NNEWI—TRADITIONAL marriage is a popular event in Igbo land. Young ladies and men who are getting married use it to bring their friends and well wishers to their homes, to showcase the families where they are coming from unlike before especially in the early 1980s, when it was not as popular as it is today, because at that time, young ladies would bring their suitors to their parents and kinsmen who drew up a list of things to be done, including the dowry to be paid, other expenses to be incurred as well as going to the church to solemnise the marriage.

However, traditional wedding cannot be done today in Igbo land without traditional marriage being performed between the parents and relations of the bride and suitor.

“What is actually celebrated as traditional wedding today in Igbo land, is actually the traditional marriage right that has been performed earlier before the eating, drinking and dancing that precedes it, by friends and well wishers of the couple, who are normally not part of the traditional marriage rights that has earlier been done and is most times not celebrated .

South East Voice witnessed the traditional wedding of Chidinma Ezenwaobi, daughter of an Nkpor and Onitsha, popular market leader, Chief Sunday Ezenwobi, known as “Seeman,” who is the Chairman of New Tire Market Nkpor, which attracted who is who in Onitsha Nkpor and Anambra State business and trading community, including politicians and traditional rulers, some of whom ha the following to say about tradtional marriage.

According to Chief Victor Umeh, the immediate past National Chairman of All Progressives Grand Alliance, APGA, who also hails from Agulzigbo in Anaocha Local Government Area of Anambra State, where the event held, “Traditional Marriage in Igbo land is giving out a girl that has matured to marry, to the suitor when the suitor comes to the parents, and the father and mother of the bride will hand the girl over to the suitor who is always accompanied by his parents and well wishers after doing the traditional things that are involved”.

Chief Umeh further said “traditional marriage cannot be neglected in Igbo land, what people call traditional wedding today in Igbo land is actually the celebration by friends and well wishers of the girl and her husband after traditional marriage rights that has been earlier done or part of it done before the celebration through eating, drinking and dancing that follows it.

“If you do not do traditional marriage in Igbo land, in the eyes of the kinsmen, men and women, the girl is not yet married, you must do it to put a seal to the marriage,. Where you don’t perform this traditional rights of payment of bride price and the rest of other things, the girl in the eyes of the kinsmen men cannot be given out for marriage.”

“The implication is that if she bears a child, that child belongs to her father’s home, if you did not pay that bride price, any child she bears does not belong to the husband, but when he pays, the child can now belong to the man.”

He debunked claims that the Igbo charge much on their daughters, before they give them out for marriage. “That has gone out of fashion, it is no more obtainable, people don’t collect exorbitant dowry these days, in order to give out their daughters for marriage, this is because in Igbo land, we do not sell our daughters, so we collect just a token to show that they are coming out from a home, and with time those things are beginning to change, people now take N100, N1, N5, as a symbol that the girl has been betrothed to the husband, you must pay something before the girl is handed over to the husband,”.

The traditional ruler of Akwaeze, Igwe Christopher Ndubisi Okpala, has a similar view, about traditional marriage, with Chief Umeh, but brought some element of spirituality to his view,apparently because of his position. He said “traditional marriage is a very important event in Igbo land and if you have not done it, it means you have not started marriage, it is that time the human beings and the spirits in the community where it is happening welcomes the two people involved in the marriage to be one”.

“White Wedding was brought by white men, but traditional marriage is where the agreement of being husband and wife is sealed, in some white weddings, if the traditional marriage activities have not been conducted, some priests do not accept to conduct white wedding.

“Some Priests will tell you, go and conduct the traditional marriage first, another thing is any man that grow to marry and have children, and it happens that the son or daughter is performing this ceremony, it gives joy, it is a thing of joy in the life of the man and woman who are giving out their daughter, and when this happens, and in few months or years, he gets a grandchild, he starts answering grandfather while the mother becomes grandmother.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/mermaid-trumpet-formal-dresses

