September 30 | By Olawale Sadare

I was a small boy in 1979 but there was a particular day in that eventful year which I can never forget in my life. It was a day I got maltreated and manhandled by an elder cousin as a result of my own innocence and childishness. Over 41 years after, I still feel an emotional pain as the experience refuses to escape from my memory. I wish I could do away with the urge to avenge the wrongdoing of a person who had long forgotten about the whole event.

Auntie Lutfat (now Prophetess Omonike), is the first grandchild of my paternal grandmother who took care of many of us in the 70s and early 80s. Tall, elegant and brilliant, Asake was equally tough and she would never take nonsense from anybody as a young lady. She had a good knowledge of Ibadan municipality and anybody she chose to take out would be overwhelmed with joy in those days. For some natural reasons, I was not always lucky to be considered for her town cruising serenades but my own luck shone on 30th day of September, 1979.

It was the eve of change of government from the military leadership of Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo to the newly-elected civilian administration of Alh. Sheu Shagari. Apprehension, uncertainty and palpable fear had enveloped the whole of the country and Ibadan, the capital of the young Oyo State was not an exception. Ibadan was also an epicentre of the bloodshed which characterized the January 15, 1966 first military coup in the country and only a few people trusted the military boys to hand over to Shagari on October 1, 1979 as promised.

This explained the frenzy situation on the eve of that date.

My family relocated to the city in early 1978 from our remote settlement in Owobaale via Erunmu and our new site was somewhere around Bishop Phillips Academy, Iwo Road, Ibadan. Family Houses in Oke-Adu, Ita Baale and Ile Emu at Oje were the places we use to visit once a while up till the time we became adults.

 

However, it used to be a thing of joy anytime an older person wanted to take us to see life in the central parts of the metropolis. Baba Liadi Adesokan Alao was the second son of my paternal grandma who meant so much to me. He was a security guard at St. Mary Catholic Primary School, Ratibi until his death in 1982 and he lived (with his family of six) around Oke’badan area.

My joy knew no bound on that fateful Sunday (30/9/1979) when Auntie Molara take me and another cousin, Folasade (of blessed memory), along as she planned to visit Oke’badan. Maami, maami… Anti Monike ni ki n kalo si odo Baba l’Okebadan. I rushed down to my mom to break the good news to her and pronto, she quickly dressed me up. She bathe me in the public glare for all I cared, mopped up the droplets of water on my body and then ‘painted’ me with our cherished Pomade body cream. I put on my best Alokowe dress which was a flexible ‘bosikoro’ round neck long sleeve butter colored shirt and a pair of trousers on a rubber sandal… Igboro’badan ya!

I cannot possibly remember how we managed to get to Agodi Gate from Academy-Monatan. Auntie carried Sade on one hand and used her second hand to hold me tightly as we navigated through the crowd of people who were in a haste to reach their respective destinations in time before any eventuality as anticipated ahead of the October 1, 1979 inauguration of a civilian government in the country. We later got to a place called Idi Ogungun and Auntie had to release my hand as she wanted to point to a tree under which my father was plying his trade as a Watch repairer.

 

“Wasiu, nibeun ni Baa-mi-re ti n se Aago”, Auntie Monike echoed as she pointed her finger towards the direction of the tree. I could not be satisfied with a look at that direction and I continued to behold the sight of the whole place having been given an opportunity to look round round.

Unfortunately, my elder cousin who had released my hand felt I was following her from behind after the ‘looking opportunity’ and she continued to trek towards the mini park where commercial Liteace buses plying Oke’badan were lined up. She got to the bus ‘on turn’ and tried to lift me up into it but I was nowhere to be found. Immediately, she began to scream; ” Omo-olomo da? Omo-olomo da?” With heavy teardrops rolling down from her eyes, she headed back to where she had asked me to look at the tree. She met me at the same point where I was still enjoying the opportunity to watch a mammoth crowd live. Auntie got to me and in annoyance, she descended on me with some dirty slaps and military kicks. I fell flat on my face and she began to drag me on the sandy floor… May God never subject me to such torturous experience again in my life. It was since then I have learned never to be carried away in the midst of a crowd again.

At a point, she decided to allow me stand on my feet and we continued our movement towards Oke’badan while sobbed repeatedly as she would not stop twisting my earlobes and knocking my head every 120 seconds.

Eventually, we got to Uncle’s house and as it was his practice when he saw me, he starting chanting our lineage panegyrics thus; “Adeyemi n le… Omo Aresa, dudu l’egbon pupa l’aburo… Omo s’eni-un-o-s’eni ni b’Iresa nnu, bo’le o bu’po ni ya’mode l’ara… Ara’lu òpe, omo amúronà s’aju eegun, omo ol’ode àjígbá, omo abesin kan kóri, omo asojetan s’oloosa… Abbl. Uncle drew me closer to himself and observed something was wrong.

He asked; “Monike, se o na omo yi ni?”… “Rara o, o subu funra re ni o”, Auntie replied and I could not stand it at this juncture… I bursted into tears uncontrollably. Uncle who he was and castigated her heavily. He could not trust her again and had to return me home by himself.

About 27 years after (precisely on April 7, 2006), Auntie played into my hands and I was able to take my own pound of flesh. She dared me in the public and received the worst beating of her life. Before you would pass any judgment on me for being ‘vindictive or unforgiving’, pray to have a personal experience what she did to me the second time. However, we have since reconciled and we are now good friends. But I’m grateful to her for teaching me never to be lost into a crowd again in my life.

 

 

Wasiu Olawale Sadare, Journalist and Media Consultant writes from Ibadan, Oyo state