Monday, November 30, 2009

The Difference Between a Prostitute and a Courtesan

So I realised that I start waaay too many posts with the word "So".

Anyway, I haven't got round to replying some of the comments in the last three posts so I'll do that later on today.

Thanksgiving break is over (why?????? I was just getting started sleeping) and I am ashamed to say that I did not accomplish anything worth mentioning over the break. (well that is not entirely true. I cooked curry rice. :D - well technically it came in a box that said "add water and heat" - so maybe not). I did manage to do one drawing though. A drawing of Bilili (my Igbo courtesan :")

If you don't know who Bilili is, she's a character in the story I'm writing. So some people have expressed reservations about the plausibility of an Igbo courtesan so let me explain.

If there is one universal truth in this world, it is this:

Wherever there are men, particularly wherever there are wealthy, powerful men, there will always be groups of women that fuck them.

It's just the plain truth. It applies in ALL societies on Earth, in all time periods (well maybe except for Vatican City - but that's a special case). Do you really think there isn't some chick that's getting jiggy with King Saud of Saudi Arabia as I type this? As far as sexual relationships between men and women are concerned, there have always been groups that have endured throughout time:

Wives (these of course evolve from fiances or betrotheds, etc)
Lovers
Prostitutes (Streetwalkers)
Mistresses (Kept women)
Courtesans (Exclusive Upper class prostitutes to very wealthy and powerful clients with loadsa cash)

Always. No matter where you are. In the words of the dude that wrote Grips and Tonic, if it has a penis it likes fucking.

Good, now that that is out of the way, let me explain the social structure of 7th -9th century Igbo land.

Communities were divided into the following groups:

Villages, Towns, and Cities.

Villages are self-explanatory, just a bunch of people farming and doing mundane stuff.

Towns revolved around a particular industry and so were bigger. They typically developed most along the coast or the River Niger (the industry in question being fishing and transportation of goods for trade).

Cities are my particular favourite and here's why.

The cities developed because of and revolved around the courts. By court I mean royal court as in The Nri Court (which as you know is the seat of the entire Igbo nation and the birthplace of mankind :D).

Here's the basic principle. People tend to cluster most around those in power. So, whereas a village might be sparsely populated and highly uninteresting, key concentrations of power in Nri and Onicha were very densely populated because of the need to serve the court and the opportunity to rise to power.

For example, occupations in Nri and Onicha were highly differentiated compared to in other areas of Igbo land where every man was a farmer or a hunter or whatever. In Anambara, especially in these two areas, there was far more specification because of more emphasised social stratification. Basically, there was the Eze Nri, the dudes who served him, the dudes who served the dudes who served him, the people who provided them with different goods and services, the soldiers who fought in their armies and the rest of the people who did their damn best to ingratiate themselves to all these other people so that they could benefit financially and socially.

What has this got to do with Bilili and co? Well basically the premise of this whole thing is that you find the same basic people in different levels of society. And the strata of society they exist on determines how complicated or elaborate is what they do. Bilili is an Igbo courtesan making her an Akuna.

So, for instance, a man might be a simple subsistence farmer in a backwater village somewhere in Nnenasa, but another man with the same occupation (farming) would oversee a large and complex farm with many distribution channels to sell wholesale to market sellers and traders in Onicha. Same occupation, different levels of society, hence the difference. As this pertains to Bilili, it's simple: In the villages, people who want to be unfaithful to their wives have lovers because everybody knows everybody else. In the towns, there are streetwalkers. Simple prostitutes that are solicited by men to give blowjobs behind Okoro's house or whatever. But in the cities, it becomes far more complex. The streetwalkers are still there and they are accessible to everyone, but Bilili and co are the exclusive bunch. The ones that you can't just simply pay for. The ones who either deem you worthy or refuse to even notice you. And that's where all the fun is, which is why I'm writing about her, because she and her clients are far more interesting than the babe on her knees behind Okoro's house.

Now, let's outline some basic differences between Prostitutes and Courtesans (there are words in almost every language for these two groups of people - the French one just happens to be the most popular).

Prostitutes:
  • Provide sex for money - to anyone who can pay
  • Are generally disapproved of
  • Generally act individually
  • Are often harassed by law or authority figures or even just regular members of society
Courtesans:
  • Provide sex for money, clothes, housing, jewels, you name it - to only those of their choosing - who can pay
  • Are generally admired
  • Hone sexual services into a fine artform
  • Are well educated
  • Tend to have eccentric quirks
  • Tend to have highly ritualised habits
  • Are well versed in the arts
  • Live independent lives
  • Are often of high social status
  • Maintain a very glamourous and socially active lifestyle
  • Tend to have official backing
  • Where they exist in groups, tend to display high levels of strictly ranked organization
  • Exist and flourish only in close proximity with money and power
  • Are almost untouchable by law or authority figures and regular members of society
Isn't this fun? Unfortunately Westernization has reduced the fine art of the courtesan to mere prostitution these days but they still exist in a very limited degree today.

Something very interesting I've discovered doing research about courtesans from all corners of the globe is that no matter where there are from in the world, almost all courtesans seem to smoke.

It's very baffling. From African and Asian courtesans who smoke pipes to European courtesans who smoked cigars or cigarettes, almost all of them puffed on something. Does anyone have any idea why smoking was so widespread among pleasure women?

Also, they all seem to have mirrors, and these fabulous looking rooms, and luxuries that no one else seems to be able to get their hands on.

Another very interesting thing I noticed is that all courtesans seemed to have outrageous elaborate hair and clothes. I guess it's all part of the show and the fantasy world that they create, but it's so cool.

