How does edogo work

Akuebue arrives. He is one of the few men in Umuaro that Ezeulu respects. The two men exchange greetings. Obika's whipping is mentioned but Akuebue says there is no reason to discuss it.

Ezeulu sends for kolanut, and Akuebue says he isn't a stranger that needs to be greeted with such hospitality, but Ezeulu reminds him they are like brothers, all the more reason to treat him with honor. They eat kolanut and take snuff tobacco together. Edogo brings them palm wine and they drink it from a cow's horn that Akuebue brings from out of his bag. Ezeulu asks Oduche when he is going to Okperi and he responds that he is going the day after tomorrow.

Akuebue asks why he is going and he says that he is being tested on the holy book. Ezeulu isn't sure Oduche should go, but says he will decide when the time comes.

The men continue to drink and Akuebue says that the only power against palm wine is if you refuse to drink it. This reminds Ezeulu of his conversation with Nwafo and he mentions it, saying that even the greatest liar won't lie to his son. But what do you do if you tell your child the truth and the child prefers the lie?

That is why, he explains, he will not take up Obika's cause against the white man. Akuebue wants to know if Obika started the fight, and Edogo responds that they say he was not the one to strike the first blow.

Akuebue tries again to suggest that they should find out who started it before refusing to take Obika's side, that there might be something they can do if Mr.

She is known to cook late into the night—an indication that she is slack in her domestic duties. On the New Yam Festival she asks Ulu to cleanse her house of all defilement as she throws her young pumpkin leaves, hoping for forgiveness for Oduche and his affront to the Idemili.

Nwodika is from Umunneora, but lives in Okperi, where he works for Winterbottom. Though he is from a rival village, Nwodika and his wife cook and look after Ezeulu during his detention. There is mutual respect between the two men. Nwodika is an opportunistic African looking to benefit financially from the presence of the British. Ezidemili is the priest of Umunneora, servant of the python god Idemili. He has long harbored jealousy against Ezeulu for his appointment as Chief Priest of Umuaro.

He engages in the palm-wine-drinking contest that ultimately leads to Obika getting whipped by Wright. Ezeulu often cautions Obika that nothing good can come of having Ofoedu as a friend. The Question and Answer section for Arrow of God is a great resource to ask questions, find answers, and discuss the novel. If you want to see it well, you do not stand in one place. What is the feminist influence in Arrow of God. I think women's roles are certainly questioned.

Arrow of God study guide contains a biography of Chinua Achebe, literature essays, quiz questions, major themes, characters, and a full summary and analysis. Arrow of God essays are academic essays for citation. These papers were written primarily by students and provide critical analysis of Arrow of God by Chinua Achebe. Remember me. Forgot your password?

Ebo was last to see the abomination. He had been struggling with Otikpo who wanted to take the matchet from him and so prevent bloodshed. But when the crowd saw what Akukalia had done they called on Otikpo to leave the man alone. The two men came out of the hut together. Ebo rushed towards Akukalia and then seeing what he had done stopped dead. He did not know, for one brief moment, whether he was awake or dreaming. He rubbed his eyes. Akukalia stood in front of him.

The two pieces of his ikenga lay where their violator had kicked them in the dust. Yes I did it. What can you do? Still Ebo turned round and went into his obi. At his shrine he knelt down to have a close look. Yes, the gap where his ikenga, the strength of his right arm, had stood stared back at him — an empty patch, without dust, on the wooden board. Nna doh! Then he got up and went into his sleeping-room. He was there a little while before Otikpo, thinking he might be doing violence to himself, rushed into the room to see.

But it was too late. Ebo pushed him aside and came into the obi with his loaded gun. At the threshold he knelt down and aimed. Akukalia, seeing the danger, dashed forward. Although the bullet had caught him in the chest he continued running with his matchet held high until he fell at the threshold, his face hitting the low thatch before he went down. When the body was brought home to Umuaro everyone was stunned. It had never happened before that an emissary of Umuaro was killed abroad.

