In Chains of the Crosier

Copyright © 2013 by Onyeomabueze Uba.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

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without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 11/05/2013

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Contents

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty One

Twenty Two

Twenty Three

Twenty Four

DEDICATION

To the missionary spirit of Saint Vincent Pallotti

To the true and compassionate missionary, father Peter Hillen (sac)

Pioneer Rector, Society of the Catholic Apostolate Mbaukwu, Nigeria.

ONE

The morning was dark; darker than a thousand nights. Silence ruled over turbulence and peace bid the inhabitants of the land welcome to a new day. Like a sleeping new born, one could feel the serenity of the morning. Though the birds were far from the streets of the city, their morning offerings could be heard filtering faintly along the route of the morning breeze. They sang to the glory of the gods of the new day and their songs harmonized the peace of the morning.

Suddenly a bell began to peal. It pealed from the topmost end of the gigantic cathedral tower, piercing the still cold air of the silent morning. As if they had been waiting to be summoned by it, people trooped in their numbers towards the bell. Since Offornaogu land was a stronghold of Catholicism, people were walking in groups reciting the words of the Holy Rosary.

The cathedral church was a high rise gigantic structure made of ceramic walls and tiled floors, windows portraying the images of the saints and angels. It was a beautiful work of art built in the image of the miter with the side tower built in the form of the crosier. With a large expanse of land serving as the compound, carefully tendered lawns were set in the girdle of tress. Roads were mapped to allow for easy flow of traffic and pathways built through the grasses.

The cathedral was almost filled with worshippers when the last bell pealed and the church wardens crossed the doors with wooden frames. The bishop, preceded by the altar boys and priests, in that order, marched up the altar as the whole congregation stood as the choir rendered a song.

‘In the name of the father, and of the son and of the holy spirit,’ the bishop sang in a very high pitch.

‘Amen’ the congregation responded

‘The lord be with you’, he spread his hands.

‘And also with you,.

Father Uchenna Achebe, a huge and dark complexioned man in his early forties was one of the priests who sat on the front facing the altar. At the end of the mass, he walked out from the cathedral having removed his vestments at the sacristy. Dressed in a spotless white soutane, he wore a full dark hair and lenses resting on a pointed nose sheltered his eyes. He stepped into the graveled area in his black sandals and his soutane flowed to and fro exposing his black trousers.

‘Good morning father,’ a young girl sweetly smiled her greetings.

‘Good morning my daughter, how are you?’ he smiled back.

‘I am fine father.’

‘You are dressed for school today?’

‘Yes father, I normally go to school from morning mass.’

‘That’s very good. Make sure you keep to it.’ He thought for a while; as if he remembered something, then he turned to the girl. ‘But today is Saturday,’ he said.

‘Yes father; we are going on outing to the Obi Eze.’

‘Yes, I remember. The Iwaji festival begins today.’ He thrust his right hand inside his pocket and brought out some notes of ego. ‘Take this for your transport,’ he extended his hand.

‘I am sorry father. My parents already gave me money for transport.’

‘Use it for tomorrow then,’ he insisted.

The young girl was reluctant to take the money but on a second thought, she stretched her hand.

‘Thanks father,’ she smiled.

‘Father Achebe!’ a priest walked towards them. ‘Aren’t you going for the recollection?’

‘Oh! Father Omaliko,’ he turned in the direction of the voice. ‘I will join you soon. Let me finish with my little angel.’

‘But the bishop is waiting. He went straight from the mass.’ he asserted.

‘Ok then, let’s go. Goodbye my friend.’ He waved.

She waved back; turning towards the gate, she capered.

Father Achebe was a priest known for his intelligence and wisdom when matters of the church were concerned. Having spent over nine years overseas where he went for further studies and subsequently was assigned a local parish as chaplain, his intelligence and experience grew with strength. Those who knew him very well knew he was a balanced choleric who had made a name for himself. Though from an unknown background, he had risen to become one of the indispensables in Offornaogu. It is said that when a child washes his hand very well, he eats with the elders and the kings. Father Achebe had washed his hand very well and had risen to eat with the Popes and the Lords.

As a seminarian, he had first class in philosophy and theology. As a result of his intelligence, seminarians of his time nick named him the wizard. A story was told of him; when he stood in argument for over one hour with a visiting professor. The professor scored him an ‘A’ without him writing a project.