So yay to courtesans!! Anybody remember Jagua Nana? Yeah! So yay to Karuwanci, Ashawo, and Akuna everywhere!!! :D

Anyway, I did a drawing of Bilili and I'll put it up once I've scanned it. It's just the preliminary drawing and I'll probably adjust her a couple of times before I'm ready. I still don't know if I want to make this a graphic novel, but I am SORELY tempted to. It's just that the way the story is in my head, there's so much beauty in it I'm not sure I can describe it all in words. I'll put the sketch up later on today.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Awwwwwwwwwww!!!!!

I just watched the latest episode of Inuyasha and in this one, Sesshomaru's mother (who is the Guardian to the Gate of Hell) called up a Hell Hound to eat Rin. She knew that she was sending her son to die in Hell but she didn't care. Of course Sessh followed the hound into Hell to save Rin even though he fronted and said that he was just going to kill the Hound.

After he killed the Hound he found out that he couldn't revive Rin, and then he JUST BROKE DOWN. It was so sad!!!!!!!!!!!!!! He even threw away his sword Tenseiga!! He was holding her close and it looked like he was crying!! Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, in the end when Sessh managed to come back from Hell, his mother brought her (Rin) back to life because he was pissed and so depressed. And when she woke up he (Sesshomaru) STROKED HER FACE and mussed her hair!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was sooooooooooooooo sweet because Sessh NEVER touches anybody and if you touch him you DIE, but he held Rin and hugged her and everything and it was so TOUCHING!!!!!!!

It's so obvious how much he loves Rin, he just won't admit it out loud the big dummy. But I love that he loves her because he's the kind of youkai that you wouldn't ever expect to care about anybody but himself and here he is looking after a little girl and letting her put flowers in his hair and holding her while she sleeps and chasing away her nightmares.


Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cutenesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!!!!!!!!!





Aww, he's so sweet even though he tries so hard to be big bad and scary

I have a problem. I know.

For those who are confused: Sesshoumaru-sama is Inuyasha's older brother, an Inutaiyoukai (Great Dog Demon), and Lord of the Western Lands.

Rin is Sesshomaru's 7 or 8 year old human ward.

Sesshoumaru's Mother is just a wicked bitch.

Nuff said.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

This is THE TRUEST thing I ever Heard

While we're on the topic of people internalizing racist attitudes and using them against themselves, let me just air something that has been threatening to drive me insane for the past month.

I am very much aware that Black people are NOT THE ONLY PEOPLE that go about effacing themselves in order to appear more white, or at least to appear in such a way that they do not offend white sensibilities. Pretty much EVERY OTHER RACE tries to alter themselves in some way in order to appear more white.

Note, I didn't say to appear white (because that is futile) I said to appear more white. Or White-ER.

Now, a lot of the time when I bring this up about Black people, I often get a lot of lame ass excuses that usually go something like this:

But Asians use bleaching cream too!!

So? So because Asians are giving themselves skin cancer in order to appear whiter you think that's a good idea? Oya follow them and jump into the fire.

Anyway, back to what I was saying. As most of you know, I have spent the better part of this term watching a Japanese anime called Inuyasha. After I finished the 167 episodes of the anime, I then watched all 4 Inuyasha movies, after which I then proceeded to read the manga (all 400 plus chapters of it), after which I then began to read Inuyasha fanfiction (fiction written by fans of the anime using the characters but not endorsed by the creator of Inuyasha, Rumiko Takahashi)

What has all this got to do with anything?

Let me explain. In Inuyasha, the second main character is a girl called Kagome.

It is very important for you to know and understand that Kagome is a JAPANESE girl. 100% Japanese. ALL her ancestors from the beginning of time have been 100% Japanese.

Why am I stressing this little detail?

Because Japanese people have Black or Dark Brown hair, and Brown or Dark Brown eyes.

This is Kagome:


Look at her well. Look at her eyes? Look.. Look... Are you done looking? Good.

As you can see, Kagome, any normal Japanese person, has BROWN EYES.

Now, can somebody tell me, why in 90% of all the fanfiction I read (and I have read far more than I will ever admit to my shrink) Kagome is written with BLUE eyes?????

From the little I understand about genetics, Blue eyes are not a Japanese trait but a CAUCASIAN one. And generally, while Blue eyes randomly shows up in other races as a very rare freak of nature, you have to have at least one blue-eyed Caucasian parent to have blue eyes, and in MOST CASES you must have TWO.

You have NO IDEA how infuriating this eye business is to me. It's like OVER AND OVER again, the people who write these fanfics feel that Kagome is not beautiful unless they change her eye colour.

The very first time I noticed it, I thought it was just a fluke, but now three months and well over four thousand fan fics later (most fan fics are relatively short) I'm beyond annoyed and disgusted. Easily, 9 out of 10 fan fics I read portray Kagome as having blue eyes, however, Sango, who is often portrayed as unattractive (except to Miroku) is always given her correct eye colour: brown. In the same way, in fanfics that pair Sesshomaru and Kagome, Rin (Sesshomaru's ward) is always given brown eyes because SesshKag writers view her as a threat to Kagome, who they always give blue eyes in these types of pairings.

Conversely, whenever the situation is reversed (i.e. whenever the pairing is Sesshomaru and Rin, with Kagome as the threat), Rin is given Blue eyes to show that she is more beautiful than Kagome who then allowed to have Brown eyes and promptly married off to Inuyasha or killed off by Sesshomaru, Naraku or Kikyo.

Basically, the situation with anime is very reflective of the sad reality of Asian people glorifying whites over themselves. No surprises there. Especially when Asians use creams like Fair and White, and White and Beautiful.

