Kalabari Port Agents In The East
I had just called home to find out if Orodo my hometown had an internal market where slaves were sold back in the day. I suspect so because a common threat existed then that made children shiver while spurning wild youths around for good “Ikpagherie agwa, anyi eregi n’aka ndi potokirikpo”. I had called my uncle to find out if my kith belonged to the then board of internal revenue of chief Amachree, the Amanyanabo of Kalabari land. I had called to know if the palm produce we sent to Oguta through ukwu-uko were accompanied by “other goods”. My uncle had sighed heavily with some labored breath, I could tell over the phone that this was not an easy task to remember. My uncle had brushed me off immediately, assuring me it was only “edibala and nkikara-aki” that my kith dealt with, then with a whisper he had begged me to ask anyone in the neighboring village Umuduru, that “nwata erugi eru chowa ihe gburu nna ya, ihe gburu nna ya ewere ya”. He regretted my absence, that he would have given me some ebi — our local supernatural geo-positioning system to aid me in pinpointing the family in Umuduru. He had however given me an alternative, one he said would be clearer if I got into a trance. He said a little more will be exposed in that state.
I had arrived in trance at the Obinagwam family of Umuduru. The first man I saw, I had asked if they sold my uncle's mother in our little ugwumebiri market. He looked dazed. I was wondering if they hid under the guise of sending her on “Igba-boy” and sold her off to that family that lived in Port-Harcourt. He feigned ignorance. I asked him if “Igwenga, Mba-nmiri, Igweocha” struck a chord, and why a lot of Umuduru people lived in Port-Harcourt, I wondered if they escorted goods and never returned, then he hushed me, and reminded me of an evil wind “agu-efe” that would take me if I continued on this path, and told me not to remind him of the past, and that yes, they were notorious for catching kids and women during that era and handing them off to some warrant chief on one condition, to carry produce up to Mgbele and no more. He angrily told me not to compare Umuduru to ndi Umunyahu who openly congregated a lot of Okwu-Orodo and Amaku people at that Ozo-oma ntu, and handed them over directly to Aguoru. He denied any link to any merchant, “Leenu imi na anya anyi” if we had made any fortune, it would have been glaring. He had taken me round the village, each time asking if I had noticed any European styled houses littering that village, the same way it was littered in Mbieri and Ogwa — nothing. He asked me if I had seen nor heard similar persons like Nzimiro of Oguta in Umuduru, I had said no, he then whispered, follow the bayonets and houses — -hapu anyi aka, uzo anogi here.
I had asked around to know if we had any bayonets laying around in Orodo, in any compound, or palace, or church, a relic of one of the numerous Greek gifts handed by merchants to slave trader chiefs who used these weapons as a show of strength to subdue their wards and no one had said anything. My eyes were trained on Ofekata, who were strategically placed alongside a major road and housed a powerful king that had alliances with other kings who had seats at the trade council, but then, our darling Eze Nwokororie — Aguoru was not a violent one, he did not need those armory to subdue us, Orodo people were not rebellious, we were an obedient and caring bunch who readily laid down our lives, even for a tree, saving it from falling into a pile of feces while we perished, talk less of our king. I could imagine us matching unfeathered, unbothered, unshackled towards the forwarding agents abode. In my trance, I had located the Old king's house and alas, no trace of European or Portuguese architecture or anything out of the ordinary. I was opening my mouth to ask about the story of my king and the bicycle when an old man warned me of an evil wind “agu-efe” that would take me if I continued on this path. I had then wondered, what did our king take in return? He must have opted for salt and shiny ornament, even might have rejected books and bibles and rather opted for oil for those able bodied men that carried him head high wherever he went. The old man had warned me to leave the kings lair and pass through Umunyahu again, this time, I should pay attention to some slight Portuguese styled house that might tickle my fancy, he could not remember the full name of the warrant chief that trekked all the way to the bini kingdom to deliver trade scrolls, the one who held sway there, he only knew the first five letters of his name, Anuri and had asked me to ask for the last three when I got there. In my trance, I was opening my mouth to ask when an old man reminded me of that evil wind “agu-efe” that would carry me if I continued on this path. He said “ijuta ishi nkita, iji ya eme gini?”
I had resigned to fate and wondered what other cargoes were arranged at this location, “esekere na edima”, and railroaded to ose-Oguta, ogbo-mmanu and onwards to Oba Akenzua or Chief Amachree. I was told not to look further, I was reminded that the warrant chiefs that existed then in Orodo were all human loving and would never sell a soul. I was told they were all law abiding, Christ-like and only took part in tax collection and decisions that bettered the community. I was told to forget all those stories I had heard about slaves in Orodo, that it never happened, that it was just a few useless people who were of no use to the village, and a lot more who were giving us troubles that were taken faraway from the villages to go learn a trade and escort our produce to another land, that was all. I was told to mind my business, “nam kupuru ha”, that whatever I was looking for was not in shokoto, I should look further to Afor-Otisi in Ogwa, That I should do “eyes right” when I got to the Uwandu’s, and that if for anything, I should just admire the house and not inquire further. They reminded me that the men out there were not as friendly and do not answer stupid questions and would not entertain my nonsense, but nam buru ya n’obi, the chiefs there were selling “gwo-gwo” right in Orie-Mbieri where majority of the Kalabari port agents were quartered.
I came off my trance. It dawned on me, ndi gbo nwekwara ka ha di. Uwa nkea sef.