In all this, still stood a man whose middle name was controversy. As calm and blunt as he was, people gossiped that he was motivated by a hidden ambition. Some said it was because of his poor background, others say it was as a result of pride.

Fathers Achebe and Omaliko walked straight to the recollection hall which stood a distance from the office of the bishop; they were the last to enter when the opening prayer was already going on. The bishop and some of the diocesan officials sat behind a long table on a higher pavement facing the other priests who sat in six rows of six columns. The hall dressed in immaculate white, radiated rays of light and many did not take notice of the cloudy day.

The opening prayer ushered in Father Odinuko who delivered a talk he captioned; ‘The Priest and Laity: The Challenges of a Better Catholic Brotherhood’. Father Odinuko took on the priests on their responsibilities as it concerned the enhancement of better understanding between the clergy and the laity. He spoke extensively on the abuse of authority by some of the priests who thought that the church belonged to them. He warned them of the consequences of not allowing the laity to take ownership of the church as seen in the constant imposition of their will on the people. The talk ended with a short prayer and the priests went on break.

Three priests walked a path with Father Achebe.

‘I don’t know why Father Odinuko always talks like that,’ one of them bleated.

‘I was thinking he spoke well,’ Father Omaliko disagreed.

Fr Achebe smirked, ‘if he spoke well, then you listened very well.’

‘Let’s forget about the old man and talk about better things,’ Father Odinuko said.

‘That’s true Father Omaliko; you ought to be leaving your parish this year.’ Father Nkume added

‘Why don’t you wait until I finish eating?’

Father Achebe entered the refectory and others followed him. Some priests had settled down eating when they walked into the refectory.

‘It seems some people did not take their supper last night.’ Father Omaliko jokingly observed.

‘Are you not the one who said earlier that you listened to Father Odinuko with rapt attention?’ Father Achebe turned and looked askance at him. ‘Don’t you think this is a sign of protest?’

Father Achebe, in company of the other priests went into the refectory and took their seats at one end; four seats for one table and coincidentally they were four in number. They sat round one of the wooden tables in the midst of other priests who also sat in groups of four. The refectory was very noisy as many priests were sighted chatting and exchanging pleasantries. Some sisters and seminarians who helped in sharing the food were moving from one table to the other amidst jokes from the priests.

Few moments later, the bell rang to signal the end of the break. Some who were still eating rushed their meals and went straight to the recollection hall. They sat for sometimes in a hush awaiting the arrival of the bishop. In a short while the bishop, his secretary and the chancellor entered the hall; they went straight to their seats.

The chancellor opened his file and brought out some sheets of paper which he handed over to the bishop’s secretary and the secretary stood up facing the priests.

‘As you all know,’ he spoke softly, ‘today is our recollection and posting day. Without wasting much of your time, I shall by the authority of the bishop call out the new postings as it is written here. But before that, the bishop will like us to know one thing and that I think is very important. For the past years, it has been a tradition to allow parish priests three years renewable tenure and their assistance two years. But after a careful study of events and other developments, the bishop took with interest the complacency of some of the parish priests who now see it as their right to serve whether they do well or not. The bishop has as a matter of correction decided that anybody could be changed at any point in time depending on one’s performance. If one must complete one’s tenure, one has to show that in one’s performance.’ He paused. ‘Having said that, I shall now call out the new postings.

Fever of fear sat in the midst of the white robed priests and their minds taken by anxiety. The hall was calm and silence took the front seat where the least of the priests could see it. The tension was very high after the announcement of the new order since no one was sure of what could be the outcome of the new decision.

Though some of them had lobbied their ways to the rich and influential parishes but hearing the new order was a thing of shock and surprise. Those who are not in the good book of the powers that be were always the ones to serve in the interior, poor and abandoned parishes. They were not expecting anything better for they had been in cold before the winter.

Few moments later, the bishop’s secretary started calling out the names and their new parishes. Some of the priests who were posted to remote villages had their faces swollen with pain and they glower in their looks but those who got the rich and city parishes jubilated in their smiles.

‘Holy Trinity Catholic Parish Anunuebe: Father Okechukwu Odinuko, parish priest; Father Obinna Otiba, assistant parish priest. St Mary’s Catholic Parish, Onyeaghananwanneya: Father Uchenna Achebe, parish priest and Father Oderaa Ojenabali, assistant parish priest.’

