Onaedo: The Blacksmith’s Daughter is a tale of two women separated by four hundred years but linked by history. Maxine, a modern American woman, who is half white and half African, comes across a set of diaries written by a slave in the sixteenth century in her quest to connect with her Nigerian father. Then there is Onaedo, a young woman from Igboland, who found herself in the middle of events that were set in motion in a country far away from her small town. It is a coming of age novel set in a terrifying age — the age of the Portuguese discovery. It is published in Nigeria by AfricAgenda Publications and is available at Silverbird Bookshops across the country.
Excerpt: [page 70-72]
The little timber church was empty when Oguebie and Ideheno pushed open the door. It had once been handsome and ebony black but now had developed large cracks in its grain. It whined on its wooden hinge as they entered. The altar was a wooden table at the front of the room. There were only three stools in the room as most of the congregants brought their own to mass.
Oguebie approached the large cross that stood on the makeshift altar.
“The white man is strange,” he said poking it with his walkingstick. “They worship a God who has a Son but no wife. But the Son has a mother who is not the wife of the Father.” He laughed at his own convoluted logic and picked up a small wooden statue of a woman that was carrying what looked like an infant or something similar in one arm.
“We have to find a way to win the white man over so he can give us more of what we want,” he said examining the object before carefully replacing it on the table. “We can start by accepting their religion, even if it is like a leper to us,” he said, pausing to look around the ramshackle church. “Look at this place; the walls are almost falling down. Why don’t we promise to build them a bigger house and even a school? That way they may give us more guns.”
Ideheno shrugged but said nothing. Oguebie looked at him. He had the same feeling of unease that he’d had about Ideheno the last time. He was sure that his friend was withholding something. He would bide his time. “After our last conversation I acquired the goods that the white man wants,” he said, sitting next to Ideheno. “I bought all the ivory and peppers that I could find. Those Abonani traders were confused. I’m sure they’re cursing me now for spiking up the price of everything and upsetting their trade,” he said laughing.
Ideheno looked away without smiling. “Those things are good but that is not what Alvarez and his friend are looking for.”
“What are you talking about?” Oguebie asked. “What do they want?”
“Workers.”
“Workers?”Oguebie was beginning to sound like a half-wit. “What kind of workers?”
“The kind that can work on farms; the white man’s farm,”Ideheno replied.
Oguebie stared at him and then burst out laughing. “Where are we going to find people whom we can convince to leave their own farms and follow the white man to work on his? You should have thought about all this before you started making promises to these men that you know we cannot keep.”
“They want us to take them by force,” Ideheno continued in a matter-of-fact voice, as though he had argued many times about this same issue and was now tired of it.
“That wine that the Portuguese sold you must be very potentbecause it has entered your head and scattered it,” Oguebie said, now annoyed.
However, before Ideheno could reply, the two white men arrived. With Alvarez, the older man, was the same younger man whom Oguebie knew as Pasquale.
Immediately upon entering the building, Alvarez knelt briefly at the altar, touched his forehead and chest and muttered something under his breath before he rose and approached them. He was swarthy and rough looking, like someone who farmed all day under the hot, blistering sun. His black hair was thinning at the top and his dark eyes were small and set too closely together above his big nose. He spoke brusquely with an impatient voice. The younger Pasquale looked more ordinary and seemed more likeable than the older man. But as far as Oguebie was concerned, the white men could not be trusted and one had to be careful when dealing with them. He had had bad experiences before doing business with some of them back in the city.
Alvarez went straight to the business at hand. “How many young men can you find for me before my ship sails?” His eyes darted from Oguebie and back to Ideheno.
Oguebie did not like Alvarez’s attitude. He barked and seemed as though he didn’t want to hear the reply. Since his knowledge of Portuguese was still quite rudimentary, he waited for Ideheno to translate.
“Tell him that we’ll do our best to give him any number of workers that he wants,” Oguebie replied.
“Algumnúmero? Any number?” Alvarez asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. Oguebie nodded in confirmation. He understood that without translation. He still had no idea how to convince large numbers of people to farm for a stranger, but he had been thinking. There was no doubt that only a few people would come willingly. Why would they leave their land, farm and families to work for a stranger? Hehad to think of a way to achieve their objective but he knew it was going to be hard. Wasn’t it said that great riches were always found deep among thorns? He consoled himself. Nothing worthwhile was ever easy. He would find a way.
After their exchange, the two visitors seemed pleased. Everyone shook hands and dispersed.
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