By
Obododimma Oha
There is a
great difference between us telling our stories by ourselves, even falsifying
them, and other people telling our stories, adding their own kind of salt and
pepper. One was, therefore, gladdened when the Department of History,
University of Ibadan, Nigeria, in collaboration with The Ade-Ajayi Foundation, conceived
an idea of a memorial conference themed “African History and Historiography:
Illumining and Understanding the Challenges,” in honour of the late great
African historian, Emeritus Professor Ade-Ajayi, NNOM, FNAL, planned for August
11 to 14, 2019, to hold in Ibadan. This essayist cannot call himself a
historian, in fact, he was scared off early by the fact that the historian has
to remember all the years in this world: Falola (2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, etc)
and Ade-Ajayi (1991, 1992, 1993, 1994, etc)! How can a fellow remember all
those dates and still be able to remember his or her name after or even remember
the name of the brand of beer he or she is taking? You can see why history as a
subject frightened me at school. One is not a computer to remember all the
dates or numbers!
But when one
had no other alternative (as an undergraduate student) to come near history in,
having played the chance-game of tumbon tumbon fully, it was the third-year
course, “History of Southern Africa,” taught by one no-nonsense West Indian
professor! Well, thank God one escaped it with a pass at the end!
But it was to
my late paternal uncle, a great raconteur, that showed me that I could not run
from history forever. In Igbo culture, history was waiting there arrogantly
with ntaala, the story of one’s family line or genealogy. As a male child, I
had no choice but must know and be able to recite my ntaala before other
people. It is also one of the important narratives one must pass on to the next
generation. So, uncle would ask us to gather around him and recite our ntaala, one
after the other, to the sixth or seventh generation. Obododimma the son of
Agulechibeze; Agulechibeze the son of Ohaezukosi; Ohaezukosi the son of
Chukwuemeka; Chukwuemeka the son of Mbalaga; Mbalaga the son of Egwuatuonwu;
Egwuatuonwu the son of Anasiudu….Don’t ask me to continue! Have I not tried?
Six generations! I have tried. The lizard says that it is nodding its head
after jumping down from a whole palm-tree if nobody wants to congratulate the
poor thing! E no dey easy o! A great height!
Umuanasiudu (the children of
Anasiudu) is the name of our village now. So, you see, I have really tried! Even if I
did not insert the scary years!
You see, history is following me everywhere I go!
Like the shell following the snail. Imagine, it followed me from the university
classroom to our village (and to my late uncle’s oral history "classroom" and history of
the family!) And , by the way, why do they even talk of colonialists and
Sundiata and all that and do not talk about the history of family, of families
telling and transmitting their own history? Also, must one read history from
books? Can’t one learn the history that is closer to one’s nose from those who
own the story? Must it be from professors in school, who claim to be
storytellers of families and who collect salaries on the basis of this? Or even
from total strangers who can put too much pepper or too much salt when telling
them, to suit their secret pursuits?
Anyway, you
would think that I am disgruntled, that I ran from history as a subject in school
and now think that I can get back hard on it at a sore spot! Not that! I like
history. Who does not like stories, especially with appropriate quantities of
salt and pepper added? Minus all those dates or years!
But there is
one thing that excites me about thinking or rethinking history in modern times.
It is not just the sci-fi idea of crossing time boundaries (past and present, past of present, the presence of pastness, etc) or not having
boundaries at all! It is rather about history mimicking digital life,
especially the Internet, or rather digital life as a wonderful recording, wonderful archive, mimicking history. Can’t you see how the Internet becomes like the sky, space,
which does not hide the louse? I know you don’t like the idea of the louse, but
it is just a proverb! The important thing is how the Internet is involved in
our telling of our stories by ourselves at uncle’s feet, adding our own salt
and pepper.
That is one
reason one is happy that Department of History, University of Ibadan, is
hosting an international conference as announced. I am sure the emergence of
the great historian in the struggle for us to tell our own stories would take
centre-stage! Don’t just come there equipped with poststructualist idiom which
is used by the stranger as seasoning in telling our story, our own very story!
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