10th December 1992 was a Thursday. The cool harmattan breeze must have been wafting gently across my face but I couldn’t feel it. What I felt was my heart thumping madly in my chest and my body systems generating enormous heat. My wedding was 48 hours and 200 kilometers away from where I was, and 77% of what needed to be done hadn’t been done.
By the book, I should have been happy and excited, being just a few steps away from the genesis of endless bliss. Instead, my emotions swung between fear and apprehension. Having dragged my people from over 500 kilometers away for the traditional marriage rites, I was desperately praying none will regret making that precarious journey. My friends urged me to relax, but scanning the faces of my in-laws arriving for the ceremony, and noticing the severe facial marks on some, any prospect of relaxation evaporated. I was being drawn in ten different directions all at once, and with money running dangerously low, I was depending on God’s mercy and the magnanimity of my in-laws to survive.
If you’ve never been to Idah in Kogi State, I’ll urge you to pay a visit to this ancient town of my conjugal ordeal. Idah is to the Igala what Gboko is to the Tiv and Numan is to the Bachama. Here, the Attah Igala, one of Nigeria’s longest reigning monarchs, holds court. Nestled on the eastern bank of the River Niger, Idah is a boat ride or swim away from Agenebode in Oshiomhole’s Edo State; depending on your risk threshold. Idah was once a prosperous town in Northern Nigeria, as evidenced by the numerous warehouses dotting the river bank. Palm produce and sundry agricultural products were stored and later transported to other parts of the country and to the coast for export. When state structure was adopted in 1967, Idah became part of the old Kwara State. From Kwara, Idah and the Igala were again bundled into Benue State in 1976, and finally into Kogi State in 1991.
Despite these movements, the collective fortunes of the Igala were scarcely bettered. With the inflow of cheap petro-dollars and concomitant decline in agriculture, river transportation was swiftly abandoned and the economy of Idah went comatose. The abandoned and dilapidated warehouses by the Ega waterfront are sad commentaries on the nation’s prodigal economic decline. It was to Idah I came with my entourage on that fateful December dusk; fuelled by love, propelled by unbending destiny. We came all the way from Ohafia in Abia State, traversing three other states in the process. Two years earlier when I informed Papa I had found the girl I intended to spend the rest of my life with, he wasn’t exactly excited. He wondered why I could not locate a suitable bride from any of the 25 villages that Ohafia is comprised of. I politely reminded Papa that when I was barely a teen, he had sent me off to Kaduna for my secondary school education. Five years later, I landed the University of Ife with his unqualified support and blessing. If the Kaduna and Ife projects were resounding successes, I assured him Igalaland will be no different. To Papa’s eternal credit, he believed me, as did my cousin of blessed memory, Mr. Anya Kalu Olugu; a onetime Port Manager of the Tin Can Island Port. And so they came to Idah to help consummate my two year old romance with Jumai Awakulu Christiana Sule. Some came boldly yet others approached with uncertain steps. But they were all buoyed by the confidence and faith I exuded; a confidence aided in no small measure by the sterling examples of two Igala women.
Mrs. Okolo was the spouse of one of Papa’s colleagues at the Funtua Post Office at the time. This woman was so petite I used to wonder why Mr.Okolo settled for such a small woman! But after I got infected by her legendary kindness and hospitality, I started to connect smallness with niceness. In running errands, I always designed my itinerary to incorporate the Okolo residence. Only a foolish boy would have done otherwise! Mrs. Okolo was the first Igala woman who left a positive mark on my young, impressionable mind.
The second was Hassana Onucheyo (now Mrs. Iredia); my classmate at Federal Government College Kaduna between 1975 and 1980. She was easily the most intelligent among the girls and yet, the most approachable. She wore no airs and was totally devoid of the pretences usually exhibited by girls in boys-infested environments. She quickly cut this image of a motherly figure: a role she continues to play among the class alumni to this very day. I would have loved to touch on the matter of beauty but I think the Iredias are eminently better positioned to speak on that and other issues. Believe me, you had to make an effort not to like Hassana. She’s that good. These two women’s positive influences ensured I was game for the next Igala woman who crossed my path. And cross my path she did in Makurdi, Benue State, in 1988. So the little spark that was ignited by Mrs. Okolo, fanned into flame by Hassana, had now become a big conflagration; burning off every vestige of prejudice usually associated with such inter-tribal ventures.
