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Saturday, November 13, 2010

THE SORROWS OF CHILDHOOD; A NOVEL CONT'D

Seven
A Mirage of Hope
      
    In the dawn of 1852, the whole Bight of Benin became a British protectorate, where a representative represented the protector, until 1861, when the Bights of Biafra and Benin became a united British protectorate, still under a British representative.
    After this period around the 1880s and 1890s, when the white men from the Great Britain came to sign an agreement with the Oba of Benin, he refused because he didn’t want to loose his slaves and his autocracy. The camp guards usually told us of the Oba’s encounters with the British people, emphasizing that we can never be free and that they were prepared to fight with the last drop of their blood to keep us enslaved. As a testimony to this we heard of the ruthless murdering of eight British representatives who were sent to investigate the ritual human sacrifices in the kingdom. We were not surprised because ruthlessness was a defining part of the Oba’s personality. What got me pondering, however, was why that land was called great, if it could not suppress the Benin Empire.
     The British however lived up to their name, when a group of British armed soldiers under the command of a man who introduced himself to us as Admiral Rawson. The group which had 1200 soldiers invaded the Benin Empire in 1897, conquered and utterly destroyed it- the all magnificent and awe-inspiring Empire was torn down, like an ant is crushed by an elephant. This group is today known as the ‘Punitive Expedition’, a title I came to understand after years of African history studies. I also realized much later that many African countries have long been conquered by this British people, and slavery had been curtailed reasonably in those countries, since 1807. The Benin Empire was among the last to be conquered.
       After the fall of the Benin in 1897, the British set apart the Warri province to punish the then Oba of Benin, after the death of his father; the one that captured us died on exile in Calabar in 1914, as we were informed by the British. The province was also set up to curb his imperial power, and although the Benin monarchy was restored in 1914, true power was bestowed on the colonial administration of Nigeria, my father land. We were happy and relieved to see the cruel and ruthless monarch go through suffering. It was his pay back time for all the sorrows, sufferings and deaths he and his predecessors caused us. The final decline of the Benin Empire led to its loss of independence, sovereignty, king; its control of trade, especially the slave trade, and its pride. The aptly named, ‘Punitive Expedition’ or Punishers as I used to call them totally humiliated the Empire. The defeat, capture and subjugation of Benin paved the way for British military occupation and later conquest of the adjacent areas with Benin, under Benin administration; and were merged into the Niger coast protectorate, then into the protectorate of southern Nigeria and finally into the colony and protectorate of Nigeria.
       Although the arrival of the British launched the whole nation into the colonial era, we were grateful that the shackles of bondage have been broken from us. It was like moving from a deeper level of bondage to a lighter, pretty comfortable level of imperialism. Under the British colony, we could travel to other Nigerian states and countries, and our right to education was not infringed upon. We even returned to Nri, the land of our nativity, the place of our origin and began the process of rebuilding it. The British government offered a great help. Our king was restored, our pride returned; our culture and tradition revived and finally laughter filled our mouths.
       However, as I witnessed this whole process of revolution and transformation, tears rolled down my cheeks; I was grieved over the untimely death of Omalichanwa, my pride. She did not live to see the end of slavery. She died as a result of malnutrition. She was born, bred and died a slave; her whole life encircled by slavery. Her death hurt me even more than the death of my parents and the departure of Dimkpa; for she was a part of me, a product of my blood and labor. I saw her crying each time I closed my eyes. She was the only dream I had at night, and I mourned her for months. This whole revolution would have been a lot happier with her by my side. But I had to move on with my life; crying could do nothing to bring her back from the land of the dead.
       Following the onset of the colonial era, my distant aunt, Adanne, my mother’s sister who traveled to London before the beginning of the slave period, decided to return to Lagos, a state in the western part of Nigeria, which was now a British colony. She paid us a visit at the village, and after consoling me for all I had been through; especially the death of my parents and daughter, and the physical and sexual abuse I was subjected to, informed uncle Agu of her intention to take me with her to Lagos, so I could start all over again on a clean slate. Aunt Adanne looked very beautiful and glamorous with her sparkling eyes, round face, thick lips, full breasts that looked like those of an expectant mother engorged with milk, and plump body that accentuated her feminine curves. Her legs were smooth, hairless and straight. She also had a fine car and seemed to have lived luxuriously in London. I was very excited at the news, and couldn’t wait to follow her to Lagos. I thought my hope had come, I envisioned a new dawn had arrived. But as it turned out, life with aunt Adanne was an unrealistic desire; it was only a mirage of hope.