Onipe to 'London': The Story of an Onipe Village Boy in Lagos, the ‘London’ of Every Nigerian.

Onipe to ‘London’

The story of an Onipe village boy in Lagos, the ‘London’ of every Nigerian.

Olujide Agboola

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© 2012 by Olujide Agboola. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 10/03/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3494-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3495-2 (e)

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

This book is dedicated to every soul born in Onipe and to souls condemned to Onipe by marriage.

To my grandmother, Emily Adeoti, my late father, Samuel Ayantayo Ishola Agboola Ogundipe, and to my late mother, Mrs Felicia Oyenihun Alari Agboola.

To my stepmother, Felicia Omoladun Abike Agboola, and to Mama and Baba Igbo-Elerin as well as Pa and Ma Samuel Ogundola. They held the magic wand that made me stay alive. To my brothers and sisters and to my own blood: Dorcas, Tunde (Tunlapa), and ‘Tayo (Maggie), and to Oladipupo Agboola (Mato). They inspired me to live. And finally, to God Almighty.

Acknowledgements

I wish to acknowledge God for giving me such a retentive memory to inform you of an ordeal that I was born to experience so early in life. And equally to all those who assisted me on this job, most especially my wife, Iyabode, for helping me type from the manuscript despite my discursive writing.

My soul goes to my brothers. Mr Michael Tade Agboola took me to Lagos when I was moving down there permanently. I always remember how I felt in that ICC JTC’s Luxury Hino bus that took off from Gate bus stop. I later learnt it was comprised of scraps purchased from Japan with Western State money and refurbished and later presented as new by the government and its phony contractors. And my brother, now pastor, Moses Femi Agboola of the RCCG, made it possible for me to go beyond primary school.

I appreciate my wife, and my lovely children—Tunde, ‘Tayo, and Oladipupo—for their contributions and endurance while the compilations lasted. I shall forever be grateful to Mr Kunle Adebanji, whose idea it was to develop into a book what I had earlier written as composition for publication, Mr Segun Adeeko, and Mrs Ronke Jaiyeola, for her selfless gesture in editing this book without a price. I thank Mr A. O. Aribaba, Mrs Omotayo Lewis for her words of encouragement, and a host of others too numerous to mention.

And to all those who see me as a human being battling to weather the storm, as well as the others I love for looking down on me. Their actions had always encouraged me to move ahead in life. This I did until I discovered that there is no excuse for failure in life. If you don’t have yourself, don’t say you have anybody.

A clown went to Lagos,

He did not return with half a penny.

A lazy man went to Lagos,

He did not return with half a penny.

What he does with his money in Lagos,

Nobody knows.

Let’s work while we are agile;

The time will come when we shall go limp.

He, who doesn’t know Lagos,

Thought Lagos is where you make quick money.

Shady deals in hidden places,

Dubious goods in Ehin-Gbeti,

Supply and removal thrive in Ebute-Meta.

As shadow exists along dark alley,

So the darker alley exists along shadowy alleys.

Satisfying meal at Apapa;

It’s akin to eating nothing.

People suffer like homeless lot.

He who returns from Apapa job,

I always greet as war survivor;

Bicycles and trains run on the same track.

Every day death knocks them down on water,

See the floating corpse of a famous chap as white as snow.

If not for money, what would I have bought from overseas?

Foreign land, land of suffering.

People suffer like they have no origin.

Foreign land… land of suffering.

—Alhaji Odolaye Aremu (Alalaye Ilorin)

Chapter One

Early Life at Onipe Village

My children and I were comparing what life was like when I was a kid to what it is now, and I realized there would be no basis for comparison at all. This is because, as children born in a village, our orientation was like that of denizens of the wilderness. Despite the fact that we were born in a village at least (not too remote from civilization), Onipe was about a twenty-minute drive from Ibadan, the largest town in West Africa. Yet we lived like cavemen. We lived a life devoid of dreams and ambition, but full of fantasies and exuberant ecstasies.