I mean, who hasn't seen that Indian advertisement. According to that ad, the reason she couldn't get a man wasn't because she had a horrible personality, or because the relationship wasn't working out, but because she was dark skinned. Wow, as if that's a sensible reason to dislike somebody.

This post is about Asian anime and how Asians use their anime to glorify white people and degrade themselves. The man in the following video is white, but fuck it, he speaks the truest thing I've ever heard.





*Only for when you have the time!*

*Only for when you have the time!*




Thanks Miss Fizzy for the link

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

I've always wondered...

Why would a man want a cheap knock off....


When he can have the original?


This one doesn't come off during sex. He can run his hands through it all he wants.
Because.It's. REAL.

Isn't it better to be an original of something different and be recognized and valued for the genuine article you are than to be the second-rate second-hand bad imitation of something you can never truly be?



So is this.
Reality Rules.

Will expantiate/explain..... LATER.

Note: This post was inspired by this forum post which I happened upon while looking up blonde dyes for a friend. Depending on how you read it, it's hilarious. But truth is often said in jest. Scratch that. Every word this person wrote is 100% true. Well I'm a bit offended about the African part, but still true. I think that while many people argue that what they do with their hair is a personal choice (and it IS a personal choice.... to a certain degree), remember that IMITATION is the best form of FLATTERY.

Whether you "personally choose" to wear a bright blonde weave with your coal black skin, or you "personally choose" to straighten your hair, or you "personally choose" to put a lace front weave on your four month old baby, remember that less than 0.1% of the women out there whose hair is NATURALLY in the form that you "personally choose" to force your own hair into are "personally choosing" to look like YOU.

For those who don't know, I believe "Becky" is an African American colloquialism that represents any random Caucasian woman.

Just like Mr. Sosa here made a "personal choice" to get blonde skin*


You know what Mr. Sosa?

Let me tell you a secret.

Secret: You're still a cheap knock-off of a White person. A defective, third-rate copy. And no, you will NEVER be as good as the original. You could have been an original Black person, but here you are a Tokunbo Oyinbo.


*Yes, I know, skin cannot be blonde. It was a pun.

Happy Thanksgiving

Well I don't really know what day Thanksgiving is. Shame on me, I've been in America for two and a half years and I still can't make head or tail of the local customs. (Nor do I really want to - but shh that's my secret).

Anyway, I'm staying in school over thanksgiving so I'm spending the break sleeping, eating, writing and drawing. Oh yeah, and indulging in my current favourite activity (no, it is not masturbating wildly to photos of Sesshomaru - even though maybe I should take up that activity), hunting for more historical stuff.

This isn't really a post. This is more my lazy mind rambling. But yeah, I found something interesting.

You remember Starbucks' logo?


You know, this one up here?



Yeah, I thought so.
[Benin bronze figure]


Focus on the god(Olokun) in the middle.
[Yoruba ivory salt bowl (top part comes off)]

I insinuate nothing...............................kpehe kpehe

Saturday, November 21, 2009

The Heart of Man...

I'm not usually one of those animal rights people. And before anything else is said, I'm a happy omnivore - i.e. I'm a herbivore AND a carnivore.

Also, it is most unfortunate that I have previously done a disparaging post about goings on in China but this disgusted me no end.

This is not an indictment of Chinese people as a people, but it IS an indictment of the people in this video ..... who just so happen to be Chinese.

It is a blessing that we humans are for the most part at the top of the food chain and we have the freedom to pick and choose what we will or will not eat and when or how, but I believe that as humans we MUST respect the creatures that give up their lives so that WE may live. It is a basic requirement for living on this Earth - respect the fucking life.

As far as I'm concerned the people in the following video are heartless and have no respect whatsoever for life. There is nothing funny about the following video and every time I watch it I want to box that stupid woman that is laughing in the video.

The vid is basically a clip and once you watch it you'll know what I'm upset about but something important you need to know is that this did not happen by accident. Apparently, the people that own the restaurant or whatever (this is happening in China btw) have developed and perfected the method of cooking that enabled the situation in the video.

It's beyond cruel. It really is and it reeks of inhumanity, barbarism, and taking the gift of life for granted. It's bad enough that we have to kill to eat, and I make no apologies about eating meat, but for the fact that you have been so fortunate to be born in the position of power in the food chain, have the fucking decency and common sense to bestow a quick and honorable death on the creature that you have chosen to eat.

Decency dictates it. Compassion dictates it. Your fucking conscience dictates it.

This is a bloody fail.




Update: This video clearly demonstrates how this method of cooking works. (watch for the second event)



Update: About a month and a half ago I went out with my Japanese friend and had what I believed at the time to be sushi. I now understand that what I had was Sashimi, and from what little Googling I've done, it appears that Sashimi is sliced from the fish while the fish is alive. This is something that is undoubtedly cruel, and if I had known I would never have touched it, much less even ordered it or agreed to go.

If fishes have souls or spirits, then I pray that the soul of the fish that I ate and that I indirectly caused to be subjected to such torture forgives me. I feel horribly guilty. There is no shame in eating other animals to stay alive, but no animal should ever have to endure being eaten alive when there was a more humane option (this of course excludes what goes on in the wild as decreed by nature).

We do not hold the title 'Human Beings' for nothing. It's about time we started acting like it.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Waiting for the Weekend

This, like every week before it, has been a rather lazy week for me. I honestly think that laziness is my biggest vice and should I overcome it, everything will be gravy.

I'm very pleased with myself. I wrote more this week than I've written in the past year which is definitely something. I think the best part is that I'm beginning to get a feel for my characters and getting to know them. It's really weird. It's like meeting someone for the first time and then discovering all sorts of things about them.

