The Ozara Day

“Mmanwu! Mmanwu!!..”

We chanted excitedly; the thirteen-year-old me, my cousin and some friends in the village.

We were young, exuberant and vivacious.

It was my town’s annual celebration - Ozara Day.

Some people have told stories of them being chased by dogs.

Some by a gang of turkeys.

But on this day, in the hierarchy of all legendary chases, I was chased by the gods.

My cousin, Chika, was born in the village, and he knew the street code and language.

I had come home with my family for Christmas.

Everything Chika says to me about the village and its happenings is true, but on this day he lied to me.

While we hurriedly prepared for Ozara Day, he came to where I was pleading with my mum to allow me to go to the town square and joined in pleading.

Though we were young, after many pleas, she gave permission.

And as I went looking for what to wear, Chika came to me and spoke the lie that put me in trouble.

“Ebuka, Imago mmanwu?/ Ebuka have you been initiated into the masquerade cult?”

“Mbakwa/No”, I answered.

And then he continued this errand boy of the Devu himself - the father of all lies.

“Amagokwa’m. Imana abum guyman/ I have been initiated. You know I’m a guy man.”

I was excited the more because this means the masquerade/gods recognizes him, and he could follow them from behind and sing and clap to spur them on.

I was excited because it means he’d take me with him and I’d have a closer look at these performing spirits.

You see, every one of the seven villages in the town had two masquerades:

A dancer - performer and entertainer

A chaser - ruthless and full of mischief.

My village had two.

A tall one (can’t remember its name), and Agudiegwu - the chaser.

The mistake I made that day was believing Chika.

The mistake I made was even in my belief of him, failing to at least wear sneakers.

The mistake I made was to believe that a fourteen-year-old boy (he was a year older than I was), could be initiated into the masquerade cult.

Chai!

But we went.

Myself, Chika, and some of our friends.

We got to the square and it was already brimming with activities.

Chaser masquerades were already armed with their canes, pursuing whoever they wanted to deal with. Dancers were there too doing their iconic dances. Cars were parked, the crowd was teeming, and masquerade cult members were already jeering, clapping and singing.

Our excitement heightened. My excitement heightened.

We searched for Agudiegwu and found him and his followers.

He was already performing, shrinking in size and enlarging at will.

I pinched at Chika and he looked at me.

This was the moment I should have realized he was lying, for his face showed subtle trepidation; but like the elders would say:

“The fly that doesn’t listen, would follow the corpse to the grave.”

Hesitantly, Chika led me towards the cult group who were singing and showering praises on the raffia-palmed spirit.

“Oji ego mana ojigi ego, piawa ya isi…”, they chanted.

The atmosphere was electrifying, I liked it.

Then something struck my gut, and when I looked back I couldn’t find any of our friends.

It was just me and Chika.

This was another sign that something wasn’t right. But I guess I was just whelmed into the sceneries as a Lagos boy and that in a way dulled my sense of danger.

We joined the crowd, everyone was busy clapping and chanting and no one paid us any attention or looked at us in any kinda surprised manner.

And this was enough to make me hail Chika.

I was happy for him, and I was happy that I was opportune to be part of his group.

“Chief Belletus. Odogwu na epempe!”

All these I called him in my subconscious, absentmindedly. Then joined the group as they sang and jeered.

“Obi kerereke Obi! Onye ara Obi!! Onye iberibe...”

And Agudiegwu did fake chasing motions and sent the crowd scampering, to the applause of onlookers.

Kai! It was sweeting me aswear.

Until it turned to the crowd and it felt like he made eye contact with me. For once, since I came for that celebration, fear seized me.

But it looked away and had me heaving in relief.

I was still sighing and away in thought when Chika screamed, “Ebuka!”

And when I turned the gods were before me in the form of Agudiegwu, asking who I was.

Oh, Chika! He flew first. The goat abandoned me.

Before I could answer, I noticed I had taken off. I flew second.

That was the most horrifying 3 minutes of my young life.

Agudiegwu, he came at me. I kept running and looking behind me, and he was there behind me, catching up with each stride.

I died while running, but continued to run. I some-tumbled, somersaulted, some-sprinted.

Oh! If you’ve ever been chased by a masquerade you’d understand.

As they run and the wind blows at the raffia, they look hideous and demonic and mysterious.

It caught up with me after about 100 metres and flogged shege out of me.

It flogged Emefiele out of me. It flogged nonsense out of my silly.

Chika had fled to the unknown. He didn’t look back while running.

Abi did I wrong him before today?

Did he plan to set me up?

I thought to myself.

After flogging me, I just held my slippers in my hands, because one of the legs had cut. I held them in my hands and hurried home to go and sleep, makana Ike uwa agwugo’m.

Since that day, the only masquerades I go close to, are these Yoruba ones that lick ice cream.

But you see anyone that is short, or wears raffia?

Yanachiyaso.

©️Noel Ijezie