Ancestorial Worship: My Take (1)

Everyday, Christians call on Abraham, Isaac and Jacob as they pray to God in the privacy of their homes across our multicultural, multiracial and multiethnic world. On Sundays and almost everyday of the week in the new-found full freaking fanaticism in Pentecostalism, they gather in the more than four million churches or congregations in the world to worship God, invoking the spirits of the ancestors of Jews. Meanwhile, in the scaremongering antics of institutional religion, the African has allowed himself to be hoodwinked into believing that invoking the spirit of his ancestors in prayers is idolatry and patently evil. He is mind-controlled into believing that indulgence in what the Christian clergy calls ”Satanic Act” is a sure ticket to Hell, where the individual is tormented, burnt and charred till eternity on the orders of a loving Father; what a laughable irony.
Come with me on my experience of what the Christian clergy contemptuously calls ancestorial worship. One Monday in September 1988, I drove from Port Harcourt to Owerri, accompanied by Chief AM Abasi who was the general manager of Delta Holdings Ltd, a company owned by Chief Ranami Abah, (Abadifeni III). Our mission was a meeting with Mr. Nwaorgu, the marketing manager of 33 Breweries Ltd for a dealership for Mrs. Alice Abah, whose husband, Chief Ranami Abah, had substantial equity shareholding in 33 Breweries Ltd. At the end of the meeting, we agreed to return on Wednesday with Mrs Alice to sign a contract for the dealership. When Chief Abasi and I stepped out to the parking lot, it hit me that I could not recollect how I drove from Port Harcourt through Igwuruta, Isiokpo and Elele to Owerri.
First, I waved the feeling off, ascribing it to the aerodynamic and slippery nature of the super slick German machine, a Mercedes-Benz 280 SLC convertible owned by Chief Ranami Abah. But on a second thought, I sensed a premonition; an ominous feeling. Then a sense of foreboding hit me, leaving me with the chilly feeling that something wrong was in the air. For a person who does not know fear as a result of having had out-of-body experience (OBE) in 1975 and considering the threshold of death the most beautiful experience in my life, it was a very worrisome feeling, to say the least. I quickly shook those thoughts out of my head, engaged the gear of the ever-ready German machine and zapped through Owerri traffic, attracting the same attention that trailed us all the way from Port Harcourt.
At Control Post, an inner voice instructed me not to return to Port Harcourt through the route we came. In reflexive obedience to the mysterious inaudible voice, I turned right (northwards) and stepped heavily on the gas. The straight six-cylinder engine roared in dutiful obedience; the automatic transmission immediately dropped into a lower gear, thereby giving the engine a very powerful pull that enabled the small-bodied car to dust every other vehicle on the road. Through the rear view mirror, I saw the vehicles we overtook recede speedily and virtually disappear behind us. In almost a whisper, Chief Abasi asked if I wanted to visit the 33 Brewery factory at Awo Omamma; I said ”no” without explaining the movement in the opposite direction of our journey.
Strangely, Chief Abasi did not pry further. We raced on, northwards; in thunderous silence. At Ogbaku junction, I turned left, drove westwards past Ejemekwuru and Izombe, turned left at Oguta and headed southwards on the Oguta Lake–Egbema–Omoku–Ahoada Federal Road. Carefully navigating the potholes that generously punctuated the road vis-a-vis the very low clearing of the car, I entered Egbema territory at Opuoma, drove through Mmahu, Abacheke, Okwuzi and turned eastwards to Mgbede, my home town. There, I quickly introduced Chief Abasi to my parents, left him with them and briskly walked a few metre to the grave of Osai, my grandfather. At the graveside, I solemnly told Osai that I sense something wrong in the air.
Then, in furious rage, I threatened him and my uncle, Lazarus, who lay beside him, that if they remained sleepy-eyed in that dimension and I am forced out of this world, that I will scatter their ribcage with penknife. My cousin and age mate, Luke Ofere, came out of his house and asked what was wrong and why I was in tears. With hot tears running down my cheeks, I turned around and left the graveside without a word to him; shock, surprise and confusion were boldly written on his face. On my way back to my father’s house, Nze Romanus Ogboh caught up with my brisk strides and, viciously pulling his right ear, he warned me to be careful on the road; that he dreamt that I died in a motor accident but that he administered a potion on me and I came back alive.
He was completely confused when I replied ”I know” and continued walking in tears towards my father’s house without a further word. Still in the holy rage, I called out Chief Abasi to join me in the car. Back to Port Harcourt through Omoku, Ahoada, Elele Alimini and Emohua, I told my spouse that something wrong is certainly around the corner. As we planned, Chief Abasi travelled to Calabar on Tuesday to inform Auntie Alice of the development and request her to come to Port Harcourt on Wednesday for onward journey to Owerri to effect the dealership contract. On Wednesday, I waited for them but they did not show up. I called Chief Abah and complained about the development. Thursday morning, they pulled up in front of my apartment in a blue Peugeot 504.
To be continued in our next edition.

Jason Osai
Osai lectures in Rivers State University.