Ibari diplomacy

This year hit a lot harder than before. A cousin of mine, who used to be the provost of my Ibari meetings had passed. Asides from the president-general, the provost had remained an important arm of the executive. He was at the bottom of the ladder and was an errand boy, who not only did the bidding of the president but served as an enforcer. He was that one that demanded ten naira for speaking while not allowed or twenty naira for coming late or more for improper dressing. He was the guy that looked more like the ushers in the church who pre-occupied their minds with the congregation rather on that which went on around the pulpit. The provost eyes were more beneficial to his ears and that was the strength that the president always harnessed in order to bring in little more revenue asides a good sense of humor, knack for pacing, immunity to hostility and excellent grasp of hierarchy and it’s dynamics.
The provost position seemed to be the only spot that relied on human intuition since those of the treasurer and financial secretary were usurped by bank accounts and statements . It was the only position that I have come to realize to have stayed relevant since the old till date. An interesting position that pandered to people and their excesses, one that was primitive yet with a heightened public relation skill set.

I have missed spending new year’s in Orodo. I have missed those meetings that were held at the beginning of the year, those ones that started in the morning and ended late in the evening.

I miss hearing all the banters , communal exchanges, bickering and updates on what was rife in the community. I miss those days that the internal health and welfare of the communities were at stake and robustly tackled in meetings. I miss those days.

It was in one of one of these meetings that I had found out how angry and disappointed the girls were. It was here that I found out that we cared less. It was here that “Onye isi umu-mary “ told us point blank, the reasons for dwindling respect towards the men folk. It was here that I heard that we didn’t care if they ate, slept, washed or even survived. It was here I heard that we cared less if they had under-wears nor soap or even went to school or learnt a trade.

It was in the same kind of meetings that we had collectively brought in heady youngsters, who had terrorized their parents in one way or the other and meted out guerrilla punishments. It was here that we demanded an undertaken “Ositadinma” from each and every of them- never to commit such crimes again. It was here that erring husbands and wives were tamed. It was here that family squabbles and uprisings were quashed.

I miss those days. Even as the meetings lasted forever, I remember my self imposed breaks while I strolled back to my fathers’ house . Those short trips from the Onyenakazi’s through the lonely road that passed Dee Longy’s house, up until Daa Rose’s house was a memorable one. You could hear the men roaring and bickering, a tale-tell sign that the village was alive, a sign that we made it to the new year.

I remember the urgency of my mother’s voice, nudging me to go back to the meeting, adding subtle threats each time with a reminder of what “Ndi na-agba aria” provost and his team of debt collectors did to villagers who were meant to be at meeting but yet not.

A number of us loved that meeting, if for nothing else , we learnt a lot of history. We saw a lot of family dynamics. We saw hierarchy in play and amongst all, self preservation of a people who continuously worked to remain as family.

Those days were long gone. Those years that the youths were part of the discussion were long gone. Those years that our matters were brought in the midst of the elders for guidance. Those years that we were seen but not heard. Those times that we were under proper tutelage of the old.

Ibari diplomacy was gone . Morals and respect had been greatly eroded. New money and drugs have engulfed the village. The Ibari was no longer a place for entrusting family values. The Ibari had taken yet another route and looked the other way.

The Ibari of the old was self preserving. It took care of its members. It painstakingly ensured that it’s members were well taken care of. The Ibari was one that ensured that its products represented the family and it’s virtues.

Ibari was no more. They had been replaced by real estate, dotting the length and breadth of Orodo. They were now called town halls and understandably like every family that grows and with pending and emerging needs, families and Ibaris have had needs to re-adjust to changing times, positioning families for greater good of the community.

Only snag, the Ibari of the old had been more productive than what was obtainable as today.

Accounting and money matters were the bedrock of most town unions and meetings. The sole aim and target had moved away from fostering communal relationships and welfare and had delved deeply into retiring accounts and strengthening the books.

Every talk revolved on these accounts. All eyes were fixed and fixated on accounts and possibly an election to usher in new executives that will man the said accounts. It had become a recurring trend that had relegated the discussions and inroads of the health and wealth of the community.

The year has just started around Igbo land and I can bet that these moribund stances would remain where man hours would be lost yet again retiring accounts and electing new executives.

I would suggest for the new leaderships that would emerge in the coming days and weeks to seek ways to bring back the Ibari diplomacy of the old.

Leaders that would inject financial literacy and empowerment ideas in the discussions.
Leaders that would seek new avenues to collectively increase the wealth of the communities.

Leaders that would engage youths in meaningful discussions that would address the yearnings and aspirations.

Leaders that would embrace sustainable ventures that are tailored to its people in wealth creation.

Leaders that champion healthy lifestyles among its members.

Leaders that would recognize the get-rich quick syndrome amongst teeming youths and show resolve to stem tides.

Leaders that were sensitive to the girl population, armed with facts that these populations were easier to handle and groom. A leader that will maximize potential amongst these girls, knowing they stood a better chance at survival.

We want leaders in the communities that were not moribund in action, ones that clearly understood the changing times and needs, ones with empathy with a world view to make societies better.

We need these leaders at the community level to engage us, to take us farther away from over- dependency on government. Leaders that will encourage self sufficiency-no matter how small.

Leaders that would help us recover our self worth and demand what we rightly deserve .

This is the year to head back to the basics.

Uchenna Iwualla MD

It Matters Period.