But after the first shock people began to say that their clansman had done an unforgivable thing. What propitiation or sacrifice would atone for such sacrilege? How would the victim set about putting himself right again with his fathers unless he could say to them: Rest, for the man that did it has paid with his head?

Nothing short of that would have been adequate. But one small thing worried them. It was small but at the same time it was very great. Why had Okperi not deigned to send a message to Umuaro to say this was what happened and that was what happened? Everyone agreed that the man who killed Akukalia had been sorely provoked. Yet when a man was killed something had to be said, some explanation given. That Okperi had not cared to say anything beyond returning the corpse was a mark of the contempt in which they now held Umuaro.

And that could not be overlooked. The assembly in the morning was very solemn. Almost everyone who spoke said that although it was not right to blame a corpse it must be admitted that their kinsman did a great wrong.

Many of them, especially the older men, asked Umuaro to let the matter drop. But there were others who, as the saying was, pulled out their hair and chewed it. They swore that they would not live and see Umuaro spat upon. They were, as before, led by Nwaka. He spoke with his usual eloquence and stirred many hearts. Ezeulu did not speak until the last. He saluted Umuaro quietly and with great sadness. When I spoke two markets ago in this very place I used the proverb of the she-goat.

I was then talking to Ogbuefi Egonwanne who was the adult in the house. We all have seen with what care he carried it. I was not then talking to Egonwanne alone but to all the elders here who left what they should have done and did another, who were in the house and yet the she-goat suffered in her parturition.

He wrestled from village to village until he had thrown every man in the world. Then he decided that he must go and wrestle in the land of the spirits, and become champion there as well.

He went, and beat every spirit that came forward. Some had seven heads, some ten; but he beat them all. His companion who sang his praise on the flute begged him to come away, but he would not, his blood was roused, his ear nailed up. Rather than heed the call to go home he gave a challenge to the spirits to bring out their best and strongest wrestler. So they sent him his personal god, a little wiry spirit who seized him with one hand and smashed him on the stony earth. They told it because they wanted to teach us that no matter how strong or great a man was he should never challenge.

This is what our kinsman did — he challenged his chi. We were his flute player, but we did not plead with him to come away from death.

Where is he today? The fly that has no one to advise it follows the corpse into the grave. But let us leave Akukalia aside; he has gone the way his chi ordained.

Umuaro is today challenging its chi. Is there any man or woman in Umuaro who does not know Ulu, the deity that destroys a man when his life is sweetest to him? Some people are still talking of carrying war to Okperi. Do they think that Ulu will fight in blame? Today the world is spoilt and there is no longer head or tail in anything that is done. But Ulu is not spoilt with it.

Umuaro, I salute you. Umuaro was divided in two. Many people gathered round Ezeulu and said they stood with him. But there were others who went with Nwaka. That night he held another meeting with them in his compound and they agreed that three or four Okperi heads must fall to settle the matter. He held up his palm-oil lamp against the face of any who came to see him clearly. Altogether he sent fifteen people away. Nwaka began by telling the assembly that Umuaro must not allow itself to be led by the Chief Priest of Ulu.

But I have been watching this Ezeulu for many years. He is a man of ambition; he wants to be king, priest, diviner, all. His father, they said, was like that too. But Umuaro showed him that Igbo people knew no kings. The time has come to tell his son also. He is still our protector, even though we no longer fear Abam warriors at night.

But I will not see with these eyes of mine his priest making himself lord over us. My father told me many things, but he did not tell me that Ezeulu was king in Umuaro.

Who is he, anyway? If Umuaro decided to have a king we know where he would come from. Since when did Umuachala become head of the six villages? We all know that it was jealousy among the big. We shall fight for our farmland and for the contempt Okperi has poured on us. Let us not listen to anyone trying to frighten us with the name of Ulu. If a man says yes his chi also says yes. And we have all heard how the people of Aninta dealt with their deity when he failed them.

Did they not carry him to the boundary between them and their neighbours and set fire on him? On the day it began Umuaro killed two men of Okperi. The next day was Nkwo, and so there was no fighting. On the two following days, Eke and Oye, the fighting grew fierce. The next day, Afo, saw the war brought to a sudden close.

