the 1980 Trevi inoculations in Kreektown. A half-naked procession of a few hundred men and women carried their dead twenty kilometres to the Sontik State capital in Ubesia. Police trucks arrived to keep order, pouring out dozens of armed men, but the topless mourners were tragic, not threatening, and they flowed past checkpoint after checkpoint, chanting Menai dirges, provoking sympathy from policemen and an unprecedented empathy from the public, so that by the time the six bodies were laid out by the gates of the Governor’s office in Ubesia, the numbers of topless mourners had swollen into the tens of thousands. . . .
No mass hysteria of this nature had ever been reported in Nigeria before, or since.
22nd April, 1990
An attempted coup led by Major Gideon Orkar failed to unseat the government of General Ibrahim Babangida, which had been in power since 1985. It was the bloodiest coup attempt in Nigerian history. Many of the plotters were from Sontik State in the Niger Delta region of the country, and the coup had been inspired by the feeling of exploitation of the region’s minority ethnic nations. After the failed coup there was increasing talk of secession in Sontik State.
17th May, 1990
Denying any connection with the coup of April 1990 or the secession agitations, the government established several commissions and enquiries to attend to minority issues, including the Petroleum Communities Development Fund (PCDF), the Department of Research and Cultural Documentation (DRCD), and a certain Psychiatric Enquiry by Dr. Ehi Fowaka. . . .
* * *
Extracts from the 1990 Interim Psychiatric Evaluation of the Menai People
Executive Summary:
The Brief:
As the notorious Topless Procession case demonstrated, the Menai ethnic nation manifests an insular clannishness and resistance to modernity. Is this a symptom of an underlying psychiatric condition afflicting the entire ethnic nation? Are those traits likely to spread to Nigeria’s three-hundred-odd ethnic nations? Do they threaten Nigerian nationalism? Is this condition treatable, and if so, by what means?
The Subject:
The Menai is a minor ethnic nation whose global population at the date of this interim report is about one thousand. Ninety-five percent of all Menai live in Kreektown, an impoverished village on Agui Creek in Sontik State. Although there is only one known instance of public nudity among them, they are pathologically incapable of adapting to city life. They are victims of a group indoctrination that prevents them from emigrating from Kreektown. This made them particularly vulnerable to the defective Trevi inoculations during the 1980 Lassa fever outbreak. They address themselves as Menai, call their language Menai, and (although apparently of average intelligence) stubbornly speak Menai to the exclusion of the official Nigerian language in their village square.
Extract from the Glossary:
It is a feeble language, as I have mentioned elsewhere. There is actually no word for ‘suicide,’ which is understandable, I suppose: before this trauma of their imminent extinction, they had no cultural memory of Menai taking their own lives. Their word for ‘death’ is a portmanteau word that opens up into the English equivalent, sleepcatastrophe. Quaint, that. Sums up their entire world view.
Chief (Dr.) Ehi A. Fowaka
M.B.B.S.–F.R.C.Psych.–W.A.C.S.–F.M.C. (Psych)–F.W.A.C.P.–J.P.
* * *
Log One
SLEEPCATASTROPHES
Kreektown | March/April, 1990
Felimpe Geya
Sussie Bomadi
Filed Bomadi
Bolu Maame
Dubri Masingo
Sonnie Abah
Adje Makande
Ena Praye
Halia Gorie
Nala Nomsok
Solo Atume (aka “Chemist”)
Births
Nil
Extant Menai population: 1,160
(National Population Commission [NPC] estimates)
CHIEF (DR.) EHI A. FOWAKA
Ubesia | 19th January, 1994
I was having dinner that evening at the Big Time Hotel in Ubesia, when Jonszer arrived. Apart from the bills for my daughters’ school fees at Loyola Jesuit College, nothing brings tears to my eyes like a steamed catfish trembling in a hot bowl of egusi. I had one such before me, and I was eating it with many prayers of thanksgiving to the munificent God that watches over Ehi Fowaka. Then Jonszer arrived. My chief regret for taking this assignment is my new familiarity with souls like Jonszer. He was halfway across the restaurant, black-clad, wild-eyed, and pungent, when I saw him. Fortunately the headwaiter was there. He is a diligent fellow from my town; I knew his godmother. He would have done well if he had gotten his four GCEs. He was just serving my stout, and I spoke to him with my eyes—really sharp fellow, that headwaiter—and he intercepted Jonszer two yards from me and took him outside. I then, regretfully, made short work of my pounded yam.
Then I went out to meet Jonszer. This is what I am wearing today: a white linen outfit, one of the dozen I ordered at the start of Mr. President’s assignment. It is light but dignified, perfect for getting around in these wretched parts where efficient air conditioners are few and far between. Jonszer was quaffing a beer. That headwaiter! He knows how to engage characters like this! When Jonszer saw me he put his bottle to his mouth and gobbled efficiently, putting it down when it was empty. ‘You come, now,’ he said, rising.
He did not mean to be rude, or imperious. His English was rudimentary, very much a second language spoken only when the other person couldn’t be forced to speak Menai.
There were several good reasons not to follow the amiable drunk. Yet Kreektown’s only hotel was a major apology. Working with people like Jonszer allowed me to stay in the relative comfort of Big Time Hotel, while doing excellent fieldwork in Kreektown. That appalling name alone was enough to drive my business elsewhere, but my regular hotels were full. I wanted to ask more questions of Jonszer, but we were attracting attention. This is not the sort of riffraff you want to be socially associated with. I summoned my driver, and we set off. Jonszer sat up front. I took the owner’s corner. Beside me was Akeem, my PA, cameraman, interpreter, and general dogsbody.
‘So tell me about this place you’re taking us to.’
‘Is a funeral. A Menai funeral.’
‘A funeral?’
‘Yes,
