I know that many of my friends
will cringe upon reading this revelation. Does it matter? I need not pretend.
What for? Native doctors known as Dibias
and their medicine were part and parcel of my people's existence even before
the arrival of whiteman and his brand of medicine. My favourite dibia was Late
Dr. Nwakobe of Umuanuka Otolo Nnewi. Dibias are also called Ogbuebunu, which
literally means ram slayer.
Ogbuebunu Nwakobe was a pole
taller than Nsofor of Umuicheke Otolo and Madubuobi, my neighbour. While the
last two mixed their practice with "aja aghugho" or "iku
nsi", meaning "shelling out evil missiles," Nwakobe was a
focused physician curing both man-made and natural ailments. Dr. Nwakobe was in
the same mould as Dr. Anizor of Odida Nnewichi; a specialist native orthopaedic
surgeon called a "bonesetter."
Growing up in my village in the
early 70s, consultation of native doctors or dibias for medicare was normal. Nwakobe
was the best and greatest dibia in the whole of Otolo Nnewi up till his death a
few years ago. He practised ethical medicine. As a child, I would be sent by
elders in our compound to buy preparations to treat malaria, hepatitis,
migraine and cough from Nwakobe's place. Nwakobe was the best doctor for gas
gangrene, otherwise known as enyiule.
Patients came from far towns in
Imo, Abia and Enugu states. He also had accommodation or wards for resident
patients. It was to Nwakobe's expertise that my elder sister owes the use of
her legs. She had unfortunately stepped on an enyiule trap set for someone
else, Dr. Nwakobe would later reveal. The evil bullet to afflict someone with
enyiule was openly and cheaply sold at Afor market in Nnobi, a neighbouring
town.
I loved visiting Dr Nwakobe as a
teenager. I learned a lot from the great man who was always ready to answer my
questions ranging from innocent to ridiculous about the source of his medical
knowledge and prowess. During one of my visits to Ogbuebunu Nwokobe's hospital
(yes, hospital), I asked him to tell me how he got to know the preparation that
cured diseases; whether he attended any herbal medical school. The man laughed
at the curious small boy. But he did not want to leave me baffled. The revered
dibia was impressed with my bravado and inquisitive spirit. Perhaps he guessed
that I would one day pay tribute to him with my writings.
Nwa Obiukwu, which means the son
of Obiukwu, Dr. Nwakobe, started. "The question you just asked me is older
than you; not even your dead father would dare ask me such a question."
He then muttered, "egwu
adighizi umuazi kitaa n'anya," which means "those children of nowadays
do not have fear for anything anymore."
"Nnanyi, please answer me; I
want to know," I persisted, pretending not to have noticed his subtle
admonition that I should stop.
Nwakobe drew a breath, looked me
intently in the eyes and nodded his head as if an invisible master countered
his decision not to answer me. He then started the story of his life.
"My son, nobody but the
spirits teaches me the effective drug or preparation for any disease," the
great Nwakobe started. "Though my father practised this trade, but I never
planned to tow his line." I was told. "As a child, I took to
Christianity like my age mates as we enrolled in primary school at Akwunweke.
My baptismal name is Augustine, and I still attend masses on Sundays," my
host said with pride.
Upon the death of my father, I
was instructed by unseen people or voices to return home to replace him, to
cure people,” Nwakobe said with a forlorn face. "Nobody, not even my
father, taught me any panacea or remedy; be it plant, leaves, roots or mixture
to cure any ailments," he emphasized.
"I received dictations or
directives from invisibles voices on which drugs to administer to patients as
no two ailments are the same. Some ailments are human-made afflictions, while
others are natural. I would always consult the invisibles to reveal antidotes
or medications to neutralise man-made sicknesses. I promptly receive responses
as long as I do not contradict the do not’s. Sometimes, I would find myself in
the bush at night. As I passed, plants and grasses would be announcing their
uses and the illnesses they cure.
"Even though I am told the
cause and the person behind the afflictions of my patients, I refrain from
naming the culprits, even under severe pressure, but focus on neutralizing the
potency of their juju and curing their victims. You should also know that every
dibia who can cure illnesses can also afflict or prepare sickness affliction
charms; it is a choice. But I choose the path of honour, that is, to heal. My
son, it is a gift and an assignment from our ancestors given only to the chosen
who is required to abstain from prescribed power-diminishing acts which I
cannot tell you now," my host concluded.
Nobody has ever doubted the
potency of Nwakobe's medications. In his time, the drug-resistant malaria
parasite was unheard of. Ogwu iba Nwakobe, Nwakobe's malarial drug, was the
only cure for malaria we knew. Till he died, Nwakobe did not taint his name,
unlike my mother's cousin, Dr. Ezennaya, who started well but later transformed
into an enabler or provider of evil bullets instead of the healer his father
was. Nwakobe was never accused of jazzing or afflicting anyone with spiritual
missiles or illness. He used his God-given gift to heal and not to curse or cause
harm.
My readers need to know that it
was also customary for great dibias to have masquerades. A dibia could have an
Okanga, Ijele, Odogwu, Nwansi, Ajofia, Ebuebu or Ogbungwu. A masquerade's
popularity is determined by how fast or effective it can shell out
"nsi" or "evil bullets;" or how it could earthen or
neutralize potent evil darts.
Nwakobe named his masquerade
Onede. The Onede masquerade was never blamed for being the first to project
evil missiles at another masquerade. It maintained great restraint even under
provocation by other troublesome masquerades owned by other dibias. But, Onede
would dispense mild dizziness or aju to incorrigible youthful masquerades after
several warnings conveyed in songs. It is worth noting that Onede was enamoured
with a potent obialu egbu m gbuo onwe ya meaning spiritual boomerang or back to
the sender in double measures. I was so much a fan of Onede that I would often
escape from school on a weekday to follow the masquerade to burial ceremonies
or our traditional ruler's yearly Ofala festival.
I had longed to be like Nwakobe,
but I do not know how I lost track. Perhaps I was not called to that office. As
I grew older and was being contaminated by western education, my orientation
towards Nwakobe and all that he represented started drifting until I became
utterly alienated.
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