In response to a sardonic essay written in the recent Saturday Nation by Proffessor Ekara Kabaji, wryly  disregarding the position of Kwani in the global literary movement within and without Kenya , I beg to be permitted a leeway  to observe that any literature, orature, music,drama,cyborature,prisnorature,wallorature,streetorature , sculptor  or painting can effortlessly thrive and off course it has been thriving without professors of  literature, but the reverse is not possible as a proffessor of literature cannot be when literature is not there. Facts in support of this position are bare and readily available in the history of world literature, why they may not be seen is perhaps the blurring effects from tor like protuberant irrelevance of professors of literature in a given literary civilization.
A starting point is that literature exists as a people’s subculture, it can be written or not written like the case of orature which survive as an educative and aesthetic value stored in the collective memory of the given people. The people to be pillars of this collectivity of the memory are not differentiated by academic ranking for superlativity of any reason, but they are simply a people of that place, that community, that time, that heritage, that era and that collective experience. Writing it down is an option, but novels and other written matter is not a sine qua non for existence of literature in such situations. This is not a bolekaja of literature as Proffessor Ekara Kabaji would readily put, but it is a stretch towards realism that it is only people’s condition that creates literature. Poverty, slavery, colonialism, ***, marriage, circumcision, migration, or any other conditions experienced as collective experience of the people is stored or even stowed away in the collective memory of the people as their literature. Literature does not come from idealistic imagination of an educated person.
Historical experience of written literature informs us that the good novels, prose, drama and poetry were written before human society had people known as professors of literature. I want you my dear reader and You-Tube audience to reflect on the Cantos of Dante Alighieri in Italy, novels of Geoffrey Chaucer in England, Herman Melville and his Moby **** in Americas, poetry of Omar khwarisim in Persia, Homeric epics of Odyssey in Greece and the Makonde sculptures of Africa and finally link your reflections to Romesh Tulsi who grafted the Indian epic poetry of Ramayana and Mahabharata. At least you must realize that in those days literature was good, full of charm, very aesthetic and superbly entertaining. This leads to a re-justification that, weapon of theory is not useful in literature. University taught theories of literature have helped not in the growth of literature as compared to the role played by folk culture.
Keen observation will lead you dear reader, down to revelations that; professors of literature squarely depend on the thespic work of the people who are not substantially educated to make a living. Let me share with you the story about Dr. Tom Odhiambo who went to University of Witwasterand in South Africa for post graduate studies in literature only to do his Doctoral research on books of David G Maillu. Maillu is a Kenyan writer, he did not finish his second year of secondary school education but he has been successfully writing poetry and prose for the past three decades. His successful romantic work is After 4.30, probably sarcasm against Kenyan office capitalism, while his eclectic, philosophical and scholarly work is the Broken Drum. Maillu has many other works on his name. But the point is that Dr. Odhiambo now teaches at University of Nairobi in the capacity of senior lecturer in Literature. What makes him to put food on the table is the effort of un-educated person in the name of David Maillu. Dr.Odhiambo himself has not written any book we can mention him for, apart from regular literary journalism he is often involved in on the platforms of the Literary discourse in the Kenyan Saturday Nation which are in turn regular Harangues and ripostes among literature teachers at the University of Nairobi, the likes of Dr Siundu, Proffessor wanjala Chris and Evans Mwangi just but to mention by not being oblivious to professors; Indangasi and Shitanda.
No study has yet been done to establish the role of university professors on growth of African literature. One is overdue. Results may be positive role on negative role, myself I contemplate negative role. Especially when I reflect on how the African literati reacted on the publication of Amos Tutuola’s book The Palm Wine Drinkard. The reactions were more disparaging than appreciative. Taban Lo Liyong reacted to this book by calling Amos Tutuola the son of Zinjathropus as well as taking a self styled intellectual responsibility in form of writing a more  schooled version of this book; Taking Wisdom up the Palm Tree. Nigerians of Igbo (Tutuola being a Yoruba) nation cowed from being associated with the book as it had shamefully broken English, broken grammar etc. Wole Soyinka had a blemished stand, but it is only Achebe who came out forthrightly to appreciate the book in its efforts to Africanize English for the purpose of African literature. Courtesy of Igbo wisdom. But in a nutshell, what had happened is that Amos Tutuola had taken a plunge to contribute towards written literature in Africa.
One more contemplated result from the research about professors and African literature can be that apart from their role of criticism, professors write very boring books. A ready point of reference is deliberate and reasonless obscurantism taken Wole Soyinka in all of his books, Soyinka’s books are difficult to understand, sombre, without humour and not capable to entertain an average reader. In fact Wole Soyinka has been writing for himself but not for the people. No common man can quote Soyinka the way Achebe’s Things Fall Apart is quoted. Achebe wrote Things Fall Apart when he had not began his graduate studies. However, he did not escape the obvious mistake of professors to become obscure in the Anthills of the Savanna, the book he wrote when he had become a proffessor. This is on a sharp contrast to entertaining effectiveness, simplicity and thematic diversity of Captain Elechi Amadi, Amadi who studied chemistry but not literature. He does not have a second degree, but his books from the Concubine, The great Ponds, and Sunset in the Biafra and Isibiru are as spellbinding as their counterparts in Russia.
Kenyan scenario has Ngugi wa Thiongio, he displayed eminence in his first two books; Weep not Child and The River Between. These ones he wrote when he was not yet educated, as he was still an undergraduate student at Makerere University. But later on Ngugi became a victim of prosaic socialism, an ideology that warped his literary imagination only to put him in a paradoxical situation as an African communist who works in America as an English teacher at Irvine University. His other outcrops are misuse of Mau Mau as a literary springboard and campaigning for use of Kikuyu dialect of the Gema languages to become literary Lingua Franca in Kenya. Such efforts of Ngugi are only a disservice to Kenyan literature in particular and African literature collectively. Ngugi having been a student of Caribbean literature has failed to borrow from global literary behaviour of Vitian S. Naipaul.  Ngugi’s position also contrasts sharply with Meja Mwangi whose urban folksy literature swollen with diversity in themes has remained spellbinding entertainers.
The world’s literary thirsty has never failed to get palatable quenching from the works of Harriet Bechetor Stowe, Robert Louis Stevenson, Shakespeare, Alice Munro, Octavio Paz, Pablo Neruda, John Steinbeck, Garcia Guarbriel Marguez,Salman Rushdie, Lenrie Peters, Cyprian Ekwenzi, Nikolai Gogol,I mean the list is as long as the road from Kaduna to Cape town. Contribution of these writers to global literature has been and is still critical. Literature could not be without them. Surprisingly, most of them are not trained in literature; they don’t have a diploma or a degree in literature, but some have won literature Nobel Prize and other prizes. Alfred Nobel himself the author of a classical novella, The Nemesis, does not have University education in literature. What else can we say apart from acceding to the truth that literature can blossom without professors, the Vis-à-vis an obvious and stark impossibility.

