Ngwelle

By Pastor Steve Nute

 

I was moved emotionally as Pastor Odurukwe presented me this lovely gift. In the bottom of a hand crafted box, nested on beds of thin foam, clay a replica of a male Ngwelle.

This part of Nigeria is not blessed with much wildlife now , as most of it has been driven northward by civilization. Yet one little fellow does his best to add a dash of color, and a colorful dash, to the landscape. At his largest, according to my limited observations, he is 8-9 inches long from his whip cord tail to his reptilian eyes. His coloring is basic black with bands of bright, almost fluorescent, orange on head and torso.

Ngwelle was my first challenge to overcome in the Igbo language. I was told that it was too hard to learn, so being basically rebellious, I did my best. That is why Pastor Odurukwe had this one modeled for me.

There were lots of little wildlife around: bugs, birds, beetles and let’s not forget Kokorubaba. I saw this creature flitting from place to place and asked Ephraim his Igbo name. Once again I was told, “It’s a long name and too hard.” Thankfully, Felix was a bit more willing to hear me butcher the chief’s Igbo and gave me the name of the African butterfly.

I still smile as I recall Doc’s account of climbing into the shower the first night in Awka. Just as he stepped over the rim of the thinly porcelained steel vat, two things happened almost simultaneously. One: the lights took their customary rest break, and two: something large and black came up out of the drain. I guess Doc wouldn’t have been at all bothered in daylight, but not having time to identify this beast due to power outage was a real scream. I must add that Doc is rather afraid of snakes, especially of venomous ones, but then, who isn’t?

Grabbing his faithful flashlight and braving the dark interior of the bath once more, Doc was relieved to find the creature was an old acquaintance from his internship in Chicago, a roach.
”If I’d known it was only a roach, ” he said, “I’d have taken my bath in the dark.”

One night I was to experience the opposite type of sensation. I was standing barefoot in the doorway between kitchen and hall just as the power went out. A brief instant later, I felt something scurry across my foot, something heavy. I didn’t’ even twitch because my mind automatically programmed up Ngwelle to sooth my fears. It wasn’t until the lights came on that Doc informed me he had discovered my four footed traveler. A large rat had taken up abode under the tub, and it was he who trespassed upon my rather unwilling person. I hate rats, and maybe it was just a laughing God saying, “You better not pick on Doc too much.”

Not that I ever did pick on Doc, you understand, just mildly perhaps. I recall one night sitting around on the overstuffed sofa and chairs that had become our unwinding place, I hollered “SNAKE!” I never saw a person recoil and draw up into a chair so fast. The man has reflexes that would make a grasshopper blush. Renaldo Nehemiah, eat your heart out.
I think that God really does turn the tables sometimes, because it was only a few nights later that I was seated on the couch and was caused to recoil nearly as fast and twice as high. A fat old cockroach seemed to resent my sitting on his sofa and had the nerve to scurry up my arm and across my shoulder. Can you believe this? Larry laughed!

There were other creatures, mostly domesticated, which made their appearance. I saw three gaunt dogs, one skinny cat, a vast army of chickens, and goats beyond number.

There were slab sided Brahma cattle languidly driven along from sparse grass to more sparse grass. Edith Ndife once saw an “Emwe” in a tree, but I never did see that monkey, try as I might.
I learned the names of Ahdam the lion and Emwe the monkey, but never saw any exotic game. But then, we hadn’t come to enjoy any time of recreation but to administer a time of redemption.

Ngwelle was damaged in transit, his tail broke off and all his feet suffered damage. I have glued him together, but I will never forget his live counterpart who does pushups on the walls and houses of Nigeria.

( author’s note) My wife’s cat (off blessed memory), smelled the clay of dear Ngwelle and ascertained that it smelled like kitty litter. We buried his soggy remains in the earth from which he came (the Ngwelle).
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