It was 8.03am on February 26, 2017. I had arrived at Okposi-Okwu at 6.28pm the previous day and slept in a cheap, dingy, local guest house. Weakened by exhaustion this morning due to lack of a good sleep, I headed for a local restaurant to regain lost energy.
I beckoned on a motorcyclist, popularly called ‘okada’ in this part of the world. He turned out to be Ebuka, the young man who had taken me to the guest house from the motor park the previous day.
Ebuka took me to a good restaurant where I placed an order for pounded yam and vegetable soup. It was a humongous meal, containing a heap of pounded yam and soup garnished with dry fish and cow meat.
While on the meal, my mission was not lost on me. I had a mission at Okposi-Okwu, a town located in Ohaozara Local Government Area of Ebonyi State. Ebonyi is one of the five states in South-East Nigeria and is endowed with lakes and arable land.
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I had come to investigate why no one cared to develop the ancient Okposi salt lake into an industry that would utilise the brine to produce salt that could sell in all parts of the country. I had heard of the miracles done by the salt lake during the Nigeria-Biafra War of 1967-1970, but no one seemed to be talking about them any longer.
But I knew I needed to first engage someone about the salt lake. As I sat dismantling the heap of pounded yam, a middle-aged man walked in. I knew he was a villager by his casual looks. He must also live close to the eatery, having worn bathroom slippers, singlet and a pair of worn-out jean trousers.
As he sat down, the spirit of journalism arose in me. I had done a few investigations in the suburbs and villages and my experience dictated that I must make friends with people first before interrogating them.
“Good morning, sir,” I said smiling.
“Good morning. How are you?” he asked in the Igbo language.
“I am fine. And how is your household?” I replied.
“Everybody is fine. It’s just that we are being battered by hunger,” he said.
In South-Eastern Nigeria, you can win a stony heart with greetings, especially if it’s in Igbo, the local language of the people. Secondly, once you ask anyone how they are, their reply is most likely the same: It is fine but just hunger. Even the richest man in a community would answer in a similar fashion. And this does not in any way mean they are actually hungry.
There was already an opening for me. So I asked humorously, “Are you a titled man?”
Here is another trick. In this part of the world, many traditionally untitled men, particularly those in villages, claim they have titles. Also, titled men expect everybody to respect and add their titles while addressing them.
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“Yes, I am,” he replied.
We introduced and I got to know him as Chief Anselm. He didn’t want to reveal his surname but that was not a problem for me.
I engaged him on what was going on at the salt lake. Chief Anselm told me that a group of women had just finished their oblation at the lake. It was indeed a ceremony and all villagers, including government officials, respected that.
That was enough lead for me. I hired a motorcyclist to the salt lake.
Shrouds of superstition, mystery
At the entrance to the lake was a signpost on which was boldly written, ‘Mmahieze Salt Lake’. I decided to walk from the entry point to the brine. As I drew closer to the lake to enable me get a clearer picture, the okada rider shouted that I should stop.
“Why?” I asked.
“The lake can be angry and you will be drowned,” he replied.
“Angry with me for taking pictures or for looking at it?” I asked.
I moved backwards and took a look. The lake was green. I wondered: was it because of the thick green trees round about it? Inside the brine was a small crocodile-like animal, which I later learnt had been there since the lake was discovered over 400 years ago. It could not be killed by man, spirit or even death itself.
I took a look and saw ancient mud pots. At this point I didn’t know the mystery behind the pots. All I knew was that the pots would be used to fetch the brine. The environment was green and grassy. It was like a forest as people only lived five to 10 metres away.
Beside the brine was a pipe connecting the lake to the outside world. It was like a local tap. People could easily fetch salt water from there. One metre away from the lake was an abandoned seven-step block with a piece of old salt processing equipment. It now looked very old owing to abandonment.
Nwanyiukwu and other salt-makers
The okada rider and I left the lake and mounted a search for someone in the business of salt-making. Through Chukwunyere, a woman in her 60s, we met Nwanyiukwu, who incidentally was in the middle of salt production at that moment.
When she saw us, she became sceptical, but I greeted her in Igbo language. The okada rider spoke in the Okposi-Ukwu dialect. I bought N200 worth of already processed salt from Nwanyiukwu and that made her feel at home.
Nwanyiukwu’s method of salt production was crude and un-mechanised but it was still scientific, and the people were comfortable with that.
