The story was told in the tribe, it was repeated from one generation to the next, and it always began the same way, like a recorded narrative of ancient mythology, that: It was long ago, before the time of ukpe na mi'okho itohia (before the year of the guinea worm epidemic), long before the year of the day time darkness (rururu okue sukpe ne'biuki so), then, there came the Nomad from the northern kingdoms, who won the flywhisk akhue game.
No one could say whether the story was a myth or reality, but it had been handed down from time innumerable, and from age to age, that a nomadic warrior and trader once came from up north and lived for a while among their progenitors.
He was a Fulani herder, a peaceful man.
He used to pass by at a particular time of the year and stay a few weeks in the village before moving on with his cows.
Then he fell in love with a local damsel and started staying a bit longer. Their affair was a secret for a while.
But she started to develop a protruding belly and soon, it roused the curiosity of the folks. Back then it was taboo to get pregnant out of wedlock, and it was even a shame for a damsel to display a defied hymen on her wedding night.
The irony of the damsel's dire dilemma was the fact that, before that time, she was one of the most well-behaved and respected dames in town, the type the moral public opinion pole would often describe as "wife material."
The most eligible bachelors in the hood had her on their radar. She had good manners, unparalleled beauty, poise, and grace. The most sought-after dame on the line. She was the toast of the town and the boast of the boys as to who would win her heart.
Her parents were upper class and it was rare to see such humility and modesty of character against the background of her family status. Now was she pregnant?
How?
For who?
Impossible!
But the more her belly got bigger by the day, the more curiousity developed into suspicions, and rumours began to fly.
Against the mounting suspicions, she treated it all with uncommon timidity and continued to live in continuous denial. She brushed aside tentative early inquiries, alluding weight gain to the changes in her anatomy.
Which ear would hear that she, Chief Adaghe's highly respected daughter, was pregnant? And not even for one of the village suitors who sought diligently for her hand in matrimony, but that she had to fall for Muhammad, that pastoral clandestine Fulani cow herder.
And the more she remained in self-delusion, the clearer the evidence showed, the more the questions came.
The impervious Fulani boy lurked around for some time, with a defiance that was even more vexatious than the audacity of his imminently ominous deed. Did he have the nerves to outwit the gallant young men in town that were contending for her hand?
He was the last to be suspected. He may have been seen occasionally doling gifts of cow meat to her, but so he did to numerous others, and people came to see him as generally generous. But the evidence was becoming more glaringly obvious and he knew that if he stayed back much longer the cat would be out of the bag.
He had to act.
Fast!
One day, as the story goes, the folks woke up to discover that he and all his cows had disappeared, gone into thin air.
The night before the embattled damsel had told her parents that she wanted to go on a short visit to her aunt, her mother's younger sister in the neighboring village of Okuta. After asking her for the umpteenth time if she was sure she was not pregnant her parents had allowed her to go for just two days. Maybe her absence would be a good break for her and the villagers.
By the third day, she had not returned.
On the fourth day, there was still no sign of her.
By the fifth day, an errand boy was sent to go and make sure he escorts her back to the family.
Wahala came back to town!
She was never in her aunt's house in the first place.
The folks added two and two together.
Boom?!
She had eloped with the Fulani boy!!!
A search party was hurriedly scrambled.
They were twenty young men that were seasoned trackers and hunters. They split themselves into four teams of five each and went to the four exit points of the village.
The first team went in the north direction towards Ebhosa, Ekpoun, Igbankie, Olijie, and up to Agbor.
The second team tracked southwards to Iguebin, Ugbegan, Uronmu, parts of Uruwa, Ekuma, and down to Agbedo.
The third group mapped the east flank to Okalu, Udow, Obiaza, parts of Ebhokhini, Ebhuato, Okhuesun, Emun, Oria, Uwaha, Ozigonor, as far as the Niger banks.