He went on and on calling the names as the priests waited with bated breath.

Father Achebe, not interested in other parishes, went out of the hall and some priests walked along with him.

‘Father,’ one of them called for his attention. ‘Where were you posted and who is your assistant?’ he asked

‘From what I have here, my brother,’ he turned towards the priest, ‘they said I was posted to eeeem . . ., eeeem . . ., he groped for the right word. ‘Let me bring out the note.’ He slit open his file and brought out a sheet of paper. ‘Oh yes! St Mary’s Parish Onyeaghananwanneya,’ He looked again trying to pronounce the name as it was written. ‘This name seems too long to me. I hope I can pronounce it after a long stay outside this land.’

‘Oh father, it is a long name indeed but the meaning will help you get it right. It simply means, be your brother’s keeper.’

‘Have you been to the parish? How long is it from here?’

‘It’s not too far father. It is about thirty minutes drive from here. Just drive towards Amaala Local Government headquarters, turn to your right and ask anybody the direction of the parish. It is a famous one.’ He smiled mischievously.

‘What’s so famous about the parish? Are they ardent Christians?’

‘Not necessarily that, but a case of mixed judgment; some say they are more of pagans than Christians. Many of them are pagans who still believe in the practices of traditional religion; they are very rich father,’ he spoke in a husky whisper. ’

‘But pagans do not come to the church. They should be in their villages practicing whatever they share of their gods.’

‘Less I forget father, who is your assistant?’

‘I think they called him Oderaa. Am yet to meet him, guess before am done, I will meet him. And you,’ he asked a priest. ‘Where were you posted?’

‘I am serving at the cathedral as an assistant secretary. I hope you will remember me in your paradise.’

‘Why not wait until I see the paradise?’

Father Achebe left him and hurtled towards his car. A Honda Accord saloon car parked at a car park beside the cathedral. He entered his car, fastened his seat belt and zoomed off through the tarred road leading to the gate.

‘Father!’ someone called him from the side. ‘Father, Father! Please wait.’

Father Achebe slammed the brake and the car came to a halt. The fair priest ran to the car, leaned forward and hunched over the driver’s side.

‘Oh father, are you going already?’ he wondered. ‘I was wondering if you could spare me sometimes.’ He said, beaming widely.

‘Yes of course, what is it about?’ he asked.

‘Oh, I am Father Oderaa; the one who is to assist you.’

"O yes,’ he nodded. ‘Why don’t you come over to my house so we can make out time for ourselves?’

‘It is fine by me father, but I am not sure if I know where you live.’

‘You know I just returned from studies. At the moment, I am living with Father Okeke at the seminary."

‘Is it Father Okeke of Tansi Seminary?"

‘Yes, he takes them in Spiritual Theology.’

‘I think I know his house. I will be there tomorrow.’

‘Maybe you should come in the morning so we can go together to our new parish.’

‘It’s ok by me.’

‘That’s fine, see you then,’ he wind up his glass.

TWO

Father Achebe and Father Oderaa set out on a journey to St Mary’s Catholic Church Onyeaghananwanneya. They headed towards Amaala Local Government Headquarters through the newly constructed express way. When they got to Amaala Local Government Headquarters, they turned into a lonely road leading to Onyeaghananwanneya. Trees waved and birds sang; villagers rode on their bicycles carrying their passengers on their worn out carriers with their farm implements hanged around their bicycles frames. They cruised along the lonely route observing the calmness and innocence of nature and some of the villagers who hoofed it to the farm excitedly waved.

The route was longer than they expected but they cruised with patience until they came at a signpost indicating St Mary’s Catholic Church Onyeaghananwanneya. They turned into a compound of an uncompleted church building looking around the gigantic tress which danced to the sonorous tunes of the morning breeze.

‘This should be the father’s house,’ Father Oderaa noted, pointing in the direction of a two storey building.

‘O yes, I think so,’ Father Achebe concurred.

‘Kpam, kpam, kpam,’ Father Oderaa led the way. ‘Hello! Is anybody in?’

The father’s house was scanty with no sign of life. Taken over by weeds, they hacked through the narrow route to the small gate at the rear and spent sometimes padding about the compound but no one answered their feet.

‘Does it mean nobody is in this whole house?’ Father Oderaa bemoaned. Standing arms folded, he glared at the unpainted dirty house.

‘You can see there is nobody.’ Father Achebe said dispiritedly.

