Wednesday, February 15th, 2006
5am was wakeup to pile into Eunice’s van that would take us to the Bus Station. I saw my life flash before my eyes a few times as Eunice floored it through crowds of people, muddy streets, and speeding traffic. Whether we arrived on time or not didn’t seem to matter because nothing happens on time here, and our fully loaded bus even sat in the parking lot for more than 45 minutes after departure time for no apparent reason. African time.
After a lengthy praising of Jesus and requesting of a safe journey on the loudspeaker, we were off. I managed to sleep through blaring Christian music, some bad Nigerian television including a beauty contest gone awry, and then a film about Jesus. Notice a theme? 7 hours later with a pit stop to be hassled and begged for money, we were in Okigwe in Imo State.
This is what they call Igbo Land, where the Igbo tribe first made home for a few centuries, before colonization and modern modes of transport gave people more freedom of movement. Almost all of the Nigerian Jews I have met are Igbo, and they believe the Igbos are descendants of the Israelites, more specifically one of the lost tribes. Which tribe, when they came to Nigeria, how they came, what route are all up for debates, and everyone gives me a different answer. Some years ago, the Israeli Ambassador to Nigeria made newspaper headlines proclaiming his absolute certainty in the Igbos being descendants of Israel. Certain similarities in Igbo and Jewish Culture point to such possibilities, such as the Igbo practice of circumcising their sons on the eight day of life, a practice not done in the rest of Nigeria. Many of my interviewees have told me that they believed their ancestors practiced Judaism and passed it on orally, until colonialism and Christianity, and more recently, Fundamentalist Christianity, converted the masses.
The land is greener here with much more grass, palm trees, and leafy plants. It’s also wetter with some significant humidity. Our hotel for the evening is simple but I’m told there are large group of Canadians here. When I finally find them, I learn they are from Hamilton, Ontario and they seem to have a bit of a golly-gee quality to them. Sure is strange being white here, eh? It hadn’t truly occurred to me aside from a few stares here and there. They are building schools here and spreading Jesus on a Christian mission. In the heart of Igbo Land, it didn’t sit well that my Canadian brothers were still trying to convert the masses.
I found more interesting conversation with Shmuel, and we talked late into the evening. He wants to absorb all he can from my Judaism, while I feel more and more like I have taken it for granted. What is Israel like? What is synagogue like for you? What can you buy in a kosher supermarket? What do you do on Shabbat? I wish I had better answers – not for him, but for myself.
Instead of going back to the synagogue by motorcycle taxi, I insist he share my room. I am tired of being treated like a king, while my friends sleep on a synagogue floor. I think he enjoyed the hot water more than anything.