BTW - I'm sad that on Myne Whitman's blog my vote didn't win. The name is now Iphey. :( *weeps*

Yeah, so I haven't really done anything worth mentioning this week. About the writing though, I will mention that because I have been debating whether or not to make this a graphic novel, I have been drawing my characters as I write. Drawing them helps me to visualize them as real people and makes it easier to write about them. I might post some of the drawings here later on.

As far as pros and cons go, here's what I feel.

A graphic novel would tell such a compelling visual story. It would transmit the story completely as I envision it, while a regular novel would leave it open to interpretation. What do you think?

My drawing is pretty shoddy since I'm totally out of practice so I'm going to have to brush up on sketching before I even start doing any serious panels.

Either way, here's a paragraph or two that sort of introduces the next main character, Faza.




They came through the palace walls, they floated in the air over the grounds, permeated the windows of his room, waking him to bathe, dressing him, and serving him breakfast in the morning. They supervised his training with the ateta, the agada, the obo, and the ota. They called him to attention when he strayed from his studies, distracted by some new fancy or the other. For as long as he had been able to make sense of what he was hearing, he had heard the whispers. Ever since he could understand, though his father had forbidden it, not wanting his son to live in fear, he had known. And when his mother had died giving birth to his brother, the tension in the palace had been near palpable.

As each milestone came and went, first birthday, fifth birthday, first fight, first hunt, circumcision, he had felt them all holding their breath like they had done for him as his brother did what all hoped for but none dared to speak out loud, survive. And he had not merely survived. No, the boy had thrived, bubbling with energy and brimming with a zest for life that was unheard of in his reserved elder sibling. Now, initiation had come and he could hear their collective sigh of relief. His brother had made it. He had survived to his initiation into the formidable leopard cult without incident and broken the cycle. His confirmation and his victory was his brother’s bittersweet secret. His initiation marked his freedom from the burden that Faza was now certain to bear alone. Ozugo, now renamed Agaba, would never be what his brother was, an ogbanje.




Important Background Information:

Ogbanje: Igbo spirit that continuously reincarnates at will in a never-ending cycle of birth and death, usually to the same mother as many different children that continue to die. This isn't just confined to Igbo mythology. There are names for the ogbanje in almost every West African tradition. (e.g. Abiku in Yoruba).

Faza: Igbo name that I made up. Because Faza is an ogbanje, that means that many children have come before him and died. Faza means "They Answered" (They - being the Alusi). Known Ogbanje children are not given proper names until they have passed a certain stage in life. Faza did and so his name reflects the gratitude that he has survived this far.

Ozugo: Igbo name that I made up. You don't really find Igbo people named Ozugo because Ozugo means "It's Enough". You're more likely to find Ezugo than Ozugo as far as names go. Faza's younger brother Ozugo is so named as a plea for the ogbanje cycle to end. It embodies everyone's frustration with the situation, and since their mother dies in childbirth, it represents the final assurance that it's over.

Agaba: Ozugo is renamed Agaba (meaning Lion) when he passes his initiation into the leopard cult. Because there can only be one ogbanje in a family at any given time, when Ozugo is born and he is discovered to be male like Faza, everyone is holding their breath waiting to see which one will turn out to be the Ogbanje. Because the Ogbanje reincarnates as the same gender each time, there cannot be two children of the same gender in one family if one of the children is an ogbanje. If the first child is normal and an ogbanje of the same gender is born after it, the ogbanje will promptly die at the first available opportunity. However, if the first child is suspected to be (and actually is) the ogbanje and a normal child of the same gender is born after it, the ogbanje will continue to live until it decides on a death that suits its fancy, but the continued existence of the second child after a certain stage (usually leopard initiations or marriage) will confirm the second child to be normal, and by default confirm the first child to be the ogbanje in hiding.

Ateta: I explained this in the other excerpt. It's a halberd.

Agada: This is an Igbo weapon. It's a sword with a bent tip or head used for one on one close combat.

Obo: This is an Igbo weapon. It's a spear with a lozenge tip. Used for medium range distance attacks.

Ota: This is an Igbo weapon. It's a long war bow (as in bow and arrows). The hunting variation is also called Ota but if a warrior or prince (like Faza) ever talks about an Ota, know it's the war version.

Sorry but it's hard to type in the tone markings here so I just left them out.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

So....

I just found an Igbo *ahem* "instrument" that apparently was used in the "guidance" *ahem* *cough**ahem* of young brides to be *ahem* *kpehe* *cough*

I'll leave you to discern the varied uses of this here implement.

Well at least now we know what they were teaching them in those fattening rooms.





Saturday, November 14, 2009

A Rant

So writing this story has opened my eyes to many things. And if you commented on the excerpts I posted please don't think that this is specifically about you. Some of my friends have also read drafts of my story and from other discussions I have had with other people some things have become apparent.

There are things that are common to all human beings: needs, wants, desires, behaviours even. Because we know this, there are assumptions that are made about all groups of humans wherever they may be, and we know these assumptions to be logical because time and time again, no matter where or how they are tested they have always proven to be true. Like all things in life there are exceptions, but those exceptions are almost always individual and varied.

Now these things might be generalisations, but they are true in the general sense and so it is not incorrect to say them. For instance, all humans need food, water, and sleep. This is truth. How much of it varies from human to human but the truth of it nevertheless remains unchanged. How is this related to my point? There are aspects of human behaviour that can generally always be expected no matter what civilization we are discussing. If it is true that these aspects are common to all human populations, why then does everyone, and Africans themselves in particular, find it so difficult to accept the humanity of our African ancestors????

