Lost Paradise By Chika Onuoha
Click here to send comments
Click here if you'd like to exchange
By Chika Onuoha
Click here to send comments
Click here if you'd like to exchange critiques
© Chika Onuoha, 2005
Nduka was devastated by the whole thing. That evening he was sitting on a low wooden stool under a tree shade in front of his house. He looked quite agitated, his face contracting into small creases. Keku was inside the house. He too was depressed. But his own case could not be compared with that of Nduka, his father upon whose shoulders the burden of the entire land of Amarako was now resting. To the people Central School, Amarako, was now a defiled place. The children had been warned by their parents to keep away from the school premises, as though the place was now afflicted with a highly lethal plague. These parents would not allow their children to play with fire. This was really a difficulty period for everyone. Could it be that the earlier prophecy would no longer be fulfilled? Was education about to elude Keku and all the children of Amarakoland? Keku had asked himself several different questions on this disturbing issue with no answers coming forth. Frustration and despair were now beginning to eclipse his future - that great and serene future which was already unfolding before him as he clung to education. While pondering about the whole meaning of this entire unsettling affair, Nduka’s son remained silent, yet no words of comfort came. He could no longer visualize Teacher Wakamba standing before the class pointing a short stick at the blackboard to make a point. Nor could he any longer see the torchlight of hope beaming in the direction of the poor people of Amarako. Was it not the same Teacher Wakamba who said the darkness that surrounded the hills would not last forever? Was he not the same man who had proved to be the melting point between the people’s wretched past and the new dawn of happiness and prosperity? He had said he would rise and fall with the land. But now, things had fallen apart. And perhaps, the real darkness would soon envelope the whole land. Keku tried to think about many things at the same. His head ached. He threw himself on the bed and began to weep silently.
called him. Keku answered from inside the house. His voice was gloomy.
Nduka was fully aware that the news had equally dealt a devastating blow
to his son. Keku came out. His face was dull and wet. Nduka deliberately
refused to ask him what was wrong. ‘Where have you been?’ he rather
‘Inside the room,’ Keku said slowly bending his head towards the ground.
remained silent for a while, as though he was afraid of telling Keku
anything. ‘Well, you will not go to that school again. Life is more
important than education.’ Somehow, Keku was not surprised to hear that
from his father. It was what other parents had told their children. But
as he stood there gazing steadily at the earth that stretched out before
his feet, the reality of the moment descended heavily on him. Hot tears
flows freely down his tiny cheeks. He pulled his shirt and wiped his
face. ‘Why are you crying?’ Nduka asked him. More tears flowed down
freely. ‘You’ll be foolish to cry. Don’t you know anything? Your school
is no longer safe. I don’t want to be blamed at last.’ Having said that,
Nduka looked away and kept dumb for sometime. He tapped his right foot
twice on the ground and then fingered his head gingerly. He then looked
at Keku and told him, ‘You can go.’
troubled. He looked down and began to think about many things. First, he
had thought about a new school for his son. The school at Ulasi, the
neighboring village, did not have enough teachers. This was a well-known
situation as many parents from that area had besieged Amarako at the
beginning of the year to register their children in Primary One. He
remembered Bishop Shanahan School. But some reasons had made him cancel
the idea almost immediately it sprang up in his mind.
was far. Children who went there, went by taxi every morning. Nduka did
not fancy that idea. And the exorbitant fees charged there had made it a
school for children from only rich homes. But this was contrary to the
vision of the European missionaries who founded the school so many years
ago. When Nduka’s thoughts finally settled on Teacher Wakamba, he heaved
a frenzied sigh and swayed his head persistently in the air. His
feelings towards Teacher Wakamba now was a mixture of disappointment and
pity. As the village head, everyone knew how hard he had worked in
ensuring that Teacher Wakamba was brought to Central School, Amarako a
couple of years ago. Teacher Wakamba had come to the school when all
hope of getting a replacement for Mr. Uzuanya, the former headmaster who
went on retirement, was lost. It was Keku’s father, in his capacity as
the village head of Amarako that initiated and signed the letter that
was sent to the State Primary Education Management Board calling on the
government to come to the rescue of Amarako people by sending them a new
headmaster. He once also led a delegation of some very influential
Amarako men to the city to press further their demand. And on the day
Nduka broke the news about the coming of a new headmaster to their
school, the land of Amarako was lit with an unprecedented celebration as
their long period of thirst had been finally quenched. But today, those
happy days were over, not even a single trace remained on people’s
minds. And Nduka had found himself at the center of the people’s
predicament. He had become a victim of his own goodwill or rather,
responsibility. When he walked round the village, all he saw was anger
on the faces of the people. This gnawed at his peace of mind.
very anxious. After food that night he asked his father, ‘Will I stop
son. You will go to school.’
