Akwa-Ibom State, Music and the 6-year old Drunk

In the morning of 23rd September 1987, at exactly 7am, the then military ruler of Nigeria, General Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida made a speech on Nigeria’s national radio station, Radio Nigeria. The cardinal objective of his speech was the announcement of the creation of two new States, namely Akwa Ibom and Katsina.

Akwa Ibom State, monikered “The Land of Promise” is located at the Southern part of Nigeria and is bordered by Cross River, Abia and Rivers States, and the Atlantic Ocean. She was carved from the defunct Cross River State.

She is the harvest of a long standing political agitation championed by the Ibibio Union which began in the 1940s. The journey to the crystallization of the dream was markedly snailed-paced and encumbered by several evolutionary phases. Following Nigeria’s independence in 1960, the British-established Regional Provinces were maintained until General Yakubu Gowon’s tactical move towards the incapacitation of a brewing upheaval aimed at an Eastern secession launched a regional restructuring into 12 States on May 27, 1967. Akwa Ibom was an integral part of the then South Eastern State, later renamed Cross River State in 1976.

Regardless, the Ibibio Union’s agitation persevered and was characterized by persistent memorandums tendered to sitting Nigerian Heads of State, both in the Military and short-tenured Civilian dispensations. The outcry received a favourable response from General Babangida who on this day, thirty-five years ago, decreed the creation of the Land of Promise.

Ini Edo - actress and Akwa Ibom State’s cultural ambassador (nigeriafilms.com)

The historical antecedent of Akwa Ibom is to a certain degree akin to the political acrimony of the Catalans, who following their amalgamation with Spain in the 15th century, have ceaselessly attempted to regain sovereignty in contemporary times. The same can be said of the unification of Bavaria with Germany, whereas the former shares a deeper sense of kinship with Austria and has attempted secession in the past.

Akwa Ibom, on the other hand, with her dominant ethnic nation, the Ibibios, shares ancient ties with the dominant ethnic group of Cross River State, the Efiks. Both groups speak mutually-intelligible languages and have common traditions and customs. Both ethnic groups are surrounded by other medium-weight ethnic groups, who are by no means inconsequential. However, the whys, whens and hows that engendered their historical antagonism are missing from the history books in Nigeria.

Why is this important?

On that day in September, the Ibibios celebrated, jubilated, danced, drank, made merry, and repeatedly thanked the Almighty for their deliverance from socio-political bondage. They were, in their collective imagination, the biblical Hebrews delivered from enslavement by the ‘Egyptians’. And they offered endless prayers of thanksgiving for Ibrahim Badamosi Babangida, his wife, his ancestors and descendants, for he was such a good man, the Moses of the era, sent from the heavens to resuscitate and revitalize the Ibibio’s political progression. I was six years old, and my residence in Calabar, the capital of Cross River State, was one of the venues of such celebration.

My father’s friends came in droves to rub minds and plan their one way itinerary back to Akwa Ibom. They bantered, laughed and cheered while they drank away. And my father was the most gracious host. As a rule, he had a cabinet full of assorted hard liquor, and he was not a cheap man when it came to his personal pleasures and indulgences. Apparently, he was prepared for any eventuality and the 23rd September was one big event.

No one cared to share neither information nor drink with the 6-year old. In the world of politics and most adults, children are mere inconveniences whose birth into the world is driven by a socially-engineered imposition. In essence, they are birthed to fulfill all righteousness and showcase fertility in exchange for societal validation.

Consequently, this 6-year old’s inquisitive self eavesdropped to glean some information. And when the jubilant entourage relocated to another venue for further celebration in the evening, this 6-year old went for her share of the drinks. I refused to be treated like a second-class citizen.

In the 80s, Television Stands were mostly compartmentalized with the upper half reserved for the TV set while the lower half with glass doors served as a storage space for alcohol. This 6-year old had unhindered access. I crouched down on the floor and perused the assorted alcoholic offerings before me. My eyes rested on the Rémy Martin Cognac with its imposing packaging which my 6-year old self innately understood to be too sophisticated and grandiose for my 6-year old hands and 6-year old taste buds. The Johnny Walker Red Label Whisky came in a slender package with a colour reminiscent of excrement. The Brandies were too dark. So, I chose Campari - an apéritif, Bacchus Wine and Gordon’s London Dry Gin. The first two were Burgundy coloured, my favourite colour, at least judging from my wardrobe, and the Gin reminded me of water.

Céline Dion once sang that she didn’t want to be all by herself. Well, this 6-year old needed solitude to enjoy the alcohol. The relatives and domestic help who lived with us were not in sight. My Mum, a nurse, was working the afternoon shift at the hospital. There was no human impediment to my alcoholic adventure.

I started with the sweet and delicious Bacchus Wine and may have, with the opening protocol, conjured the presence of Bacchus, the god of wine. The bitter tasting Campari was tolerable, and then I rounded up nicely with the spicy and aromatic London Dry Gin. My life-long love of spices might have been triggered by the gin I consumed that day. Despite my state of inebriation, a brimful shot glass followed another, then another, then another, then another.

With my blurred vision, I saw my mum walk into the living room. It felt like she came on cue in a scripted play! And I remember rising up in my tipsy state and walking towards her. I lifted up the gin bottle like a football trophy and said “Mummy, come and see what I have been doing”. The timing was perfect because at that juncture, consciousness was displaced by unconsciousness and darkness.

I wish I could tell you that I saw white celestial figures with huge wings on the other side. But, I saw nothing! I was finally peaceful and calm. And then I awoke in a pool of sweat on my mum’s bed. It was the afternoon of September 24th. No one uttered a word about the previous evening. Life continued like nothing had previously ensued. Was this perceived refrainment from any discourse on the issue borne out of fright or shock? Probably!

You see, in December 1985, my two-year old brother passed away prematurely, and not close to two years after, yours sincerely unconsciously felt compelled to join him. In retrospect, I was severely depressed and traumatized. Perhaps, silence was a mechanism for grappling with the situation.

But I would live to remember because some memories die hard. And memory was evoked and encapsulated by music. Two songs were at the core of my remembrance. The first was Earth Wind and Fire’s "September" released in 1978. The title is surrealistic, isn’t it? The song evokes memory and love with the opening lines: “Do you remember/ the 21st night of September?………. How nearly-coincidental is that? I never associated love with the experience of 23rd September, though.

Christy Essien- Igbokwe. Nigeria’s Lady of Songs (guardian.ng)

The second was from an illustrious daughter of Akwa Ibom, Christy Essien-Igbokwe. Her "Akwa Ibom Isong emana nyin" [Akwa Ibom, Land of our Birth] is a song of celebration, admonition, a call for internal unity, peace and love. It is sung in the Ibibio language and was released shortly after the creation of the State. It quickly became the State’s sonic signature and was played religiously in subsequent years during the State government’s annual statutory celebration of the State’s creation.

While it signified joy for the collective, it evoked a high degree of personal melancholy for my memory of Akwa Ibom State’s existence was intricately interwoven with pain, trauma and intoxication.

Today, I have outgrown and overcome the preponderant feeling and can listen to these songs with laughter and zero nostalgia. I have since become a teetotaler for the amount of alcohol meant to be consumed by me over the stretch of a lifetime was already gulped in advance, in one night.

It was the first and last call for alcohol.

I suppose that I can now say: Akwa Ibom, isong o! And I can also concur with Mish that "Akwa Ibom ayaya" [Akwa Ibom is beautiful]. Congratulations on your 35th year of existence.