I don’t understand these people well, the people that call themselves Igbos and Yorubas. They can easily kill their old parents. The Yorubas call the Igbos Okoro, and the Hausas name Igbos Anyamiri. I have overhead Americans refer to them as NIggerians. How they take care of their old parents baffles me. I believed they kill their old folks, perhaps intentionally or unintentionally. When does un-intentionality become intentionality? It is when the behavior occurs so often it couldn’t be by chance. I thought they were killing the old folks, but I wasn’t sure until the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together.
Haven’t you heard of many Nigerian elderly parents dying in America shortly after their arrival to visit their so-called children? If you haven’t heard , then you’re a liar of the most despicable type, and shame on you. Some members of some Nigerian tribes resident in America seem to be killing their old parents too, but it appears the crime is more ubiquitous or prevalent among the Igbos. Are you asking me if they kill their parents? Yes, they do. And you want to know how they kill their parents? Listen carefully as I tell you the whole story.
Let’s say there is a 79-year-ols man named Matthew Ukachukwu (fictitious name) from the small village of Umuoji in Anambra State. He has been a Lagos businessman all his life for over 50 years, and is now retired to the village with his 72-year-old wife, Mercy Ukachukwu (also fictitious). Everything is going well with the old people had some people not poked their clumsy, conniving, evil, meddlesome fingers into the old folks’ business. Matthew lives in a comfortable home adjacent a meticulous garden in which his wife grows fresh vegetables, including bitter leaves, uturupka, ugu, and ahihiara. The house is almost enclosed by trees that grow mangoes, coconuts, ukwa, oranges, ube, and udala. You could see mounds of pumpkins and cassava growing nicely under the sun-drenched drizzling rain.
Mr. Ukachukwu is a good gardener. He specializes in planting yams, cassava, and coco yams. He and his wife live well , feed well on natural foodstuffs, have daily walks to nearby Eke market, and enjoy daily visits to neighbors they’d known all their lives. In short, the weather agrees with them, the food is salutary , and they are as mentally alert and efficacious as they can be at such advanced ages. Although Matthew and wife suffer occasional arthritis, and malaria for which local remedies are readily available, I swear they could easily live to be centenarians, had their quarrelsome daughter Adobi and weak minded son-in-law Jacob not intruded.
One evening after dinner and a six-pack of Heinekens, Adobi said to Jacob, “Honey, why don’t we invite Mama and Papa to visit us and at least see their grandchildren?”Adobi always had the upper hand because of her nurse’s job and higher income, while Jacob, a $10-an-hour airport employee, is the usual follower. Adobi reasons that she could easily fill the necessary immigration papers and petition for green cards for her parents. The papers would easily be granted because of Adobi’s six-figure income. Stupid Jacob always agrees when he smells money. Besides, his parents had died long ago, so it doesn’t really concern him.
One January morning, Matthew and Mercy Ukachukwu landed at an airport in Atlanta, New York City, Houston, Washington, or whatever city Adobi’s job with its six- figure salary as Registered Nurse is located. While Adobi was all smiles and congratulating her parents at the airport, the old folks were perplexed, confused, and shivering from head to toe in the cold. No sooner had they gotten home to the apartment than invitations were sent out to friends. “My parents have just arrived.” That ‘s a lie, Adobi. They didn’t just come. They didn’t ask to come. You kidnapped them with all types of promises, including physical check-ups, bright Christmas trees, and “grand kids you’ve never seen.” It is a clear case of abduction, Nigerian style. The type they do in Anambra, Abia, Imo, Enugu, or Ebonyi which are all located in the former Eastern Nigeria where the Igbos claim to have migrated to after wandering from Egypt or Israel. Now, Adobi’s parents are like fish out of water. You can’t raise snails in a desert or tadpoles in your intestines, and you can’t grow yams in the snow, can you?
Soon and very soon, Matthew Ukachukwu’s complaints become incessant, nonstop, never-ending, ceaseless, continual, persistent, continuous, or out of control. He doesn’t like the weather; the American food gives him constipation; the city noise is deafening; and the people you bring around him have strange behaviors. “Take me home,” he cries to his daughter who has become stone deaf. His arthritis becomes shoddier; sugar appears to be manufactured in his body as his diabetes becomes unmanageable. He slips in and out of consciousness as Adobi juggles work schedules and visits to doctors to save her father. An idea came to her to buy life insurance in case the old fart dies, and she did just that as her father lay in intensive care. What a brute of a daughter! Eventually, Matthew Ukachukwu dies in the middle of Winter.
Jacob and Adobi called a mortician who had the old man frozen in ice for two years until the village has a chance to have “ikwa ozu” (elaborate funeral). The village heads have a rule of “first die, first buried”, and it costs lots of money. Listen to Jacob and Adobi tell very close relatives back home: “Papa just died.” No, the old man just didn’t die. The daughter and son-in-law had killed him. They abducted him from a comfortable place. If you are the daughter, you had brought Papa to a strange place, and he couldn’t cope with your American chemicalized food and your poisonous climate. He couldn’t stand your daily fussing over Adobi’s salary, and Jacob’s nightly trips to trendy clubs to look at shapely prostitutes. Now, see to it. A period of two years is too long to be buried in ice!
Now, what do you do? Keep the death a secret. Nobody in Nigeria should know the truth. If relatives call and want to speak with Papa, tell them he is “asleep”. When it comes closer to the time you will take the body home, begin to announce “My Papa has just died” and shed a few crocodile tears. Plan wakes in several cities where you can get as much money from friends as you can. See if the life insurance comes through and collect it quickly before someone smells a rat. If the wake is to be in Atlanta, rent the biggest Event Hall. Have mortgage man Mike Obike walk around with ogene and someone to blow opi or uja. And put Wakemaster Dr. Obinali on Ndiigbo World News. Cadibex can have the most elaborate computer graphics on the web to draw wider attention to the announcement of Papa’s passing. Ask Vin Onyeozili to please hold the rain so more people would come with their money. But be prepared to pay a handsome fee for the use of the Event Hall, Igbo Union or Igwebuike Hall. When it is all done, take Old Pa home in a grand style and bank the Wake and insurance dollars for future purchase of land, but let people spray donation money in Dollars. Don’t forget to ask all families related to Pa Ukachukwu to lead very fat cows in the funeral procession to show Pa wasn’t a poor man in real life.
Congratulations! You’ve just killed your old parent.
Assistance with research and statistics, research design, theses and dissertations. You can easily earn the MA, MS, EdS, EdD, or PhD with some encouragement.