The caption of today’s article is partly inspired by the poem, “The Deserted Village” written by Oliver Goldsmith as contained in An Anthology of Longer Poems, edited by T.W. Moles and A.R. Moon. The relevant lines are “SWEET AUBURN! loveliest village of the plain, Where health and plenty cheer’d the laboring swain, Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, and parting summer’s ling’ring blooms delay’d: Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loiter’d o’er thy green, Where humble happiness ender’d each scene; how often have I paus’d on every charm, The shelter’d cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp’d the neigbouring hill, The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,….” 

The article is also inspired by my village where I grew up as a child and a young boy. The experience of the poet’s persona is very much like mine as well as the scenery described. While his experience is England of the eighteenth century, it resembles mine in so many ways. What attracted me to the poem is the apt title which is more or less a true reflection of my village right now. It is not that people are not living there or that it is still bushy or rural. It has developed from what it used to be before the Nigerian civil war and after.

Yet, the metaphor of the deserted village still resonates because many people who ought to be there have indeed deserted the village. Some have travelled overseas to places such as Europe, America, Canada and Asia in search of means of livelihood while some have relocated to other African countries. The majority of our people are still within the country, especially in highly urbanized cities such as Lagos, Abuja, Kano and Port Harcourt. Many now go there once, twice or thrice a year. That is why my sweet village is deserted.

The village of my youth has become a place to visit and not a place to stay much longer. It has become a place to bury the dead. This Christmas season like others before it reminds me of my anguished deserted village. I remember with nostalgia how we used to celebrate Christmas in my village when it has not been deserted the way it is now. Christmas then was a huge fun with merriment, masquerade songs and poetry and the entire drama associated with Christmas. I remember the aroma of the special Christmas homegrown rice eaten with ogiriokpi stew. I remember those places we used to do our Christmas carols or obungwongwo.

We used to visit the homes of those we feel would give us money to celebrate the season with our usual Christmas songs done with a tinge of local colours. I remember the noise and smell of Christmas Eve and morning. Although my village is laboring to transform to an urban area, it is still rural due to mismanagement of local government funds by past administrations in Imo state. Otherwise why should my village, the headquarters of a local government still remain a rural area? As I am writing this piece, the headquarters of Orsu local government area looks abandoned in terms of government presence.

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The roads within the area are nothing to write home about. Potable water is still a luxury for people in my village. Health facilities are in short supply. The primary schools and secondary schools owned by the government are in shambles. They give my village the image of the deserted village captured by Oliver Goldsmith in his poem of the same title. I still remember the farmlands, the grooves, the shrines, the exotic fruits, the palm wine and local delicacies, the deities made of mud and the many arenas of the mmonwu masquerade known as obom.

I still remember the many crossroads where the traditional worshippers offer sacrifices to appease malevolent gods. As we celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, my mind also goes to John Milton’s “On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity” contained in A Pageant of Longer Poems edited by E.W. Parker, where he wrote about the Infant God. The relevant lines are: “This is the Month, and this is the happy morn/Wherein the Son of heav’en’s eternal King, Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his father work us a perpetual peace. Say Heav’nly Muse, shall not the sacred vein/Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome him to this his new abode,….”

As we welcome and celebrate the season of Christ’s birth, my heart goes to many people whose villages and towns are deserted. It goes to those whose lives are shattered. I remember those who live below one dollar per day. I remember those in IDP camps and those suffering one deprivation or the other. It saddens me to know that we are now the poverty capital of the world and that many Nigerians do not have jobs despite our oil wealth. These people appear to have been deserted by the country of their birth. I remember those in hospitals and all those undergoing one form of tribulation or the other, and those suffering injustice and all forms of maltreatment. I remember all those who are socially, economically and politically excluded from the good life. I doubt if they will know that this is a Christmas season.

For all those whose village has been deserted and all those suffering one tribulation or the other, and whose lives appear deserted, my prayer of faith this season is that God himself will come and save you. As Isaiah 35:1-6a.10 prophesized, “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the lily it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “be strong, fear not! Behold your God will come with vengeance, with the recompense of God. He will come and save you.”

“Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then shall the lame man leap like a deer, and the tongue of the mute sing for joy. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” This is my humble way of wishing all my esteemed readers a Happy Christmas and Prosperous New Year.