Nwoye Kevin Tyson

Kevin Tyson

He named me Nwoye after the second day of the week. I am Okonkwo’s first born son, and I can not escape the feeling of being insufficient. I have never felt comfortable being myself. My dad says he wants me to be stronger, but deep down I know that he only wants to see himself in me. He gave me life, but it was never really mine to live.

Feeling lost I set out to find an alternate father figure, and I found him in my brother, Ikemefuna. He showed me it is possible to love someone outside of my family. In my father’sw1vv opinion feeling love and compassion would be too feminine. He has taught me that not all power comes from physical strength. However, the strong relationship my brother and I have was cut short when my father murdered him. Ikemefuna’s murder made me question my father’s ability to feel love, and I realised that I have no desire to be like him.

In mourning my brothers death I started to listen to the missionaries. They told stories and sang songs about love and acceptance. These stories were much less gory and evil than the those of my father. I began to practice Christian beliefs after my brother’s death just to get my mind off of things, but I found a father in God and strength in myself. Becoming a Christian gave me independence and hope.

Bib

@babynamescube. "Nwoye - Meaning of Nwoye Name, Nwoye Origin."Nwoye - Meaning of Nwoye Name, Nwoye Origin. N.p., n.d. Web. 19 Oct. 2016.

"Nwoye+and+okonkwo+relationship - Google Search."Nwoye+and+okonkwo+relationship - Google Search. N.p., n.d. Web. 19 Oct. 2016.

N.p., n.d. Web.

Illustrated Historical Story: Obiageli

Marcela Becerra

Ms. Hume

English II

October 17 2016

                Obiageli ( Okonkwo’s daughter)

The seven years of my father’s exile were drawing to a close. Relief and pleasure were more and more common in my father’s face as the date drew nearer. I had watched my father’s sorrow when we moved here, and his regret as the years passed. To him it was a tragedy, time lost and wasted. I was only a child when we were cast out of our father's land because of the crimes he committed against our kinsmen; this is the home that I remember, the home that feels comforting and familiar. I have friends and family here, my life is here, but I will leave it, because the opinions of a daughter are not to be voiced or heard.

In preparation for our departure, we must provide a feast to thank our father’s mother’s kinsmen, and Okonkwo wishes to make it a grand feast. It is the job of the women to provide food like fish, palm-oil, and pepper, as well as harvesting the cassava tuber. Ekwefi, Ezinma and I rose very early one morning and carried our tools to the farm. The harvest would not take very long, for it had rained the night before and the the soil had been softened.

Ezinma had begun to complain about the leaves dripping onto her back and wetting her. She disliked the water, I called her “salt” because of it, as if she was afraid that she would dissolve.

Despite her complaints, Ezinma worked diligently and without hesitation. It is these characteristics in her that made Okonkwo so fond of her. I was not blind; I could see that our father prefered my sister; he even preferred her over his sons, which is a rarity. Ezinma understands our father in ways that none of his other children do. I think this is why she seems so much older than I; she understands the goals and values of our father, the leader of our family, and often helps me understand them. I remember her telling me that we had to wait until we returned to our fatherland before getting married, even though there were already men that were interested in marrying us here, in our motherland. Our father had told her this and she had understood it, agreed with it. I am not so quick, I have always had trouble understanding our father’s actions, as many of my siblings do, but it is not my place to question my father’s authority .

In a week's time my family will return to Umuofia and Ezinma and I will marry shortly thereafter. I have faith that Ezinma always be wise, she will chose a good husband and carry capable children. She will be the greatest that a woman can be. I am less sure about myself and my fate. I will follow the same path but it may lead me somewhere different, time can only tell if it is better or worse. I am not as strong or smart as Ezinma but I am Okonkwo’s daughter and all of Okonkwo children can find strength in Umuofia.

Sources:

https://www.studyblue.com/notes/note/n/world-cultures-study-guide-2012-13-ball/deck/9722510

https://www.one.org/international/blog/male-farmers-are-up-to-3-times-more-productive-than-female-farmers/

https://www.flickr.com/photos/thecolchesterkid/4450518946/

http://dynamicafrica.tumblr.com/post/30264099868/kilele-ghana-circa-1961-62-from-the-archives-of

http://www.randafricanart.com/African_maternity_figures_various_people.html

The Bond of a Father and His Son; A False Sense of Trust By: C Alonso

As the man who had cleared his throat drew up and raised his machete, Okonkwo looked away. He heard Ikemefuna cry, “My father, they have killed me!” as he ran towards him. Dazed with fear, Okonkwo drew his machete and cut him down. He was afraid of being thought as weak. (Achebe 61)

I listen to the loud pounding of the travelers’ footsteps around me. The thump thump thump syncs with my heartbeat as the silence allows thoughts to fill my head. Memories of my family remind me of my childhood and how I have grown.

