EIGHT YEARS OF MEMORY: I STILL MOURN ELECHI AMADI

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Photo/icirnigeria.org: Prof. Elechi Amadi


By Thomas Chemelil

Agwatorumbe walked along the path to Chiolu. He was a popular dibia(medicineman) and whenever the children spotted him, they followed him as they chanted,"Turumbe! Turumbe!"

When he arrived at Anyika's village, Anyika asked him,"What brings you here?"

"The same old business of chasing away spirits," Turumbe replied.

Indeed am alluding to the great work by one of Nigeria's finest writer, Elechi Amadi, The Concubine.

Sadly Elechi Amadi is no more. He has gone to keep company his ancestors in the land yonder- the land of no return.

I know Chinua Achebe will welcome him with a warm bowl of porridge. He will place a warm yam  in his hand and welcome him with a broad smile. Yet this will not happen before they break Kola.

The heroine of Amadi's story is Ihuoma, an ill-fated woman who has had the dishonour of 'killing' every man who marries her. 

Several men marry her, but they all end up dead. From Emenike to the big-eyed Madume, they all die.

Great medicine men are summoned to find out why her husbands always die. From Anyika to Agwaturumbe, the divine message from the gods reveal that Ihuoma is the wife of a sea-god who is always jealous and would never allow any man to marry her!

But always trust men to try things; not even the gods can dissuade a man from the love of the beautiful Ihuoma who is the wife of a jealous sea-god. Ekwueme tries his luck. Turumbe convinces him that they can appease the spirits of the sea-god by offering him sacrifices in the middle of the lake at midnight! Ironically, Ekweume does not accomplish his mission for he is shot dead with an arrow by his son who was looking for lizards to be used during the sacrifice!

This is the world of Elechi Amadi; a world that is no more. I mourn a man who made me love African Literature together with the gallant Chinua Achebe. 

The centre cannot hold for me. Things have fallen apart for me. I hear Ngugi tell me,' Weep not child. However, the African child in me cannot hold back the tears. I ask for A grain of wheat that will sprout in my heart.

Lord, I hear Jonathan Kariara pleading with you. Send a little rain for grass to grow.

Rest in Peace son of Amadi.

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