With all the noise and rumours of coups and military intervention in the horizon, a domestic variety of the dreaded phenomenon was the least on snooper’s mind as we expected a special breakfast promised by the indomitable and indefatigable Mama Igosun. Yours sincerely had always advised Okon to steer clear of the kitchen whenever the ancient Amazon insisted that it was her turn to stir things up in the culinary department. It was always a pretext for a declaration of hostilities.

But on this fateful morning, the crazy boy decided to press his luck too far. After lapsing into an early morning reverie, yours sincerely was rudely bestirred by the noise of a truly historic confrontation. It was as if an invading army was being repulsed with maximum force. There was screaming and screeching and metal-grinding such as befit armies of the night.

Snooper fearfully opened the shutter to behold fearsome smoke billowing from the kitchen. It was a most terrifying sight: all kinds of weapons of domestic warfare flying off at targets and tangent: spoons, forks, knives, frying pans, plates, wooden ladles, saws and a primitive iron cudgel procured from an ancient smithy believed to have been owned by Basorun Ogunmola when he first transited to Ibadan as an apprentice warlord.

After a sudden lull, a fierce-looking Mama Igosun emerged from the rubble brandishing a huge wooden pestle and smiling the devil’s smile.

“Ha Akanbi mi, I don drive dem kanakana mad boy comot for kitchen. I don do dem kudita for am”, the ancient warrior announced with triumphant flourish while heaving and panting like a pangolin.

“Ha mama, which one is kudita again?” a worried snooper demanded.

“See your ogberi sef. No be dem thing dem yeye sojas dey do? All dem Gowan, dem Agolo-Iresi, dem Sukusukuma and dem Dimka. Na dem put us for dis trouble”, the old contrarian exploded.

“Oho, mama you mean coup d’etat?” a mightily relieved snooper exclaimed.

“Wo, na your Kampala be dat one. I no sabi gramma. He get one Oyibo man for telly who dey ask make dem soldier come back. Thunder fire him yellow mother”, mama raved. It was at this point a thoroughly dishevelled Okon stole in, looking like a weather beaten chicken.

“Oga no mind mama oo. He wan poison una. I catch am as him dey put dem tiny Yoruba insects inside dem egusi soup”, Okon shrieked as he gasped for breath.

“Ha wereeee!!! Akanbi no mind am. Na ekuku and dem monimoni (ancient Yoruba delicacies from larvae} Na dat stupid Lugard man cause dis problem”, Mama raved.

“And mama say make I cook cow brain for am”, Okon snorted.

“Ha, digbolugi (mad dog} na kokoruwa be dat”, Mama Igosun shouted as she aimed the pestle at Okon who quickly back-heeled.

The Nation