. First, there are "helpful" policies, like helping to lend the member money at less interest or with less stringent demands. Then, there is purchase of plots of land from the local area. Members are encouraged to rebuy these plots of land because they are cheap and to build houses on them. Of course, many, if not all, do. That means developing the local area!
That area being developed is your "site," your pride. Even those in business are encouraged to buy and build or buy the already - built. Of course, they and their money, too, are waylaid in many ways. They may be told to renovate or build shops, to own those without rent for some years. But, of course, the shops may later be seized and the businesspeople lose everything. Even going to court does not help. Who owns or controls the courts?
Akụ rue ụlọ is telling you that it is one thing to be wealthy, to be noisy because of it, and another thing to be wise enough to know when you are being used against yourself. It is saying: "Wise up, before it is too late"!
"Ka ihe Ị kpatara rute be gị." That what you have legitimately obtained in your toil would get to your home. That is not a crime or asking for too much. Your home simply wants to feel you, taste you, relive with you. It is not a crime.
The word "ụlọ" is translated in this essay as" home. " It could be transliterated as"house" but it is not that transliteration that is intended here. It is not house that is meant but the outside as opposed to where one comes from or belongs. That space where one comes from owns one and is entitled to one's possession. This is why the Igbo think that "ụlọ" needs to be looked after or provided for in a special way.
Whenever it is said: "Ọ gara ụlọ" (He or she went home), it is understandable that the person in question has traveled to a place called "home," and not necessarily entering a house. This space called "home" holds the heart and is the first love. We travel home to service the bonds. We travel home to leave our pulses in the celebrations. We travel home to attend to obligations, like when one is hosting the age-group meeting or the Ụmụnna meeting. It may look that silly to go but it is worth it.
Ụlọ is not a space for the disgruntled and the shrine for those in sorcery. It is a space that teaches one to grow up and to show it among peers. Ụlọ is always welcoming and asking for that symbolic loaf of bread. Give us this day the bread called "Ụlọ".
This ideology says that the rural or anywhere can be metropolitan, can be a city. The city has been disrupted and made more plural. The rural can have the good things that the urban has. Can't one have electricity and borehole in the village but in the so-called "city" it is erratic or absent? Obviously, Akụ rue ụlọ invites us to rethink the city and "ụzọ ije."
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