Shanahan School,’ Nduka said without thinking. He did not want to appear
irresponsible before his son. ‘Oh, father. Thank you, father!’ Keku
said, jumping up in excitement. Nduka turned and looked at him as though
he was contemplating withdrawing his words. Then he said slowly, ‘I hope
you will do well there.’
to the Kitchen to break the news to his mother. She was still in the
kitchen arranging things. Inside her, she had never supported the idea
of sending her son to a new school, particularly Bishop Shanahan School
where she heard cases of witchcraft activities had been reported in
recent times. She believed the school was not safe as well. But a woman
was expected to obey her husband’s orders blindly, especially in matters
like this. Keku announced to his mother, ‘Father said I will be going to
the Bishop Shanahan School.’
so?’ his mother rather asked, slowly without looking up. And her
countenance did not change. But that did not bother Keku. He ran out
clapping his hands over his head.
went to bed that night, happiness could not let him sleep. Tomorrow, he
would move from one hut to another to announce to his friends that he
would be going to the Bishop Shanahan School. Maybe, some of the
children would be taken there too, he thought. He wondered where those
whose parents would no be able to get them into Bishop Shanahan School
would go. Well, that was left for them. In a way, it saddened him to
think that perhaps they might not join him. Anyway, all he was now
thinking about was concerning himself. He thought about the new boys and
girls he would meet at this new school. They would be children from
different places and wealthy backgrounds. He had heard much about the
school. People said they had very strict teachers. He wondered if there
would be someone like Teacher Wakamba there.
It was the
beginning of a new academic year. Under the scrutinizing eyes of the
teachers, the children had to move around the school compound picking up
dead leaves and pieces of tree branches that littered the whole place
that morning. Keku’s face was shining with excitement as he and other
children walked towards the big hole made behind the school hall where
they dropped all the rubbish they had picked up. ‘Keku, you are so happy
this morning. I know why,’ a boy teased him.
you will be in a new class today.’
too. Aren’t you happy?’
‘I will be
in Primary Four A,’ the boy hinted at Keku, almost in a whisper.
‘I will be
in Primary Four B,’ Keku told the boy.
classes were only separated by big, hardboard which was as high as the
walls of the classroom. Soon the bell rang and the children ran into
their classes. A few boys and girls from Ulasi had also joined Keku’s
class. They were equally children with hopes and visions. Education was
the only determining factor for whatever future one desired. One day in
class, Keku had found himself talking with one of the boys from the
neighboring village. ‘Many of your people are joining our school’ Keku
observed. ‘Yes. It’s because we don’t have enough teachers there. And
our school halls are falling,’ the boy said helplessly.
they will fix things there soon,’ Keku said looking at the boy
like to be a teacher?’ Keku asked the boy without knowing what prompted
him to ask the question. The boy looked at him and said, ‘No, I would
like to be a policeman.’
people say policemen are corrupt. Is that true?’ Keku observed. He
wanted to be sure.
not true. Well, I don’t know. What about you; would you like to be a
teacher?’ the boy asked Keku.
that I will be popular, like Teacher Wakamba,’ Keku answered proudly.
gone through the first and second terms of the academic session . In
about two years, he would be concluding his primary education. Nothing
gladdened his heart like the realization that he was gradually acquiring
learning. Teacher Wakamba had told the children time without number that
education was the only key to a great future. A boy ran into the class
and alerted everyone, ‘Teacher Wakamba is coming!’ The children
scrambled to their seats and silence immediately settled in the class.
