DIVORCE IN THE NIGERIAN AND WEST AFRICAN COMMUNITIES IN THE UNITED STATES

Divorce in the Nigerian and West African Immigrant Communities in the united States


Divorce is universal, meaning that divorce happens all over the world. Even in Biblical times,divorce was around and Jesus himself answered questions on the subject. Why then has divorce taken a whole new angle in the new immigrant communities in the United States. In the African immigrant communities, especially West African and more specifically Nigerian, the divorce rates have escalated and so have spousal abuse and homicides. In one year alone, up to five women died at the hands of their husbands. Most of the victims were Nurses. Discussions in chat rooms and mail fora display a variety of views and opinions on this very serious subject. Cultural influences weigh in heavily. Back in the homelands in West Africa, marriages were and are still mostly family affairs where the families and extended families of the couple are all involved to a certain extent in the marriage. When problems come and every attempt to save it fails, and a marriage must end, the families are again involved and the divorce is settled with mutual respect and the familes usually part as friends and the man and woman go their seperate ways,to remarry or do whatever they choose to do with their lives. Being Igbo, I am looking at this subject from the Igbo cultural perspective.The Igbo people take marriage very seriously and go through many customary steps to set up a marriage and when a marriage breaks up,there are also special customs which must be fulfilled to bring the marriage to a close. Over the last three decades, many Nigerians started putting down roots in the United States. It used to be that most of them got their education and then moved back to their homeland. A combination of many factors changed that trend and Africans,mostly Nigerians settled down after college with hopes of moving back to the homeland someday.Political and economics downturns are some of the factors contirbuting to the flight from the homeland by middle class Nigerians, even increasing the population of the Exiles. Many Nigerians have now reared or are having and raising their children here in the United States. At the same time, they remain a life line for their families and extended families in the homeland. This unusual set up tend to put a lot of stress on relationships and marriages. Here you have a family not fully settled because of plans to relocate back to the homeland someday, raising children, paying college tuition and bearing heavy burdens for family members thousands of miles away,and sometimes trying to set up homesteads in the homeland while maintaining one in the United States. As the burden of this way of life started taking its toll, marriages started succumbing just as domestic violence and spousal homicide became occurences that keep repeating. Money and finances are at the top of the causes of marital problems in these groups, not surprisingly. Alarmed, Nigerians are trying to cope with the burden of this problem which has drawn undesirable attention to the community already dealing with image problems. Women are given almost all the blame for the trend and quite unfairly too. Most divorced women are not vocal on this matter for fear of taking insults and criticisms. For the few who dare to speak up and live freely like normal people, the insult, both verbal and otherwise dished out to them by some people both men and women who feel that marriages collapse because the wives are inadequate as women and as wives. The probability of the cause of a divorce being a woman or man's fault is like the probablity of having a pregnant woman having a male or female baby. As painful as the unwarranted charges are, the real blow comes when serious intimidation is employed to keep such women quiet and miserable. Taunting, mocking, name calling and other methods are used to stifle these women. Sometimes, private lives are openly discussed and ridiculed. The feelings, interests, and privacy of the children are totally ignored. Swipes are often taken at each other by couples with marital problems on the internet, with each putting out private information, often laced with lies and half truths. The shocking revelations beget more resentment which in turn, at the urging of some of the readers and commentators, more ugliness is published at the expense of the writer, the subject and the children. The commentators add fuel to the fire, and most of the time without knowing the details, they take sides whether fairly or unfairly. The sad thing which most people miss is that being right or having more support does not in anyway change the situation. Only losers come out of divorces, no winners at all. The marriage may be already over, almost over or heading to the rocks. Instead of stepping in to stop the storm and save the marriage, or make the inevitable seperation and subsequent divorce cordial and peaceful as is the way in the homeland, the community resorts to criticism and antagonism. No mechanisms of intervention are in place, no education or discussion of the impact of living in a new culture or environment on marriages, are taking place. Most of the talk is on shifting blame and condemning, using culture, and bible verses,some of the time out of context, and even when not relevant to every situation. Change is coming very slowly. From the chat rooms and forum discussions, some of the problems and isues leading to the high rate of divorce and spousal homicide in Nigerian communities have at least been mentioned. As this year 2008 draws to an end, only one case of spousal homicide was reported, one too many, but a great improvement, none the less. The ideal thing is zero spousal homicide, reduced violence and divorce rates.
Ndi Igbo (Igbo people) have a saying --"mpempe ndu ka mpempe onwu nma" meaning that " a little peace of life is better than a little piece of death". If a divorce will save a life or lives, then so be it.
Hopefully, the rates of domestic violence and spousal homicide in the Nigerian communities will continue to drop. I hope that 2009 will roll in a new era of preventive actions through objective discussions on intervention through counselling, education, and town union sessions dedicated solely to families and family needs.
Chinwe A. Enemchukwu
November 2008.