A woman would fetch the brine from the lake using the ancient mud pots. She would pour the water into a basin in the morning and put it on the firewood. She would always come to turn the water every one hour. The water would be on fire till evening, until it turns into brown salt. She would spread the salt on the thick sack on the ground to allow it to dry. This stage takes between four and six hours. The method is laborious and time-consuming but the women do not complain.
People from many parts of Igboland come to the community to buy this salt. They believe that it cures goitre and deals with all forms of stomach problems. Chukwunyere, who took us to Nwanyiukwu, told me that it also has magical powers.
“Once you spread the water around your home, witches and wizards fly away. No evil man or women can survive in an environment where you have this water,” she explained.
I noticed that one middle-aged, red-capped man who came before us to buy the salt, believed that.
From my interaction with Nwanyiukwu, I gathered that only women are permitted to fetch the brine from the lake. And the woman must not be menstruating. If a menstruating woman gets close to the lake, she would be harmed, I was told.
Men do not get closer either. Again, anybody who bathes in the lake would die.
A villager named Emmanuel told me about a young Christian man who took his bath in the lake.
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“He was a well-known, well-behaved villager who converted to Christianity. With his new-found religion, he told everybody that he would take his bath there and nothing would happen. He did take his bath there, but two weeks later, he fell sick and died. He decided to bark in a community of dogs and was attacked,” Emmanuel told me.
I gathered that Nwanyiukwu has at least five customers at home each day. Each customer would buy salt worth between N100 and N300. She also takes it to the local market twice a week, where she often makes about N2,000 each day. She often makes more money from hot salt water than from salt.
‘A white man destroyed our lake’
Nwanyiukwu told me how a white man ‘destroyed’ the salt lake.
In Okposi-Okwu, many villagers, especially traditional religious women above 60 years, believe that the salt lake should not be provoked. No one should try to bring in any technology that would turn the lake into an industry. This is provocation and can draw the wrath of the lake.
A white man came to the town after obtaining permission from the government. He came with his team and built the tap I mentioned earlier in order to turn the lake into an industry.
The white man, who I could not get his name from the villagers and the government, carried out feasibility studies to ascertain the sustainability of the salt lake.
But the women, not accustomed to change, believed he had ‘destroyed’ the lake.
“The white man came here and destroyed the lake,” Nwanyiukwu told me. “He came here without doing proper ‘consultation’. He destroyed our lake, which has been since our forefathers.”
By consultation, Nwanyiukwu meant that the white man, a would-be investor, should offer sacrifices to the lake first before getting nearer.
“Also the lake cannot be taken out of the town. It remains here and here forever. Anybody who takes the water out of the town will be harmed. The white man took the water out of the town but the pot broke somewhere at Onicha (a town in Ebonyi State). The lake was angry and the pot broke,” she said.
A ‘godly’ lake
I moved down to the home of another salt maker, Nkechinyere, who explained to me that the pots used in fetching the brine were divine.
“Nobody goes to the lake with another type of pot. This is the pot we have been using in fetching the brine since the days of our fathers,” Nkechinyere said.
Like Nwanyiukwu, she told me that people often came to hurt the brine but were sometimes lucky to escape its wrath.
“They come here and build something. But this is not good for us. We worship the brine, which is why it helped us during the Biafran War. We used to supply salt to the entire South-East during the war and everybody gave tribute to the lake,” the 72-year-old local salt maker said.
A business for only the aged
One major thing I found was that there were few women involved in local salt production in the community. And those still in the business are mostly women above 60. The majority of the women involved in the business have died within the last 20 years.
I gathered that younger women do not go close to the business because they consider it laborious and tough.
“The young women think it is very hard and they need to go to cities,” Adaku, a woman in her late 30s, told me.
“Again, these old women, who are idol worshippers, scare a lot of us from going there. They also scare investors with such stories. I know that many people have come in here and brought in equipment but after they leave, some of these women go there and do sacrifices and the people won’t come back again. Those who come back find one or two reasons not to continue exploration of the brine,” Adaku narrated.
The beautiful thing, she said, is that the lake does not dry no matter how much brine is fetched from it. So no industry will regret being there.
A long history
Okposi Lake, like the one at Uburu, also in Ohaozara Local Government Area, has a long history. Elders of the community told me that the salt lake at Okposi-Okwu was discovered by two hunters, Ekwuna Chita and Uta Ano, 400 years ago.
