Riddle Of The Diamond Dove (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 4)

by N. S. Wikarski

  “So you’re saying the invading males got to mate with the local girls but never the other way around?”

  “Yes,” the Scrivener concurred. “The mating was unidirectional. The primary reason for that lopsided arrangement is that the invaders were all unattached males. We know that these raiding parties were not mass migrations of families because there is no female Semitic DNA signature in the conquered regions of Africa. Also, a disproportionate percentage of the ruling class seems to bear Semitic DNA ancestry. The same unidirectional mating pattern was true in Old Europe after the Kurgan invasion and in the Americas after the Spanish arrived. The impetus for such behavior was the same in all three cases. In order to hold onto possessions which were acquired through conquest, a patriarchal bloodline had to be established to trace lineage back to the first thief. And of course, the way to establish a male bloodline is to horde all the indigenous women via polygynous marriage and to curtail their opportunities to mate with other males.”

  Oluoma slowed the car as they approached a half dozen people on foot walking along the side of the road. Considering the equatorial climate, Cassie assumed that pedestrian traffic must have been common at all times of the year. She gaped in fascination at a woman balancing a huge bundle on the top of her head.

  Tearing her eyes away, she rejoined the conversation. “So that’s why Africa has so many male-run kingdoms. Outsiders started taking over, marrying the locals and fighting with each other over surrounding territory.”

  “That’s not the only reason for patriarchy in Africa,” Oluoma retorted. “Even tribes which preferred to remain matristic found themselves changing after repeated attacks by overlords. Incursions by the Semitic Phoenicians into coastal West Africa had a profound impact on cultural values in this part of the world. The Phoenicians were a lovely people,” she said sarcastically. “They practiced ritual child murder and specialized in flaying their enemies alive. Consequently, the formerly peaceful inhabitants of this area learned to fight back and fighting became a prized skill. The warrior class enjoyed elevated status while the contribution of women diminished in importance. Men who knew how to kill became more valuable than women who knew how to give life. By the time Europeans first arrived in Africa, many of the tribes they encountered were patriarchal kingdoms constantly feuding with one another.”

  “Tribal warfare is still around today in this part of the world,” Erik chimed in. “The genocide in Rwanda between the Hutu and the Tutsi happened less than twenty years ago. Outsiders couldn’t understand why there was so much hatred between the two tribes. To foreigners, it looked like a bunch of native black Africans slaughtering another bunch of native black Africans. Brother against brother. But it wasn’t like that.”

  “It wasn’t?” Cassie echoed suspiciously.

  “Not even remotely,” Erik replied. “The Tutsi tribe is descended from Semitic overlords. The Hutus are indigenous and were oppressed by the Tutsi ruling class from the very start. It’s right there in the DNA. There’s a blood feud between those two tribes—literally—that goes back for centuries. It’s not all about skin color in this part of the world. There are a lot of blacks in Africa walking around with Semitic DNA.”

  Oluoma temporarily focused all her attention on maneuvering the car through a small town. Pedestrians were milling around in an open air market. Three people stood right in the middle of the highway carrying on an animated conversation. Oluoma laid on the horn. Cassie was surprised that nobody took offense. The people on foot simply smiled, waved, and ambled out of the way.

  Returning to the topic about which they’d been speaking, Oluoma said, “When the Europeans first arrived in West Africa, they were greeted by inter-tribal warfare everywhere they looked. Male-dominated petty kingdoms vying for power would have been a familiar sight to the colonizers because it echoed their own history. However, the foreigners also encountered vestiges of female sovereignty which contradicted the myth of universal male power. Europeans dismissed these cases as anomalies because they didn’t fit the patriarchal model of the way things ought to be.”

  “That’s bleak.” Cassie sighed.

