Ibadan Memories
Even before he steps into my office, it’s very clear: Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko is beside himself. Distressed, not to say, Hysterical. He needs urgent help.
His very beautiful and beloved 19-year-old daughter, Kokumo—her name means "this one will not die" in Yoruba—has disappeared two days ago.
He’s already mobilized about thirty vehicles combing every corner of Ibadan, but no luck.
Sunday morning, Kokumo had gone to Dugbe Market (the “G” is silent) to buy cassava, plantains, and big river snails. Since then—nothing.
Clearly it is a very, very big Wahala!
Kokumo is the Chief's favorite and he is rightfully very concerned about her fate, and even worried that the name he gave her might not be enough to protect her.
Everyone in Ibadan and the area around, including the Chief, remembers what happened here two years earlier. A 12-year-old girl was kidnapped right in the Dugbe Market (the G is silent), and even then, the kidnapping occurred on Sunday morning, just like this time.
Her family searched everywhere for weeks. A break came when an Okada rider (a motorcycle taxi) pointed them toward Soka Forest.
Some of the girl's relatives entered the Soka Forest and discovered a hideout of Cultists, who use human body parts to hold important rituals. important to them.
Seventeen corpses, in various degrees of decomposition, were scattered around the hideout. Skulls and bones in every corner. Eight people still breathing, barely, chained up, disoriented, emaciated and dehydrated patapata.
The place was a cultist hideout, maybe even used for rituals by Aje Pupa, the feared red witch. Unlike Aje Funfun, the white witch which considered kind and harmless, Aje Pupa is said to kill, drink blood, and feast on raw flesh. This is the tradition.
Of course, the Aje Pupa does not perform these rituals just for her own fun. The main purpose of such ceremonies is of course to help people in health matters. Like, for example, easing the pain of respectable patients, especially the elders of the community. It is very important!
Helping and respecting elders is a moral duty and a supreme value among the Yoruba, and to be precise, throughout Nigeria. It is a fundamental virtue.
Within a short time after the cultists' den was discovered, hundreds of angry Yoruba men from surrounding villages stormed the area unleashing mayhem on some of the den's neighbors. Surly they knew about the activities in the cultists' den. Or not.
They slaughtered a few Fulani herdsmen. Their cattle too. You have to eat something.
In addition, they grab two random, unknown souls who were coincidently around. Or not. They fit used tires on them and set on fire.
They call it "Instant justice!" Maybe cultists. Maybe not. In any case, justice must be done - and seen - immediately.
The Aje Pupa was never found. Witch or not!
Yoruba farmers, blame the Fulani herdsmen for various issues, but mostly for the destruction of their crops.
The Fulani herders drive cattle from the Sahara to Lagos. Along the way, the Fulani shepherds lead the cattle through farm after farm, where the thirsty and hungry cattle devour corn, yam, cassava and any edible staff.
The cows must eat something to survive. The farmers are seriously upset, when they arrive to the fields the day after the Fulanis' cattle paid a visit to their farms.
This is an ancient feud worldwide: herders vs. farmers. And it still burns hot in the garden of Eden called Nigeria.
Now, the Ajes (witches) play a very important role, and not only in solving health and various pain relief. Occasionally the Ajes are also asked for help in other matters.
For example, recently the villagers are terrified by the Oyinbo's media from Europe. The peeled people are talking about terrible consequences as a result of the increase in CO2 in the atmosphere which will result in a climate disaster.
They didn't know what CO2 meant, but it sounded very scary.
One educated young man in the village tried to explain: CO2 is in-fact the food for plants and if there is no CO2 then plants will have nothing to eat. Simple.
He added, The Climate crisis spread through the TV. Without TV, you would not notice it. Since in this village only the Chief owns a TV, climate crisis should not be such a big problem.
And besides, climate is changing from moment Obatala created the world.
Still, panic spread. Wahala.
So, the village elders approached the Aje Pupa, begging her for a ritual to save the village from the great flood, since the world is definitely coming to an end, soon, after the glaciers are melt. Climate crisis or not?
Some even saw an Oyinbo girl on TV describing, in great detail, how the great flood will come and reach their village. Maybe even the glaciers themselves would arrive, something they had never seen in Yoruba land. Ah-Ah!
They believe the girl is no less than the Aje Funfun—the good witch—warning them in advance about the 'climate crisis'. Otherwise, why would the Oyinbo's TV let her speak?
Chief Balogun calls the 'climate crisis' - ignorance crisis. Who knows?
Some of those rituals require internal organs, preferably of young boys and girls. Especially if you want to prevent the Climate Crisis that the Oyinbo Aje Funfun on TV warned. Na Wow! Big Wahala.
Of course, the Aje Pupa use any means to help the villagers, and she has at her disposal proven, well-established rituals.
When the brother of the previously kidnapped girl arrived at the cultist den, he recognized her shoes. That’s all that remained.
So now that Kokumo is disappeared, everyone fears for her fate and her father, Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko, is hysterical.
Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko is a senior manager at the Coca-Cola plant in Ibadan. He carries with him a remarkable intelligence, which means that he has a good understanding of the reality, which is anyway a rare commodity worldwide.
