Local Champions
It took me ages to learn of the sacrifices of a local champion in my community. It had taken me greater time to learn of the contributions of Sylvanus Mgborogwu- a war veteran who shared cantonments with Christian dike, Uzoagba Iwualla and Mc Dike-unsung heroes whom had no cenotaph nor memorial to remember their gallantry. I had also only heard of his infamous query to God and his favor for the Anglican church,“Chineke kporo ndi baptist ugwo” at the time a gusty wind had blown the Baptist church’s roof away and spared the Anglicans.
Sylvanus was our local injection man, a Burma-trained infirmary nursing aide who travelled the length and breadth of Ubaha and environs fighting malaria, fever and all sorts. I found it interesting to learn that he was also the to-go person for infectious diseases in my community. Kids that had boils and fever dreaded him. I remember stories of this man and the funny ways he talked while giving those huge injections wrapped in towels and funnier, was his exclamations on seeing patients either faint or wriggle in pain. “ O gbubolaya” he would say as one fainted.
I would have loved to see Sylvanus, if for nothing else, to inquire how beautiful Burma was. I would also thank him for the singular effort of making sure that my present king Samuel Ugbaja was sponsored to that St Augustine school. I would then ask if he crossed into Vietnam or Cambodia and would gladly open my ears to hear how generous they were. I wanted to hear first hand about these countries that have now thrown up yet a different set of local champions in my community, only this time- a terrible gun powder waiting to explode.
My village is presently, almost over flowing with these new local champions or urchins, sitting boldly on corridors of importance. Local champions who had foreign direct investments coming in from Vietnam, Cambodia, Myanmar. I had tasted the pudding yet again, first hand as I sat with my cousins who had met the required pre-requisites for this new status- a fancy new bike, a slingshot bag hanging over the neck, a fake apparel and funny looking slides, and then nice android phones that were a translators delight, having multiple Tagalog sounding language forms. They all moved in convoys of fast bikes, driving with reckless abandon, with those jewelry hanging loose to showcase new money from faraway lands like Myanmar — -same Myanmar that Christian Anyadike fought gallantly, came back and married that lady that gave us that Charity maternity that a majority of men today in the village were born.
I would have loved to hear from Sylvanus, if for nothing else, to learn on weapons they fought with, hear manners in which they co-habited with their host in Burma, definitely a clear distinction from these new local champions that brandished android phones as weapons of financial assault against foreigners and who spoke in tongues almost alien to us, relieving a robust love life on their phones but bereft of love for us. We were now, almost overrun by youngsters with a mindset devoid of those that Sylvanus had acquired in that faraway land-given the level of exposure as then. These set of youths will not send anyone to school nor attend one themselves. These ones were full of a destructive mindset, one with a misplaced ideology, a warped resolve to escape poverty regardless how, even at the expense of stated norms of the village. They were almost bigger than the leadership, having relegated the powers to a helpless position “a siddon look” -hoping they meet their waterloo.
We now lacked true local champions.
You would think that the influx of foreign exchange from Vietnam, Cambodia, Myanmar in my village would have served as a catalyst to a cottage industry boom. You would think that by now, a new economic outlook would have been visible. You would think an obvious refinement in culture would be in place given the constant exchanges amongst our youths and foreigners. You would think a visible direct impact would be felt by now given the everyday stories of illicit monies flowing into my community.
But no.. Once again Orodo will not enjoy this, we would remain tails, seems to me at this time that something drastic needed done, else we lose entirely. Once again, Orodo will head back to same era of slave trade, when Umuduru people of Ubaha were catching people and selling off to merchants in Port Harcourt and yet no European styled house from those proceeds stood tall till date in that village, a clear distinction from Mbieri who engaged in same line of business, with plethora of Portuguese and European styled houses dotting the villages.
“Anyi agaghi awu ogbenye, wurukwa amusu” we cannot loose on both sides of the coin. We have to find ways to resurrect the true local champions, those that will serve as hope and mentors to the salvageable. Those that will be the last thread of reasonable conscience, holding tightly the moral fabrics of the community, who would be worthy enough to be emulated. We have to start looking for these people, we have to find ways to celebrate their little wins and encourage them to stand tall and firm in our communities.
We have to find those in our communities that can be salvaged, ones that are not corrupted as yet. We have to identify that population early and set indices that will encourage a good turn out. We have to become better people, ones that can also walk the talk, not ones who praise sing for wealth or gains, but for truth and integrity. We have to show these kids that life itself works. We have to be that model we seek and crave.
We are the true local champions — -only if we set foot albeit strongly.