Related: relationships, nigerians, family, divorce, counselling, children

FLASH FROM THE PAST ( IGBO SURVIVAL)

The Igbo (Ibo) of Eastern Nigeria went through a horrible war trying to seceed from Nigeria, following the pogrom and killing of thousands of Igbo in Northern Nigeria. The young Republic of Biafra collapsed in January 1970. Following is a report by TIME from July 1970.

"...Thousands of tons of relief food rotted on Lagos' docks; eventually stocks of Dutch powdered milk intended for starving children were used to fill road potholes in Port Harcourt..."
TIME MAGAZINE: Monday July 17, 1970

The unconquerable Ibos

Crowds still line the roads to Enugu and Orlu, Umuahia and Aba, major centers of Nigeria's Ibo tribe. But now the crowds are made up mostly of traders and their customers, not fleeing refugees. In Nnewi, the Cool Precious Restaurant for Good Diet is back in business. The breweries are working again, and cold beer goes swiftly at $1 a bottle. The Ibo commercial instinct is reasserting itself everywhere—from the $20-a-night Bristol Hotel in Lagos, where Ibo businessmen throng to re-establish their contacts, to the smallest villages, where young boys sell cigarettes for a few cents' profit. "They have learned a lot from the war," a Yoruba from Nigeria's Western Region told TIME Correspondent James Wilde last week. "They will never try armed force again, but will use their brains instead. This is far more dangerous."
The Yoruba spoke with mingled admiration and apprehension. Three years ago the Ibos established the breakaway nation of Biafra and precipitated Black Africa's worst civil war. When the war ended last January, close to 2,000,000 of them were dead or missing, Biafran Leader Odumegwu Ojukwu was headed for exile in the Ivory Coast, and the Ibo homeland was a shambles. But with the armistice six months old this week, the Ibos appear well on the way to reviving. "They have not been conquered," said the Yoruba. "They have merely cleared the decks to build anew."

Vacuum Cleaners. After Biafra fell, there were fears that many of the surviving 4,000,000 Ibos there would be slaughtered or starved. But there were no sweeping reprisals, and certainly no genocide. When the federal 3rd Marine Commando Division followed the armistice with an outburst of rape and pillage, Major General Yakubu Gowon, leader of Nigeria's government, swiftly replaced the unit. Though Major General Philip Effiong, who surrendered to Gowon, is still in custody, along with a score of other ranking Biafran officials, all other prisoners of war have been sent home. The East Central State, where the Ibos are concentrated, is administered by an Ibo, Anthony Ukpabi Asika, 33, who studied at U.C.L.A., taught at the University of Ibadan, and sided with the federal government in Lagos during the rebellion. But seven of Asika's ten ministers were officials of the secessionist Biafran government.

Despite the swift pace of revival, misery has by no means been banished from the East Central State. Hospitals are short-staffed and overcrowded. Some roads ripped up to slow Nigerian armored cars have not been repaired. Ex-soldiers, known as "vacuum cleaners" because they are so thorough, roam the region stealing from villagers. In Enugu, a businessman explained why he could never reach Lagos by telephone: "Thieves steal the copper telephone lines, melt them down and sell the ingots in Lagos, where they are made into telephone lines."
Starvation is still a major concern, and 200 children are dying each week of malnutrition or the protein deficiency called kwashiorkor that killed thousands during the war. After the armistice, the Nigerian Red Cross and the Federal Commission for Reconstruction quarreled over which should supervise Ibo relief operations; one result was a breakdown in aid. Most of the 300 British and U.S. vehicles rushed in to carry food have either been "diverted" or have stopped running for lack of spare parts. Thousands of tons of relief food rotted on Lagos' docks; eventually stocks of Dutch powdered milk intended for starving children were used to fill road potholes in Port Harcourt.

Barter Economy. Getting supplies into Ibo territory is difficult, because "General" Gowon firmly refuses to open the airstrip at Uli, a symbol of Biafra's resistance. The present alternative, now that Asika's government is taking over relief work from the Nigerian Red Cross, is a creeping system of old cars and trucks, some still carrying bright red Biafran license plates.