The white man, Wintabota, brought soldiers to Umuaro and stopped it. The story of what these soldiers did in Abame was still told with fear, and so Umuaro made no effort to resist but laid down their arms. It was also a good thing perhaps that the war was stopped. The white man, not satisfied that he had stopped the war, had gathered all the guns in Umuaro and asked the soldiers to break them in the face of all, except three or four which he carried away.

Afterwards he sat in judgement over Umuaro and Okperi and gave the disputed land to Okperi. Captain T. For the past month or two the heat had been building up to an unbearable pitch. The grass had long been burnt out, and the leaves of the more hardy trees had taken on the red and brown earth colour of the country.

The most exasperating was the little stream that always coursed down behind the ear like a fly, walking. There was another moment of temporary relief at sundown when a cool wind blew. But this treacherous beguiling wind was the great danger of Africa. The unwary European who bared himself to it received the deathkiss.

Captain Winterbottom had not known real sleep since the dry, cool harmattan wind stopped abruptly in December; and it was now mid-February. He had grown pale and thin, and in spite of the heat his feet often felt cold.

Every morning after the bath which he would have preferred cold but must have hot to stay alive since Africa never spared those who did what they liked instead of what they had to do , he looked into the mirror and saw his gums getting whiter and whiter.

Perhaps another bout of fever was on the way. At night he had to imprison himself inside a mosquito-net which shut out whatever air movement there was outside. His bedclothes were sodden and his head formed a waterlogged basin on the pillow. After the first stretch of unrestful sleep he would lie awake, tossing about until he was caught in the distant throb of drums.

He would wonder what unspeakable rites went on in the forest at night, or was it the heart-beat of the African darkness? Then one night he was terrified when it suddenly occurred to him that no matter where he lay awake at night in Nigeria the beating of the drums came with the same constancy and from the same elusive distance.

Could it be that the throbbing came from his own heat-stricken brain? He attempted to smile it off but the skin on his face felt too tight. This dear old land of waking nightmares! Fifteen years ago Winterbottom might have been so depressed by the climate and the food.

But he was now a hardened coaster, and although the climate still made him irritable and limp, he would not now exchange the life for the comfort of Europe. His strong belief in the value of the British mission in Africa was, strangely enough, strengthened during the Cameroon campaign of when he fought against the Germans. That was how he had got the title of captain but unlike many other colonial administrators who also saw active service in the Cameroon he carried his into peacetime.

Although the first rain was overdue, when it did come it took people by surprise. Throughout the day the sun had breathed fire as usual and the world had lain prostrate with shock.

The birds which sang in the morning were silenced. The air stood in one spot, vibrating with the heat; the trees hung limp. Then without any sign a great wind arose and the sky darkened. Dust and flying leaves filled the air. Palm trees and coconut trees swayed from their waists; their tops gave them the look of giants fleeing against the wind, their long hair streaming behind them. Sharp and dry barks of thunder broke into the tumult.

The world which had dozed for months was suddenly full of life again, smelling of new leaves to be born. Winterbottom, at the railing of his veranda, was also a changed man. He let the dust blow into his eyes and for once envied the native children running around naked and singing to the coming rain. Di oder two na Cook im pickin. Di oder one yonder na Gardener him brodder pickin. The sky was now covered with restless, black clouds except at the far horizon where a narrow rim of lightness persisted.

Long streaks of lightning cracked the clouds angrily and impatiently only to be wiped off again. When it began the rain fell like large pebbles. The children intensified their singing as the.

Sometimes it was quite painful, but it only made them laugh the more. They scrambled to pick up the frozen drops and throw them into their mouths before they melted. It rained for almost an hour and stopped clean. The trees were washed green and the leaves fluttered happily. Winterbottom looked at his watch and it was almost six. Then he remembered that Clarke was coming to dinner and went to the kitchen to see what Cook was doing.

Okperi was not a very big station. Captain Winterbottom was the District Officer. He took the salute on Empire Day at the march past of all the school-children in the area — one of the few occasions when he wore his white uniform and sword.