Step by step it flows
Unleashing trapped desires
Edifying body and soul
Unifying humankind in entire.

Reaching within depths untold
Possessing, with grooves so bold
With rhythmic waves and strides
Varying from tribe to tribe.

Dancing is a rite
Not a mere reaction to music
Dancing is a language
Spoken in the voice of the body

As music transpires with bodies
Bodies of beautiful maidens
Bodies- voluptuous, with sweat
Leaving our warriors gasping!

Dancing to the beats
Dancing to the rhythm
Dancing in the heat
Like horses never ridden

Dancing is a bond unbroken
An expression of feelings unspoken
Well spoken by the untrained
Well grasped by the unlearned

Birthing in the cries of Ogene
Riding on the waves of Udu
Floating on the wings of Ekwe
Gliding in the ripples of Oja

It is the essence of our tradition
Passed from generations of old
We express it proudly
As we answer the call of Igba.

© Raphael Uzor

A single tear.from mother.Africa.
Igbo ?
Kenya.
Jamaica. The.Caribbean diaspora.
Warm.and.easy.... Belize....coool trade winds.

Banana republic. UNU..IS WE
UNU IS YOU.
UNU is unity.

I was about running for safety
when she said she love me
what is love?
on this my empty pockets
her onkempt hair and hungry eyes
i knew she was a spider

though my heart is deaf
Igbo love is costlier in the market
how-come this Yoruba lady
money in the morning, money clockwise
there is no juice left in me lady,
your web had caught nothing
and your tricks I've known.