It was always fascinating to hear him talk about Da and Ha and sometimes about other topics as well, and I always managed to learn something from him.
We became good friends some years earlier, when Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko walked into my office on Oyo Road, opposite University of Ibadan, introducing himself on some insignificant pretext, which I cannot recall.
He asked me - who is the best chef in the world? And he answered - the hunger! He was very pleased with his answer.
Now, Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko is certainly more Oga (respectable man) than Okunrin (any man) and let me even say he is Oga Agba, a very big man. The meaning of Balogun in Yoruba is a 'Warlord', after all.
He wears a majestic Agbada that enlarges him—physically and metaphorically. It helps in negotiations. Any negotiation.
Under these circumstances it is not so hard to understand why I accepted his invitation, to go to Kokodome restaurant without tweeting.
We are at the back seat of a pale blue Peugeot 404, jumping and jolting over potholes on the bumpy roads of Ibadan, mocking about Duh and Huh and some other issues, while Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko is directing Bolade, the driver, to Kokodome restaurant.
Bolade, the driver, is not familiar with the streets and the alleys of Ibadan, so every now and then, Chief Balogun is providing directions to him with - go straight, "lo osi" (go left,) "lo otun" (go right) and be careful!
We are zigzagging left and right for about an hour around the center of Ibadan, looking for Kokodome restaurant, and I begin to wonder if Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko knows how to get to Kokodome, or even if Kokodome exists.
We arrive at the junction we were three times already, and Chief Ajanlakoko tells Bolada – "lo Osi" - go left. Now Bolade hesitates – "Ogah Sir, do you mean 'left' to this side? Or 'left' to the other side?
Chief Ajanlakoko resorts to finger pointing.
We hit a junction with traffic light. Bolade, the driver enthusiastically shouts – "look, look, look, like London!"
Those days, there were no traffic lights in Ibadan. The Governor of Oyo State decided to bring two traffic lights, after his visit to London, last year. He really liked those traffic lights.
This traffic light in Ibadan is like any other traffic light in the world, with red, yellow and green lights automatically change from time to time without human intervention. Very beautiful spectacle and works very fine at that.
"But here in Ibadan" - says the chief – "this traffic light is a bit Nigerian. It has red, green, yellow lights, and blue policeman.
I ask the chief – "if there is a traffic light, why the policeman? Well, his job is to confuse the drivers. Otherwise, who needs the policeman.
“They don’t know how to use it yet,” says the Chief. “So, the officer helps.”
Of course, the presence of the policeman slows down the traffic somewhat and in-fact creates a Goslo, which is a huge traffic jam, which clogs the entire center of Ibadan for hours.
And that is not enough - says Chief Balogun - if the officer is not satisfied with one of the drivers, then he will educate the driver on the spot with a dignified manner.
"How he educates the drivers?" – I ask the chief, and he answers – "by deflating tires, thirty push-ups, you know, 'Ese Idajo', Instant Justice. Very important."
I wonder – "But, it's only increases the Goslo (traffic jams)."
"That's true" - said the Chief – " justice must be immediate for everyone to see."
Eventually, we hit Kokodome, which is a restaurant with traditional Yoruba dishes and a Lebanese menu. The restaurant is owned and managed by two young Lebanese.
I ordered Efo Riro soup, which is a popular vegetable soup, Yoruba style. The waiter asked "Big or small?" Without thinking I said "big." The long road to Kokodom, made me hungry. I easily make unexpected decisions.
Ten minutes later, a squad of waiters brings me an industrial-sized cauldron with Efo Riro that can feed entire village.
Chief laughs. “You’re generous, feeding all the drivers hanging outside Kokodome restaurant.”
The Chief a wisdom: “Always check what’s big or small. That way you can adjust your expectations. Expectations! Expectations influence our decisions."
"If you are not happy with reality, adjust your expectations. It is easier than changing reality. Think about it." He adds.
I order dodo (fried plantain), the Chief orders asun (spicy goat meat).
The chief is wearing an impressive agbada, and I ask him where can I buy such an agbada. He says he will take me to the market. You like it, huh?
“Oyinbo fashion never made sense to me,” he says. “Comfort first. Even with underwear—better with the tags out. Or none at all.”
He tells me about visiting his wife in London. She scolded him for wearing pants with horizontal pockets. So, they bought ones with vertical pockets, the latest fashion. Two years later, same pants with vertical pockets - now she wants horizontal pockets. The fashion has changed.
“Beauty,” he says, “is relative to time.”
“And relative to place too,” he adds. “Oyinbos like women skinny. That wouldn’t survive here in Nigeria. We like them heavy and strong.”
I agree. One Nigerian governor even picked his commissioners based on size. He liked them extra-large. One such commissioner visited the Holy Land.
On the way to the Dead Sea, she saw a camel with a Bedouin shepherd. This Bedouin makes a living from tourists riding on the camel's back."