The Ibos are as short of cash as they are of food, and a barter trade has developed in which dried salted stockfish frequently takes the place of money. The East Central State government, which cannot run on stockfish, has a budget of approximately $80 million this year, but expects to collect only $14 million in local taxes. One result is that thousands of civil servants will not be paid.

Surviving the Slight. Jobs are still scarce. The once ubiquitous Ibo shopkeeper and market mammy are unwelcome in much of the rest of Nigeria. Before the war, there were 8,000 Ibo civil servants in Lagos; barely 1,000 will get their jobs back. Port Harcourt, center of a thriving oil industry that has already nearly doubled wartime production to 1,100,000 barrels a day, was once 90% Ibo; it is now 100% Rivers tribesmen. But the Ibos seem able to survive the slight. "We are very much like the Jews," said a former Biafran civil servant. "You know what happened to them during World War II. Now they are a force to be reckoned with."

Mothers are for.........

Mothers are for loving you

If you're good or bad.

Mothers are for sharing

Whatever makes you glad.

Mothers are for laughing

At your favorite jokes.

Mothers are for helping you

Get along with folks.

Mothers are for reading

Stories old and new.

Mothers are for teaching you

To always be kind and true.

Mothers are for watching

When you give a play.

Mothers are for clapping

In a happy sort of way.

Mothers are for loving

When you snuggle up so tight.

Mothers are for hugging you

With a sweet good night.

Nduka Enemchukwu . (copyright) May 1994.