The last team searched to the west spanning Ogua, Ujiogbia, parts of Amahoh, Ugwun, Ujieghudi, Uhin, to Ehorh.
It was the greatest manhunt, then and ever since, in the history of the people. As it turned out it was to no avail.
Five days was enough for the trail to go cold.
The story continued that the nomadic stranger returned to the village after two years with his cows as if it was business as usual.
This time though, the village folks saw a woman with him, carrying a baby boy strapped to her back, and in front, her belly was bulging again.
There was yet a fourth person, a young Fulani lad, with a close resemblance to the herder.
They were coming down the road, still a little afar, but they could see them clear enough.
That lad they assumed must be his brother.
The pregnant woman with a baby strapped to her back, they knew, she was their missing damsel.
Pandemonium.
Nearly all the villagers rushed forward spontaneously to meet in wild jubilation. It was like, the first to get there.
When they met up with them it was all hugs and screams of joy.
Somebody took the baby off the damsel's back, it was her mother, the baby's grandma.
Grandma took a close look at the baby, then lifted it for all to see.
On being raised high up in the air, the infant smiled broadly.
It was a baby boy.
This is how the story is told to this day.
That the Nomad came again and lived with them with his companion, who was his younger brother.
His name was Labbo, and he knew the way of wars, a skilled swordsman. His companion and junior brother was called Gidado.
He married his damsel in a Fulfude nuptial ceremony when he eloped home with her. They were fully integrated into the pulaaku culture of the Gombe where he hailed from.
There in his Fula community, his kinsmen addressed her as his djomba or djombajjoh and renamed her Saratu, the confident boddo.
Their son they named Muhammad.
He was of the royal lineage, but he was also a nomad. The wild was his call, he must move on.
Now back in her village, they were also received with open arms by her people who insisted on their version of wedlock for them, he paid his bride price in yams, onions, assorted drinks, palm wine, kola nuts, and more, before he was equally fully accepted into their fold as an Orhuen being a Son-in-law.
Whenever he was introduced, it was as Our Son-in-law, "Orhuen Mhan."
His name, Labbo may mean The Sword in his native Gombe Sahel region. But there in the rain forest, it had a local word translation, Labooh was a word for females' greeting of good morning. From midday till nightfall the females greeted Do'agie. For the male folks, the greeting was Ai'san in the morning and Arha for the rest of the day. This greeting in Esanland has gender application, and was age-related, as younger persons greeted older ones as a strict code of socialization, and failure to abide by it, was more or less a taboo, or a sign of existing malice or hostilities.
Names were generally given at birth with meaning, often related to the circumstances surrounding the owner's time of birth or the history of his family. Some names were also of general application descriptive of the owner's position, or titular as in status, for instance, all married women in the village were called Obhiaha, which means bride, and they were differentiated from each other by calling them after their husbands, such as Obhiah'Udoh, meaning Udoh's bride. Where Udoh has more than one wife they are differentiated by enumeration in order of seniority by order of marriage. This you have Ohiah'Udoh non'dion, Obhiah'Udoh non'jeva, (Udoh's senior wife, Udoh's second wife), and so on.
In place of "Labbo's djomba", therefore, they called his bride his Obhiaha. Her real birth name was Okhen, derived from her mother's prowess as a trader in fabrics, but her nickname of Omanmhen became more popular, as everyone called her The Damsel, as if her real name could not adequately reflect her legendary beauty. But it would be disrespectful, in the custom of the clan, for every awa bi okhokho to address her in real or nickname after she was married.
The nomad's name too was a source of fun and village jokes and pranks for reason of its local interpretation.
Sometimes, even Labbo could not differentiate whether some women were greeting him or calling him by name.
Life was fun.
As the story is told further, the Nomad lived in the village with his native bride like an Esanman. He was given a large farmland by his father-in-law and he combined his pastoral business with local farming using mostly paid labor.
