On The Rugged Streets of Lagos a.k.a Nigboro Eko

I will never understand my Mother's take on religion. She curses in the name of the god of thunder, blesses you in Allah's name and practically worships the ground on which Baba Aladura walks on. I think of Baba Aladura as a hungry man, always popping in when the freshest round of Boli are available. And like the hungry man, once the worms of the stomach are satiated, the mouth begins to run free like a public tap that went bad on a Saturday morning. If my Mother knew this about him, she never showed it or maybe like every woman; she could betray her emotions well enough. She just believed in whatever he had to say; after all, the voice of man is the voice of God.

After that day, my mother would tell anyone who cared to listen that Ajepe was terrible news. No one bothered to know what Baba Aladura had said, once Iya Oniboli had said it, she couldn't be lying. So, adults with enough sense to make their own decisions started to churn out hatred on Ajepe, thereby inheriting Iya Oniboli's Enemy. Sometimes, I think about how easy those people rest their heads at night. It's a twisted reality, living out hatred on behalf of another person.

                                                                        ***

Each time I saw Ajepe, the swirl of that Koboko very quickly follows the thought of doing more than greet. I will not wish the sting of that cursed instrument on anymore, not even my father whom I did not know but hated with a lot of passion.