Mr Clarke was his Assistant District Officer. He was only four weeks old in the station, and had come to replace poor John Macmillan, who had died from cerebral malaria.

The other Europeans did not belong to the Administration. Roberts was an Assistant Superintendent of Police in charge of the local detachment. Wade was in charge of the prison; he was also called Assistant Superintendent. The other man, Wright, did not really belong to the station. He was a Public Works Department man supervising the new road to Umuaro.

Captain Winterbottom had already had cause to talk to him seriously about his behaviour, especially with native women. It was absolutely imperative, he told him, that every European in Nigeria, particularly those in such a lonely outpost as Okperi, should not lower themselves in the eyes of the natives. In such a place the District Officer was something of a school prefect, and Captain Winterbottom was determined to do his duty.

He would go as far as barring Wright from the club unless he showed a marked change. The club was the old Regimental Mess the army left behind when their work of pacification was done in these parts and then moved on. It was a small wooden bungalow containing the mess-room, ante-room, and a veranda. Tony Clarke was dressed for dinner, although he still had more than an hour to go. Dressing for dinner was very irksome in the heat, but he had been told by many experienced.

They said it was a general tonic which one must take if one was to survive in this demoralizing country. For to neglect it could become the first step on the slippery gradient of ever profounder repudiations.

Today was quite pleasant because the rain had brought some coolness. But there had been days when Tony Clarke had foregone a proper dinner to avoid the torment of a starched shirt and tie. From time to time he glanced at his gold watch, a present from his father when he left home for service in Nigeria or, as George Allen would have said, to answer the call.

He had now had the book for over a fortnight and must finish and take it back this evening. One of the ways in which the tropics were affecting him was the speed of his reading, although in its own right the book was also pretty dull; much too smug for his taste.

But he was now finding the last few paragraphs quite stirring. But for those in search of strenuous life, for those who can deal with men as others deal with material, who can grasp great situations, coax events, shape destinies and ride on the crest of the wave of time Nigeria is holding out her hands. For the men who in India have made the Briton the law-maker, the organizer, the engineer of the world this new, old land has great rewards and honourable work.

I know we can find the men. Our mothers do not draw us with nervous grip back to the fireside of boyhood, back into the home circle, back to the purposeless sports of middle life; it is our greatest pride that they do — albeit tearfully — send us fearless and erect, to lead the backward races into line.

Was it for him the archers bled at Crecy and Poitiers, or Cromwell drilled his men? Is it for the counting-house they learn of Carthage, Greece and Rome? No, no; a thousand times no!

The British race will take its place, the British blood will tell. Son after son will leave the Mersey, strong in the will of his parents today, stronger in the deed of his fathers in the past, braving the climate, taking the risks, playing his best in the game of life. Before he came to Okperi Clarke had spent two months at Headquarters being broken in, and he would never forget the day he was invited to dinner by His Honour the LieutenantGovernor. The glittering Reception Hall was empty and Clarke would have gone into the front garden to wait had not one of the stewards come forward and.

He sat uneasily on the edge of a chair with a glass of sherry in his hand, wondering whether he should not even now withdraw into the shade of one of the trees in the garden until the other guests arrived. Then it was too late. Someone was descending the stairs at a run, whistling uninhibitedly. Clarke sprang to his feet. His Honour glowered at him for a brief moment before he came forward to shake hands.

Clarke introduced himself and was about to apologize. But H. Come and meet Mr Clarke who came a little early. Throughout the dinner he never spoke to Clarke again. Very soon other guests began to arrive. But they were all very senior people and took no interest at all in poor Clarke. Two of them had their wives; the rest including H. The worst moment for Clarke came when H. The rest took no notice; as soon as H. After what looked to Clarke like hours the A. Then he must have had second thoughts, for he stood up and offered his own place to Clarke.

Captain Winterbottom was drinking brandy and ginger ale when Tony Clarke arrived. It will be cooler now, I suppose. Do sit down. Did you enjoy that? I found it most interesting.