I remember my village and when I was a young boy being chased by the evil spirits that would run after all the young boys in our village. When I ran out of breath, I would hide under the little table in my father’s hut, but I was always found because when the spirits would walk around I would not be able to contain my giggles.

One day, I hid under the table, and my father with all of the village leaders walked into the hut. They seemed distraught as they spoke quietly and quickly. I held my breath and bit my lip; the urge to laugh almost exposed my hiding spot. The council members spoke about a young man that had killed a woman near the river. They were discussing his punishment for this great offense. The eldest council who had not spoken rose his hand and said, “This young man will be killed with a pot full of kola nuts held above his head, so when he would be slain down to the ground the pot will crash and his death would be known to all who shut their eyes.” Silence overcame the room and they all left the hut.  

A thundering cough interrupted my thoughts, and I returned to the laborious walk. My legs started to weigh. I felt like I was drugged with a delirious notion that made me believe that my own father would kill me just as my village killed the young man.

I had not killed anyone nor would my father allow them to injure me. I am protected by the strong bond of a father and his son. Unless my father did not see me as his son, and I mean nothing to him. Yet those tedious days of planting yams and wrestling matches assured me of our relationship. Okonkwo has taught me to be a man. I have nothing to worry about. My life is in the hands of my father.

Tension starts to spread amongst the group. The air feels thinner as I struggle to take a breath. Suddenly a cold shiver runs through my back. A crisp blade exposes my back; I feel empty when I cry out, “My father, they have killed me!” Okonkwo comes to comfort me and protect me. I feel his warm presence until I saw my reflection in his machete. I accept his blow and plunge onto the frozen floor. I stare at the shoes of my father and fall asleep.

Bibliography

1. http://www.onlinegalleries.com/art-and-antiques/detail/a-west-african--nigerian-ibibio-maiden-spirit-helmet-mask-with-superstructure/21462 -Spirits
2. https://blogs.soas.ac.uk/archives/2014/05/ -The village leaders meeting
3. http://enaburg.com.ng/kolanut.html- Kola nut represents acceptance and unification
4. www.pinterest.com/dionfreemind/afrikan-art/ -Father and his son
5. http://www.metmuseum.org/connections/war_and_conflict -War and Conflict -Oba with Animals by:Nigeria; Edo peoples, court of Benin

TStimmler19- Enzinma

Taylor Stimmler

Mrs. Hume

English II- G Period

October 17, 2016

Illustrated Historical Fiction Things Fall Apart

Enzima

I am fading in and out of sleep. The fire is well lit but I feel as if I was lying down outside.  My whole body shivers and I can barely even feel Okwonko’s touch when he feels my forehead.  I wish I were doing anything else, even cooking yams. I have been sick, on and off, my entire life but for the past year I have not even felt a shiver. This all ended tonight when I came into my hut after a meal of foo-foo. My mother looked at me and we both knew that an illness will soon engulf me.

Ekwefi, my Nne, carried me to the fireplace and put me on her mat. She quickly built a fire.  I think Ekwefi was praying. She was either saying the same prayer over and over or my mind was playing tricks on me. I prayed too. I was worried that I would end up like my nine other brothers and sisters, dead. I feel sorrow toward my mother.  She has suffered way too much as a women should. And she tried everything to birth children whom should stay alive.  Ekwefi stayed in her village during a pregnancy, visited several medicine men, and followed the advice of the village people. None of it worked until me, Enzima. I would consider myself lucky but my life has been short of lucky.

Illness is a common enemy that I have not missed. I always see the medicine man and try different ritual and medicines he has to offer. Sometimes these methods work and sometimes they don’t.  I have lost faith in the works of a medicine man.  My father could do better then any medicine man.  We have an incredible connection but I feel as if something is missing.  I am a well-behaved child who obeys her father.  Sometimes I think it is because I remind him of his diseased children or that I am not a male. I am not certain.