Back in 1994, precisely twelve years ago, a few days to mother's day, my son's fifth grade teacher sent home a large envelope with him addressed to me. Being a good student and a good boy overall,Iwas'nt worried about the contents of the envelope. A note inside read it : Dear Mrs Enemchukwu, I thought you may want to keep this, since it's so special, I laminated it for you". I pulled out an 8x10 laminated pink poster paper with a poem on it. The title was " Mothers are for....... and signed and dated by my son Nduka Enemchukwu . He stood there in anticipation, so I read the poem and pulled him close and gave him a big hug for writing such a sweet poem specially for me. I put it away in my scrap book where I put awards or such things from school or sporting events.With our hectic schedule, there was no time for dwelling on the poem at the time.A typical day started with my return from work in the morning and the house buzzing with before school activities. The children would be almost halfway through getting ready for school by the time I get home and we hurry and get everyone out the door and see the bicycle riders off and I take the car riders and the baby to get in the the drop- off line before it becomes too long. Some days the line would be so long that I am usually able to get a good ten to fifteen minute cat nap before it is our turn to drop off. The two year old and I would then hurry home, bathe east breakfast and then proceed totidy up the house quickly . He looked foward to our time together because he had me all to himslf. After breakfast, we would watch for Sesame Street and other of his favorite children's program before we go to sleep. On good days he would let me get up to three hours of sleep, on bad days or when he was sick, it would be off and on cat naps on the couch in between watching Tv, playing or just trying to get over an ear infection or another uncorfortable problem. If I fell asleep in the middle of his favorite show, he would gently try to wake me up for the laughs. Then it's time for afterschool pick ups. First, the three bicycle riders arrive, full of ennrgy and excitement and stories to tell. The pick up line for the two car riders was usually long by the time I got there and the girls were tired and quiet on the ride home after standing in the blazing Florida sun wiating for their turn to be picked up. The evenings were usually spent at practice for Tennis, Basketball, Cross country depending on which sporting event they were involved in at the time. If there was no practice , they played in the yard and usually took the little one and I would manage another hour or two of sleep before homework, dinner and off to work. Even during the week end and Summer, when school was out, getting adequate sleep was a big challenge. Sports practice, YMCA swimming lessons, Tennis tournaments whch sometime took us to Tampa or Fort Lauderdale, Florida kept us on our toes. A few neighbors and friends from church whose children were in the same program, helped out once in a while and gave rides to my children allowing me time to sleep before working the night shift. Two occasions come to mind when I absolutely thought I would lose my mind. The two-year old had surgery, an out patient event that requred us to be at the hospital by seven thirty in the morning. Having no vacation time left, I pleaded with my supervisor to let me bring him to work with me so we could leave from work to his appointment in the morning. My request was granted and I took him to work which made him very happy. Being in an unfamiliar environment, it was difficult for him to settle down and sleep and he kapt demanding something to drink which I could'nt give him becasue he was NPO and was not allowed to eat or drink anything. Calming him down while trying to do my work was a big challenge.We went straight to the hospital from work, about a thirty minute drive and were almost late when we got there, despite the fact that my relief came in early so I could leave. They quickly prepped him and took him to the operating room. I fell asleep in the waiting room and the nurse woke me up when the surgery was over and asked that I come and stay with him in the recovery room. They knew I had worked the night before and gave me a recliner. We slept side by side while the nurses watched us like we were both in recovery. When he came to, they woke me up to hold him because he was crying for pain. They gave him some pain medication and we hung around for another two hours before they discharged us with instructuions and an appoitment slip for follow up.We drove home uneventfully but trouble started when we got home and the little gellow could'nt do all the things he used to do. He got frustrated and cried at the drop of a pin. Carrying him on my back with a wrapper used to work wonders because he enjoyed it, stayed out of trouble and usually fell asleep in no time. This time, I could'nt carry him because of his surgical wound so it was cranky town for the next few days.He cried if any of his siblings approached or touched him. Two days, I called in sick, then I took him to work with me for about three days. We were both relived when his wound healed and he could move around again and do things for himself.Another hairy situation arose one day as I was cooking one hot summer day. Having been raised on beans, I continue to enjoy beans to this day, especially lentils and black beans. They have less carbohydrate and do not cause as much bloating as the black eye beans. I would cook beans (beanse) as my children called it trying to mimmick Nigerians, and serve it with rice and stew or with plantain. Every one enjoyed it. It usally took just a few minutes to cook the beans in a pressure cooker. Even when we made Chili from scatch, we cooked the Kidney beans with the pressure cooker which leaves the beans soft and intact and not mushy as the children describe over cooked food.On that fateful day, we had come back from a morning of tennis practice and every one was exhausted and staying inside, away from the blazing heat. I started dinner early so we can eat and relax a little bit before it was time for work. I started rice in one pot, made stew and then started the beans in the pressure cooker. I sat down on the couch and fell asleep. Then I saw little people jumping up and down in front of me poiting to the kitchen and saying something. I thought I was dreaming. When I finally woke up, I realized something was going on in the kitchen. My children always tease me for burning food because I fell asleep on the couch. They had no idea how to handle this particular situation and I am happy they did'nt try.The loud whistling and hissing of the pressure cooker made me run to the kitchen. I was confused by what I saw. I stood there for a minute trying to figure out how to tackle the problem and the children kept yelling" Mom do something , do something. So I ran towrds the stove to turn off it off. The pressure cooker had blown its top and was sending a steady stream of hot liquid to the ceiling and the hot liquid was raining on the kitchen floor. I slipped on the thick liquid on the floor and landed sitting squarley in it while more rained on my head. I tried to get up, slipped and fell again. My children were dying with laughter and trying so hard to conceal it. Desperate to do something quickly, I crawled on all fours to the stove, reached up and turned it off. The whistling finally subsided and the upward spray stopped. By this time we were all rolling on the floor laughing. I was dripping with bean broth , in my hair, on my arms, on my face. The children kept apologising for laughing at me but it was so funny they could,nt help it. Funny, not really, that pot could have exploded or blown a hole in the ceiling. I never used a pressure cooker again since that close call.The years went by really fast and middle school and high school breezed by and college is also becoming history and sometimes I wonder where the years went.A few days ago, while putting away Aj's High school graduation notice in my scrap book,a pink laminted poster paper fell out and I picked it up and read it and it was the peom from long ago. For the first time,I noticed the rhyme, the thoughtfulness and the simple things that mattered to a ten year old and I was touched. No wonder the teacher laminated it and sent it to me to personally. I called the poet and asked him if he remembered the mother's day peom he wrote for me in fifth grade. " I wrote so many poems in those days Mom" he responded and I remember clearly the little notes he would bring home and I will show my appreciation and just put them aside on the table on night stand. I asked hime if I could share this special poem since he had signed and dated it. He was laughing at how seriously I was taking the copyright issue. I insisted that he copyright it before mother's day and he promised to do just that. With that I felt I had the freedom to share this special poem from a ten year old, now twenty two who thinks the world of his mother and the little things she did and does. My prayer is that he will one day be blessed with that special someone, who will think the world of him and who he will adore as he adores his mother

.To all the single Moms out there, pulling double duty to give their children a normal life, and to all the Dads who are filling Mom's shoes because Mom is winning the bread and is too busy or Mom is simply out to left field, this Poem is for you.