Two years after he returned his bride gave birth to a baby girl and he named her Hauwa, a name that is somehow a veiled reflection of his inner opinion of his bride's stubborn side. His father-in-law named her Isi, a short form of Isimhen, a name which means the blessing from a far place and alludes to the virtues of his bride.
He had learned to live with the stubborn streak in her ever since he met her, and before he eloped with her to later return with her.
She may be rather headstrong at times, but she had those rare wits and sense of humour that became irresistible, plus that stunning, cupid beauty, which was what knocked him flat out in the first place anyway, and he got stuck.
He got stuck and left his pulaar tribe, modified his nomadic life, and lived with her in what used to be one of the outposts along his cattle route.
He would once in a make a trip or two to graze his cattle along the old route, but he would always come back. The trips were becoming fewer, and farther between.
He also went occasionally to his home Fulani base on memorable visits. He would update his people with stories of life in the rainforest and they would listen with rapt attention.
He was of royal blood dating back to the Pullo Royal family of Takrur origins in the old Torodbe Fulbe-speaking tribe in the Upper Nile valley. They were titled masters of the land ever before the Islamic introduction, also known as great leaders, kings, or laamiido originating from the old Serer title, lamane or laman, ancient kings before the 14th century Lam Toro or Leaders of Futa Toro.
From this ancient Adlam or Lamibe Royalty ran a rare bloodline characterized by great warriors of the way of the Sword. They were Manga cattle owners, comprising the three categories of nomadic or Mbororo, the semi-nomadic, and the town Fula.
Among them were also Alfas, poetic and musical genres, Amultans, and Seers.
From time to time the mark of the anchor show in lineage.
This was the birth of a child with the mark of the anchor.
The birthmark was roughly the shape of an anchor inside the armpit of a newborn. If it was a boy the child would be named Jagordo, which depicts Conqueror. If a girl she would be given the name Hauwa, which depicts confidence and female warriors.
Among them were named Ardo (Leader), Mangoro (Great Rearer), Chubado (Chosen one), Barkindo ( Blessed one), Modibbo (Lettered one) Baddo (Handsome or beautiful one), and many more.
During the naming ceremony of his second child and first daughter, there was organised by the Elders Council competition for the playing of the akhue game.
The years rolled by and he had other children all by his one bride.
Akhue was a flat top cone-shaped object carved from a stake wood about the size of a boy's fist. It was spun in motion with the aid of a piece of pieces strips of cloth tied to the end of a short stick. Once spinning a player has to keep it spinning by hitting it repeatedly with the strip of cloth.
In competition, two or more players keep spinning their respective akhue until the last person to keep his akhue spinning wins the competition.
That day it was evening. Four men whose wives had given birth within three months were selected to partake in the game. The trophy to be won was a brand new flywhisk.
Labbo was one of the four contestants. They played till dark before Labbo win the competition.
After he was given the trophy, Labbo called for silence, saying he had something to tell the entire village.
He made a prophecy.
That in the future of the four lives to come, a child would be born on the night the flywhisk would drop to the ground and stand upright without falling flat on its side. The child shall be a descendant of Hauwa, and he shall be a conqueror.
Then Labbo threw the flywhisk trophy into the air. It came down and stood on its wooden handle.
It stood still.
Time too stood still.
It defied the law of gravity and remained for all to see.
As the story concluded, the years rolled by and Labbo and his bride had several other children.
Until one day he was summoned by his people of the Sahel to come back home to ascend the throne of his ancestors.
He went home with his bride's children, leaving only Hauwa behind with her aged grandparents.
The story had it that for several years following, Labbo visited every year on the village festival on the first week of the first month.
Years rolled by and they got the sad news of his death.
The Village Damsel also died shortly after his demise and her body was brought to fulfill the promise of Labbo and his kinsmen.
The graves of Saratu and Hauwa, are they not there to this day.
So the story is told, though no now knows exactly where.
But some of the descendants can only be speculated, for those events took place four generations ago.
Omongbon was thought to be one of them.