The extra day in Abuja is actually quite useful because it gives me a chance to interview Remy Ilona, the gentleman whose book I was given on my first day.  Remy has done much research on the topic of Igbo origin, and his interview sheds some light on Igbo history and tradition, and the links to the Lost Tribes and the Jewish people.  The only thing he cannot answer which still bothers me is why haven’t I, nor he, seen any ancient Jewish artifacts in Nigeria.  It’s a case for more research – perhaps there were none found in Ethiopia either.

 

 

I am also able to finally coax CJ into the hot seat.  I put the idea back in his head last night, and I know he’s ready today because he’s got on his nicest clothes.  CJ, which is an abbreviated form of his Igbo name, is one of the few who doesn’t go by his Hebrew name.  He feels it’s equally important to stay connected to Igbo tradition and the name his parents gave him.  Talking about his family brings up some difficult feelings as his parents and siblings have had a strong, negative reaction to his embrace of Judaism.  I’ve heard this from several people, and I certainly admire those who feel so strongly about their faith that they are willing to endure strained family relationships.  It’s especially comforting to see that CJ has found new family here at Habbakkuk’s, and a new role.  My mother has a

 

The afternoon is spent at a local crafts market where I purchase a few gifts, the primary recipient being my cousin, Keara whose Bat Mitzvah I missed because of the trip.  The market is run by Muslims who have an outdoor prayer area for their five times daily worship.  The vendors take turns praying and selling, and Shmuel points out how organized the Muslims are when it comes to prayer.  Apparently, Christian services in Nigeria can last hours, and have little structure.  After some tough market negotiating, I leave with a few reminders of Nigeria.

My last night in Nigeria has brought out some more old friends, and I’m glad to see Gerrard again.  He and CJ were the ones who first took me out.  He has been busy working and unable to join us for much of the visit, and I soon find out why.  His parents both died at an early age, and as the eldest of five children, he supports himself and his brothers and sisters.  For a guy of 26, that’s a lot of responsibility.  He is trying to find a way to learn Hebrew, but finding time to come to synagogue seems to be the first challenge.

 

The area is still without electricity for the fifth night, but six of us have navigated our way to a peaceful, rooftop pub, high above the chaos, noise and dirt of the street below.  Our last night is spent the way we have enjoyed so many previously – good company, stories, songs, laughs and Nigerian beer.  The Bob Marley songs continue and Shmuel composes a song in my honor.  Everyone joins in the chorus: “Jeff Lieberman, I love you”.  They finally got me – I can’t hide the tears.

joke that I think he would appreciate, “The Heysiddunda” which would describe him and his job here.  CJ is the guy who takes care of the synagogue, makes sure everything is in order, and says to the guy in services who is still standing after everyone has sat down, “Hey, Sit Down There”.  His own joke is that he wonders if people back in North America will be surprised to not see him sitting in a tree, eating a banana.  To not disappoint the safari-crowd, he plays a tune on his make-believe hollowed papaya.  Everyone cracks up.

Arm in arm, we traverse the dark, uneven roads home.  Tomorrow morning, Habbakkuk will take all of us up the mountain that looms over the neighborhood.  There is something special he wants to show me at the top.