By Nameh John
November 12, 2024
Everybody thought Adazee was running mad until they saw her body in her room that gloomy Thursday morning. A strong wind blew through the window, and three vultures perched on the roof. Iye walked into the house, wearing a black buba. It was then that everyone knew the prophecy was true—everything Edamwen had foretold was coming to pass, one by one.
It all began on the 1st of October, 2019. Mr. Idehen passed away that Tuesday morning after a complicated battle with malaria. He left behind his twin daughters, Adazee and Rumwense, his wife, Mrs. Idehen, and his mother, whom everyone called Iye. They all lived together in a vibrant, gated community on Uyi-Oze Street, Ugbowo, Benin City.
Mrs. Idehen and her daughters spent every waking moment at Pa Idehen's side in the hospital before he passed, crying out to God for a miracle every single day. Despite his death, Mrs. Idehen’s faith remained unshaken; she believed her husband had been called to glory for a divine reason.
On that fateful day at the hospital, Pa Idehen was surrounded by family. Whenever they prayed, Iye would either excuse herself or sit in the corner with a heavy look on her face, as though the prayers made her uncomfortable. The moment Pa Idehen passed, Mrs. Idehen could no longer hold back her thoughts: “So now that your son has died, you’re happy, right? If you had joined us in prayer, it would’ve made a difference, and he would still be alive. Iye, why? Why do you hate your son so much?”
Iye was stunned. She couldn’t believe her daughter-in-law had openly accused her in front of everyone. Her fists clenched, her nose flared, and her brows furrowed in rage. With a snap of her fingers at Mrs. Idehen’s face—a gesture every Nigerian knows to mean "I will deal with you"—she stormed out of the hospital. No one saw her for the rest of the day, not even when they returned home that night.
But something strange happened. As Iye stormed off, a vulture flew overhead, following her until she disappeared from sight.
“You all saw it, right?!” Mrs. Idehen cried out. “My husband wasn’t just sick—he was killed. There is evil in my home, ooo!”
There was evil indeed.
Benin Funeral Customs: Oaths and Omens
Every Benin family has an Okaigbe, a position held by the eldest man in the family, whose duties include overseeing burial arrangements. The Okaigbe of the Idehen family was Omorodion, an oil tycoon who didn’t believe every family affair required his personal involvement. Instead, he appointed Edamwen, the orphaned son of Pa Idehen’s late uncle, to represent him, supervise the burial, and ensure everything was done in accordance with Benin native laws and customs.
Edamwen was well-suited for this role as he was the closest surviving younger male relative to the deceased. According to Benin tradition, the Okaigbe must select a male family member younger than the deceased, who possesses an ukhure—a carved image representing his late father.
The family agreed to bury their father in December, and Iye sternly warned Mrs. Idehen not to even think about refusing the eha (oath). Historically, when a married man died in Benin, suspicion often fell on his wife, as it wasn’t uncommon for women to be accused of killing their husbands. Conversely, when a woman died, it was commonly believed to be a consequence of some wrong she had committed. Although the Benin people have largely moved past these beliefs, and oath-swearing is not as widespread as it once was, Iye was still deeply hurt by the way Mrs. Idehen had humiliated her at the hospital and sought retribution.
Everyone gathered to discuss the burial arrangements, and Iye kept reminding Mrs. Idehen to take the oath.
“I will do no such thing! My yes is yes, and my no is no. I am a Christian, and I will not swear,” Mrs. Idehen declared firmly.
Edamwen tried to reassure her. “It’s really not as serious as it sounds. All I need to do is carry a kola nut, place it on the deceased, recite a few incantations, and ask you to eat it.”
The argument went back and forth, with Mrs. Idehen remaining resolute in her refusal. Just then, a little girl entered the room and quietly informed Iye that her grandmother—who happened to be Iye’s cousin—needed her urgently. She lived just down the street.
A few hours later, there was a commotion. Adazee and Rumwense rushed to the house where Iye had been, only to find a crowd gathered outside. Iye’s cousin had just passed away, and the air was thick with shock and confusion. In the midst of the pandemonium, no one noticed the vulture perched ominously on the roof of the house—no one except Adazee.
Ukhure: When Ancestors Speak
Adazee was a free-spirited, open-minded woman who didn’t care much for Christianity but valued her culture deeply. Although she wasn’t as religious as her mother, she sensed that strange things were happening.
She had once heard someone call her name when she was home alone. She had been woken up by an empty plastic bottle falling on her head in her sleep. She even claimed to have witnessed something bizarre—an uncanny scene in the middle of the night: a roach, a mouse, and a fish seemingly observing her from the corner of the bathroom.
In Benin, especially in the heart of the town, vultures were rare. Bats, maybe—but vultures? Hardly ever. So, when she saw a vulture perched on the roof on the night Iye’s cousin died, Adazee began to wonder if Edamwen’s prophecy was coming true.