  “The picture isn’t quite so bleak as that, my dear Pythia,” their guide retorted. “Of all the continents contaminated by overlord influence, Africa has had the longest tradition of female authority. It’s fascinating to see how much of that authority managed to survive the onslaught of overlord indoctrination. It persisted in spite of the Semitic invasions, patriarchal kingdoms, the arrival of Europeans, the slave trade, and finally colonization. Female influence may have changed its shape but it hasn’t disappeared entirely. I find that heartening. African women are quite resilient.”

  Griffin sat forward in the back seat. “There are anomalies all over the continent—tribes in which women occupy positions of power. If one accepts the overlord hypothesis that Africa was always patriarchal because that is the natural order of things, then there is no precedent for some of the traditions which are still very much alive. Take the rain queens, for example.”

  “Rain queens?” Cassie asked.

  “Yes, it’s a hereditary title among the Balobedu tribe of South Africa. The throne passes from a woman to her eldest daughter. The Rain Queen is credited with supernatural power to affect the weather. The neighboring Zulu tribe was terribly afraid of her. It doesn’t matter whether one believes in her power or not, there are flesh and blood women who have held that title for the past four hundred years.”

  “It is interesting that prior to the rain queens, the Balobedu had gone patristic but eventually returned to their matrilineal roots,” Oluoma said.

  “There are other instances of female authority. The queen mothers of Benin for example,” Griffin continued. “The queen mother wasn’t simply a figurehead. In a close parallel to the mother of the sultan of the Ottoman Empire, she maintained her own court and played an active role in the government of the kingdom. And then, of course, there are the Dahomey Amazons.”

  “The what?” Cassie peered at Griffin with curiosity.

  “The name ‘Amazon’ was given to them by Europeans, as you might expect. Until the end of the nineteenth century, they were known as the warrior women of Dahomey. Traditionally, they acted as the king’s bodyguard but they also comprised one-third of the Dahomian army and participated in many of the kingdom’s wars. Male enemies learned to fear their formidable battle skills. The last Amazon died in 1979.”

  Cassie became temporarily distracted by the increasingly hilly terrain through which they were travelling. She could see mountains off in the distance which were probably part of the Cross River National Park. She’d skimmed a travel book the night before that described the park. It consisted of tropical rain forest but the mountains to the north supposedly afforded a much cooler climate than the endless summer near the coast. The summits of the mountains were enveloped in fog. Maybe it really was cooler up there, Cassie thought. She switched her attention back to her companions.

  Oluoma was still speaking. “And there are dozens of other cases of women behaving in ways that would never have been sanctioned by a typical overlord society. I’ll give you an example from my own backyard. I come from the Igbo tribe which is very numerous in this part of Nigeria. Although my tribe has many branches and some of them have turned patriarchal, Igbo women have always occupied a strong social position. They possess their own kinship and market networks and have always controlled their own agricultural products. These were never considered part of their husband’s property. When the British came to rule Nigeria, they approached matters much as any other overlord culture would.” Oluoma darted a glance at Griffin in the rear view mirror. “No offense, my dear boy,”

  “None taken,” the Scrivener replied. “I don’t particularly identify with the imperial phase of my nation’s history.”

  Oluoma continued. “The British assumed that Igbo males were the decision-makers and ignored the opinion of the women.” She chuckled. “That was a very risky approach to take, a
s they soon learned. In 1914, the British divided southeast Nigeria, or Igboland, into several regions and appointed what they called native ‘warrant chiefs’ to oversee the affairs of different regions. Many of the warrant chiefs were guilty of corruption and abuses specifically aimed at women. They would confiscate women’s property for no reason and force them into marriages without their consent. This offensive situation went on for years and finally reached a crisis over taxation.