Those who live on the slopes of Jerusalem and Jericho will never forget the screams of that poor camel. RRRRRRROOOOOAAAARRRR!!! The camel's scream shook the whole area. The old Bedouin shepherd runs hysterical to all directions. Big wahala.
The governor may have no limits. But camels do.
And in India, women wear saris—long wraps that leave the belly exposed. The more belly folds, the more beauty.
Indeed, beauty is relative to location!
So, what is beauty? Does it even exist?
Finally, the Dodo and the Asun arrived and we ordered chapman too, for now.
Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko's wisdom and intelligence was impressive right from that lunch at the Kokodom. We met many times after that lunch and I became part of his family, which it is a rare honor in Yoruba land.
When he shows up at my office that morning, he's hysterical. The beautiful and intelligent Kokumo is his favorite daughter. He will do anything to track her down. I am donating two vehicles for the search. You never know what to expect when fate rolls into the hands of cultists or Aje or Juju.
Juju, you ask? A few months earlier, I visited Alhaji Tolula, a friend of mine. A dried cock was hanging on the front door. Obviously, a man's penis. A woman has no cock. Or maybe some have.
Alhaji Tolulola opens the door with a big smile.
"Alhaji" – I asked – "What is this hung on your entrance?"
"Ah!" - Alhaji answers – "it's against my wife's Juju. My ex-wife gives me plenty wahala. She sent me the Juju. I wake up in the middle of the night and black birds attack me. I know my wife sends them. She became Aje (witch)."
"So" – Alhaji Tolulola tells me – "I went to one Aje Funfun (good witch) and she advised me to hang a dry cock on the entrance. The Juju afraid of dry cock. At least that's what the Aje Funfun claims. Since then, the black birds are not coming at night and I can sleep soundly."
"Alhaji" – I asked – "Do you believe in Juju?"
"Ah-Ah! … No, No, never, never. I don't believe in Juju. Juju is bad. I believe in Allah." – he said.
"Should I be worried too from the Juju?" - I asked the Alhaji.
"Well," – Alhaji said – "the Juju is scary, only if you believe he exist."
“Where did you get dried cock, Alhaji?”
“In Dugbe Market.” (The G is silent)
Now, from Alhaji Tolula's answer and with Kokumo disappearance, I understand how these items get to Dugbe Market and I can see how Kokumo's fate can be catastrophic.
She looks so innocent and young. She looked like 12-year-old. What a tragedy this is for my friend, Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko.
The next day, one of the searchers spots a girl, disoriented patapata, dirty, roaming around Dugbe Market, and after some questions it turns to be our Kokumo.
Kokumo is alive but traumatized and can't functioning for three days. Then, after she recovers a little, she slowly tells her terrified story.
She went on Sunday morning to Dugbe Market to get cassava and big snails.
As she got off the Okada (small motor bike). A white Toyota Hilux pulled up next to her, and three guys rushed to her, grabbed her and threw her in the Hilux.
They took her into the jungle, into the tangled tropical forest. She doesn't know where it was. There was a secluded and hidden hut. They tied her with iron chains to the ground.
She estimates that twenty others were tied up and trapped in various survival conditions. She vaguely remembers how the next day; these cultists took two away from the hut. She thought she heard screams. Anyway, they didn't return. she thinks.
On the third day they took her into the bush, not far away. Kokumo says she didn't feel anything. Shock. Trauma.
These guys brought her in front of one scary old madam, looks like Aje Pupa (dangerous witch.) The Aje Pupa told Kokumo that she is trying to help one important and respectable chief in the village. He is suffering a big pain and asked for her help.
The Aje Pupa asked Kokumo if she is willing to cooperate and help to ease the Chief's pain. Kokumo immediately agreed, without knowing what and how she can help.
Now to ease the Chief pain - the Aje Pupa tells Kokumo – she needs her stomach.
How old are you? The Aje Pupa asks Kokomo.
Kokumo answered – I am Nineteen.
"Ah! Ah!" - the Aje Pupa angrily reacted. "Do you have a proof that you are 19-years-old?" – the Aje challenged Kokumo.
Lucky for Kokumo, she had a piece of paper, like an ID card, stating her birth date, so she handed the document over to the Aje Pupa.
The Aje Pupa exploded and furious – "I told you to bring 12-years-old girl and you bring me 19-years-old woman."
"Ah-Ah! she is a woman, not a girl, and we almost risked her life for nothing; we are here to help people."
"Take this woman away and bring me a 12-year-old girl" – the Aje Pupa instructed the cultists guys.
So, the guys took the stunned Kokumo and dropped her near Dugbe market (the G is silent), so she can find her way back to her family.
Under the trauma and shock, Kokumo was unable to function, until one of the searchers discovered her.
Six months later, Kokumo enrolled in nursing school. To help elders in pain—but without 12-years-old girls' stomach.
Kokumo advises everyone to go with an ID that shows the year of birth. Sometimes it can save life. Sometimes not.
Chief Balogun Ajanlakoko is relieved and tells me - you see how the name I gave her protected her. Kokumo (meaning "this one will not die".)
I must have looked doubtful.
He concludes, you don't need intelligence for sanctified beliefs.