Forgive him, for he believes that the customs of his tribe are the laws of nature
~ George Bernard Shaw
“Masquerades are dead people who came back to be with their relatives,” Nuwamalabo, my cousin said with a mischievous grin on his face as if there was a secret he knew that I didn’t. He was my favourite cousin and a daredevil, he often got us in and out of trouble and was always running clandestine errands for young adults and the elders in the village, and for that; they let him into the spirit world where some dead people turned into masquerades and came back to their loved ones. They said Nuwamalabo was far too old for his age, they said an old soul dwelled in his eleven year old body, they, also, said he was the re-incarnation of the oldest man that ever lived in our village.
“You mean you see dead people when you go into that shrine?” I asked, imagining all sort of things in my little mind.
“Yes, I saw all our dead relatives and they are all alive in the spirit world,” Nuwamalabo said.
“And you are not afraid of them?” I asked.
“No, when you are in their world and they recognize you as their relative from the physical world, they welcome you with open arms.” Nuwamalabo said.
I was completely mystified because Nuwamalabo was about my age or a year older, and I thought there was something morbid about him and the village. I swore I would never be part of anything that would take me to the land of the dead. I was wrong.
My mother brought me to the village to meet and know some members of our extended family; she said it was important, she said I was a toddler the last time we visited. In the village, I discovered I had so many aunties and cousins and nieces. They called me “City Boy” and marvelled when I told them about my father’s black and white TV and Big bird and Elmo and Ernie from Sesame Street
“But how is it possible for people to be living in a box?” Nuwamalabo asked.
“I don’t know.” I said.
“He is lying.” Nuwamalabo said, and that turned into a fight and our Uncle, Shaka-Jabari intervened.
Uncle Shaka-Jabari was a man of gentle disposition and few words. Maybe it was because he stuttered when speaking. He was about twenty years or so then and kept very much to himself. Everybody said Uncle Shaka-Jabari was the strongest man around. Some said he was twice the man every other man in the village was and partly the reason Nuwamalabo was dare-devilish, because whoever dared to touched Nuwamalabo, faced the full wrath of the gentle but ruthless Uncle Shaka-Jabari. There was something mysterious about the man; he was always going out at nights with some strange people who came to my grandpa’s compound to look for him.
“The Warrior” the strangers would call out and Uncle Shaka-Jabari would come out in his usual taciturn and unassuming manner. There was plenty of respect and fear on the faces of the men who came to fetch him in the dark, before leaving, Uncle Shaka-Jabari always called Nuwamalabo aside to discuss something Nuwamalabo never discussed with me, Nuwamalabo said I was still a boy and there are things boys shouldn’t know, then we argued about who was older and he called me a city softie and I called him a bush boy and we quarrelled and settled there and then. Then one night those strange faces came under the cover of the night and disapeared with uncle Shaka-Jabari. Nuwamalabo and I joined our mates on the moonlit village playground, moments later, there was a strange and shrill voice that sounded from afar but echoed in the ears of everyone in the village. It was not a human voice, but it spoke in human language.
“The people from the great beyond are here!” someone screamed, and there was pandemonium under the glistening moonlight as we all ran from the playground, but the daredevil, Nuwamalabo remained and was laughing at us. I ran into our compound and the women and children had all disappeared behind closed doors leaving my grandpa who was rocking himself back and forth in his chair and humming a gentle tune to himself unperturbed by the approaching eerie voice of the dead
“Father,” Grandpa called me “You don’t have to run like everybody else, you are almost a man now,” he said, he called me father because he said I bore a striking resemblance to his father
“Where is my mama!?” I screamed, she was the only one I felt I could be save with that moment
“A man is not supposed to run to women for protection,” my grandpa said.
“But that thing is coming!” I cried out.
“Don’t be afraid, spirits pass only the main roads at night,” grandpa said.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” my grandpa said.
“Why do there pass the main road grandpa?” I asked.
“Because they come out exactly the way they were when they were alive,” my grandpa said, and asked me to be quiet and listen to what the spirit was saying. I sat quietly beside him as the spirit spoke, but I could not make anything out of what the spirit was saying. I was afraid of the dead
“The spirit is here to settle a dispute that happened earlier in the day between one man and his wife.” My grandpa said.
“Spirits see people when they quarrel?” I asked.
“Yes, they are always watching us, they wants us to live in peace,” Grandpa said, and added that our ancestors want us to observe the customs of the land, and the people, he said, are careful not to incur their wrath. He said it was the White man that brought his God and built churches in our land that brought confusion to our people. That night, as my grandpa later told me, the spirit warned sternly that no one should go against the words of the ancestors. When the spirit finally went back to where it came from , women and children found their voices again and normal life returned to the village and I left my grandpa to see my mother
“Mama did you hear the voice of the dead man’s spirit?” I asked.
My mother was reading the bible and she stopped to pay attention to me
“I did, but you know we don’t believe in the spirit of the dead, have you forgotten what you were taught in your Sunday school?”
“No mama.”
“Whose voice were you told in church to listen to and obey?”
“The voice of Jesus mama,”
“What did Jesus do for you?”
“He died on the cross of Calvary for my sins Mama.”
“Thank you my child” my mother said, and pulled me close and told me not to believe in the spirits of dead ancestors and masquerades. She said Jesus had been made a sacrificial lamb for all my sins and I must not eat all that was offered to idols or ancestral gods; she said all those that do not believe in Jesus would die and go the hell.
“Nuwamalabo and grandpa would go to hell mama?” I asked.
“That’s what the Bible says unless they repent and become born again.” my mama said.
