Mfonobong Inyang: In Staunch Defence Of Ukebe

I’m not one to build my identity around parochial prisms such as ethnicity, but it’s impossible to see or hear my name and not presuppose which neck of the woods I come from. I’m proud to be a Nigerian. I have lived, schooled, worked and served across all six geopolitical zones, which explains how I became a polyglot. I’m also a proud son of Akwa Ibom State with my Ibibio roots well-documented. If I hadn’t studied Economics for my First Degree, I certainly would have been a lawyer because everyone who saw how well I excelled in English Language and Literature back in the day believed that was the natural career path for me. I was minding my business on Obasanjo’s internet when I stumbled upon slanderous comments under the guise of humour, so here am I in defence of a generational phenomenon.

As someone who grew up in what used to be a middle-income family in those days, healthcare wasn’t exactly what the doctor ordered. We did not have a First Aid box, and orthodox drugs almost only came into play when any health crisis went beyond fever or malaria. My parents owned large farmlands back then too, so as you could imagine, we had all manner of herbs in the house. My mum was big on squeezing the natural juices from those herbs and giving us to drink regularly. Before smoothies ever became a thing, she already had a head start. At a young age, we were already growing aloe vera plants just for the fun of it as children.

Many Gen Zs may not be able to relate, but there was something back in the day known as Ukebe. It was a quasi-clinical device that would contain fluids and was made up of a rubber bulb-like pump with a little pipe attached to it. It was basically a traditional enema used mainly for stomach-cleansing. After the selected herbs or concoction had been prepared, a portion of it was then poured into the device and administered through the child’s rectum. This was done for de-worming, indigestion, constipation and associated maladies. The immediate outcome was that the child would visit the bathroom a number of times in quick succession, but afterwards the body would return to its regularly scheduled programming.

This wasn’t theory to me; I experienced it first-hand. For families who either didn’t know or couldn’t afford a colonoscopy, Ukebe was the stand-in. Not gonna lie, it wasn’t a fun experience. Some could even argue that it was an embarrassing experience for them as children, especially after a certain age. What we cannot fault is the effort and great lengths our mothers went to, given their limited knowledge and income, to keep us healthy. Geez, I know everyone now speaks with an accent and some of us are doing better than our parents financially, but we have to respect the things they did to keep us alive.

It’s like disrespecting garri that saved you back then in the trenches because you can now afford caviar, or looking down on Family Com or Gameboy because you now have a cute PS5 console in your living room. We all have amazing smartphones now, but we cannot write our origin stories without Nokia, Motorola, Sagem or Blackberry, even though they have all become defunct now. Maybe it’s a millennial thing, but we seem to be big on nostalgia because we experienced a bit of life before the explosion of the internet. Personally, nostalgia for me comes with gratitude because I didn’t just get here; a lot of things had to happen, and those things have shaped who I am today. Ukebe, in hindsight, might appear archaic to some folks, but I would never allow its slander on the timeline. It’s right up there with iconic soups like Afang and a cultural masterpiece such as the Ekombi Dance.

I understand that a lot of Nigerians like to banter and turn almost every serious conversation into a meme or skit, but every once in a while, a little education should come in because when certain narratives go unchallenged, they eventually become mainstream talking points. It reminds me of the popular stereotype about folks from my neck of the woods supposedly having unusual sexual prowess. The truth is simply that hospitality is a signature of our culture, and it expresses itself in many ways, whether it’s creating culinary delights, arts and entertainment – in reality, most claims about high libido are either fictitious or exaggerated.

The nomenclature, Ukebe, is just indigenous to people from Akwa Ibom and Cross River, but it has iterations in almost every culture and demography. I think the conversation should instead be expanded to interrogate how people in rural and underserved communities have increasingly been excluded from affordable healthcare and have resorted to makeshift solutions to meet their needs. Basic healthcare is largely out of pocket for families; accessibility to medical cover is not as straightforward as advertised. Yet, one of the three components of the Human Development Index is a long and healthy life, which is measured by life expectancy.

Ukebe should be seen as a metonymy; a representation of how much the health sector needs to evolve. We can’t make jokes about Ukebe in a country where most public hospitals don’t have enough prescription drugs for patients – the joke is really on us. Till today, most hospitals still reject accident victims despite an extant law effectively criminalising such behaviour. It’s sad to say, but most Nigerians are one health crisis away from bankruptcy; I have seen more health-related crowdfunding on social media in recent times than there probably should be. A lot of us don’t know it, but our socio-economic class shields us from the reality of Nigerians in the hinterlands who are not city dwellers.

I believe Ukebe is a goated piece of history, and it should earn its rightful place at the museum. We should be able to tell our children stories of how big mama laid us on her legs and did what she had to do to keep her children healthy. Yes, we should evolve with the times and innovation in healthcare, but to talk smack about something that probably saved our lives in a time of need would be to speak in bad faith. I rest my case.