An Outsider Who Wants the Insider to Be More Serious-minded about the Inside

By

Obododimma Oha

This is a story about a story of arrogant insiders who think they know enough and have all the indigenous ideas built-in and internalized and the outsider knows little or nothing about the indigenous. It is a story-within-a-story and has many embarrassing aspects. These have taught me a great lesson in humility, especially in respect of the assumption that, because I am an insider, I  have better answers to questions about issues under my very nose in the inside.

A pure white lady, she came from America to do an M.Phil in Yoruba traditional medicine and religion. Blood of Jesus! A Christian fanatic would scream. But. Wait a minute. She had more to surprise our fanatic. First, she exchanged what she saw as the essential key to real knowledge in her study: a reliable text on Yoruba. She had commenced learning the language in America and had mastered the basics. So,when she saw another text on the language, her adventurous and investigative spirit said quickly, “Go for it! Go and possess it.” And she went for it. It was easy for  her to strike a deal to make an exchange. So, there she went away with the new text, devouring it right away.

This was the time that even some PhD students in the field in the university could not get permission from some fanatically-minded overseers and pastors to focus on the churches in their research. Even though that would have been cheap as a promotion  and an exhibition of the bad insider syndrome, it was  considered an opportunity for exposure  to undue criticism! Exposure was bad  enough. The crazy American idea of going to  live and mingle with sellers of  local herbs and roots and babalawos versed on Ifa was shocking! But she surrendered herself to the “contamination” and in that process learnt a lot about Yoruba traditional medicine and religion to benefit her study.

In brief, she came back to the university knowing a lot about the subject of her study, even more than many who were heaven-bound and were privileged insiders. She knew more than insiders who were not allowed to investigate certain things and certain areas. In addition, she could even speak the Yoruba language fluently when those of us who were Yoruba neighbours and were armed with several texts on the language could hardly utter simple expressions in the language. Those of us who her friends could see clearly that she came back a different but enriched person. She was not the greenhorn that we knew or that went into the field. She was a different person with ideas. With these ideas and the key of the local language, she confronted her study and found the easy way.

Those who were disallowed from investigating their church groups were only beginning to get their new topics approved! But she had already done her research and was writing up her report!

To put it minimally, she submitted an M.Phil. report that remains one of the best and highly informed in our university and went back to the US. A year later, she was back. As one of her intimate friends, she looked for me. She was also back with her African American husband, a relationship she had just contracted.

What surprised me most was that she and her husband booked an appointment with me at my residence and was there at the time appointed. I was more interested in making them feel welcome, offering all kinds of “kola” to the visitors. But she was more interested in giving my wife and I some lectures! And what were those lectures about? From Yoruba, she switched to Igbo, my own first language. She had noticed that our children were not fluent in the language and felt bad! She sat us down and for up to one hour spoke fluent Igbo, lecturing us on why we should teach Igbo and its cultures to our children. I was thoroughly  embarrassed! Imagine a full-blooded Oyibo teaching me in my own obi why I should teach Igbo language and culture to my children! That was embarrassing!

But I listened and my heart was burning. Her African American husband was nodding his head and looking at me. I was embarrassed. When the lecture was over, the outsider left and the insider started licking his wounds. Yes, I was sore and injured, and had to lick my wounds.

But the lesson is not just about learning Igbo language and culture. It is about the insiders swallowing their pride and using relevant strategies to try to recuperate their vanishing past. Sometimes we make the mistake of thinking that as insiders, we know the inside very well. Sometimes, we know next to nothing about the inside! That is the simple truth. Outsiders who are committed may know the issue more than we do. Simple. And these days, there is a terrible danger of being neither here nor there and the past being very distant. Sometimes on Facebook, you find this silly and embarrassing debate about what things are called in the language. Simple objects! It is a pity.

Congratulations, outsiders. Continue to teach uninformed insiders a lesson, a big lesson.