Teacher Wakamba was the new headmaster. And he taught Primary Four B,
Keku’s class, the English Language. He had come from the city. That he
could abandon the pleasure and luxury of township life and come to live
in Amarako, an interior and poverty-stricken village, was seen as a
miracle by everybody. The truth was that there was actually nothing in
Amarako village that would have attracted him. Except for the green
vegetation that adorned the irregular landscape and, of course, the
beautiful rolling hills that surrounded the entire land, and seemed to
separate the village from the rest of the world, there was no other good
thing that could be associated with the village. And maybe, it was the
hills that hid the squalor and poverty that ravaged the people of
Amarako from the attention of the government. But Teacher Wakamba had
come to revive the land. He had arrived like one sent by God to do the
work of restoration in the land. He was determined to arm the younger
generation with education, the kind that would make them relevant in the
emerging society. The first thing he did when he arrived at Amarako was
to mobilize the villagers to clear all the bushy paths that led to the
school. Then he began to move from one house to another to encourage
parents to let their children come to school. All he preached was, ‘Give
your children education. Education will bring light to your land.’ He
also went to the market-place to preach about the virtues of education.
During one of his visits to the popular Afo Amarako market, he met a fat
old woman who sold garri and vegetables in one of the old shops. ‘Good
evening, ma,’ he greeted her. ‘Guudiv, my son?’ the old woman responded,
as she opened her mouth to reveal a set of old brown teeth that must
have been damaged by utaba. ‘I am teacher Wakamba, the new headmaster of
Central School,’ he introduced himself to the woman.
son. How are you , my son? Do you want to buy garri?’
‘No, ma. I
have a request, ma; I want you to send your children to school
don’t have children of school age any longer. I have four boys. They
have all grown up. They are now men with their own children,’ the woman
explained with a sense of achievement.
teacher then looked across the table behind the woman and sighted a
little girl of about eight sitting almost behind the old woman and
playing with one of her buttons. ‘But whose child is that, ma?’ Teacher
one?’ she asked touching the little girl’s head.
‘She is my
go to school, ma?’
is a girl, a woman.’
education is meant for everyone, male and female.’
she can start school?’
It’s her right to be educated like her male counterparts. Education will
make her a better mother in the future,’ Mr. Wakamba explained with a
painful disappointment. ‘She will be there tomorrow,’ the woman assured
him. In turn, the teacher was happy. He left the woman and went towards
the meat shop.
Wakamba had worked extremely hard to change the way the people reasoned.
He could see that the people had been terribly contaminated with so many
things; ignorance, superstition and so on. But he was willing to bring
hope to the weak. Within the first two weeks he arrived at Amarako, he
had initiated a community library project, which was completed in three
months. It was, in fact, his doggedness that earned him the name Teacher
Wakamba, which meant the all-knowing and hardworking teacher. The effect
of his efforts had become manifest when, within the first two terms he
took over the school, the population of students there doubled. At
school, he taught the children to be committed to their books. He hated
laziness on the part of the children as well as on the part of the
teachers. Tall and solidly built on the ground, his stature often
intimidated the other male teachers. All the teachers, male and female
feared and respected him, except one - Mr. Ogu. He taught Primary Four
A. He was also the chairman of Amarako Native Teachers Association
(ANTA), an umbrella organization that pioneered the interests of all
teachers who come from Amarako. But Mr. Ogu and Teacher Wakamba had been
close friends from the beginning. It was the former who helped the
latter to find a house when he arrived at Amarako. In fact, nobody in
Amarako could claim to know Teacher Wakamba as mush as Mr. Ogu did, but
these days, there was no love lost between the two.
could tell exactly what the bone of contention between them was. Only
that Mr. Ogu had once criticized his colleague before other teachers,
saying that he was exerting undue influence on the staff in the pretext
of getting them to work hard. Keku could still remember vividly one day
when Mr. Ogu came to complain to his father about some of Wakamba’s
activities. As the village head, certain matters were usually tabled
before Nduka for appropriate action. That day, Mr. Ogu had told Nduka
that it was improper for Teacher Wakamba to go to the market square
every evening and join the old folk in drinking palm wine. He said that
did not put him in good light being the headmaster of their school. Mr.
Ogu had also lamented that it had become his tradition to stay late in
his office with some young women who came to enquire about the affairs
of their children in school. ‘I have heard all that you have said. I
will look into your complaints,’ Nduka had told Mr. Ogu that day and he
village headman was one of the people who believed that Mr. Ogu had a
personal grudge against his professional colleague and, therefore, would
never take his complaints seriously. By the way, Teacher Wakamba was
doing marvelously well as the headmaster of the school, Nduka thought.