I know that thanks to research and access to my university's vast library holdings I am no longer ignorant of the accomplishments of my fore bearers but what irks me is WHY I was even EVER ignorant of these things in the first place. Left to Nigerian education alone, we would know NOTHING of the lives of the people that gave rise to the current population of Nigeria. NOTHING WHATSOEVER. What is even more infuriating is that as I uncover each mundane aspect of their daily lives through arduous and meticulous research, I am met with shock, resistance, and outright denial by Nigerians and other Africans around me.

What am I talking about? I am talking about how fucked up it is that Africans find it so hard to believe that their ancestors were NORMAL PEOPLE. It is FUCKED UP that we are so unwilling to ascribe to them common humanity while we more than readily give it up to the ancestors of those of other races and nations. It is FUCKED UP that even the most mundane things that we not only take for granted but expect in the history of other peoples are lauded as astounding and marvelous accomplishments in respect to our African ancestors.

Let me explain myself more clearly. While I was in Manhattan over the summer I went to an indecent number of African fairs in Brooklyn. I am generally attracted to these fairs because I am addicted to all things related to African history, in particular Nigerian/Igbo/West African history. Before I begin, my only regret in telling this story is that I seem to have stepped on my memory card and broken it so I do not have the pictures I took to drum my point in further. At the fair, I discovered a number of extremely old items:

1. A war helmet made of hard leather, reinforced by cowries on the outside and lined with down on the inside for comfort. The helmet extended to cover the ears but left the face uncovered. On top of the helmet was a black feather plume.

2. A huge wooden cupboard/closet/wardrobe/cabinet in the shape of a kneeling human. Heavily decorated of course. The torso area formed the door which opened to reveal a number of shelves made out tightly woven hard matting.

3. A very long hair pin with a leopard, a chimpanzee or other monkey and a lion intricately cast in a complex pose.

4. A huge wooden bed in a completely unique design with a sunken depression for a mattress, beautifully carved platforms for pillows and in between, another depression for a headrest if the bed was being used by one.

5. A huge wood and metal bathtub (well that's my only description for it) with a space underneath for a fire so that the person bathing can enjoy a hot bath.

6. Beautifully carved wood and gold round water bottles with covers (looked more like canteens) with delicate chain metal handles for carrying.

7. A number of beautiful miniature jewelry boxes with legs.

8. A number of ornate perfume bottles (wood, metal, and ivory) with legs.

My first thought when I happened upon these items (aside from obvious insane joy of course) was "Finally!! Proof that ancient Africans had wardrobes, did up their hair, slept in beds, took hot baths, had water bottles, wore and stored jewelry, and wore perfume!!"

I immediately felt ashamed. I would not have given even a first thought to these things if I had encountered them in a European or Asian historical movie. Yet like so many Nigerians and Africans, I needed definitive proof before I accepted that Africans 1000 years ago had the presence of mind to take hot baths. I had refused to give my ancestors their humanity and intelligence until they had 'proven' it to me by the artifacts that they left behind.

Now over and over again, when I discuss the research that I am doing for my story, particularly with my Igbo friends, they snort with laughter and incredulity when I mention things like Igbo people wearing trousers or sleeping in beds or having multiple story homes. They look at me like I'm crazy when I talk about street lights and theatre and bars and parties in relation to ancient Africa. They tell me 'please, Africans live in tiny huts and run around with spears.' I feel ashamed because I too once believed that.

What I am trying so hard (but rather unsuccessfully, I might add) to get across is that I believe that most modern day Africans do not view their ancestors as real people or even full human beings. Not only do we not know much about them, but there is generally no desire to know because it seems we generally assume that there is nothing to know about and that there is nothing in the ancient world that could compare to the world we know now.

I feel ashamed when we gush over simple things like mattresses or futons (no Leggy this is not a personal jab at you) or cupboards or hot tubs or heated seats and beds or paved streets or even storied buildings (ditto Myne Whitman). I feel ashamed that we have been so convinced of the inferiority of our ancestors that we abandon all logic and are determined to believe that someone who can afford better would continue to sleep on a bloody mat. Or that someone who could afford better would continue to maintain a floor of mud in their home even though the mere presence of a clumsy child in conjunction with liquid of any sort would quickly turn into a mess of epic proportions.

Or that someone who could afford better would continue to live in a tiny one roomed six foot high hovel in spite of the ready availabililty of all building materials rather than expanding it outwards and upwards. Or that someone who could afford better would continue taking cold baths at the stream in the depths of harmattan when hot water is easily within reach. Or that someone who knows that the night brings with it marauding predators, hell-bent spirits, and human criminals would not have the presence of mind to erect nighttime lighting in the streets for the benefit of all.

Or even worst of all, that we would ignore the simple human need for diversion, so much as to claim that Africans couldn't possibly have had parties or gathered to watch entertaining plays or listen to and adore naturally blessed singers. That we would ignore the simple need of human men to congregate together away from women at a watering hole of some sort, preferrably with copious amounts of alcohol and otherwise unattached women that we would believe that they simply could not have had bars (for want of a better word) or parties, or prostitutes.

That we would refuse to see the basic humanity of our ancestors that we believe that they had no concept of love or beauty or even DAMN COLOUR COORDINATION, that we would firmly scoff at any suggestion that Africans might have been in love, taken lovers, gone to onerous lengths or undertaken epic journeys simply for the sake of love, that Africans might appreciate the beauty of flowers, might have planted gardens, had fish ponds, or even (gasp! shock ! horror!) worn clothes and accessories in colours that complemented each other.

