The biggest hero of Zerechi is not one who wins in the fight for the body of a killed animal, but the Nne Ruwu and the Nne Rigbe. The two men are chosen from the house of Nu’uwhye, one of the dozen houses that make up Irigwe land. In Irigwe folklore, you wake up to find the rigbe beside you, if the gods agree that you are most qualified to be the Nne Rigbe.
The prehistoric Irigwe man understood the year had come full cycle from stones he kept. There must have been about 365 of them. Every day, he took out one. By the time he sees five remaining from his starting heap, for instance, he knew there were five days left before Zerechi. It was declared, and the public would join the countdown.
In the few weeks before Zerechi, the elders at Nu’uwhye “speak with the gods.” There
is an epiphany of the Nne Ruwu and Nne Rigbe. On Zerechi Day, the Nne Rigbe begins
his journey with his rigbe (the horn.)
He walks from Kwall, the ancestral home, descending the steep rocky slopes of
the valley that separates Kwall in the south and Miango in the north. He
crosses the river and climbs out of the valley, entering Miango. From time to
time, he stops and blows his horn. The sound reverberates across the whole of
Irigwe land. He is telling people that the year has come full cycle and it is
Zerechi, the Christmas of Irigwe people. He continues his walk until he comes
to a place called, Iyi-Shoko. At that point, the Nne Ruwu (the man of rites)
takes over. Once the Nne Ruwu takes over, the walk ends, the marathon begins. There
are crowds running after him in this marathon to Rotsu.
“You don’t dare pass the Nne Ruwu, you’ll die,” goes the belief. “You don’t
cross the path on which he runs. If you do, you’ll die.” “You don’t dare cross
the River Ruhwyevo, before he does: you don’t want to die young.” His bearing
is the north, where Rotsu is located. There are villages to the left and right
of the path on which he runs. Other villages are miles away from his path. The
men from all these villages gather together at the River Ruhwyevo, waiting for
the hero. The men, young and old, short and tall, big and frail, just sit at
the bank of river, waiting and admiring his heroism. There is a cacophony from
the jokes, the teasing and laughter. There is tension. It comes from the
anticipation of his arrival. It comes from wondering whether one will make it
in the fight to get close to the hero –the crowd is huge.
The year I witnessed Zerechi for the first time, we came from Renwhienku to the
east of Rostu. We turned up at the river bank, tired from the long walk. Then
we sat. There was a fairly long wait. Then, suddenly, there was a faint chant
of a war song that made it through the distance. At our own end, everybody instinctively
sprang up. “A rebe” (he is
coming) chorused the voices. Then, the distant chant got closer and closer,
until the Nne Ruwu came to view. Then the elders started warning the youths
against the temptation of crossing the river before the hero does.
When he finally turned up, I was able to catch a glimpse of him. He was a dark young man of average height and built, and exuded heroism even in the way he ran. The waiting crowd barely let him cross the river. There were, perhaps, countless spots from where water splashed, as men jumped into the river behind the hero. It was as if millions of stones had been thrown from heaven with all falling within a span of two seconds.
The shrine at Rotsu is a place in a wild forest. On a normal day, an ignorant passer-by would just walk through it, not observing something out of the ordinary. There is, however, a belief that though the shrine is like any other place is a forest, someone walking through will feel, in his head, that something is knocking him out of balance. It is a hint that the place isn’t ordinary.
At this shrine the ritual is performed, throwing grains, spilling
the blood of an animal and praying for the rains to come and nourish the farms
for good harvest as the farming season beckons. Then the crowd disperses. The hunting
continues. In the hunting other heroes would be made.
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