Missionaries of the Anglican Church settled down in the village when they discovered that the villagers were hospitable, industrious and humane. And above all, the early missionaries’ passion for education was unparalleled. They built churches and schools as well as dispensaries wherever they settled. This was unlike what occurs today among churches that build schools solely for commercial purposes. The congregations can’t dream of sending their wards to such schools.

Onipe was a lucky village to have all these amenities, but our life in the village was still miserable. It centred on school, farm, and church. As soon as our hands were long enough to touch the earlobe on the other side of our head, we were qualified to start school. That means, ‘Owo e t’eti.’ (His or her hand reaches up to the ear.) We were taken to school against our wishes, of course, and we thought it was all we had to do as pupils, because every child in the village was there.

At the end of every school term, which mostly coincided with the harvest season, our holidays were spent on the farms where we harvested various farm products, such as cocoa, coffee, cola nuts, and oranges. We were the domestic servants of our parents. We pressed their mills and ran their businesses of farming. We served them, and in return, we were fed and sent to school. Our parents had a notion and regarded this teenage period of our lives as a period of ‘building’ us, as children who were not ‘built’ (taught) would sell off the building their parents built. The schooling was another sceptical adventure embarked upon by our parents with expectations of bringing higher returns in the future. But pending that time, our schooling was like wasting precious moments of our lives to them.

At times, if the holidays fell within the planting period, we would plough and make ridges and plant on them. The last week might be set aside for a journey to Ibadan to satisfy our curiosity of changing the environment at least. Unbelievably, this holiday period must not exceed a week, or our host would regret ever having any of us as guests. It happened to me when my mother’s junior sister, now deceased, took me in for a week holiday at Ode-Aje, a settlement inside the rustic town of Ibadan. I was a pleasant guest the first few days. But the day I saw a bunch of palm trees far off, the village spirit seized hold of me. Instantly I became demoralized. It was then I remembered my father, my mother, and my playmates who, at that period, I presumed would be playing around the village. The passionate feelings of my peers hunting rodents, fishing with hooks and lines, and playing hide-and-seek in the moonlight during this holiday period overwhelmed me. The absence of three square meals that had no measure per day was tormenting me there. I would be taken to Onipe immediately. At every instance, tears would start rolling down my cheeks, as I lost interest in everything. These never stopped until I was taken back in the village.

Because of my overwhelming desire to return to the village, I took vivid notice of the architecture of these urban dwellers, whom, whenever they came to the village, we held in great esteem as pilgrims from another planet. This eventually was not particularly striking, because the structures were identical. I saw dilapidated mud buildings that were worse than the ones we had in the village. It was much like we had in the village. In fact, it was a great puzzle to still see people inhabit such buildings, because such buildings in Onipe would be abandoned and left as derelicts for domestic animals to inherit. Domesticated animals strolled freely within the city. Animals like goats, sheep, dogs, and fowl ran round the town, defecating everywhere. It later dawned on me that most areas of the city were slums.

Above all, it had paved streets with streetlights hanging on every electric pole. This, of course, changed my vision and confused me, as I wondered how these lights ate long into the night or prevented the night from falling at all. If I stayed longer in this environment, would I ever see the moon?

In the village as soon as the night fell, every nook and cranny wore a thick vale of darkness. At times, I felt the power of light over the darkness whenever we were sent on an errand with a lantern. It was always a marvel to see the lights tear through the darkness with ease, without an iota of resistance. Nevertheless, the city’s outlook was far better than the village standard, but who cares? Then in the city, I saw smaller, black-coloured cars—‘Morris Minor,’ they called them, ceaselessly roaming the streets from dusk to dawn, transporting passengers and goods all through the town.

I was not better than citizens of a particular tribe of the south-western Nigeria, who at first contact with Ibadan city went back to their community and reported what they had seen in it. They reported back to their community that in the city of Ibadan, the white man paved roads with dyes, trees were beaming with lights, and boxes (speakers) were talking.

The very day the holiday started, those of us who passed well would sing from school to the village, while those who failed would accept whatever fate