Black August

By Uduma Kalu

IT’S Ebo Month. Across the waters, it’s Black August. Iri Ji for lovers of feasts.
That month, the counting of the years began. Ishi eye. Yam Festival marked their years. The festivals began.
Ebo Month. That month of the year spirits become men. And men become spirits. Both become one. Irreducible. Black. Declared Chukwu after his yam meal with men.
The deities sat. The ancestors sat. On their heads were ege, headgears of royals and pythons, daughters of Earth. And plumes of eagle on the gears, abuba ugo.
Feathers fixed in numbers. Some two. Some three. Some four. Binaries. Never arithmetic. Numbers only gods guess..
Their eyes were colours of red. Some in white. The arms threads of ikenga tied. Their faces were scarifics of spirituality.
Scarifics of sun, rays and race. Rings and rings of them. Lines illuminating their temples, telling. And circles, semi circles of moon. Lines of sun – from foreheads to chins, across their cheeks.
Mgbuzu ichi. Ntuche (Ichi Nwadiokpoala). Agbaja. Ndri. The week was full. In their regalia ancients of symbols. The men sat.
There fingers clutched their ofo. Staff and sacred. Men of power, totems of justice. Spiritual, wise. The men sat With their Ikenga, symbol of their right hand. Hand of strength, hand of achievement, their personal power.
Otosi, their spear of peace, towered high. They came in peace. Their order is a spear. The men sat. On their ankles were Owu Ozo. Brass and ropes on ankles rubbed the nzari. The horsetail protects. Horsetail is law enforcer. The men sat
With Okwachi, five sticks tied as one. Each an elder’s chi tied to spirits. There were Okposi, six sticks of ogirishi tied as one. Reminding Elders to honour their ancestors. The men sat.
They bore their Azuzu. The Leather Fan is power and guide. It comforts. By the wall outside, their iron staff, ajirija stood, ajirija that jars Earth. The men sat.
Their leader was half man, half spirit. Earth is scared of him. His head knows no sand. He’s from sky. He returns to sky.
The half, half spirit men spoke: Everyday is yours. When is our month? We have four days of izu week: Eke, Orie, Afor, Nkwo. We want a month.
You have created all things bright. They are beautiful. The ants, the crawlies. Earth. Heaven.
Visible. Invisible. The spheres and their foundations. Forms still forming. Stretching to universes yet unseen.
The trees and birds that build their nests where they breed.
Four legs and forests. The sun, the skies and stars of skies.
You made the sands, sparkles of seas and all that we see and don’t see. You made.
We create too. The food we cook. The arts of our hands and heads.
Sciences and techs. We create, recreate. Homes and clothes. We sing and dance. We write. We make tools too. We create. We recreate. Creators we are too.
So, bless for us a month of freedom. A month spirits and men meet and mingle.
And renew. Create. Recreate. Become one. Irreducible. Black. We ask.
The ancestors hit their ofo on the ground.. Isee! they amened.
Chukwu was there. And all his lieutenants. All bowed in silence to the request of the men from East.
Agwu was there. Kamalu sat with Ala. Anyanwu lighted the world for them. Sea and moon blended. All in silence sat. For men, the spirits sat in silence.
Till Chukwu spoke, counting things he created. And still creating. Still recreating, with men, without men.
He called Ifejioku: The Earth is yours to farm. The Earth is yours, Ifejioku.
I give you to men. You see the seasons. You tie the times. The plants and plantings. And seasons of harvest. You know.
Count with them, igu eye, the years and the years. Teach them to farm. The crops. Rites and rituals of farms.
Teach them. The tools to form. Tools to forge. Temps to fire.
The seasons and weeks. Times of day to plant. Teach them.
The divinities they need. Divinities to consult. All of you, work with Ifejioku. Work with men. Till the Earth.
Men are deities too. As we are in heaven Are men on Earth. Us on Earth.
They ask for that time spirits and men shall meet in remembrance of one. Irreducible. Black. We are.
They ask for that month of freedom. Their month of spirits of men and spirits of spirits to play.
That month, no power in heaven, not on Earth can stop you is your month. Onwa Agwu Isi. The ninth is
The month of Ebo and renewals. Tied, every tie is a renewal of ties of men and spirits.
Ebo month. Yam is your number. Yam is your date. It’s your life. Yam is your Ebo. Ebo Month Ebo is your door to the future. Igbo. Igbo Month is Ebo Month.
All dieties are yours. Invoke them. Yam is your date. Onwa Agwu Isi.
On the ninth, on continents and countries, counties and clans, your freedoms roar.
No one will stop you. Because we are men in spirits of men.
Ifejioku, mark the days of yam. Agwu Isi. The Black Free Month! August.
Black August across the Atlantic. Ebo Month. Month of the new yam. Iri Ji.
It’s the world of blacks, month of spirits and men merging as One. Irreducible in a harvest of freedom. Black. Ebo Month.