Then she open the bible and told me the story of Shadrack, Meshack, Abednego and Daniel who defied the command of the King of Judah, by refusing to eat foods that were offered to idols and gods by the king, she said the boys were thrown into the fire but they were not harmed because God was with them
After that story I refused to eat the chicken and goat meat that were offered to the gods of the land and ancestors, not because God was watching, but because my mother was watching, but the thing about the village that I liked, gods or no gods, was that everything was fresh and natural. The vegetables were fresh from the garden. Fishes were caught straight from the river. Palm wine was tapped fresh from the palm tree. Mango, orange, coconuts, papaw all fell fresh from trees. The water we drank was from the spring and we swam in the river after farm. The air was fresh and cool. Life was beautiful in the village, but one day, like Nuwamalabo, I too was taken into the spirit world to commune with the spirits of the ancestors and to see how they turned into masquerades and came back to the world to their living relatives and loved ones.
It was on the day of the worshiping of the gods and ancestral sprits, distant relatives came from far and wide to take part in the ritual of the cleansing of the land and to ask the gods to allow for a bountiful harvest and ward off evil spirits and protect the people from diseases and misfortunes. That day, my mother went to church and asked me not to go anywhere near those Idol worshipers, but I defied her, she has too much soft spot for me, my father was the one I couldn’t go round, but he was far away in our home in the city. The village priest came out to a thunderous ovation from the crowd that waited to see him in his glory, and he responded by waving to the crowd in acknowledgement. He poured some liquid on the ground and made what they said was libation to the gods and ancestors and chanted incantations to them. Moments later, a little girl that was clad in white apparel came out and someone said she is the priestess and had the power to commune with the dead on behalf of their living relatives. The person also said she was a virgin and her name was Aminata. Aminata entered the shrine with the priest and some elders and came out later to pass messages from the dead to their living relatives, some of whom broke down in tears on hearing the news from the great beyond. There was the spirit of oneness and common bond amongst the people as they shared their sorrow and joy together. But it was the big masquerade that caught my attention when it came out in all majesty and grandeur. The people went wild in delirium. It was as if a spirit had possessed the entire village. The elders and young men danced and rallied round the big masquerade and women and children sang praise songs from afar. I was spellbound as I watched from the side of the women and children. Nuwamalabo was right in front of the masquerade and was dancing with the men and elders and I felt there was something eerie about the way they danced around the big masquerade.
Then I saw a woman crying and wailing as she walked towards the big masquerade and the masquerade danced towards her but paused when she got closer and looked at her with some kind of sombre expression. They said it was her late husband’s spirit that came back to her as that big masquerade. As I ran around trying to get a better view of what was happening, my grand pa saw me and beckoned to me to come. I was afraid and hesitant, but somehow I took some sluggish steps towards him. Grandpa said it was time I stopped running and he asked me to follow him. I refused, but he insisted and assured me that nothing would happen to me; I followed him in fear as we queued with the others behind the masquerade. Later when the masquerade had finished the rituals and returned to the spirit world, my grandpa said it was about time I visited the spirit world and see how dead people turned to masquerade and came back to the world
“No!” I protested, trying to run away
“Don’t you want to be a man?” Grandpa asked.
“What?” I asked, almost passing out
“Don’t you want to be a man like Nuwamalabo?” Grandpa asked.
“Yes, I want to be a man.” I said with a bold face but scared stiff within me. I wanted to get on even with Nuwamalabo. I was fed up with him taunting me to be a little boy. I followed my grandpa as he took my hand and led me towards the shrine. I was terrified as some of those who were already initiated into the world of the dead fixed their eyes on me and I wondered why they were so relaxed and not in the least afraid of the dead
“City boy is going to visit the ancestors!” someone said.
“Is he not too young to be initiated?” another person said.
“No he is of age” Grandpa said.
We entered the inner chamber of the shrine and I imagined that the ground was going to open and we would descend into some abyss where we would be in total darkness and the spirit of dead people would be all over us, but all I saw in the inner room of the shrine was the familiar faces of boys and men I saw in the village. Was I living among the dead? I wondered as some of the boys were busy removing the clothing on the masquerade, layer by layer, I was tensed but everybody around me was chuckling and looking at me, my grand pa too chuckled when he saw the horror in my face, and when the clothes were removed and the mask on the supposed dead man came off, I saw a human face, but it was not a dead man’s face, it was a face that I was very familiar with. It was Uncle Shaka-Jabari’s face.
“City boy!” he said, smiling and sweating
“Yeeees” I managed to say trembling
“Look at me and don’t be afraid…what’s my name city boy?” Uncle Shaka-Jabari asked.
“Masquerade!” I said, my voice was shaky and everybody around me, including my grandpa, let out a guffaw. Then they let me into the secret and the conspiracy by the elders in the village.
“Masquerades are mere mortals like you and I, we are the masquerades,” Grandpa said, and then he added that it was a secret handed down to them by their forebears and kept away from the uninitiated and women and children. He said if I divulged the secret to those that were not suppose to know, I would burn in a hell like fire, and then he said that was not to say that our ancestors are not watching us from the great beyond.
When I came out of the shrine and that woman was still crying and wailing for her Masquerade husband, I moved on without looking back. The village too have moved on since that day, because everybody, including women and children, have been let in on the big secret by time. Grandpa has since joined his ancestors; Uncle Shaka-Jabari is still holding it down for our culture and tradition, Nuwamalabo is now an evangelist of the lord. As for me, I decided to keep my mind open, knowing that I’m not walking alone.