JAGUNLABI✔

CHAPTER TWO

Leyin osu meje (Seven months later)

The dry, unforgiving harmattan wind swept over the land from the nearby Sahara desert. It left dehydrated plants and brown grass in its wake. People dusted their homes, offices and market stalls constantly. They shook their heads as they muttered "Igba wo ni oye yii ma lo gaan?When will this harmattan end?" The sky was cloudy and the air was laced with suspended dust. The days were scorching and the nights were bitterly cold.

Despite the apparent severity of the dry season, it was much milder than what prevailed in the Northern region of Nigeria. Obashola, my hometown was in Oyo state in the South-west region of the nation. It was a laid back but prosperous town with spacious tarred roads, good schools, a general hospital and nice houses. I absolutely adored how it was a blend of our ancestral civilization—deeply bound with the old Oyo empire and contemporary life.

Tall, palm trees lined most of the roads and the streets were teeming with pedestrians and cars. People laughed and smiled as they chatted with friends and passed each other by.

"Bawo ni? How are you?" A man in an orange traditional outfit called out to his friend across the street.

"A wa l'owo Olorun. We are in the hands of God," his friend in a suit joked in response.

I chuckled when I overheard their little chat. It was the characteristic banter of Nigerians who were facing challenges but were determined to overcome them.

Both men laughed out loud. "Yio dara fun wa l'agbara Olorun. We shall prosper by the grace of God," the man in the suit said. They bid each other farewell and went their separate ways.

Most of the people were engaged in subsistence farming, so fresh, affordable food was abundant. Eating organic was not 'a thing'. It was what practically everyone did. Even I had a garden in my backyard where I had some papaya trees and grew tomatoes, bell pepper and African spinach.

A woman across the street roasted groundnuts and the sweet, charcoal scent drifted through my window. I sat on a bamboo chair near my balcony and looked over the hedge. A man zoomed past on his motorbike and I smiled. He was wearing one of the aso wishersiform clothes selected for my father's burial ceremony It was by all means an elaborate celebration. The green and white lace material was worn by thousands of people, in accordance with the custom of showing solidarity with friends and family during special occasions.

People wept when my father's remains were committed to the Earth. Mourners cried bitterly and told stories about all the wonderful things that the king, Oba  Oyeyinka did for Obashola.

During the ceremony, people I had not met before patted my shoulder and told me to take heart. "He was a great leader and will be dearly missed." Iyalaje, woman leader of the market people said.

"Beeni! It is true," the well wishers chorused.

I curtseyed. A mark of respect to elders, as I thanked them all. "Eyin mama wa, baba wa, aburo wa. E se pupo o. Our mothers, fathers, younger ones. Thank you very much."

However, there were no sad or mournful faces at the ceremony which was held at the Town Hall. Beautiful canopies were pitched side by side and everyone one was welcomed to eat, drink and be merry. People danced and sang as the talking drummers and other instrumentalists entertained the guests.