And some people said Mr. Ogu having been recently promoted to Head
Teacher class II, was secretly working hard to see that Teacher Wakamba
was transferred from the school so that he would become the headmaster
of the school.
Sadly on this day, Teacher Wakamba was not going to teach the children that morning. When he entered the class, the children greeted him in chorus, ‘Good morning, sir.’
morning, students. How are you?’
well, thank you. God bless you, sir.’
too.’ The children had learnt to greet that way over the years. But
those in Primary One had not mastered it well. Even at 1 p.m., they
still greeted, ‘Good morning, sir’.
Wakamba had come to tell the class about a visit that would be made by a
team of health workers to the school in two week’s time. He had been to
the other classes that morning also. He had tried to explain certain
things that had to do with the visit to the class, but some of the
children were not paying attention; over here, a girl was looking
outside through the window; over there, a boy pinched Keku playfully and
before he could identify who did that to him, Teacher Wakamba was
already on his way out of the class, having said all he wanted to say.
surprised his father already knew about the visit of the health workers.
That evening at home, Nduka had given Keku more information about the
health workers; ‘They are coming from the ministry of health. They are
moving from school to school to immunize children against the river
blindness disease. They will also meet with the villagers at the village
square to educate the people on how to avoid the dreaded disease called
HIV-AIDS. You know the disuse has no known cure.’ Keku’s heart jolted at
the mention of that disease. Keku had heard much about the disease.
There in Amarako, people always likened the disease to a death sentence.
It was the same disease that made others think Africa a cursed race. But
Keku wanted to be clear about it. He had asked his father, ‘Is it that
the bad disease is now in our village?’
forbid. Well, they say it is now everywhere. And you know you would
hardly know who has been infected by merely looking at people.’ The boy
shuddered. He was very frightened. Just then an elderly man walked into
the courtyard. He looked frail, almost like he was resting his full
weight on a long dry stick he was clutching firmly with his two hands.
Keku knew the man. He was the man whose son impregnated a young girl and
ran away from home recently, leaving much trouble behind for the old
man. The man had often come to Keku’s father to help him find his son.
He might have come to see Nduka for the same reason that evening, Keku
thought; he quickly disappeared. It was not proper for a child to be
around when elders were discussing.
happy the examinations had ended well. He had come first in the class.
If he maintained the good results, he would qualify to go to the
Government College on a scholarship. Every child in Amarako had come to
place implicit faith in education, for it was the light that would fight
darkness to a standstill. Central School, Amarako had remained a place
of formation and nurturing; a paradise of a sort that guaranteed a
future of glory and power. Yes, the children had become incurably
optimistic through the tutelage of Teacher Wakamba. Keku could now see
the green hill far away. Maybe, it was actually his generation that had
been ordained by God to lead the people of Amarako into the Promised
Land. Now that they were on holiday, one thing that was foremost in the
minds of the children was to get back to school, the place that offered
them hope, faith and, in fact, everything that mattered to life.
Keku felt lonely. He had wished he had a brother or sister with whom he
could play at home. He counted the days. The holiday had not gone half
way. He’d sometimes sigh and scratch his head. He wished days would run
faster. Then one day he remembered something. The rift between Teacher
Wakamba and Mr. Ogu had continued to aggravate. And more villagers had
come to know about it. Keku could not understand why Mr. Ogu had refused
to bring himself under the authority of the headmaster. What actually
did Mr. Ogu want? Was he being recalcitrant just because Teacher Wakamba
was an mbiarabia, he had asked himself severally. Till now, it was
difficult for him to associate the teacher with any wrongdoing. Mr.
Ogu’s claim that his colleague usually went to the market square to
drink palm wine with the old folk was what Keku was yet to hear from
someone else. As far as he was concerned, Mr. Ogu was simply jealous of
the other’s exploits in Amarako. And it was now being rumored that it
was Teacher Wakamba who attracted the health workers that visited the
village few weeks ago. That very visit by the health workers had proved
to be of tremendous help to the people. The people were now beginning to
be cautious about their lifestyles as the health workers had warned
people to abstain from sexual promiscuity if they desired to avoid being
infected with the dreaded HIV-AIDS disease. If the rumor was true, then
it meant that the teacher’s kindness had no equal, Keku had thought.
holiday would soon be over. It had been a long one. It was usually like
that whenever a full academic session ended.The evening was cool and
breezy, a sign that harmattan would soon set in. Keku had just returned
home from running an errand for his mother when someone, a young man
walked into the courtyard. Keku did not see him until he came closer. It
was Mr. Ogu. Keku’s heart jolted. If he had seen him at a distance, he
would have disappeared. Mr. Ogu’s face was gloomy and he had his hands
inside his pockets. ‘Good evening, sir.’ Keku greeted him, almost
standing to attention. ‘Good evening, Keku. Is your father in the
house?’ the visitor enquired, his face looking even more troubled. ‘Yes,
sir,’ the boy replied. He went inside the house to call his father.