****.
Tribe.
Hashish.
Nonsensical sense of entitlement.

This is dedicated to the millions who died in the Biafra - Nigeria civil war

Counting the losses
Of my people at dawn
Breaking the curses
Of no wholly source
I sought to wage war
Without funds and money
I thought to secede
From a nation strong and many
I was full of envy for vain minorities
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

Proclaiming Biafra
Was so big an agenda
Building militias
To **** and to tether
My opposed tribal brothers
And the critics of my powers
I denied much on media
All that hid in my fingers
My plans I held higher
The proclamation of Biafra
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

Visible to the blind
Were were ready for a fight
Audible to the deaf
Huge price of war to pay
Hausas killed in numbers
By my igbo sons and daughters
yorubas were driven without boots
by my fellow Biafran youths
Ibibios were suspicious
So were Urhobos, Itsekiris and Ijaws
Enmity was at its peak
So high that none could breach
All these were my agenda
My services to Biafra
Was so good for me to render

On May 30th 1967
Was just like a fable
I declared in the open
Without even a wobble
The state of Biafra
Almost complete; an agenda
An anthem was composed
Flag and currency; none could oppose
The heat of the tension
Is such I couldn't mention
The height of jubilation
Not all did it favor
There was sorrow in the land
This, I cared not apart
I was a symbol in the world
For the havoc I did cause
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

The war began
With no money at hand
We fought with pride
With pains in our hands
We fought with might
Defending our father's land
We died in mass
Numbers of air attacks
We killed civilians
Of the tribes against our plan
We'd shoot in the heart
Every oppose we'd catch
Nigerians were too strong
but we swore we'd burn
I saw no flaw
In the havoc I did cause
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

Hunger and thirst
Was order of the day
Sorrow was a pest
and death had no end
Too many burdens to bear
The pains of war to pay
We ran out of guns
Bullets, grenades, even bombs
We had but matchets
Arrows, stones and spears
But We faced an army
Of full artillery
Our tragedy had no end
Even God couldn't help
So our homicide was cast
And We became fossils at last
Let those who seek war; stop and think
The pains of it;higher than that of peace
So I e'caped in a copter
Leaving my people to suffer
So on exile I did ponder
while millions died in yonder
I am an educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border

I write from the grave
From the hell of my pains
I was that educated soldier
Who took you to battle borders
And ran, leaving you to suffer
I was that educated soldier
Of an eastern defunct border.

I want to know more than one
Haitian

I want to know more than three
Jamaicans

I want to meet Nigerians that speak
Igbo

Kenyans that laugh at the Swahili I learned in Berkeley
Ugandans that correct my Mandarin
Tanzanians that teach me how to say it in Cantonese  

I want to tour the holy city Ile-Ife
trace the pilgrimage path of Mansa Musa
then circle back to Timbuktu

See the reminders of Aksum
See the remainders of Kmt

Touch the Earth and envision the buildings that my ancestors constructed
thousands of years before they were invaded thousands of times
leaving the still standing walls that others never believed were thousands of years old
till their, “science” said so

I want to board a barge in the south and flow north with the Nile
I wonder what eight others will join me

I want to walk the same trail
that was the first trail
compare my foot print
to the first foot print

The vision I see
The things I want to do
The escape I want to take

Isnt one that is new

Its one that is old
so old that its in the blood
in the very fabric and design
of all that claim

Human

What I want is a realization
no
a reawakening
of my genetic inheritance
of my ancestral birthright

What calls me is the land so old
its true name
its original tongue
is the only
can only
be labeled

The First

There
that is what calls to me
There
that is what pushes me
that is the very intangible force that pulsates my heart
pumping the blood through my veins

That place that is forever older than old
yet
In a constant state of
Reconstruction
Recreation
Revelation
Renovation
Revitalization­

Revolution

I want to breath the air in that place that is always in a state of newness
I want to feel the frequency in that place
where there are as many words for new
as there are people to speak them

That is the place
That is the space
That is

© Christopher F. Brown 2015

If you want to make heaven
Marry from Enugu!
You want to be successful
Please marry from Anambra
If you want a complete package
Marry an Akwa Ibomite
They attended finishing school
Right under their mother's tutelage
If you want to raise Professors
Marry From Ekiti
If you want to build empires
Marry an Igbo girl
They push you to success
Do you want to maintain your culture?
Mary a Yoruba girl
If you want to be royalty
Marry a Hausa girl
If you don't ever want to cheat
Mary and Edo girl
If your relationship survived this year
Despite its economic realities
Please marry that one
If you desire a beauty Queen
Marry a Benue girl
If you love good romps
Marry a Calabar girl
Your life will never remain the same
And you will live happily ever after
If you want to be loved forever
Marry your friend and soulmate
Listen to me my friend
Don't go for looks
It will fade away
Don't go for money
Someday it will be exhausted
If you want a good partner  
Go down on your kneels
Then, watch and pray