  “In 1929, the British ordered a census of Igbo women’s property and suspicion grew that a women’s tax might be instituted even though the British had promised never to tax women’s property. A dispute arose between a census taker and an elderly woman when she was told to count her possessions. Word traveled quickly from one market town to another that the women might be taxed so they decided to do something about it. They organized. Ten thousand women demonstrated in front of the district administration office and demanded that their warrant chief give them a letter saying that their possessions would not be taxed. He refused until the British intervened and ordered him to produce the letter. The warrant chief didn’t like being forced to meet the women’s demands so he retaliated by taking several protest leaders hostage. When news of this outrage spread, the protest swelled and demonstrators demanded his removal from office. Amazingly enough, the British agreed.

  “Word traveled quickly to other districts and soon Igbo women everywhere were staging demonstrations complaining of their treatment under British rule. They wanted assurances that they would not be taxed and also wanted corrupt warrant chiefs removed from office. Their campaign came to be known as ogu umunwanye—the women’s war. In fact, they dressed as warriors, painting their faces and wrapping their heads in fern leaves. Although their action was a shock to the British, it was a traditional form of protest among the Igbo. The women were engaging in a practice called ‘sitting on a man’.”

  “You’re kidding.” Cassie giggled at the image.

  “They didn’t physically sit on him, of course.” Oluoma smiled. “It’s just an old expression. The idea was to put pressure on a man as a way of correcting his bad behavior. Igbo women were traditionally considered to be the guardians of proper conduct. Whenever a man acted in a disrespectful manner, the women would follow him around and sing mocking songs about him. This was intended to make him reflect on what he had done. They would chant outside his home day and night and completely disrupt his life. In extreme cases, they would burn down his hut.

  “Because Igbo women had suffered abuses at the hands of the warrant chiefs, they saw their protest as just. They burnt several district offices as an extension of the idea of burning a man’s hut. The British, of course, didn’t understand that this behavior had a long history among the Igbo. To them, it seemed like crazy savages acting up. Eventually troops were ordered in to control the protests. They shot into crowds of women, killing fifty and injuring fifty more.

  “The killings ended the protests but significant changes came as a result. The warrant chief system was abolished and women remained exempt from taxation. Igbo women continued to lead protests periodically over the next several decades which resulted in even more social reform.”

  Oluoma stopped speaking abruptly. She consulted a road sign as it loomed into view. “Well, this trip passed in a hurry, didn’t it? It would seem we’ve arrived. Here we are in Alok.”

  Chapter 16—Thumb Place

  Their guide apparently knew her way around the village. She made a few decisive turns and parked the car in front of a walled enclosure.

  “Now you will see the akwanshi—the ancestors. That’s what the Ekoi people call them anyway.” Oluoma led the way into the enclosure which proved to be a park planted with orange trees and a variety of shrubs.

  Whatever Cassie had expected to see, it wasn’t this. They were confronted with several carved stones, none more than three feet high, sticking out of the ground like giant thumbs. The Arkana team clustered around one.

  Griffin bent down to get a better look. “I say, this is extraordinary.” He tentatively touched the swirls carved into the stone.

  Each of the monoliths bore similar markings—a face with round eyes and a mouth shaped into a large, surprised “O.” The back and sides of the figures were decorated with spirals, chevrons and what appeared to be some unknown script. Each face was different.

  “These are made of basalt,” Oluoma explained. “Similar carved stones are scattered throughout the villages and countryside close to the big town of Ikom. That’s why they are known as the Ikom monoliths. Some are in the middle of villages, like here. Others are on the outskirts and still used as gathering places for local ceremonies. They were all originally positioned in concentric circles but that arrangement was disturbed long ago. Many have disappeared altogether.”

  “I guess their size makes them a little easier to carry off than the megaliths we’ve been dealing with til now,” Cassie observed.

  Griffin unexpectedly sat down cross-legged in front of one of the carvings and stared at the face intently.

  “You trying to talk to it?” Erik asked skeptically.

  “No, I’m trying to remember something,” Griffin replied absently. “Something quite familiar.”

  The others gathered around him in silence.

  After a few moments he looked up at his companions eagerly. “I have it! The fish goddess of Lepenski Vir.”

  “The what now?” Erik inquired.

