To the outskirts of Majidun where Pabanbari, a hit and run mobile radio station given to incendiary early morning broadsides against the authorities, is hosting Mama Igosun to a question and answer session sponsored by Otito Koro (The truth is bitter) a local self-determination movement known for its no-nonsense fiery denunciation and bitter invectives against the status quo.
Mercifully, the long expected rains had arrived in the dead of the night clattering on the rooftop like a noisy burglar. As a result of the downpour, the whole world felt calm and sedate unlike the scalding heat of the previous week which sent tempers flaring at short notice.
As a result of a domestic infraction, the whole thing would have been a no-show. Yours sincerely had woken to the noise of verbal artillery erupting from the kitchen. Okon and Mama Igosun were embroiled in a fearsome altercation over breakfast menu with the old amazon from the forest of a thousand goblins insisting that the huge plate of beans and dodo she had just gobbled up was a mere appetizer to a more elaborate meal.
“Oponu, abi wetin dem call dat your yeye name sef, I say set dem table before I whack your kukuruku head with dem stick from Asejire Forest”, the old woman hollered.
“Mama, I think say you don chop, abi wetin be all dis dem jeunkoku chop and quench stuff?” Okon chided the old woman.
“Na your papa’s grandma go chop ewa aganyin for breakfast. If you no set dem table quick quick, your head go catch better fire like dem foolish man who come carry gedu timber with dem mad wasps”, the irate woman threatened as she suddenly swung her walking stick over Okon’s head.
“Okay mama, he don do. Wetin make I prepare? Cook get him own people na distance dey suffer am”, the boy responded with his peace offering.
“Give me dem hot pounded yam felifeli with dem woorooowoo vegetable and porcupine meat”, the ancient lady demanded licking and lapping her tongue like a mischievous toddler. A second childhood had truly descended on the relic of ancient warriors.
“Mama I don tell you say nobody dey chop dat kain yeye nonsense again for colony. He don tay since dem mala and dem white people drive dem Yoruba people comot from dem old kingdom for Iseyin”, the mad boy crooned with relish as an irate mama Igosun pursued him round the kitchen with her antique walking stick. Eventually they settled for the more modern compromise of bitter leaves and cassava flour which the old woman walloped with wild relish as she rounded up proceedings with a big glass of the strange concoction she brought from Igosun and had kept in the fridge ever since.
“Hen hen now dat old woman don chop belleful I dey ready for dem radio people. If not for dis dem ogbologbo drink he don dey reach time for old woman. I go dey fall for street like you great grandma for Abakaliki”, the old woman croaked as she was helped into the waiting Uber car.
Flush with the latest victory over Okon, the old woman was in a feisty mood as they eased her into a huge chair straight out of a royal palace. The rogue station had set up an elaborate reception in a ravine hidden from the main road to Ikorodu. The way they fretted over and feted her, Mama Igosun felt like a true royalty.
All of a sudden, mama sat up on the chair and her formidable visage took on a regal frown.
She eyed everyone with indulgent disdain. “Hen hen ma pikins. Dis feferity don do, me I no dey like too much feferity. Wetin you say make I come do for dis Agugu forest? Make you talk quick, quick. Na my people dey say if you wan osculate mad woman, make you do am quick quick and sharp sharp before dem mad woman dey bite your nose off”, the old woman noted with a crooked smile. The entire forest erupted in laughter and wild jubilation. Amidst the din, one man raised his voice.
“Mama thank you. Na so so amotekun dis and Amotekun dat. Wetin dis dem amotekun mean gangan sef? Abi na amotekun we go chop?” the man demanded with a hint of impatience.
“Ha, you see my boy. After dem Yoruba people finis hunting and chopping dem tiger for dem forest they come see say na only tiger brother remain. So dem come say Amo na ekun too. Amotekun means say tiger don finish but tiger still remain, like dem Oguntoyinbo, Shangotoyinbo, Ayantoyinbo, Oyatoyinbo people. So Amotekun na Yoruba power. Tiger die but tiger no die. You hear me?” the old woman demanded as if in a trance.
The whole place erupted in a pandemonium of wild dancing, singing and crazy celebration. In the orgy of frenzied jubilation, a Dane gun accidentally went off and people began scampering in different directions.
The Nation
