The meeting of dibias is never a frivolous gathering. Before a sacred summons is made there must be a very serious issue bothering them. Such was the case when the leader of the network of dibias in the now British protected Owerri province sent out a secret summons to their members, including famed dibias from neighbouring communities. Okoñoro, the great dibia from Ahiara, was among those who received the summons.
“We have become endangered species,” said Okeosisi, their blind leader. Okeosisi had been born blind, but that did not stop Agwu from visiting him when it fell on him to carry Agwu’s bag and become a dibia. The people were sceptical until they saw the miracle he wrought through his hands. Their surprise and what made his fame reach the four winds of Igboland was how he collected herbs which he used in preparing his medicaments. He would be guided into any part of the village forest which he indicated and, through feeling and touching of various leaves and barks, selected the ones he needed and told his stewards to get the quantity he wanted. In his long years on mother earth he had not lost a patient. However, any sick person that asked for his service and he referred to another diabia or rejected usually never made it.
“I have seen my ears,” he said again. “I never knew that such a day would come when our people would join the white locust and turn their backs on us. We know what the white locust knows and we even know more and that is why he has decided that we are a threat to him. Hasn’t he defeated us in war? Haven’t we allowed our people to follow his god? Why then is he after us?” he asked his assembled brethren. None had the answer.
“The worst is that they said we are the representatives of the devil their gods have been fighting since their world began… Okenwa,” he called out at the dibia sitting next to him, “are you the representative of ekwensu,the evil spirit?”
“Okeosisi, is it you that is asking this question? Don’t you know exactly what he is after? It is the souls of our people, to win them from us and from following the ways of our forefathers.
“What did they do when I cured their priest suffering from otorororo, a dangerous running stomach, the one with a long white beard and a long white cloth that looked like a white mmanwu?” Okenwa replied with visible anger.
“Okeosisi, Okeosisi, Okeosisi, how many times did I call you?”
“Is it not three times, Ikuku, the three calls of the spirits?”
“Gbam, the worse is yet to come,” Ikuku gnashed his tobacco-coloured teeth, “I said the worse is yet to come. Have you not heard of their plan?”
“What plan?” they all asked in unison, more attentive.
“The new white man that came recently, he has the evil eyes. I said he has the evil eyes and his eyes are set on Obowu.”
“Tufiakwa, it cannot happen. May the gods forbid a living being to utter such words….,” the dibias exploded. Okoñoro had heard enough. He did not wait for the meeting to close. He dusted his akpa agwu and left for the long journey homewards. He knew that today, his destination would not be home. “May the gods be thanked if I see my home again,” he said under his breath. He passed his home and headed straight to the shrine of Amadioha whom he doubled as its priest. He had told his acolytes to wait for him at the shrine. He had had a premonition from the silence of Amadioha these past market weeks that things were no longer at ease.
“We are going to Obowu,” he announced with foreboding.
“Where, wise one?” asked one of the acolytes.
“May Amadioha shave your head, if you open your mouth again! Get the oil lamp ready, we leave immediately. The bemused acolytes gathered themselves up and followed their master in the pitch darkness and left for Obowu obodo dike. The journey was not made easier by the howling harmattan breeze which the dense jungle interpreted into a thousand voices of demon. The acolytes shivered and clung together, guarding the flickering palm oil lamp with their lives. The great dibia marched on with the thud sound of his walking stick, the only indication that he was still in front of them.
“No wonder he has been behaving like a woman whose husband rejected her food,” one said to the other.
“What in heaven and on earth cannot wait till morning is what I cannot understand and Obowu of all places this dead of the night. If the evil spirits spare us I doubt if those wild warriors guarding the Obowu border will,” replied his companion. They immediately shut up and froze to death when the creepy cry of twins left inside the evil forest to die broke into the noise of the night. The flickering light fluttered for the last time and died. A mighty yelp escaped their throat and they dashed headlong towards their master, colliding with him in the process. If anything was happening at his back Okoñoro did not know. His mind was focused piercing the night in his determination to reach the land of Obowu.
“The house of Obiukwu, are you sleeping?” shouted the old dibia as he approached the bamboo gate leading to the compound of Nwokorie. “Nwokorie are you sleeping? Nwokorie does a man rest when there is a hill to climb in front of him? What makes the bull frog to run in the afternoon is a great thing. Nwokorie, I say wake up….” Okonoro went on and on, his voice piercing the night.
Nwokorie was a light sleeper. He had woken up at the first mention of his name. He quietly extricated his wife’s hand still clutching him. Udoka was his third wife and it was her week to visit his hut. She stretched in her sleep, refolded her hands underneath her head and continued with her sleep. Nwokorie took his dane gun from the roof rafters, picked his knife and closed his door quietly after him. “Whom did I hear his voice? Is that the voice of a man or the voice of the gods?” he shouted into the night, in response and primed for any eventuality.
“The son of Chukwuwuike I greet you. Trouble has woken up, and it is heading your way.”
“What kind of trouble brings Okoñoro, the eyes of the gods out this dead of the night, what kind of trouble?”
“We must hasten to the priest of Onuguotu; the white locust is on his way.” The information hit Nwokorie like a sledge hammer. He had never believed that he would ever hear these dreadful words uttered in his lifetime. Yes, he had been initiated by the ancient and sacred Nri priests and had been tutored by his famous father and grandfather on what to do when the time came, if it would ever come; but to be roused from sleep and confronted with the news that the white man was on his way to Obowu was completely stupefying. He came closer to Okoñoro and his two acolytes for a closer look, hoping deep in his mind that this would turn out a dream like the terrible dreams he used to have as a child that devolved into nothingness with the first light of the morning. The bulging eyes of the great dibia and the fear he saw inside them made his heart skip a beat.
They moved in haste to Ehume, the host of Onugotu shrine and the great Ikenga. Early in the morning, as the sun started its unceasing war with darkness, the ikoro sounded, kom, kom, kom, kodidikodi, dikodikodiko; it went on and on, from Ehume the first of the fourteen villages of Obowu, to the brother villages picked up by their ikoro drummers in an ancient relay of transmitting urgent messages. The elders who were roused by the message knew there was danger. Knives were sheathed, shields brought down from the uko, dane guns dusted, and the long march to the clan square started. Some of the men sang as they headed towards the call, some went in solemn measured steps reminiscing when last they heard such summons and the consequences.
“Owumowu kwenu!” shouted the priest of Onugotu.
“Yaaaaaa,” bellowed the crowd of warriors and elders.
“The evil children who came out legs first from their mothers’ wombs are at it again, children who sprouted the upper teeth before the lower ones; children who will never allow their mothers drink water and keep the cups in one piece. The white locusts are after our..
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