Out of nowhere the praying stops. I believe I am awake now. Okwonko picks me up. This is the most affection I have ever received from my father and it feels nice and strange. That feeling soon stops.  I am placed on a stool next to what must be a steaming pot. The mat I was laying on is thrown on me. The steam is chocking me. I feel like I am on fire and can’t breathe. This may be the end for me. Maybe Okwonko dislikes me more then I thought. He is killing me by making me stay in the chair.  He does not need to do much because my illness is weighing me down. I am crying but I realize that each second in the mat makes me feel slightly better. By the time the mat is taken off I can finally breathe. My mother takes care of me, whipping up the sweat on my body.  I realize that Okwonko loves me more then he or I want to admit. My illness finally gets the best of me and I fade of out consciousness.

Websites for Photos

-       http://www.polyvore.com/black_white_grey_sundries/collection?id=3674377

-       https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odinani

-       https://jujufilms.tv/2015/01/07/igbo-kids/

-       https://401j.wordpress.com/2014/09/10/august-in-abuja/

-       https://www.pinterest.com/pin/342836590355807317/

Illustrated Historical Fiction Story: Ikemefuna’s Death

Ikemefuna's Death

By Dash Liddi Brown

I remember the look on his face as I stepped onto the dirt road, a pot of palm wine resting gently upon my head, but a swarm of grief raging inside of me. He had been a brother to me, a brother I never had, and the thought of his eyes watching my turned back as I took one step after another away from him saddened me. I saw anguish engulf his body body until he stood motionless at the doorstep, as if his soul had left his body seeking a place of happiness. Nwoye had been my brother, he had let me enter the family, yet I was the one walking out on him. I was ashamed with myself, and even more ashamed of how I was making him feel. Three years is all they gave me, I did not want him to see what would happen next. The evening sun rested gently upon me as I walked, each step becoming heavier, each step making my heart sink deeper and deeper into my chest. Out of all the free will in life, fate had not been one of them. I was blessed to live but destined to die, and I knew my time was coming to a cease.
I began to think of the time I had spent with Nwoye, how his family had enjoyed my company, how he had looked up to me as a role model. I couldn’t believe that Okonkwo wasn’t my real father, although I had never been too fond of my real father. A faint smile began to form on my drooping face, one man nudged me to quicken my pace. I began to wonder how my mother would thank Okonkwo for looking after me, I imagined her warm smile and hazel eyes resting upon me and seeing what a man I have become, she would want to hear all about my experiences over the three years. A sudden thought emerged in my mind and my walking began to slow, I noticed my eyes drop to the ground as I began to think, “What if my mother isn’t alive?” The idea of my mother not being apart of my life brought back the sadness I had felt as I abandoned Nwoye. I remembered an old song I used to sing and walked to the beat of each word. I needed to land on my right foot for the last note of the song, then for sure my mother would be alive. The superstition left my mind, of course she is alive, I do not need a song to tell me whether God has decided to take my family or not. I did not plan to look back, for my mind was separate from my body and could not handle any more grief.
One of the men grunts at me and tells me to keep walking, a sudden feeling fluttered in my stomach and my legs began to melt. The sound of metal leaving a sheath filled my ears and a surging pain rose in my back. The pot of palm wine dropped to the floor in a million pieces. “My father, they have killed me!” I said, running towards Okonkwo. The man had attacked me and I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I begin running toward him, tears surging down my face. Then, something unexpected happens. My father, the one who had taken me into his family as his own, raises his machete, my body becomes limp, and everything turns black.

Bibliography:

1. Pinterest, “Exploring Colonial Culture: Ancient Nigeria” <https://www.pinterest.com/pin/326370304224522910/> (16 October 2016)
2. Wikipedia Encyclopedia, “History of Nigeria” <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_Nigeria> (16 October 2016)
3. The Secret Museum of Mankind, “Hardworking Nigerians” <http://ian.macky.net/secretmuseum/page_1.34.html> (16 October 2016)
4. Blogger.com, “Trip Down Memory Lane: Celebrating our African historical personalities,discoveries, achievements and eras as proud people with rich culture, traditions and enlightenment spanning many years” <http://kwekudee-tripdownmemorylane.blogspot.com/2013/06/ibibio-peoplethe-most-ancient-nigerian.html> (16 October 2016)
5. Answers Africa, “50+ African Cities That Were Ruined By The Europeans” <http://answersafrica.com/50-african-cities-ruined-europeans.html> (16 October 2016)