I did it and I loved it

So, on Saturday 10^th February, I set out for Ibiaku Community of Uruan Local Government Area of AkwaIbom State. Those who know I did my one year compulsory Youth Service in that community would rightly ask, "What on earth are you going back there to do?" Well, my answer would be, "doesn't passion make you do things you wouldn't ordinarily do?" Ever since I finished my youth service in 2015, I have visited that community every year and this is why.

with the kids when we went for the oct 1,2015 march past. they won in the govt. sch.
 category

As we drove to the village in his car that beautiful morning, my boss told us that we were going to serve in a community of kids who were quite challenged in reading and writing. I thought I grasped the situation until my first day in class when I was standing face to face with a kid in primary six who couldn't spell his name. I was alarmed and scared; scared that I wasn't ever going to be able to get across to them to really teach them because they couldn't speak English and I couldn't speak Ibibio. I then recalled what my boss said: "If you can make them to desire to read and write, I'll be very grateful." Thus, our assignment wasn't even to teach them to read and write but to inspire the desire to read and write in them.

during one of sports friday with the kids. you could actually cut away a chunk of joy from their faces

It was the most difficult thing I had done but empathy for their situation drove me on daily. These kids live very difficult lives; born to single parents, mostly teenage mothers and abandoned to their grandmothers whom they end up taking care of. Thus, you see kids who farm and sell the farm produce to care for their grandmothers. For many, school shoes and writing materials are luxuries they cannot afford.

I was employed by a kind individual from the community who built a learning center in one of the primary schools in the community and pays Corp Members to manage the center. Although teaching in the classrooms wasn't part of our job description, it became our major task because the school was very low on labor force. This was how I found myself on an exciting but very challenging one year journey of impacting these kids. We experimented with all sorts of ideas like positive reinforcements with gifts and kind words in class, free extra classes in the evening that attracted many kids from other nearby schools in the community, visiting some kids at home to know why they missed school and encouraging their parents to be more involved in their kid's education, raising money and writing materials from friends and family members during the holidays for the kids, visiting with the village head, pastors and youth leader to encourage more community participation in the children's education and so much more. Sometimes, we would attend community functions such as weddings to blend with the villagers. They would cook and give us. Some visited with us and ate in our place. Most of our ideas worked and we also encountered some really stubborn kids. Sometimes we would pray for the kids; this encouraged us when it got quite difficult.

some of the kids who did a presentation. it took a lot of work to get to look like this 

a cross-section of the competitors

At the end of our service year, we organized a school competition that brought the villagers to our school. Our children read and spelled words that amazed the crowd. We partnered with a local radio station that aired the event without charging us. Most amazing is that two girls got scholarships to secondary school level while a third got a scholarship to university level from the family of my employee.

on a visit with the recipients of our scholarship

We still go to visit the girls in the secondary school and my joy knows no bound. They practically push me down to hug me and then say, "Aunty, we are finding mathematics very difficult." I will smile and say, "take it easy, ask your fellow students to help you and talk to your teachers, you will be fine." It's not a surprise they find many subjects difficult; they’ve had a bad foundation learning foundation all of their lives until now.

the first set of Corp members I trained

Another amazing part of this story is that I compiled all those experiments into a curriculum.

teaching the kids in the learning center during one of my visits

Now, for each batch of Corp members the foundation employs, I go to train and indoctrinate them.

with the family of my employee and the employees of the foundation 

training the Corp members

And when I go, I just don't teach them, I transfer my passion to them and you can see their eyes burst with passion and fire.  I have a lot of stories to share about these kids and I will tell them as the days go by. I wrote many of my most touching blog pieces during my time with these kids; one still remains one of the most read blog articles in one of the blogs I sent them to. First, it was a job, then a passion; now, it is a career.

In all these, I have learnt a huge lesson. Whatever you have to do, do it, do it well and then love it.

Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

THE PRETTY WOMAN

The Beautiful Woman

She steps out elegantly

As if the world is a stage

She waves her hand at the poor men

Like saying, "you are not worth my straps"

When she hurts, she puffs her chin and says

"Just another bad day"

When she laughs, she laughs big like saying

"I really have no care"

When she dresses, she minds every minute detail

And tells  her friends, "everyday is a show"

The beautiful woman

She says to herself

Life is beautiful, everyday is a gift

I live each day  like no other

Yesterday is just  gone but today is here

The Beautiful Woman

She thinks of herself

There's no one like me

So, I keep my head high

The world belongs to me

The rich men fall at her feet

But she raises her head

She even crosses her fingers and then say to them

"There is no one like me

This world belongs to me"

Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

MY GODS AND MY DEMONS

Words are my gods

Words are my demons

A paradox, ain't it?

I use them to inspire

I use them to annoy

They are my blocks,

My artist's brush

Each time I paint

Every other time I build

I love the picture I create

They are like music to the soul

These gods,

These demons of mine

You see, my heart is full of music

And chaos and distrust and questions

And then some doubts and even fears

Laced with bouts and bouts of creativity

And even strength that bursts out of me

Sometimes I can't even control

But for each emotion I feel

These demons of mine

Yes, these gods of mine

They give me the blocks to build

They even give me the brush to paint

I am an artist of life

And so when people say

"Temper it sister, you paint too bright"

I laugh within

The demons won't even let me

The gods do inspire

And so I paint and then I build

I was little but not now I am a youth

Mustn't I paint?