No, the sad reality is that in the mind of most Africans, our ancestors were little better than brutes, running around a fire in a loin cloth with spears raised, screaming "Oooga Booga!". People might not ever admit it in those terms, but watch what happens the next time you approach a random African, especially a Nigerian and suggest to them that four hundred years ago their ancestors wore high heels, and slept on soft cotton mattresses with bedsheets, pillows, and blankets, and not planks of wood, a pile of gravel, or hell even a pit of burning coals. They will scoff at you and think you crazy.

Yet, we readily accept that the ancestors of Caucasians, and Asians were sophisticated, refined, beautiful, strong, intelligent, and human. For all we know, China could have made up their entire damn 5000 years of continuous history that they are so proud of, but we accept it from them readily and without question. We immediately accept the multi-faceted humanity of THEIR ancestors, while OUR ancestors must fight tooth and nail for every scrap of dignity they wrestle from our cold dead claws.

Why do we believe these things? Because foreign historians and anthropologists and archaeologists told us so? Before 1880, most of Africa was unexplored and unknown to the outside world. All the archaeological work done in Africa hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of our vast and endless history.Most of the work has been concentrated in Egypt anyway because Egypt is the darling of the western world. We Africans haven't even shown any interest in doing any archaeological work to find out about our past even in Benin which is the most OBVIOUS WAVING FLAG because we simply aren't interested. We've been satisfied to believe that our history holds nothing of worth and as far as most Africans are concerned, they're satisfied to go on believing that. Damn, even bloody Igbo Ukwu would NEVER have been discovered if that man hadn't wanted to build a bore hole. We would rather worship and revere the ancestors of others while the glory of our own go untold in our own backyard.

I have wondered at this almost every day now, and every time I open a book and am about to feel amazement when confronted with a picture of an Igbo hunter wearing beautifully, carefully crafted sandals, I mentally slap myself. Why the hell should I be amazed that an Igbo man is wearing sandals when I take the footwear of 4th century Europeans as a given? My amazement is an insult to my ancestors because it shows that I did not believe them capable, intelligent, or even human enough to know that there are sharp objects in the ground that might puncture the foot if left unprotected.

It is one thing to appreciate the beauty of the past, but quite another to be patronizing. We patronize. We seriously do. We patronize our ancestors and I feel ashamed. Does this mean we should not drool over those gorgeous Yoruba boots? No, it does not. Those things are fucking gorgeous and they deserve all the drool in this world. What they do not deserve however is us expressing shock that they were able to accomplish simple things that are normal for other humans such as comfortable shelter, clothing, comfort, etc. in varying levels of luxury according to social stratification.

We're not all perfect, and I am certainly as far from perfect as they come, but I say this because I believe that our ancestors are deserving of respect and we do them a disservice with our "surprise" at even the simplest things we discover about them. If these things are to be expected with Caucasian and Asian ancestors then why not with ours? Are the ancestors of Caucasians and Asians inherently better than ours? No they are not. Are they more intelligent? No. Are they more anything? No. So why then, are we so skeptical of anything that says that ancient Africans were just as human as their equally ancient counterparts in other parts of the world and given to the same proclivities?

Have we so little faith in those who came before us?



This region is in relation to the debate in the comments about whether or not ancient Africans (in general) and Igbos (in particular) could have built multi-story buildings:


This is an Mbari house. An Mbari house is basically an elaborate Igbo house constructed as a shrine to the Goddess Ani.

Observe, the following house has something resembling a small attic.


If the builder of this structure knew how to make that additional level it is not a stretch to conclude that the dude could have simply expanded it on a whim? Observe the obviously strong and solid pillars that look more than capable of supporting an additional floor.



Question: Why is it so hard to believe that Igbos who built the Nsude pyramids here could not build a simple set of stairs? Bloody hell, the damn pyramids LOOK LIKE STAIRS. Surely any builder with two brain cells to rub together would make the connection?

Further Further Update: Thanks to Gin for finding this historical sketch of an Igbo two-story building. I guess this puts a new spin on things, although I have also seen historical sketches of the Igbo areas with some pretty towering structures (must did into my external harddrive and see what I can find)

Further Update: (For Azazel's Benefit):

Thank God I found this one at least. This small cupboard or whateveryouwanttocallit is Yoruba. The ones I had on my memory card were Igbo ones I personally took pictures of but since my memory card is destroyed, here's a Yoruba one. And you can tell it is Yoruba. Compare the figure on top to most Ibeji figures as well as Gelede masks. Of course this specimen is much smaller than that wardrobe I found which was ginormous.







I honestly think we just aren't comfortable with accepting our ancestors as intelligent, thinking beings. Otherwise we wouldn't be doubting the ability of grown men to solve a problem as simple as building an additional story on a building and connecting the two.



Thursday, November 12, 2009

A Little Bit of Writing

So I'm working on a story, which is exciting because I haven't written a story in so, so, long!!! Also, I've never completed a story but this one I'm writing actually seems like it's worth giving a damn about. I'm hoping that this will be the story I finish (and maybe publish - fingers crossed!!) but I'm far from being done yet ( I would even say far from beginning since I've been writing higgeldy-piggeldy and in no particular order.)

Plus I haven't even got to the meat of the story yet, but it's all here in my head and it's itching to get out. This whole term I've carried around this weird feeling in my head that's only relieved whenever I put pen to paper so I've finally given in and started writing. I had writer's block a while back. It was horrible, I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.

Either way, I've developed the main characters and I've written some of their back stories, but I only just got through the beginning sequence of the story. I've written lots of other chapters but I had been avoiding the beginning because honestly, I had no idea how to begin. After giving it some thought, I decided to begin at the beginning because given the nature of the story, honestly, that's the only logical place to begin. (and after you read it you will see why).

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here is the beginning of the story. Please tell me what you think.