Perhaps Mr Allen is a trifle too dogmatic. One could even say a little smug. Captain Winterbottom seemed to read his thought. He was absolutely raw. They soon lost their wings and crawled on the floor.

Clarke watched them with great interest, and then asked if they stung. They are driven out of the ground by the rain. A little smug, I think you said. He might really be one of the missionary people. If you saw, as I did, a man buried alive up to his neck with a piece of roast yam on his head to attract vultures you know… Well, never mind. We British are a curious bunch, doing everything half-heartedly. Look at the French. They are not ashamed to teach their culture to backward races under their charge.

Their attitude to the native ruler is clear. By the same token it now belongs to us. If you are not satisfied come out and fight us. We flounder from one expedient to its opposite.

We do not only promise to secure old savage tyrants on their thrones — or more likely filthy animal skins — we not only do that, but we now go out of our way to invent chiefs where there were none before. They make me. If someone is positive we call him smug.

Try something else if you prefer. Then luckily he lit on a collection of quaint-looking guns arranged like trophies near the low window of the living-room. Captain Winterbottom was transformed. The people of Okperi and their neighbours, Umuaro, are great enemies. Or they were before I came into the story. A big savage war had broken out between them over a piece of land. This feud was made worse by the fact that Okperi welcomed missionaries and government while Umuaro, on the other hand, has remained backward.

It was only in the last four or five years that any kind of impression has been made there. I think I can say with all modesty that this change came about after I had gathered and publicly destroyed all firearms in the place except, of course, this collection here. You will be going there frequently on tour.

If you hear anyone talking about Otiji-Egbe, you know they are talking about me. Otiji-Egbe means Breaker of Guns. I am even told that all children born in that year belong to a new age-grade of the Breaking of the Guns. How far is this other village, Umuaro? Unlike some of the more advanced tribes in Northern Nigeria, and to some extent Western Nigeria, the Ibos never developed any kind of central authority.

I see. I went into it in considerable detail… Boniface! How are you doing, Mr Clarke? It represents his ancestors to whom he must make daily sacrifice. When he dies it is split in two; one half is buried with him and the other half is thrown away.

This was, of course, the greatest sacrilege. And so a regular war developed between the two villages, until I stepped in. I went into the question of the ownership of the piece of land which was the remote cause of all the unrest and found without any shade of doubt that it belonged to Okperi. I should mention that every witness who testified before me — from both sides without exception — perjured themselves.

One thing you must remember in dealing with natives is that like children they are great liars. Sometimes they would spoil a good case by a pointless lie. Only one man — a kind of priestking in Umuaro — witnessed against his own people. I have not found out what it was, but I think he must have had some pretty fierce tabu working on him. But he was a most impressive figure of a man. He was very light in complexion, almost red.

One finds people like that now and again among the Ibos. I have a theory that the Ibos in the distant past assimilated a small non-negroid tribe of the same complexion as the Red Indians. In the five years since the white man broke the guns of Umuaro the enmity between Ezeulu and Nwaka of Umunneora grew and grew until they were at the point which Umuaro people called kill and take the head.

As was to be expected this enmity spread through their two villages and before long there were several stories of poisoning. From then on few people from the one village would touch palm wine or kolanut which had passed through the hands of a man from the other. Nwaka was known for speaking his mind; he never paused to bite his words. But many people trembled for him that night in his compound when he had all but threatened Ulu by reminding him of the fate of another deity that failed his people.

It was true that the people of Aninta burnt one of their deities and drove away his priest. But it did not follow that Ulu would also allow himself to be bullied and disgraced. Perhaps Nwaka counted on the protection of the personal god of his village. But the elders were not foolish when they said that a man might have Ngwu and still be killed by Ojukwu. But Nwaka survived his rashness.

His head did not ache, nor his belly; and he did not groan in the middle of the night. Perhaps this was the meaning of the recitative he sang at the Idemili festival that year. He had a great Mask which he assumed on this and other important occasions.