‘Maybe we should wait for a while and see if anybody will return.’ Father Oderaa brought out a small wooden bench; he flicked the dust off it and rested it on the wall at the car park.

‘Father let’s sit here and wait.’ He sat and the disappointed Father Achebe reluctantly joined him.

‘This place looks dirty.’ Father Oderaa could not hold his disappointment. ‘Does it mean there is nobody living with the parish priest?’

‘We are yet to know if there is a priest working here or not.’ Father Achebe said reluctantly with his right hand resting on his jaws. ‘I can’t imagine myself working in this kind of environment.’

‘We shall be going Father Oderaa,’ he stood and his soutane sparkled like a flint. ‘We shouldn’t waste our time sitting here.’

‘How do we see the parish priest then? I think it is better we wait for sometimes to see somebody?’

‘What if they are also farmers? It means our waiting is in vain. We shouldn’t sit here and wait for somebody who has gone to the farm; such person certainly, will return in the evening.’ He turned to father Oderaa who was still sitting down. ‘Do we have to wait here till the evening comes?’

‘I think you are right father, we should start going.’

They were ready to leave the compound when they heard the sound of a car. The car drove towards the gate leading into the father’s house. They stood at one end of the wall and watched a young man open the main gate. The car drove into the father’s house and parked close to an underground tank; an old white 504 Peugeot salon car with old tires and warn out paints.

An old man came out of the car wearing a brownish soutane; a soutane dented by dots of colored stains. His bushy grown hair and beard made him look more of a prophet than a priest and the fathers stared with bulging eyes. He wore an old black shoe and a long crucifix on his neck; average in height, huge and k—legged, his pot belly spoke louder than his dark lips. He stepped out of the car and wearily plodded towards the house.

‘Father!’ the young man called in a husky whisper. ‘Some priests are here to see you.’

‘Where are they?’ his voice quavered.

‘They are there father,’ he pointed in their direction.

He turned in their direction and saw white cloths. Opening a small bag he clinched in his ambit, he brought out a big lens; resting it on his wide nose, he set it to his eyes. He looked again in their direction, by then Father Achebe and Father Oderaa were at a close distance.

‘Good morning father,’ they greeted him simultaneously.

‘Good morning fathers,’ he responded. ‘You have come to see us today. Welcome,’ he shook them with his aged hands smiling. ‘Come in and have a sit.’

They followed him into the house and walked into a scanty sitting room.

‘Eeeem . . ., Udoka,’ he called.

‘Father!’ he ran.

‘Please, come fast with seats for our visitors.’ Observing the surprising looks on the face of his visitors, he stamped on one of the cockroaches pacing up and down. ‘Don’t mind us fathers. It’s one of those things here,’ he forced a smile.

Few minutes later, Udoka came back with a wooden bench and kept it at one end of the unpainted wall. The sitting room was large in size but lacked all necessary furniture. There were neither seats nor tables; the only visible thing being the portraits on the walls. Father Achebe and Father Oderaa sat down looking round the sitting room.

‘Welcome fathers,’ he sat down on a small seat which rested on the wall behind him. ‘You know I do not know any of you.’ He removed his lenses.

‘Oh! I am Father Achebe and this is my friend, Father Oderaa.’

‘Is it Father Achebe of the minor seminary?’

‘That was a long time ago father. I have left the seminary.’

‘But you look so much different. What happened to you?’ he set back his lenses and his eyes bulged.

‘I have not been around father. I just came back from studies overseas.’

‘Oh yes, I see,’ he nodded like a lizard. ‘You look so much different. Which part of the world did you come back from?’

‘From United States father,’

‘Los Angelis? California? New Jersey? Texas? Washington? Where precisely did you work?’

‘I worked for five years in Texas and then went to California. Last year, I was transferred to New Jersey and that’s where I came back from.’

‘That’s very good,’ he beamed. ‘You remind me of the old good days.’ He nodded continuously. Smiling away in what seemed like a nostalgic thought, ‘Oh! America; a beautiful land of beautiful people,’ he fantasized. As if someone interpolated his sweet sensation, he suddenly sighed. "And who did you say your friend is?’ he asked.

‘Oh my friend,’ Father Achebe looked around. ‘I think he is old enough to answer for himself.’

‘I am Father Oderaa Ojenabali,’ he said smiling.

‘Are you from Offornaogu Diocese?’