Mustn't I allow the gods to dance within me?

Should I listen to your voice and silence mine?

No, brother of mine

I listen to the music within

And then I paint

I also build

With these demons of mine

Yes, even these gods of mine

Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

IGBO SPEAKING IS VERNACULAR (pt 2)

You also need to know that Nigeria in all her English speaking is not recognized as an English speaking country by Britain, the very country that colonized her, that should have given her that status naturally. Hence, why Nigerians that wish to migrate to study or reside in Britain must pay and write English language test to prove their ability to understand the language. Ordinarily, this should sound like an insult seeing that English is our official language and cause our leaders to do something about this embarrassing situation but we have learnt to accept and even celebrate mediocrity.

I remember a particular incident that took place some years ago. I stayed for some time with this wonderful family, a friend's family after graduation from the university. One day, we were seated around the dining table: my friend, her sister and two of her female cousins. One of her cousins went on as she described each of us; "Ifeoma has Yoruba accent. Chioma has Hausa accent. Priscilla has English accent... You (referring to me) has Igbo accent and it's very local." They all laughed and concurred. That day, I was embarrassed for having an Igbo accent. When I remember that incident, I want to go back and apologize to myself for ever daring to feel embarrassed. For crying out loud, I'm an Igbo girl, why should I have another tribe's accent? This is what Igbos do to themselves and feel unnecessarily embarrassed for who they are.  If an Igbo girl has an English accent, what accent would an English girl have? Igbo accent?

When I was serving as a Corp member in AkwaIbom, the Ibibio people couldn't even pronounce "Ijeoma" properly. Hey! We are from the same nation and yet they cannot pronounce my name properly. The same thing applied to when I tried to pronounce some of their native names for the first time. They laughed at me, yes. Then, no matter how well I learnt to pronounce their names, I could never speak English in their accent. They have this unique way of speaking English in their accent. We even laugh at them when they speak but that is how they are and whom they are. Why try to become someone else? For those who correct me and try to make me speak in proper English accent, I ask them; "have you seen a white man pronounce an Igbo name? Does he do it well? Let me speak English like an Igbo girl."

 When we watch foreign movies, we don't find it difficult to differentiate between an American guy and a British guy because of their accent. You don't need to ask, you know an Indian by his accent whether he is speaking their language or English. You see, your language and accent is your heritage and unique identity. By the time we lose all of these as Igbos, who do we become? I've not seen a people who have identity crisis like Africans. We want to be like every other person except ourselves. Sincerely speaking, if all my audience were Igbo, I would have written this piece in Igbo and enjoy writing down every word and sentence. On Facebook, some people add me to Igbo groups where all the posts are made in English. ??? Of course, I either exit the group or forever remain silent in the group. 

Now, as a result of our non-Igbo speaking, our children do not know our Igbo history and folklores. Do you remember when we were told stories of "mbe" and his various adventures? Do you remember when our parents spoke to us with their sentences heavily punctuated by proverbs? How I miss my father. Many nights, we would sit in front of the house and he will tell me stories of the Biafran war, of his school days, of Igbo tradition, of Nigerian politics and a whole lot more. My father remains the greatest influence on my life and I miss him. Today, I have a few friends whom I hold such discussions with and their depths amazes me. Recently, I learnt about the origin of my people. I also learnt about how the Igbos fought the Biafran war- a story of bravery, sabotage and innovation. 

Today, our children know only about Cinderella and Ben Ten but no idea of our rich stories that teach children good morals and how to co-exist with one another. Today, our children do not know of our stories that talked about the spirit world, and gods, and masquerades,

and local portions, of soldiers fighting wars, of tortoise and his broken back, and why the snake only crawls, and why babies do not talk and so much more.

And just before we demonize some of my points, remember that a people's story and past is their heritage; and no matter how much we embrace Christianity, God recognizes tribes and languages which means He recognizes cultures. 

Also on cultures and histories, no people have a perfect history or past. We all have our dark times including the bringers of Christianity but the importance of history is that it shows where we were and then we what we ought to do to get to the future. Most importantly, our history, our language, our history is who we are. When we deny it and try to become like other people, in which case we can only be secondhand, we lose the very essence of who we are.

This is a call to become Igbos again; to become authentic and true to ourselves again. And why shouldn't we be?

Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

Scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen

Igbo Language is Vernacular

When we were in primary school, the class prefect would write down the names of those who spoke Igbo in class. Speaking Igbo in class was such a crime. In my house, my father made several efforts to get us to communicate in English; it didn't just work. In fact, the first essay I brought home for my dad to read was in Igbo, written by my proud self. Being a school principal, the man nearly fainted. Not only were we unable to speak English at home, I was prolific in Igbo. What a disgrace, huh?

