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I love many types of music. I have my grandfather to thank for my love of music. My grandfather was Unoka. He was a talented musician and gentle, if idle. He was a dreamer, ill suited to the chauvinistic culture into which he was born.

My dad, Okonkwo, has been ashamed of him since childhood. By the standards of the clan, Unoka was a coward and a spendthrift. He never took a title in his life, he borrowed money from his clansmen, and he rarely repaid his debts. He never became a warrior because he feared the sight of blood. Moreover, he died of an abominable illness. sad

I, however, like to remember him for his positive qualities. He was a talented flute player. His happiest moments were the two or three moons after the harvest when the village musicians brought down their instruments, hung above the fireplace. Unoka would play with them, his face beaming with blessedness and peace. Sometimes another village would ask Unoka’s band and their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with them and teach them their tunes. They would go to such hosts for as long as three or four markets, making music and feasting. lol

Oh, how I miss those jam sessions! What fun we had, but I was so little! Yet, what a lasting impression this has made on my life! heart

To this day I can hear in my mind’s ear the blood-stirring and intricate rhythms of the ekwe and the udu and the ogne, and I can hear my grandfather’s flute weaving in and out of them, decorating them with a colorful and plaintive tune. The total effect is gay and brisk, but if one picked out the flute as it went up and own and then broke up into short snatches, one can see there is sorrow and grief there.
cool