During one of his visits to the hospital when Pa Idehen was still clinging to life, Edamwen had foretold that strange things would happen as signs of a great evil. “Until that evil is stopped,” he had said, “vultures will fly, tears will fall, and mothers will wear black.”
No one ever took Edamwen’s words seriously. He was considered odd—a man haunted by the trauma of losing both parents. At 63, he had never married or had children. He lived alone but spent much of his time with the Idehen family. Mrs. Idehen, however, didn’t like him. She distrusted him, especially because of his devotion to traditional worship.
Edamwen was not just the Okaigbe’s representative for Pa Idehen’s burial; he was gifted. He had the rare ability to perceive things that others could not. Days before the burial, he arrived at the house to inform them that it was time to prepare the ukhure. According to Benin tradition, Pa Idehen’s hair, fingernails, and toenails were to be moulded with white native chalk and left to dry. After the burial, a small rod would be carved, creating a hollow space to hold the chalk mould. This would symbolise the presence of the deceased patriarch, much like the Blessed Sacrament symbolises the Body of Christ.
The ukhure is traditionally given to the eldest son, as women do not typically participate in Benin funeral rites. If a man had no sons, the ukhure would go into oblivion, leading wives to vie for the honor of bearing a first son. Men often took additional wives if their first did not bear male children, ensuring the continuity of their name. In contrast, a female child would marry and change her name. While the ukhure is essential, Christianity and modern influences have diminished the prominence of these traditional practices.
The use of ukhure is significant in times of challenges. When someone faces difficulties and consults the oracle, the oracle might instruct them to take a cock, a bottle of hot drink, and a kola nut to make a sacrifice to their ancestors. In such cases, the person will go to the eldest son, who will then perform the sacrifice and prayers on behalf of the family. Likewise, if there is a family dispute, the eldest son goes to the ukhure to voice his complaints, and calamity will befall the wrongdoers.
During family meetings, men who possess an ukhure are regarded more highly than those who do not, regardless of their age. This underscores the cultural importance of the ukhure in establishing authority and respect within the family structure.
Mrs. Idehen protested vehemently, arguing that it was unnecessary since Mr. Idehen had no sons. Edamwen countered that she had no say in the matter, as women are traditionally not involved in burial rites. He asserted that he was there to inform her, not to seek her permission.
Before he left, he turned back and reiterated something he claimed to have mentioned previously: “Mothers will wear black.”
The Omen of Wings
Pa Idehen was buried on 5th December, and his ukhure was kept in one of the rooms of the security house. Adazee had always experienced eerie dreams, but they became increasingly lucid with each passing day. She had seen her father crying in her dreams many times, as if trying to tell her something important. Deep down, she sensed that something was off about her father’s death, but neither her mother nor Rumwense believed her. Determined to uncover the truth, she resolved to search for answers.
On the night before Christmas, Adazee found it hard to sleep. Very early in the morning, around 4 a.m., she heard women singing and dancing outside her window. In Benin, many refer to this as the traditional Christmas celebration, known as ukpo. It marks the end of the year, which, according to the Benin traditional calendar, usually coincides with Christmas.
On Christmas Eve, especially early in the morning, young girls pluck leaves of peace and dance from house to house, offering the leaves as gifts. In return, people give them money and prayers for the coming year, wishing that it will be better than the last.
Adazee went outside and joined the dancers. They moved from house to house, sharing the leaves, until they reached one particular house where she spotted a vulture perched on the roof. The sight unsettled her, but she continued to dance, albeit reluctantly, at three more houses. After that, her joyful mood quickly faded, and she decided to walk back home. On her way, she heard people crying at that very house—someone had died.
Adazee was consumed by curiosity at this point, so she decided to walk in and ask questions the following morning. The relative of the deceased told her that the woman had been healthy before she fainted. As Adazee looked around, she found her father’s picture on a stand. A picture of him with with deceased lady.
“Is this the lady that just passed? She knew him?” she asked, intrigued.
“Yes, they were friends from school,” came the reply.
Adazee sat down, deep in thought. There had to be a connection between all these deaths. The vulture that flew after Iye must have been perched on the hospital roof where her father died. Then, a vulture perched on Iye’s cousin’s house, and she also died. Now another vulture had perched on this woman's roof, leading to yet another death. Certainly, a vulture perching on a roof was an omen of death.
But this vulture phenomenon was new. There had been no vultures in sight when Pa Idehen's father died, and she had never seen a vulture in Benin until now. People die in hospitals all the time; she had never noticed a vulture perched there either. Could it be that all these deaths were connected? Or could it mean that these deaths were not natural? If they were not natural, then surely someone must have killed her father. But who? And why? What really happened to Pa Idehen?
Comments