Soon, he appeared again. ‘He’s coming, sir.’ Keku informed him.
immediately, Nduka came out and the two exchanged greetings. ‘Outside is
cold. Let’s get inside the house,’ the host suggested. Mr. Ogu followed
him inside the house without a word.
all is well?’ Nduka asked slowly as they sat down.
is well and also all is not well,’ Mr. Ogu said.
riddle?’ Nduka said adjusting himself in the chair.
leave the kola nut for another day, my brother,’ Nduka pleaded the usual
way a man would put it when there was no kola nut in the house. ‘No
problem, Maazi Nduka.’
is well and what is not well?’ Nduka asked adjusting the wrapper on his
waist with his left hand.
cleared his throat and began his story. ‘Maazi Nduka, I have my reason
for refusing to give up. I have always fought a just course….’ The host
kept on nodding his head as though he was in total agreement with his
visitor. But he was actually thinking hard, trying to imagine where Mr.
Ogu was heading to. ‘You see, Teacher Wakamba is an evil man.’ Nduka
jerked up his head and looked at Mr. Ogu. He looked calm and serious. He
adjusted himself and listened more carefully. ‘Teacher Wakamba pretends
a lot. And it’s a pity he has successfully lured many of our people into
believing that he is a good man. It’s a pity, Maazi Nduka,’ the visitor
said this painfully. ‘What is the mater, Mr. Ogu? You are speaking in
parables. Let me know what the problem is,’ Nduka interrupted. He had
cleared his throat again. ‘Well, I thank God for the health workers who
came the other day to educate our people on the dreaded HIV-AIDS
disease. From all they said and from what we have already heard about
the disease, it is really a bad disease. It’s like a fire that cannot be
quenched when it starts burning. To me, we must do anything to make sure
such an evil disease does not come near our people.’ Nduka nodded in
agreement. ‘It’s really a bad disease. People must do everything to
avoid being infected. It is deadly indeed. It has no cure.’ Nduka spoke
out, in support of his visitor.
is deadly indeed, Maazi Nduka. Well, it’s unfortunate that, maybe,
nobody in Amarako knows that Teacher Wakamba has the disease.’
Nduka’s eyes dilated in shock.
has HIV-AIDS. I know he has been hiding it from people.’
mean what you are saying, Mr. Ogu?’ Nduka asked in a low tone as though
he did not want to be overheard by some other party.
Maazi Nduka. I would not have told you if it were not true.’
you know? This is terrible.’ Nduka’s voice was now dry. He had been
shaken to the marrow. ‘You see, Maazi Nduka, Teacher Wakamba pretends a
lot. He would never let you know the truth about him. But I was
privileged to know certain things about him when we were very close. You
know we were quite close at the beginning. He personally told me he has
the disease. Well, I had thought he would behave himself wisely but he
now seems to be making frantic efforts to spread the disease around.’
God forbid!’ Nduka almost shouted.
Nduka, that’s why I came. I decided to let you know this now before
things get out of hand. I told you sometime ago that he was keeping some
young women late in his office, who knows how many of them he has
infected with the disease? You remember, the health workers advised the
people to go for medical texts to ascertain their HIV status. Maybe,
that was an indirect way of telling the people that many of them have
contracted the disease. Who is spreading it?’ Mr. Ogu paused and swayed
his head as though he was in a painful mood. Nduka was dumbfounded. He
sat fixed to the chair, looking at his visitor absent-mindedly. Mr. Ogu
stood up to go.