In the olden days, people with all forms of diseases would go to the lake for healing.
During the Biafran War which lasted for 30 months, the brine helped in the cure of kwashiorkor, a malnutrition-related disease that killed many children in Igboland in the war years, and many traders from the old Eastern Region came in their numbers to buy the salt.
I learnt that Biafran scientists carried out a series of tests and found that the lake had the highest level of salinity among others in the Old Eastern Region. The scientists taught the local women how to make salt, provided some processing equipment to them and gave them ‘alum’ to ensure proper sedimentation of dirt. The salt was sought after for its medicinal value, villagers said.
“But now they say it is not good for consumption,” said Onyenweokwu, a villager, referring to past governments.
In the olden days, the salt-making profession was dominated by younger women of less than 50 years, who were often initiated into the profession by older women. Older women then ensured that no menstruating woman came close to the lake. I gathered that the business was left for women in the olden days to enable windows among them to make ends meet and other women to fend for their husbands.
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Huge industry in waiting
Eze Godwin Akpandu Okoro Ibom, Eze II of Enu-Uburu Kingdom, knows something about the lake. The traditional ruler told me that the belief of the old women is unfounded.
“It was the tongue that our ancestors used in saying that the salt-making business is a woman’s affair. With our tongue we can also change it,” the modern-minded, Christian traditional ruler said.
“The era of idol worship is over,” he stated. “We need to change and embrace modernity so that development can come in.”
Eze Ibom said there was a trade boom in the area during the Biafran War.
“Then the entire Nigeria was coming here for salt business. So I am convinced that this can become a huge industry now,” he said.
The salt industry in the two communities has not been without intervention. Hence it has always attracted interest.
My findings show that in March 2009, the Japanese government provided Ebonyi State with $87,939 grant for the installation of salt processing plants in Okposi, as well as in Uburu and Idembia, two other salt-endowed communities in the state.
This project was done under the Grant Assistance for Grassroots Human Security Projects (GGP). It was executed under the United Nations Industrial Development Organisation (UNIDO) Poverty Reduction through Productive Activities.
Toshitsugu Uesawa, the then Japanese ambassador to Nigeria, stated that the purpose of the grant was to provide women involved in salt production in Ebonyi State with modern salt processing equipment to enhance both quality and quantity of salt produced.
However, I gathered that the equipment procured by UNIDO for salt processing in Uburu and Okposi was unsuitable and antiquated. The processing facilities, as discovered during my visit to the communities, are now overgrown with weeds and abandoned. And no one else has been willing to provide funding for equipment since then.
I contacted Chukwuma Elom, state coordinator for UNIDO in Ebonyi, who confirmed my findings.
“Yes, some of the pieces of equipment were not really suitable for the salt processing,” Elom told me.
I moved to the Ebonyi State government office to find out why everybody seems to ignore the potential industry and was told that many investors have indicated interest.
“We had some investors few weeks ago and they are looking at the salt lake,” Sunday Ugwuocha, senior special assistant to Ebonyi State governor on cement and salt production, told me.
“The first thing we are expecting investors to do is exploration. The investor needs to carry out bankable geological studies. This is one way the bank can stand behind him. We are donating our land. Security is there already, and we will make sure the exploration licence is utilised. Any investor with modern processing equipment can partner with the state government on this,” Ugwuocha said.
I was not satisfied with this explanation and tracked down one of the firms a civil servant in Ebonyi told me was interested in pumping money into exploration.
In October this year, I tracked one of the officials in Lagos who spoke to me on the condition of anonymity.
“We are still considering so many things, but there are many issues. First, we need to carry out feasibility studies, but we are looking at how sustainable the lake can be. Yes, they say it cannot dry but is that what an investor should rely on?” said the official.
“Another issue is the salinity and acidity of the lake. People use the salt, but is it up to the health standards? Moreover, there is something that is often ignored. Some of the lakes there are actually worshipped by the people and you hear a lot of stories of people going there at certain periods of the year. Traditions are strong and cannot be shoved aside,” he said.
Nigeria has about 182 million people but with fewer than five salt makers, with the National Salt Company of Nigeria (NASCON) owned by Dangote Group, Royal Salt and Union Dicon Salt at the forefront. Some of the salt used in the country is either imported or smuggled into the country.
ODINAKA ANUDU