In the land of Igbo, where stories unfold,
A soul bears burdens, both young and old.
"Why always me?" the heart does plea,
In the rhythm of life, a poignant decree.

Beneath the palm trees, where breezes sigh,
Ancestral echoes in the crimson sky.
Through the hustle of markets, tales untold,
The query persists, a narrative bold.

Is it the weight of history, a heavy chain?
Or destiny's dance in the pouring rain?
In the dance of kola, where traditions blend,
"Why always me?"—a query to comprehend.

Through the bustling cities and village lanes,
Resides a spirit resilient, amidst life's strains.
In the echoes of language, a melodic plea,
"Why always me?" in the Igbo symphony.

Yet, amid challenges, strength does rise,
In the tapestry of struggles, where hope lies.
Through the echoes of ancestors, resilience we see,
A vibrant spirit asking, "Why always me?"

I was a young maiden when I had you.
At first,
It was just a flash.
Oh heavens!!!
Such a purity.
Your beauty was such that slapped the strongest of men,
Your depth humbled the most arrogant of them I ever met.
When you stayed,
All wondered.
Never let anyone away without a laughter.
Your shadow I saw my lips stuttered.

The days decided to be two decades through the night,
Yet I held you as a treasure through the flight.
Too precious to be drowned in my mind,
Now tells me why your crown was taken to a hive.
You may not know how firm I stood with bows and knife.
I took down one I thought was a foe.
The blood that day from there still flows,
Then I knew you bowed and left your might.

Four score five today.
I still wish,
Wish that that Iroko in the centre of Igbo Olodumare still stood.
But alas!!
The low in wisdom conspired,
And cut down the most admired.
Oh, my dear
My world
My TAMAYA!!!

The efik/ibibio people might call her ADIAHA
THE IGBO'S calls her Ada
A true born African
her hips seals lips
for a thousand words are wrapped around her waist... And
Her chest carries a mountain
A canaan of its own
Flowing with MILK AND HONEY
even Israel can't compete
for her mind has won more battles than JOSHUA ever did with a sword..
Her dark skin tell the tales of her originality..
She is the African salad.. Every man wish to taste..
The young ones look up to her while their mother's reminisce
She  feed lord lugard and Nnamdi Azikiwe even before they knew how to spell their names..
She was there when Ojukwu declared war on her sons and her daughters were made barren..
She is the mother of poets and the inventor of poetry...
Stories were like poems in her mouth even before Hollywood could master the art...
Her tongue had painted more pictures in the heart of her children
so Her HISTORY they never forget
#MAMA_AFRICA

"You know that paintbrushes and demons
know how to control themselves how
to work with different animals of an animal
without changing the stoner of New York,
my bronze tails, David, my friend,
that you have a day when you give birth
to Jasus, Teresa de Killer ****** and Walter
Dylan and the 4000 Brotherhoods, John
Gilbert, Bloomberg Hybrid ******
and Rafael Durango continuing the eucalyptus
sequel according to Jason Thomas of the New York
Times, TUBIX art his *****'s *****
Uji By court order, I received the sign
Taj-Yum Nohiyawa from the pipeline of E
tuberculosis, the ***** believers
and the genius of many talents and had
reasons why they were prostitutes because
they believed that the couple believed
in you and in the animals. This is back, right?
He knows why he does it, Choosing
a patient, He is the ruler of the people
who love him. The Italian Basque name
of prostitutes, excluding the oil of Igbo
Ashawi Habbib Fabakis al Teber,
the result of the tomb of Gabriel Temple's Elm