going, Maazi Nduka. I hope you leaders and elders of the land will not
sit down at home and watch the she-goat give birth in tether. Teacher
Wakamba is a threat to all of us. I believe the earlier he is shown the
way back to where he came from, the better for us. I am going.’ Having
said that, Mr. Ogu began to go. ‘You are a real son of the soil, Mr. Ogu,’
Nduka said lifting himself up from the seat with much effort. Then he
walked falteringly towards the door. ‘You have done well, my brother. We
will search for the black goat while it is still day time. I promise you
that. Go well, my brother,’ he said as Mr. Ogu walked away.
back to his chair and sat down thinking of what to do. Nothing came to
his mind. And he could not imagine Mr. Ogu cooking up the story. That
would be too dangerous to be intended to be a mere hoax. He winced with
cold fear as he tried to imagine the risk ahead. He called Keku.
have you been?’
when did you see Teacher Wakamba last?’
thought for a while. ‘Three days ago. I saw him talking with someone,
Nweke, Chikelu’s father, on my way to the river.’
sick?’ Nduka found himself asking his son.
don’t know, father,’ the boy answered.
father,’ Keku said nodding his head. He was a little confused. Nduka
looked down for a moment. He asked his son again, ‘You said you saw him
talking with someone?’
see you too?’
shook hands with you?’
father. I greeted him and passed,’ Keku said wondering what could have
prompted all the questions. But instinctively he knew the questions must
be connected with Mr. Ogu’s visit that evening. Nduka looked at Keku and
told him, ‘From now on, you have to be careful with Teacher Wakamba. Do
you hear me?’
very confused. He could not understand these new feelings his father was
now nursing towards Teacher Wakamba. Then he felt a slight anger towards
Mr. Ogu. He was a bad man, he said to himself. Meanwhile, that same
evening, Mr. Ogu also visited some few other influential men in Amarako
with the matter. Shock had gripped every one of them that heard it. And
Mr. Ogu had pressed his point further. He had insisted that the entire
Amarako people would be at the risk of contracting the incurable disease
unless Teacher Wakamba was sent packing immediately. Fortunately, one of
the men he had visited had vowed to use every means within his reach to
get the teacher in question transferred from the school immediately. By
morning the following day, some villagers were already beginning to talk
about Teacher Wakamba in low voices. And the gossip spread like wild
fire. Keku heard it from his mother. She said it was no longer a secret.
‘But is it true?’ Keku asked his mother. ‘Yes, they said some villagers
have even gone to meet him over the matter and surprisingly, he accepted
that he had the disease.’ Keku shuddered in wonder. He had asked his
mother again, ‘So, mother, what will happen?’
‘I don’t know. People are afraid of having anything to do with him again. I think the villagers want him to leave the land.’ Keku felt bad. That would be the end of a dream.
evening Keku went to the market. He wanted to hear what was being said
about Teacher Wakamba. All talks around the land usually originated from
there. He walked idly towards the meat shop. Nothing was happening
there. He took his left to cross the major road that ran through the
market place. A heated argument was going on at the carpenter’s shop.
Keku moved closer and listened for a while as a young man challenged the
Wakamba will not go. There’s no reason for that. Those who want him to
leave the land are wasting their time. It is the government that brought
him here and it is only the same government that has power to send him
packing,’ the man told the carpenter. He seemed to be well informed
about the whole thing.
want him to go. The land belongs to us. He will infect us with that evil
disease if he is allowed to remain here,’ the carpenter said stretching
out his rule. ‘Now, are you sure he is the only one around who has the
disease? See, many people have it. Let everyone go for a HIV test and
let’s see who and who will still have the boldness to say that Teacher
Wakamba must go.’
lair. Are you a prophet of doom? See, if Wakamba is not transferred from
our school I will not let my children go there when school resumes next
week,’ the carpenter insisted.
you, Teacher Wakamba will not leave the school just because of his HIV
status. You know the government can’t do that. The government, you
should know, is against any form of discrimination against those living
with the disease, so how do you expect Wakamba to be transferred on that
basis. And I can see you don’t know anything. Who told you your children
are at risk of contracting the disease by merely going there?’ the young
man asked and began to laugh satirically at the carpenter. Keku was sad.
He left the place and began to walk home again. What troubled him now
was not whether Teacher Wakamba would go or not, but the realization
that Central School would no longer remain the same again. He rubbed
something wet on his face and continued walking home.
Utaba—A local snuff that can be inhaled or rubbed on the teeth.
Mbiarabia—In the Igbo language in Nigeria, this word means ‘newcomer’.