This beginning part doesn't mention any of the main characters (even though some of them are very present there).

Here goes:



Chapter 1

Ogoli Amaka was having a baby. Beads of sweat shimmered on her forehead like the stars that littered the night sky above her. Her hands grasped the black ropes that hung down from a metal frame near the ceiling of the birthing tent and her jaw vibrated as she bit down on the wooden bar that the midwife had placed in her mouth to stifle her screams. Her legs ached, her pelvis was on fire, and the cold night breeze rocked the tent slightly as she squatted under the temporary shelter that had been put up by her husband for the birth the month before.

The old woman held up a lamp and wiped the sweat from the panting woman’s face. “It will come soon.” She said in her scratchy voice. “You young women have no stamina. Be brave! You must not scream or you will frighten away your baby’s chi, and then what will you do?” Hearing this Amaka bit the bar harder, willing the sound building within her to die in her throat. It was a chill harmattan night and she was cold and uncomfortable even though her skin had been rubbed thoroughly with palm oil. The thin cotton robe she wore did not provide much insulation against the breeze and although she was spared the worst of it by the huge yellow tent, the top still opened to the night sky and through that opening a small draught had found its way in to torment her.

Suddenly Amaka felt a heavy pressure in her pelvis and under the direction of the old midwife, she gritted her teeth and pushed. Reeling she gripped the ropes tighter to steady herself. She had almost lost her balance from the effort of the push and fallen from her squatting position to the floor. Her large protruding belly made balancing that much harder but she was determined to get the birth over with sooner rather than later.

Steadying herself she looked to the older woman for guidance. Seeing her nod, Amaka took a deep breath and heaved downwards again. This time the baby slid out into the waiting arms of the midwife. Laughing with relief and wincing in pain, Amaka let go of the ropes and thankfully collapsed backwards onto the pile of floor cushions behind her, but something was wrong. She felt a movement in her womb as the pain came again.

“Agida!” She called out in alarm, alerting the midwife to her distress. The old lady frowned and setting the now-swaddled child down in the baby bed, shuffled over to see what was wrong. “There’s something there!” Amaka said, her eyes large with fear.
-“Yes, that must be the placenta coming out.”
“No,” Amaka shook her head emphasizing that the woman was wrong. “there’s something big and it’s coming out.”
The agida sucked in a sharp breath. “It can’t be. It shouldn’t be.”

Quickly motioning for Amaka to squat again and hold onto the ropes, she produced a mirror from her nabi and slid it underneath Amaka, holding an oil lamp close so she could see. Sure enough, the head of a second baby could clearly be seen making its way out into the world.
“Push!” she ordered and Amaka gave a huge push, sending the second child out towards life.
Three minutes later two sets of cries pierced the stillness of the night.

******************************************************************************

Okolo heard Amaka’s sobs long before the tent came into view. Coming round the corner towards the orange glow of the lamps and the candles surrounding and within the birthing tent, the sounds of her grief drowned out the infant cries that he was straining so hard to hear and his heart sank into his stomach. He was sure the child was stillborn. They had married four years ago when she was only fourteen and he eighteen, and while all the other women of her age grade already had a retinue of children, their home was once again deprived of this joy.

“Oh Ani!” He whispered in prayer as the agida approached him, his wife’s screams in the background. The old woman’s face was grim and worn with so many lines she looked like she had ichi on her forehead.

“Nne anyi,” he addressed her with the honorific term of respect, ‘Our Mother’, clutching the folds of her dress. “Will my wife live?” The old lady nodded and Okolo’s shoulders sagged with relief, but his stomach was still a roiling pit of fear. “Nne anyi,” he whispered “is the child dead?”
The agida pulled herself to her full height, which wasn’t much and squared her shoulders.
“Worse,” she said almost inaudibly. “Ejima.”



Important Background Information:

This story is set in the 9th century. At the time, and even up to the 1890s and early 1900s, it was common for Igbo girls to marry around the ages of 13, 14 and upwards (or a few years after menstruation began - whichever came first)

All Igbo people are divided into age grades. Life achievements are always compared against those of other members of the same age grade. Not really practised anymore in modern Igbo life.

Ogoli is an Igbo term used to refer to married women. It is and at the same time not equivalent to Mrs but it does serve the same function in pointing out that the woman addressed is indeed married. It can also be used on its own to mean Married Woman or Women (i.e. ANY married woman or women)

Ejima is the Igbo word for Twin or Twins (no plural)

Ichi are tribal marks that are worn only by Igbo men. They are a series of lines cut into the forehead in a slightly diagonal fashion. They aren't worn by many Igbo men these days because of the general decline in the popularity of tribal marks.

Agida is an Igbo word I made up for midwife since the original word is lost to us. Nabi is another Igbo word I made up to refer specifically to a wrapper. As far as I know the word that refers specifically to wrapper and not its type (e.g. ankara, george, akwete, etc - "AKWA" refers to cloth. Any cloth no matter what length, colour, shape or size, as long as it is a fabric, and as such is a generic word for cloth/fabric/material) has been unrecoverable in the language. I REFUSE to accept that the Igbo word for wrapper is wrappa or even worse lappa. I absolutely REFUSE. Writers of horrible Igbo dictionaries, die and be damned. I fucking refuse.

I don't know what childbirth is like so this is my imagined version of childbirth based on what I've heard and seen so far. If you have actually experienced childbirth and find my description off, please let me know so I can make it as accurate as possible.

Also, traditionally Igbo women are not supposed to give birth inside the house. They must give birth outside and then when the child is born and all the stuff is done, they must carry the child in their arms and step backwards into the house. If it was raining or harmattan or if there was likely to be any inclement weather during the birth, a tent would be used, but no inside-house births. Ever. Of course, the coming of the missionaries changed all that.

