By Suyi Ayodele

Christmas is two days away. This is a season of celebration. It is a time we celebrate relations, friends and those close to us. I have a family I want to celebrate this season. I stumbled on a video clip of a comedy show by the Waffi-born master of jokes, Bovi Ugboma. In the video, Bovi said that it is profitable to ‘curse’ the head of the family of my choice to attract political patronage. Bovi is a ‘bad’ boy. He was acerbic in his jokes as he made jokes of those who criticised the head of the family and got ‘compensated’.

I don’t share that idea. This family is too fanciful to be ‘harassed’. It is also too powerful to be undermined. Ceteris paribus, our nearest future may as well be in the hands of the members of this family. Like they say in my place, this family has the scabies and the fingernails to scratch them (wón ní ifòn, wón ní èékánná). I am celebrating this family today with the hope that it may have mercy on us and lessen our burdens.

This is a great family as I mentioned, great in all parameters, negatively or positively. The family is like the proverbial talking drum which backs someone and faces another. The head of the family is the current President and Commander-in-Chief of the Nigerian Armed Forces. Before then, he was governor of Lagos State for eight years. But his fortune did not start with the Lagos governorship. He was a ‘Distinguished’ Senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria in the aborted Third Republic. Besides, he holds the title of Asiwaju (Leader) of Lagos.

I should also not forget that before becoming President, he was the self-styled National Leader of the All Progressives Congress (APC). Soon enough, my mind tells me, one smart-aleck king may confer on him the title Asiwaju of the Universe. That is highly probable in a Nigeria where anything goes, where raw cash takes the front row, while reason and morality are relegated to the background. I know someone whose name is Owonikoko, meaning money is the ultimate. I am yet to encounter a truer truth than that.

The man is not the only ‘fortunate’ member of his family. As he progresses in life, his wife also gets elevated. From being a housewife to becoming the wife of a ‘Distinguished’ senator, the woman of the house became the First Lady of Lagos, courtesy of her husband’s stint as governor. Those eight years in Alausa, Lagos State Secretariat, were colourful. Whoever needed anything in Eko Akete then must first worship at the shrine of Her Excellency. She was the mother of Lagos, and she played the role very well.

Then a time came. Madam became an ex-First Lady. The title was not befitting enough for the wife of a National Leader and a kingmaker. Something must be done. One of the leader’s lapdogs in the Senate was asked to bury his further ambition. Madam needed the prefix, senator, to up the ante of the family political hegemony. Pronto, the obedient servant complied, and Madam became Her Excellency, Distinguished Senator of the Federal Republic. Trust the leader; he does not abandon his own. The boy who yielded his field for the leader to plan the seed of his wife’s senatorial ambition was adequately compensated with a ministerial slot. Loyalty pays.

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A man with ambition is always ambulant. Having successfully installed a perennial presidential candidate as the President, the National Leader decided to take a shot at the Presidency himself. He invented the Èmilókàn philosophy. While other presidential aspirants were still counting on the docile president to anoint them, the National Leader went after the presidential baton, grabbed it and ran away with it. The rest is history. Those who dared challenge the National Leader then are sent to permanent political purgatory!

Good parents do not forget their offspring. So it is with the man of the moment. He realised long ago, while his opponents were sleeping, that a good Muslim must teach his children the value of fasting from the cradle (kékeré ni Ìmàle tó ń kọ́ ọmọ rẹ̀ ní àwẹ̀). He understood that his children must grow alongside him as he progressed in life. The Benin multi-billionaire and icon, Chief Gabriel Osawaru Igbinedion, the Esama of Benin Kingdom, once opined that “a success without a successor is a failure.” That, indeed, is philosophy at its finest.

So, shortly after the demise of his adopted mother, the man, who at the time already had one of his godsons as the governor of Lagos State, had his first daughter installed as the Iyaloja of Lagos. That was the same title held by his late, celebrated adopted mother. Do not bother about the nature of the title or whether it is hereditary or not. We are in Nigeria. Here, a man of means can get anything he wants, by all means. With money and influence, a man without royal ancestry can become a king. Go to Ijebu Ode and ask what money and influence are doing to the revered Awujale throne. May we never run short of owó, a pé kánúkọ. Amen.

When a man has a huge ambition, he must keep servicing it. With the coming of the leader’s protege as president, the first daughter of the kingmaker transmuted from Iyaloja of Lagos to Iyaloja General of Nigeria. The simple implication is that all markets in Nigeria are under the control and management of the First Daughter of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. Trust the super-rich and influential lady. She tested the waters recently in Benin when, against the traditional Iye Ekiti title of the Benin people, the Iyaloja General of Nigeria appointed an Iyaloja of Edo for all markets in Edo State.