  “The face looked so familiar to me. I knew I’d seen a series of carvings that look almost like this. They came from a dig in Yugoslavia dated around 6000 BCE. And it isn’t simply the face. The geometric decorations are also quite similar.” He spoke more rapidly as his excitement grew. “Yes, yes, and now that I think of it I can recall another. A bird goddess statue found in the south of France around 4000 BCE. And of course, some of the abstract designs at Gobekli Tepe are very much like this.”

  “You mean that place in Turkey?” Cassie asked. “That one’s about eleven thousand years old.”

  “Quite right,” Griffin confirmed.

  “What you say is very interesting,” Oluoma commented. “These Ikom stones have been dated anywhere from 200 CE to 1000 CE.”

  “But that means the Minoans couldn’t have seen them,” Erik objected. “We’re looking for rocks that would have been positioned at least three thousand years ago.”

  Oluoma gave him a knowing smile. “Fortunately for you, there are many who disagree with the estimated age of these sculptures. Some believe them to be much older. In fact, a Nigerian academic recently put forth a theory that they may be eleven thousand years old.”

  Griffin nodded approvingly. “Well, that would dovetail nicely with the dating of Gobekli Tepe.”

  “Ah, but there’s more to the theory than their great age,” Oluoma continued. “It is believed that these monoliths were erected by a lost civilization that flourished before the days of the pharaohs. Right where modern-day Calabar stands, in fact. A civilization so advanced that its inventions and ideas were carried far from here by land and sea.”

  “A sophisticated sea-faring culture on the west African coast,” Erik said pensively. “Maybe that explains the Olmec stone faces with African features found in Mexico.”

  Oluoma stared down at the monolith before her. “Some of the writing on these stones has been matched to Sumerian cuneiform and the Hebrew Kabbalah.”

  “Not to mention the Vinca sacred script of old Europe,” Griffin added, tracing a particular swirl pattern on the side of the monolith.

  “So what happened to this civilization?” Cassie urged.

  Their guide shrugged expressively. “The same thing that has happened to so many other lost civilizations around the world—flood.”

  Griffin continued tracing the geometric script on the stone. “Given what we know about the super-floods at the end of the last ice age, one or more of them might have been severe enough to raise global ocean levels. They might well have destroyed any co
astal cities in this region.”

  “There are ruins scattered all over the floor of the Altantic,” Oluoma said. “Canyons where there should be no canyons. Trees where there should be no trees. Pyramids, roads, all underwater. For those who believe in the inundation of Atlantis, the lost civilization of Nigeria is no more fanciful.”

  “Less and less fanciful every day,” the Scrivener observed. “Now that we have more sophisticated means of detecting objects far underwater, new architectural anomalies are coming to light all over the planet. Perhaps soon something will be found off the coast of Nigeria to prove your theory.”

  “Or better yet, archaeologists will make some progress on what is buried beneath our feet,” Oluoma retorted. “Thus far, very little has been accomplished. That’s one of the issues my team is here to assess—the state of archaeological discovery in this country. For example, we know the Nok culture created sophisticated terra cotta figurines and had the technology to smelt iron in 1400 BCE but nobody knows where their knowledge came from.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s all speculation because so little digging has actually been done in this region.”

  While they were speaking, Cassie had wandered off to another monolith tilted forlornly against the base of a huge tree. The elements had worn away its carved features and given them a spectral quality. The figure’s wide-eyed expression and gaping mouth seemed comically ghostlike. Cassie laid the palm of her hand on the figure’s head. She felt nothing.

  Swatting languidly at the mosquitoes that seemed to sprout from the oppressively humid air, she drifted back to her companions. They were still engaged in a lively debate about the current state of archaeological research in West Africa.

  Glancing in the Pythia’s direction, Oluoma said diplomatically, “But none of you came here to listen to my stories of lost cities. Perhaps we should search these monoliths for the Minoan symbols you told me about.”