I see this repeat in our homes today. Many mothers would rather die than see their children speak in Igbo. I notice a particular trend: The mothers/fathers would speak in Igbo to every other person around; then turn around and speak in English to their oyibo children because God forbid that those children would speak in Igbo.

Mothers think their children would seem local if their children spoke in Igbo! Awesome. One actually said this to me. I told her, "Madam, I speak and write Igbo with perfection but when I speak or write in English, I make elegant sentences. And it doesn't remove a thing from my beauty or swag when I speak Igbo; it is my heritage and I'm proud of it."

Why shouldn't mothers teach their kids to be proud of who they are and of their Igbo heritage? The only times kids are reminded they are Igbo is when they are having their Igbo day celebration in school; then they would come in traditional Igbo attires. When you hear them greet in Igbo during their presentations in these events, you would be embarrassed by their accent. Now, we have kids who are growing up in the East, right in the heart of Igbo land who cannot speak Igbo. These same kids speak French fluently and probably some other languages I don't know. Some of the private schools teach the other Nigerian languages like Yoruba and Hausa but not our shameful Igbo language. So then, while the school expects the family to teach the kids how to speak Igbo, the family expects the same (or not) from the school and the child is now left not knowing how to speak his mother tongue. In Abia state, the current Governor made learning Igbo language optional. Can you imagine or believe this? A child to learn his mother tongue optionally?

Consequently, I have a four year old niece who doesn't understand “noro odu.” When I'm in the taxi and I say, “tupu gi agbafee, kwusi mu”, everyone turns to look at me. Most of them have never heard the word tupu in all their lives and probably do not know the meaning. Sometimes, a passenger will say this to me, "you are a true daughter of Igbo." And in my mind, I'll go, "Why not?"

Do you know what I find most funny in all this? I hardly meet kids who speak good English, including those who attend expensive schools. Definitely, there would be but for most kids who are being taught by teachers who do not mind their tenses or their language construction and raised by parents who speak terrible terrible English, English speaking "deals" with them all. The one I find most tiring is the use of "I used to" in all their sentences. "Used to" describes something you did in the past. But you see kids using it for actions they carry out every day. The frequency of the use of that phrase in their communication is also wearying.

The most common ones are:

Water or food is hungrying me.

Cold is catching me.

Sleep is catching me.

She fall me down.

Buy for me biscuit

One day, I heard my nephew say, "Mommy, heat  is doing." I nearly collapsed. He wanted to say that the weather was hot. I've heard all manner of badly constructed English sentences and I feel for these kids. They can't speak good English; they can't speak Igbo. And there's one thing we all fail to understand: All languages share the same basic structure. If you can speak one well enough, you can apply the same principles to the other. While we were growing up, our parents allowed us to speak Igbo at home. It gave us the strong foundation of learning a language. We also read books like “Things Fall Apart” and all that those novels in the African Writers Series. I read many novels in the Mills and Boons series. I loved James Hardley Chase and consumed his books. I read a lot of books and was an avid reader of newspapers as a kid. I still do. All of this added to building my strong vocabulary base. Parents ignore this and would rather play cartoons for their kids. A friend argued this with me one day. He said he spoke good English because he grew up in a family where his dad insisted that all spoke in correct sentences. I asked him for the meaning of a word and asked him where he first encountered the word. He smiled and told me that it was in a book and that his dad made sure they studied hard. He also learnt to speak Igbo from home.

Whenever I encounter a child, I always speak Igbo to him. In my mind I assume I might be his only opportunity of learning the language. When some of them greet me along the road, I'll respond and ask them, "ke kwanu" or "olee otu imere?" Some do not answer because they don't understand what I said. The others respond in English. Igbo speaking is so wrong but I keep trying.

Who set the parameter of what a polished child should sound like?

Who determined that speaking in English means that your child is polished?

These days, I see the children of women roasting corn speak in English as they play in the dust and run about dirty and butt naked while they vomit all manner of bad English. So then, who's child is local? Mine, I guess. I totally accept that if Igbo speaking means my child is local. (Local is our way of saying not polished.)

If you think English is superior to your dialect, so be it. However, note that English is vernacular to the American child as Igbo is vernacular to the Igbo child.

You also need to know that Nigeria in all her English speaking is not recognized as an English speaking country by Britain, the very country that colonized her, that should have given her that status naturally. The reason is that Nigerians including our leaders speak very bad English. Instead of forcing ourselves to be what we aren't even recognized as, why don't we build on and develop our dialects? There are so many new words in English that we do not have the Igbo equivalent and it breaks my heart. One day my nephew spoke such bad English and I turned to him andsaid, "You people are the reason they do not recognize Nigeria as an English speaking country despite the sincere efforts of people like me." Of course, that was on a light note. I however do my best to teach him on how to make better sentences every day.

In addition to advocating for Igbo speaking, I'm also canvassing that parents should encourage and push their kids to read. Cartoons can never replace good ol' reading but that is a topic for another day. For today, let us speak Igbo.

 Igbokwe Vivian Ijeoma

scriptwriter87@gmail.com

Twitter/Instagram: @club7teen