The investiture took place at the New Festival Hall of the Edo State Government House! After the ceremony, the Omo N’Oba N’Edo Uku Akpolokpolo, Oba Ewuare II, Oba of Benin, was merely informed of the development and asked to cooperate with the new Iyaloja of Edo! To date, Benin people are still contending with that sacrilege! But guess what: Iyaloja General of Nigeria has moved on. When your father is rich, influential and powerful, shifting ancient landmarks is as easy as drinking water and putting the cup down. Like Pastor Chris Oyakhilome is wont to pray, ‘I must be rich!’

Before you shout sacrilege, remember that when power, influence and money meet tradition, the latter becomes inconsequential. Stop being envious of this noble family. Just pray to be powerful and ask the ancestors to give you the courage to deploy your powers appropriately to suit your fancies! Only a few men know how to use power. Our man of the season numbers among them. Kudos!

Nigeria is, to a larger extent, patrilinear. Our man also knew that given the anthropological and cosmological composition of the society he lives in, his male offspring must also be in the eyes of the public. Our elders say when the fire glows to its limits, it covers itself with ashes (bí iná bá kú, áá f’eérú b’ojú). A wise man is one who eats and keeps some aside for his child. Our man wasted no time in putting his heir apparel in the subconsciousness of the people. After his inauguration as President, the first son of the powerful man had a space in the nation’s Executive Council Chambers.

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While the Federal Executive Council (FEC), held in those early days of his administration, the President’s son sat in the chambers, observing proceedings. Some ‘enemies’ of the man said that the President was giving his son the necessary tutelage in cabinet matters for a future assignment. A few of us believed that it was an honest mistake.

Even when the rumour about a Lagos governorship job for the boy broke out, we still believed that our President was too strategic to be that madcap. Thankfully, sanity prevailed. Someone who had the ears of the President spoke sense to him and he stopped his son from attending the weekly FEC meetings.

That, however, did not happen until after all ministers and other political appointees of cabinet rank had taken judicious, judicial and administrative notice of the fact that in our President’s reasoning, and as in the Holy Writs’ injunction, the father and the son are one because the President is in the son and the son is in the President. An amebo said that most ministers go through the son to reach the father, but this piece does not believe in conjectures. There should still be a few men of honour and self-worth around. Or what do you think?

The fact that government officials from different states of the Federation fall over one another to receive the President’s son whenever he visits any state would still not make us believe that the boy is being prepared for the Lagos number one job. Lagosians are not that biddable; they are not that docile. Sorry, I mean Lagos people are not that slavish to serve the god, the father; god, the mother; god, the daughter and later, the son. But money; that evil spirit called money! Whoever has it in abundance can buy anything, get anything and do anything here in Nigeria. Jesus! What an evil idea on a Tuesday, a day I should be in Digging Deep!

Why on earth should the thought of the President’s son’s convoy being longer than some governors’ convoys come to my mind today? Why should the picture of our own Nobel Laureate, Professor Wole Soyinka, being stranded in a hotel premises because the number one son of the Federation had to move his convoy around the same location be of significance today?

I struggled to bind the temptation of saying: ‘so WS also had a bitter taste of the bitter pills his friend, the President, and his family members have been serving Nigerians for over two years now’? WS is a world figure (forget that the US recently cancelled his Visa; who needs America in the first place?), and as such, I dare not say ‘the academic also cry!’ This is what you get when those who are supposed to talk decide to go into self-induced amnesia in the face of rudderless leadership. This generation has a way of describing the situation. The say: all of us will chop breakfast!

Our man of the season is calculating. He knows that no matter how well-integrated his family is politically, the traditional institution must also recognise that the family exists. Charity, they say, begins at home. The best way to start the traditional induction of the members of the First Family is the source itself. Without much ado, our amiable Adimula of Oodua, the Ooni of Ife, was called and instructed to do the needful.

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Two weeks or so, ago, Our First Lady of the Federation, Her Excellency, the former First Lady of Lagos State, ex-Distinguished Senator of the Federal Republic of Nigeria and the Ugosimba 1 of Enugu, was installed as the Yeye Asiwaju Oodua by the Ooni of Ile Ife. A senior ‘troublemaker’ asked me which is higher between Yeye Oodua title conferred on the revered matriarch of the Awolowo dynasty, Late Chief (Mrs) Hannah Idowu Dideolu Awolowo and the recent Yeye Asiwaju Oodua title given to our President’s wife by the Ooni. You all know how much I run away from controversy. Let us all hope that the palace of the Ooni will make that clarification itself. And truly, the public needs to know if the present title is a replacement of the former or just to make the man of the moment feel good.

While we await that clarification, the ugly rivalry between the Ooni and the Alaafin of Oyo reared its hydra-head. Pardon my manners. We are talking about Oriades here. Before the dust of the Yeye Asiwaju Oodua and the drama of our First Lady chasing a sitting governor away from the state podium for wasting the Lady of means’ time settled down, Oyo Alaafin responded to Ile Ife’s audacity to give a Yoruba universal title to an individual. By the way, how do we get Governor Ademola Adeleke of Osun State to learn to sing less when Mother Nigeria is around? He was lucky the First Lady did not take away his prepared speech. The governor might not be lucky next time! May God give us power (Amen).