The prejudices we harbour against peoples of other tribes and belief systems and our penchant for characterizing them along certain lines, constitute one of the biggest hindrances to harmony and progress in our nation. Even though comedians make these issues the subject matter of their jokes, the reality is that most of us take them much more seriously. And all of us are the worse for it. Anyone who believes all Igbos love money will never truly trust the Igbo in financial matters. Those who think all Yorubas are congenitally fearful and therefore prone to backtracking will always approach them with a modicum of suspicion. When we believe all Hausas are lazy and parasitic, we will always blame them when the ration does not go round. I could go on and talk about the Fulanis, the Idomas, the Kanuris, the Itshekiris, the Efiks, the Angas or any of the other people groups scattered across the length and breadth of this vast enclave. We all know the prejudices we hold against them from entrenched positions supported by unpleasant personal experiences, rumour and hearsay. And when those positions are scrutinized from a more objective platform, they are most often found to be questionable. Sadly, these tendencies manifest at the highest levels and in every sector of our national life. But let me go back to Thursday, 10th December, 1992.
Just before the ceremony got under way, I found myself in the midst of some of my in-laws who wanted to get friendly. One of them, Mr. Joshua Ibrahim Achimugu asked to know my state of origin. I excitedly told them it was Abia and before I could proceed with my current affairs show-off, someone else interjected rhetorically, “So even Abia has a state?” Before I had any chance to respond, the whole group erupted in hearty laughter. I couldn’t help but join. It was the kind of therapy I desperately needed. It was this laughter that set the tone for all that happened that evening. Everything was done in an atmosphere of cordiality, mutual respect and compromise. By the time the ceremony was rounded off well into the evening, a small detachment of Ndigbo and a band of Igala had developed a fresh sense of mutual understanding. My in-laws demanded no bride price to the admiration of my people. My in-laws were overjoyed by my people’s grateful acceptance of their modest hospitality.
By this time, I was in very high spirits and was now in a frame of mind to rehearse the events of the evening with my missus. I told her of the Abia incidence and the hearty reaction it elicited from her people. Suddenly, she burst into peals of laughter that got me both confused and curious. When she recovered, she gave me the joker. Abia in Igala means dog! In essence, I told my in-laws I hailed from Dog State, or if you are in the habit of stretching things, that I was a dog! Now it was my turn to laugh. And laugh, I most certainly did. I knew of course that my in-laws were aware that the abia of my state was not an Igala dog and that I was certainly no dog. If it were so, they wouldn’t have entrusted their daughter to my care. It was a good-natured joke and laughter is what jokes should elicit.
Coincidentally, Abia goes by the caption, “God’s Own State”. Anyone endued with modest levels of mischief and irreverence can, with a measured shift in perspective, actually read it as “Dog’s Own State”. And if the miscreant happens also to be of Igala extraction, the justification is double-barreled. After all, GOD and DOG are composed of the same alphabets. I could have assumed my in-laws actually believed I hailed from Dog State, and that I was by extension, a dog. If I did, I’m sure I won’t be here today doing what I’m doing. As a dog I would most certainly have mauled my Igala spouse to death. If I did that, I would either be dead or languishing in some decrepit prison cell. My family would have blamed my in-laws for breeding a ‘witch’ who brought their son to ruins, and the Igala would in turn brand Ndigbo as a horde of cannibals and monsters. If left unchecked, situations like this could degenerate into endless conflict and blood-letting. Thank God it was a joke, and that it was treated as such. But sadly, not many such exchanges end as happily as mine did.
The number and severity of the conflicts across the nation is a clear pointer to the fact that many are acting based on entrenched prejudices and unfair characterizations. Being Igbo is a badge I wear with a sense of pride and responsibility; a responsibility that constrains me to accept others as equal partners in the Nigerian project. I am an Igbo man. I had my primary education in the north and the east, my secondary education in the north, and my university education in the west. My wife is of middle belt extraction, and I speak Nigeria’s three major languages. Without sounding immodest, I know of no one more Nigerian than I am. My upbringing, education, career and ministry have taken me to every part of this country, and the spread of my friends and associates will be tough even for the National Assembly to better. If I thus write with a certain measure of assertiveness, I do so from a position duly earned. Let me therefore say, without fear of contradiction, that no ethnic group is superior to the other. And no individual is indispensable. If we can imbibe these realities in our private and public dealings, we would have secured a sure footing towards irreversible progress on all fronts.
I love the Igala not only because I’m married to their daughter, but equally because I know a bit about them. A critical step in overcoming prejudice is to become better informed about the subject of our prejudice. And more knowledge certainly engenders a fresh perspective on issues. Knowledge is light, and light, ennobles. Ignorance, on the other hand, is darkness, and darkness disables.
I didn’t appreciate the Gbagyi much until I began to be better informed about them: their history, aspirations, challenges and frustrations. Abuja and the Federal Capital Territory is what it is today because the Gbagyi have played along. We should not mistake their calmness for docility. We did that for the people of the Niger Delta and today, we’re all paying a hefty price for that folly. We must not willfully marginalize nor exclude any group.
And by all means, we must never call Dog where God is.

OLUGU OLUGU ORJI mnia
nnanta2012@gmail.com
oluguorji.