By Taju Tijani
“Jaiye, Jaiye, what happened. Kilo happen? Soro now,” I encouraged. He could not answer me for minutes. I rushed in to see what triggered such a loud cry of anguish and terror. I searched everywhere: the living room, the bedrooms, toilet, study and kitchen. No joy. All was normal. I came out again. This time he was in his own car crying. He held his hands to his face. The tears were streaming down. I have never seen Jaiye in such an emotional melt down before. He is a tough nut. A hardy Egba man with a bundle of confidence and courage.
“Ah Yomi….Yomi why now? Why so soon? Teejay, Teejay, I just left Yomi with a friend in Lagos. Though on a sick bed in a hospital, I never knew that was the last time I’ll see him. Oh God. Why now? Why?” Jaiye questioned God. I got into his car and consoled him with uplifting words of life and death. I spoke on fate and destiny and the inevitability of losing loved ones throughout our borrowed time on earth. I grabbed his big shoulders and held warmly to him.
I discouraged him from going home that evening. We debated life and the total evisceration of respect for human beings in Nigeria. Jaiye had never left Nigeria for anywhere. He has been rooted here forever. He turned down several opportunities to japa insisting that his destiny is in Nigeria. Nigeria holds his glory, and he must utilise it here. Then he began to rail loudly on the state of our health delivery system in Nigeria. He berated ill-trained doctors and nurses who are more interested in money than the Socratic oath to preserve life through treatment and recovery. It was like a shouting match!
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“Jaiye, look I’m tired. I’m a Londoner and I want someone to get me out of this Ibadan. I’m fed up with pretence. I really don’t want to be super patriotic anymore. All the dreams I had of rustic living where life is lived on a slow lane has expired. Even my love of abula is waning. Ibadan people are making me sick. I want out. And very fast!!!”, I protested waiting for Jaiye’s support. He kept quiet and said nothing. I was irritated and unhappy for his lack of support for my plea and agony.
“Leave me alone, jo,” Jaiye cautioned. “O mo nkan nkan. Sebi una people in the diaspora think say Nija na heaven where you go just dey screw side chicks anyhow. All of you be yeye people. I just can’t understand you. Before you came you told me that you were prepared for the inevitable. You stay here for three months, and you are moaning. Look go and get a life. You think that the love of abula is enough to make you want to get rooted in Nija. You are a joker. It’s good we are facing the wahala of Nija together,” Jaiye lambasted me.
I sat speechless. I looked at the glowing ceiling bulb being powered by solar. The energy company – IBEDC – has thrown us into darkness for the past three weeks due to a faulty transformer. This is a common occurrence which must be endured with stoic resignation. Many of us have gone radical for solar energy, junking the unbearable noisome pestilence of generators for good. That’s a sound relief. Jaiye burst my bubble spectacularly. I thought Nigeria is a conquerable terrain where with a little fortitude and sacrifice of the good life one could cope. I began to receive new wisdom daily.
Nigeria of 2024 has changed my old orientation for good. The good old days are over. We now live in a nation of social anomie, high cost of living and collapsed family values. My culinary, social and financial arrangements prior to coming have all changed. What N1,000 could buy in 2016 is today going for N10,000. Old certainties built around surviving on small amounts of foreign money have collapsed.
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I am like a fish out of water gasping for breath. Nightly, I interrogate my stay in Ibadan. Is my romanticism of homecoming an illusion or plain madness? Help! I’m a Londoner, get me out of Ibadan!
“Teejay, I think you failed to realise that Nigeria has gone to the dogs. Do you see any marked improvement in our lives? Can’t you see decay all around us? Don’t you drive around Ibadan? What is the state of the roads? I guess you will say death traps? I pity you. Many people I know are looking for ways to exchange their deprivations for comfort, but you are a strange opposite. You left the UK with all its opportunities and ease of life and decided to come live in a shithole called Ibadan? Is that not arrogant madness? You writers are just manic human beings. I swear,” Jaiye said, going straight for my jugular.
I moved away into the study. Jaiye ambled behind me. He clutched firmly to the bottle of wine he fetched from his car. We shared some glasses over roasted groundnuts. His lengthy criticism set me thinking. Have I overrated Nigeria as an idyllic place of rest, recovery and rejuvenation? Am I not stoic enough to weather the storms of adversities around me and face the painful consequences of my homecoming? Should I run back to London? Should I replace Ibadan’s glorious sunny weather for the biting cold of London?
Jaiye got himself distracted from me by watching a Yoruba movie. I must look for something to cling to in Ibadan to discourage my Japada feeling. I needed to be arrested for something. Something must hold me in captivity in Ibadan or else. My problem is not boredom. My problem is not hunger. My problem is not where to sleep. My main problem is the mayhem around me. The complete ossification of moral values. Everybody is gbajue. 419 dots every street.
The stock of trust has depleted in Ibadan. Ibadan is a new harbour harbouring the mad, sad and aggressive humanity all desperate to fleece you. Respect for elders is gone. Ibadan men have gone bonkers. They now jump from bed to bed chasing after side chicks and slay mamas. Help! I’m a Londoner, get me out of Ibadan! In the early morning, I could hear the muezzins calling the muslim faithful to early morning prayers. That gave me recurrent insomnia. No relief either from Pastors who stage night vigil three nights a week. The Afa and Pastor are unconcerned about my health. Not to worry, I still cling to my Bible as a therapy for all my Ibadan woes.
When I drove into the UI campus in a gleaming prestige car, I was shocked to see skinny, starry-eyed undergraduates eyeing me for a date. Having a sugar daddy is still a thrilling experience for these young bookworms. The more I ignored them, the more I became more tempted to taste the red apple of amorous delight. The professor I went to see regaled me with endless tales of unholy philandering around the campus mainly among the young undergrads. Help, get me out!!! READ ALSO:
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Ibadan reputation as a city shorn of the immoral excesses of Lagos is gone. Rascality is everywhere. The new OYRTMA are traffic terror to motorists. I was peeing on the Aiyefele road one day. OYRTMA officers in camouflage Maruwa blocked my car. My plea for mercy fell into deaf ears. They reasoned I had broken the traffic regulation even though my bladder was about to burst. One jumped into my car and ordered me to drive to their nearby office at Orita Challenge. I obliged. There was a commander who looked every inch like an agbero who came to see me. He took me aside and spoke into my ears. The option worked. I fled from their premises. Oh God! Help! I’m a Londoner, get me out of Ibadan!!!
…To be continued...