‘Yes father, I am one of the newly ordained.’

‘Forgive me; age is really no longer on my side. Aaaah! I remember,’ he brought his head closer. ‘Did you attend the recollection on Saturday? I was informed that I will be retiring this year.’ he whispered.

‘Yes father, we were there.’

‘Were you told who will be replacing the old man?’

They looked at themselves and gave a sign with their eyes.

‘We were there father and we heard it. In fact that is the reason why we are here.’

‘Are you the ones replacing me?’

‘Yes father. I was posted as the parish priest and my friend here as my assistant.’

‘But they shouldn’t have posted an intellectual like you here. Besides, this parish cannot take care of me not to talk of two of you. This is a village of confused people. Whatever,’ he waved it off, ‘are you ready to take over now?’

‘No father, the posting is to start by next month. We came to acquaint ourselves of what the parish is all about.’

‘You did well then,’ he stood. ‘It’s good I use this opportunity to tell you what you need to know about the parish or do you have another place to go?’

‘No father, you are free. That is the reason why we are here.’

‘I think there is nothing much to say. You saw the church building when you were coming in; that church has been like that since I came. They refused to build their church and I left it for them the way I met it. Ahaaah . . ., ahaaah . . ., you see the water tank near the car. They succeeded in putting it that way after I told them I will not celebrate mass without taking my birth. Ahaaah . . ., ahaaah . . .,’ he turned around. ‘You see the house they call father’s house. If you go round you will see it. There are two rooms down here and other things including the kitchen. As for the up, I have never been there. You know this step of a thing, I hardly climb and because of that, I decided to live downstairs at the room at that end,’ he pointed.

‘What else do they have? I hope am not forgetting anything. Ahaaah . . ., ahaaah . . .,’ Less I forget, are you going to employ a cook? We have a male cook ooh. I am used to him and he cooks very well. Ahaaah . . ., he cooks ooh! Almost everybody who comes to this house attests to that. How I wish he is around, he would have given you one of those dishes.’

‘Is it not good we retain him?’

‘That will be no problem.’ Father Achebe concurred.

‘If there is any other thing, you will find out when you come. You said it’s next month.’

‘Yes father, first Sunday of next month.’

‘Ok then, are you going to eat so they can prepare something for you? As for me, old people do not eat in the morning.’

‘But it is already one pm,’ Father Oderaa looked at his wrist watch.

‘Oh, it’s just one pm. It seemed our morning mass ended early today.’

‘Are you just returning from morning mass?’ they looked at themselves.

‘Can’t you see we came back in time? Anyway, by the time you begin, you will find out that sometime you have to take the morning mass to their farms otherwise you celebrate it alone.’

‘We are grateful father, we will be on our way now,’ they stood

‘Are you not waiting for the breakfast?’

‘Thanks father, we really have to be on our way. We have a burial mass to attend.’

‘Who died? You know we do not hear of anything around here. Once you are in, you are cut off from the diocese.’

‘Father, are you not aware that Monsignor Onyema died last week?’

‘Ahaaah . . ., ahaaah . . ., I can’t remember again. Is it last week he died?’

‘Yes father,’ he answered with some asperity in his voice. ‘He died last week and he will be buried today at the cathedral.’

‘Hahahahaha,’ he belly laughed. ‘Oh, I told them to buy me this thing but they went and bought the one that doesn’t talk. You see I told them I don’t hear of anything but they said I was lying. Have you seen it? If you didn’t tell me now, how would I have known?’ he stood and folded his lenses into his bag. ‘Let me go and start preparing. Maybe by the time I got there, they might have dismissed.’

‘But you have not taken your breakfast father.’ Father Achebe reminded him. ‘Don’t you think it’s better to take your food first?’

‘Is it not written that man shall not live by bread alone? Please wait,’ he left through the back door.

Father Achebe and Father Oderaa stood outside waiting for him. They waited for sometimes but the old man wasn’t coming.

‘What’s wrong with Father Ogbonna? Does he want us to live here?’ Father Achebe became restless

‘Let me check on him so we don’t arrive at the burial late.’ Father Oderaa walked through the sitting room and saw him talking with his boy. He had removed his soutane and was wearing a blue short on a white tee shirt.

‘Oh!’ He exclaimed. ‘Ahaaah . . ., ahaaah . . ., are you still around? I thought you would have left by now.’

‘But you told us