The Mask was called Ogalanya or Man of Riches, and at every Idemili festival crowds of people from all the villages and their neighbours came to the ilo of Umunneora to see this great Mask bedecked with mirrors and rich cloths of many colours. That year the Mask spoke a monologue full of boast. Some of those who knew the language of ancestral spirits said that Nwaka spoke of his challenge to Ulu. Folk assembled, listen and hear my words.

There is a place, Beyond Knowing, where no man or spirit ventures unless he holds in his right hand his kith and in his left hand his kin. The flute called him Ogalanya Ajo Mmo, and the big drum replied. When I got there the first friend I made turned out to be a wizard. I made another friend and found he was a poisoner. I made my third friend and he was a leper. I, Ogalanya, who cuts kpom and pulls waa, I made friends with a leper from whom even a poisoner flees.

The flute and the drum spoke again. Ogalanya danced a few steps to the right and then to the left, turned round sharply and saluted empty air with his matchet. I returned from my sojourn.

Afo passed, Nkwo passed, Eke passed, Oye passed. Afo came round again. I listened, but my head did not ache, my belly did not ache; I did not feel dizzy. Tell me, folk assembled, a man who did this, is his arm strong or not? In the five years since these things happened people sometimes ask themselves how a man could defy Ulu and live to boast. But if it was, where did Nwaka get this power? For when we see a little bird dancing in the middle of the pathway we must know that its drummer is in the near-by bush.

It was he who fortified Nwaka and sent him forward. For a long time no one knew this. There were few things happening in Umuaro which Ezeulu did not know. He knew that the priest of Idemili and Ogwugwu and Eru and Udo had never been happy with their secondary role since the villages got together and made Ulu and put him over the older deities.

But he would not have thought that one of them would go so far as to set someone to challenge Ulu. But that was later. The friendship between Nwaka and Ezidemili began in their youth. They were often seen together. Their mothers had told them that they were born within three days of each other, Nwaka being the younger. They were good wrestlers. But in other ways they were very different. Nwaka was tall and of a light skin; Ezidemili was very small and black as charcoal; and yet it was he who had the other like a goat on a lead.

This was strange because Nwaka was a great man and a great orator who was called Owner of Words. One of the ways Ezidemili accomplished this was to constantly assert that in the days before Ulu the true leaders of each village had been men of high title like Nwaka. One day as Nwaka sat with Ezidemili in his obi drinking palm wine and talking about the affairs of Umuaro their conversation turned, as it often did, on Ezeulu.

It was as though the question having waited for generations to be asked had now broken through by itself. Nwaka had no answer to it. He knew that when an Ezeulu or an Ezidemili died their heads were separated from their body and placed in their shrine. But no one had ever told him why this happened.

He knew that a great story was coming, but did not want to appear too expectant. He poured himself another hornful. I heard it from the mouth of the last Ezidemili just before he died. Every boy in Umuaro knows that Ulu was made by our fathers long ago. But Idemili was there at the beginning of things. Nobody made it. Do you know the meaning of Idemili? As the pillar of this house holds the roof so does Idemili hold up the Raincloud in the sky so that it does not fall down. Idemili belongs to the sky and that is why I, his priest, cannot sit on bare earth.

But why is the priest of Ulu buried in the same way? Ulu has no quarrel with earth; when our fathers made it they did not say that his priest should not touch the earth.

But the first Ezeulu was an envious man like the present one; it was he himself who. Another day when the present priest begins to talk about things he does not know, ask him about this. His mind turned from the festival to the new religion. He was not sure what to make of it. At first he had thought that since the white man had come with great power and conquest it was necessary that some people should learn the ways of his deity.

That was why he had agreed to send his son, Oduche, to learn the new ritual. But now Ezeulu was becoming afraid that the new religion was like a leper. Allow him a handshake and he wants to embrace. Ezeulu had already spoken strongly to his son who was becoming more strange every day. Perhaps the time had come to bring him out again. But what would happen if, as many oracles prophesied, the white man had come to take over the land and rule? In such a case it would be wise to have a man of your family in his band.

As he thought about these things Oduche came out from the inner compound wearing a white singlet and a towel which they had given him in the school.