So, what do you think?

Monday, November 9, 2009

I wrote a Haiku!!!!

Well my Haiku is technically a Senryu since it's not about the seasons.

Also, my haiku just so happens to be in Igbo... it still counts right?

My little poem conforms to haiku rules because it is 17 on long, first line is 5 on, second line 7 on, and the last line is 5 on.

(On = syllable)

Yay, here it is:

Nwunye na Nuno
Di teta ila mili
Onwu ga fa so

Breakdown:

Nwu/nye/na/nu/no - 5 on
Di/ te/ta/i/la/mi/li - 7 on
O/nwu/ga/fa/so - 5 on

Translation:

Wife and her lover
Husband wakes to get a drink (water)
Death follows soon

Yay!! I feel so proud of myself and my little Senryu!!! :D

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Scripters Needed!!


The Ndebe Project is looking for Scripters - people to test the script. It's very easy and takes very little time. Every couple of days a short list of words to be transcribed will be posted and we would like Scripters to transcribe the list and scan or take photos of their writing and post them in the group gallery along with feedback about the process. We would like to see how well other people are able to write with the script and the feedback helps in making adjustments. The project is as you know, totally open source so there is no compensation for Scripting (but there's no compulsion to script either) but we appreciate all the help we get and promise to express our gushing thanks to those who volunteer small portions of their time to Script.

If you'd like to Script please let me know either in the comments here or on the Ndebe blog or on the group page on Facebook.


Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Shameless Plug


Hey everyone so my gorgeous friend Nev is featured on Black Girl With Long Hair as one of the Now and Then transitioners. Nev recently (well not soooo recently) cut her hair (which was natural before and soooo pretty and then she relaxed it) and is now back to being natural so go over there and check her out!!!


Monday, November 2, 2009

A Random Post about Language

So one of my pet peeves is the fact that many Nigerians (and especially Igbo Nigerians) refuse to speak their language in public. Being that I attend school in America, this baffles me even more. The ability to speak a language other than English is invaluable in this country because it gives you privacy no matter where you are. At my school most of the Nigerians are Igbo and not only are they Igbo they all seem to be from Anambra (myself included). Imagine the conversations we could have! The lively in-jokes, the nostalgic memory sessions, etc. Yet every single one of my friends absolutely REFUSES to speak Igbo to me.

To understand the extend of the ridiculousness, whenever we're all sitting together and gisting, I invariably get told "hush! Your voice is too loud, those oyinbos on the other table will hear you!"

Do you know why this statement pisses me off? Because if everyone would just agree to gist in Igbo then I wouldn't have to worry about the oyinbos down the road hearing me.

It absolutely baffles me. The Japanese students all speak Japanese to each other. They don't care if noone else around understands them. In fact they usually have a very disgusted look on their face if you suggest to them that they should speak in English for your benefit. Same thing with the French students who are even more adept at ignoring any nearby English students, same thing with the Germans and the Arabs.

Only the Nigerians insist on speaking English, whispering like witches for privacy when they could all have been at ease.

Once when we were waiting in line for something and I saw my friend and went up to him and said "Kedu? I ma ebe anyi ga no?" - I was saying hi and asking if he knew where we were all going to sit - He became very embarrassed and whispered angrily to me not to speak "that bush language to him in front of these white girls".

I was like O_o.

Other excuses I've gotten from my friends are that they are not fluent in Igbo. You know what I told them? I said ' how will you ever become fluent if you don't practice? If we all spoke Igbo to each other, surely after a month our fluency would have jumped up a couple of notches"

But no, Igbo is bush, Igbo will make white people think less of them, Igbo will make black americans think less of them, they don't want to be associated with 'that'... what does 'that' even mean?

So I'm stuck with 8 Igbo people that I can't speak Igbo to. Go figure.

You know what really pisses me off though? You will find Igbo people trying to suck up to these same Japanese, French, and German students, proudly speaking to them in their broken French while the French kids look on in amusement. I have never encountered a single international student that was even remotely interested in learning a word of any of the African students' languages, yet all the African students can't wait to show off the five new words they've learned in Chinese or whatever while the real Chinese students laugh at them.

Yeah I know, this is a very badly written rant but I'm high on Halloween candy so whatever.

On the flip side btw, I've noticed that watching so much Inuyasha is making me understand Japanese whether I'm willing to or not.

I woke up yesterday and realised that I somehow magically and miraculously am beginning to understand what is happening in the cartoon even when I'm not looking at the screen.

So far I understand the following words

Neko - Cat
Inu - Dog
Ano - But
Daijobu? - Are you alright
Kaze - Wind
Kaze no Kizu - Wind Scar
Arigato - Thank you
Sayo nara - Good bye
Aniki - Big Brother
Otouto -Little Brother
Chichi-ue - Honored Father
Haha-ue - Honored Mother
Baka - Fool/Idiot
Baka na koto o - Don't say foolish things
Otou-san - Daddy
Okaa-san - Mommy
Onee-we/san - Sister
Fuujin no Mai - Dance of the Dragon
Bakuryuha - Backlash Wave
Kaza Na - Wind Tunnel
Houshi - Monk
Taijiya - Demon slayer
Youkai - Demon
Hanyou - Half Demon
Ningen - Human being
Saimyosho - Naraku's poison insects
Sugoi - Amazing
Katana - Sword
Osuwari - Sit
And many more. It is very strange. It's like watching this series suddenly filled my head with all this extra information.

Anyway that's my random language post. Very disorganized but hey, Kit Kat makes you high.
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