Rita and I talk on Skype. Though I have, let’s say, an ambivalent attitude toward e-conveniences, (the “e” often seems to be short for “entitled,”) Skype is almost too good to be true. When Rita first went to Nigeria, chunks of time would go by without any word. Letters took weeks to arrive, if they ever did. One phone call would bust a budget, not that I ever had one. Now we can talk whenever the connection is strong enough, which it mostly is, though it often gets wavery.
Last Friday she told me that she was leery about the visit scheduled that morning to the village her organization had helped to supply with e-readers. The village head had inquired to make sure she was going to be present at their celebration. She was afraid she would be given another title
Another title? How many did she have?
Two. The first one she couldn’t remember what the name was, the second one was the Enedudu of Aidogodo.
Was an Enedudu something like a baroness? Did we have another baroness in the family?
Today we talked again. Did she get another title?
Yes. The Light of Remau. She turned on her camera—we usually don’t have them on to save signal juice—to show me her trophy, swaddled in satin in what she called a little “casket.”
I said Enedudu of Aidogodo suited her better, and inquired if when I go to visit next summer I might get a title.
Yes, she said. Gimbiya.
What does that mean?