“At the farewell feast, my parents and other
relatives piled me with advice, instructions on what to do, what not to do.
‘Make
sure you don’t bring us a white woman for a wife,’ Auntie Eteti said. Her face
bore a mischievous expression, a look that implied I was the sort of rebel to
surprise her and other relatives by taking a Caucasian bride. Everybody fixed
yes on me, reading my reaction.
‘What
have white women ever done to you?’ I asked my aunt, laughing.
‘Did
you hear me say they did anything to me?’ she said.
‘Don’t you think
there are good white women?’
‘I am sure they
are,’ she answered. ‘Every people have good and bad women. But we want a wife
whose tongue we can understand.’
Eleti was the only
one of my father’s siblings without a scintilla of formal education. She spoke
no English, even though—like most Nigerians—she understood a few basic words of
the language. I sensed that her stipulation that I not marry a woman with a
foreign tongue was not exclusively—or even primarily—about language. Her concern
was much deeper: she didn’t want me to have a wife who would disdain or reject
the bonds of kinship she and other kinsfolk considered sacrosanct.
I promised not to
bring home a wife she would not approve of.
‘Ehen!’ she
exclaimed, relieved.”
Okey Ndibe
Never Look An American in the Eye, 2016, p. 33.
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