Our lives as Ndi-Igbo are shrouded in mysteries, and these mysteries define us and our identity as Umu Anyawu( Children of the sun).
Each passing day we experience these mysteries, either through direct encounters, tales, or folklores.
In this quest of exploring the Igbo mysteries, I would be looking at a familiar tale regarding umu-dada, using my kin and kith’s experience as my source.
In my earlier writing on ” Dada Our Natural Curls” I insinuated that kids born as Dada are usually a force to reckon with, only if their parents do right by them.
In most cases, negligence or gross mal-handling usually results in death and if the child decides to stay, he or she would be a troubled child and ultimately would not reach the peak of his or her capabilities.
In my case, I come from a line of great men and women who, when traced chronologically would find traces of royal affiliations, in essence, “E si m na nnukwu obi”.
This mare fact is somewhat a curse and a blessing, for a fact it was supposed to be a blessing but it turned out to be a curse.
Bearing this in mind, a family such as mine ought to be gifted, and those gifts when adeptly harnessed could put my family on the map. But just like a thousand other Igbo families, we have all lost our connection to the source.
My ancestors were lied to and they bought into the European narrative line, hook, and sinker. Fortunately, you can hide the truth for so long before the cracks begin to show.
I have a few mythical encounters, some I made sense of and others I lay back trying to give logical explanations to these experiences. And it turned out, I’m not the only one.
After the wedding and traditional marriage of my sister, we all sat together pondering over the details of the past few days before the discussion went deeper into spirituality.
Obliviously I’m the black sheep of the family with my two colorful ankle beads which I got so many mixed reactions to.
They had their interpretation of what these beads meant and each expression they gave was Eurocentric, it’s almost as if they had forgotten that wearing ornaments such as leg and waist beads is strictly and forever AFRICAN.
This conservation went on and on until the subject of Dada came up. So earlier that day my cousin’s child who is, by the way, a Dada child, fell ill and the mom was seriously worried.
She was advised to wash her hair with coconut water in an attempt to calm her spirit down.
We started to speculate that probably, her hair was touched by someone she doesn’t like and this caused her to fall ill. The interesting thing here is that the fever stopped after her hair was washed with coconut water.
Subsequently, my aunty furthered this conversation by giving us instances of how the mom continued to comb her daughter’s hair, irrespective of the fact that she was born a Dada, so the likelihood to give birth to another Dada was @ 100%.
She took this child to an experienced neighbor who said that she’s not a Dada and baptized her with cooking oil. Well, they had to rush that child to the hospital the next day.
At this point, it dawned on them what was happening and they knelt and pleaded with the child to forgive their ignorance, and that was the end of that fever instantly.
Another occurrence, told by my aunt was at the time of birth of her first daughter’s second child, the first child at 2 years, woke up that morning and said “Mummy-Dada”, she kept saying this until her baby sister was brought back from the hospital and a few months later, her hair began to tangle beautifully on its own.
I was honestly wowed by these stories and decided to publish them. These kids are special and there is nothing to fear about them. I’m anxious about how beautiful they would grow and I’m certain that a beautiful future awaits them.
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