Fingers and fingers, fingers, fingers and fingers, Julius bomb. CBS people are going to have a heart disease here, "says Taste and Salad Taste, but for UK and CBS, or TSN Melissa Perkins and Melissa? Perkins and Melissa will say for Perkins and Melissa Fish. "Call what is happening in the world. 1490, Asia, Japan, Italy, Greece, Italy, Cristiano F. Amino, British Accelerator Rover Fever, Trans Amiazines and Eyebrows, Oxygen, Oxygen, America, Music World, Iran, Anaconda America, especially his wife and friends. According to this organization, Latin Latin opened up the human body. He wrote Julius bomb: at least one hour writing, church ruins, crescent moon, moon, moon, moon, new country, happy christian, Sally loss, fingers, thumbs. Ivo CBS sold salads, but MMA and CBS called "things that happen in the world, 144 years old, L4 = 9%," fire, prostitution, income and property, homeland, PS research, virus, health and वैलनेस . . . 1490, American Oxygen, Asian, American Prophet, People, Hair USA, Wildlife and American Flavor, Musician, Iran, Anaconda, Wife and Friends. According to this organization, Latin Latin opened up the human body. He wrote: At least one hour of writing, Igoric studio, Crescent Moon, Moon, Moon, Moon, Moon, Sally's death, fingers, fingers and fingers, Julius bullet. CBS Igbo has payment and payment costs. Britain and CBS are "souls of Christian institutions in a humorous, humorous and economical society". Melissa and e. 144 years L4 = 9-year-old white woman - Perkins and Melissa in the world, "Cole 1490, Asia Italy, Greece, For the first time in Italy, Africa and China, Christian F. Amino, British Accelerator and Eye Rovers, Amina, USA SalS, Oxygen, Oxygen USA, American Museum, World Music, Iran, Anaconda and other Latin American This is an hour's record in English churches, quarterly months, months, months, new empires, Julian bombs. Julius bomb) Igbo British and CBS enjoy salad of CBS using salads, "Prostitution, financial research and real estate, real estate, PS, viruses, pesticides and infants 144 years, L4 = 9% of the world is" 1490, the first Asia, Born in Italy, Greece, Italy, Africa and China, Christian F. Amino, British Accelerator and Robert Heat, Trans Aminase, American Physics, Oxygen. Oxygen - USA, USA, Pride and Oman, Iran, Anaconda, my wife and friends Relationship With the death of ten Latin people, he records: at least one hour of writing, the crescent moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.

"You know Bridges and Walls,
how we handled ourselves,
how to handle the weapons
of the wild variety of animals
without deformation was New
York Somers, with holes in
the outer layer of rice, dear
Dove, my love, who thinks
and Over Head, that you will
not have erased the merchandise
of the soul from the day
you were born with our Jazz
Tiberius that force the palms
of the Pastels of Walter de York
and the Rights of the Four
Thousand of the brothers
of John Gilbert, the Bank
Bludov Gabriel thinks and Rafael of the Danube,                   a Continuation,
with EUCALYPT, according
to the State of Jameson Thomas,
the New York Times records
the art of TUBIX prostitutes
itself and gives the Tim Nazz,
Johann, TIB Tava Gods Musco,
Who Days 1872, "the greatest
at the NRG Lewy Dennis
Socrates World Hove House,
escape 91x1891 'NAF yoga'
tube Dennis Zaki and his wife
think that anyone else denied
Licinio,                                                                                the new agreement
is an NPEG yoga arrangement
"I make the yoga guru",
MS Mujaah of Pero As expelled
to Nevada Is a yoga career,                                                   Anthony Wheeler
1000 Taste Kyoto co Esxias:
1890 and IN THE Market
believes he cannot open one
of the three sessions TaxaSeweb
188 nyn 'Obel, 18 from America,
from the company Huawei El T
Beyond Our Havale, The judge
will give; You are a sign almost
of the Taj Yum Nohiyava of tuberculosis,
the Nose that believes and the Taste
of many talents and Ten reasons
why the world as if they had been
prostitutes, for which they require
that the couples of integrity of the
faith think of you and the animals.

Come back once more, is not it?
Know why he is doing it, The patient's
choice, Yes The power of the people
who love him. The Italy of Assisi
in the name of the prostitutes
without carrying the Fat Spoon
Igbo Ashavi Habbib Fabakis al Teber
the result of the Chapel of the Tab
of Java Tebchez Yelm