Our Ikú Bàbá Yèyé, the Alaafin decided to go a step further by conferring on the President’s son the title of Òkanlomo of Yorubaland. Ask me what Òkanlomo means. How do I translate this? Or would a transliteration suffice? Ok, let’s do it this way. Òkanlomo, by closest definition, means, the primus inter pares non secundum- first among equals, equal to non – child of Yorubaland. I should think that is correct enough. But if you are confused here, note that I am equally confused about the Òkanlomo title.

What Alaafin is saying here is that every other child in Yorubaland, (including the princes and princesses in the Alaafin Palace), is secondary to the President’s son. By that title, the fortunate boy is the only and number one child of Yoruba Race! That is what the Alaafin said. And in case you don’t know, you can’t dispute whatever Alaafin says. He is a Kábíyèsí (the one that cannot be questioned). The law is what the judge says it is, so says Legal Realism. So it is with the Alaafin; a child is what Ikú Bàbá Yèyé says he is!

I am a child of culture. I value the Yoruba traditional system. Alaafin does not need to explain that he is the only king in Yorubaland who has the right to give a Yoruba universal title to anybody. His forebears held that position. All Ààre Ònà Kakanfo (the Generalissimo) of Yorubaland are appointed by the Alaafin. The Alaafin’s prime position among Yoruba monarchs is a given. So, why the struggle to justify the conferment of a universal title by the Alaafin?

Nobody is allowed to question any king in Yorubaland over his actions or inactions. When the people are tired of their kings, there is a traditional way of settling that. I don’t question the Alaafin over the title he dashed the President’s son. I cannot even, in my wildest imagination, ask Kábíyèsí what informed the title. I dare not, as a Yoruba, ask what pedigree qualified the President’s son for the title. The Alaafin knows how he arrived at that title. My only worry is the implication of the Alaafin making Oyo princes and princesses inferior to the Òkanlomo of Yorubaland. That itself is understandable. When your father is the president, kings don’t regard culture anymore!

Yes, it is true that the elders of Yorubaland say that ká tó fi ènìyàn j’oyè, ó ní lâti jé eni rere (for a man to be given a chieftaincy, he must have proven to be worthy of it). How worthy is the Òkanlomo of Yorubaland? What are the parameters used by the Alaafin? Apart from being the son of the president, what else has the guy brought to the table? If the Òkanlomo and the Àrèmo Alaafin (heir apparent) stand together, who is superior now? Or is it that since the Ooni gave the mother a title, the Alaafin must also give the son? Oh, no! This is Alaafin. Nobody questions him! I rest.

Hate them or love them, President Bola Ahmed Tinubu’s family is the luckiest family of this era. It is rare for fortune to smile on a family continuously and in multiple folds the way the Tinubus are experiencing it. Their diviner must be a strong one. Whoever gave the àféká layé ńfé’ná (love inducing charm) must also be strong.

I am not Bovi. I am not the Ambassador-in-waiting, Reno Omokri. Yet, I am in no way close to Buoda Femi Fani- Kayode. The latter duo are members of the nation’s egbé bú mi kó o gba’ke (abuse me and be compensated club). I am just a simple Nigerian wishing the most powerful family in the country today, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

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By Lasisi Olagunju

If we were Christian in my family, Christmas would have been for us a mixture of joy, mourning and remembrance. But still, it is. When others celebrate Christmas, I mourn my mother. We call it celebration of life; it is a forever act that undie the dead. She died just before dawn on December 24, 2005. But she lived long enough such that even I, her second to the last child, enjoyed her nurture for over forty years. She died happy and fulfilled. She was extremely lucky; she even knew when to die.

A mother’s death strips her child naked. With a mother’s exit, the moon pauses its movement of hope; morning stops arriving with its proper voice. For me, since it happened 20 years ago, dawn still breaks as forever, but nothing raps my door to announce a new day and the time for prayers; no mother again chants my oríkì. No one, again, softly drops ‘Atanda’ by my door before sunrise. Nothing sounds the way it used to. No one again wets the ground for the child before the sun fully unfurls its rays.

History and literature, from Rousseau’s idealisation of the “good mother” to Darwin’s notion of “innate maternal instincts,” framed motherhood narrowly; yet she inhabited it fully. She bore and reared in very inclement weather; she thought and questioned, endured and, quietly, shaped lives in her care beyond the ordinary. She was a princess who knew she was a princess. Like Frances Hodgson Burnett’s princess in ‘A Little Princess’, her voice – outer and inner – shouted an insistence that “whatever comes cannot alter one thing.” Even if she wasn’t a princess in costume, she was forever “a princess inside.” The princesshood in her inheritance ensures that her father’s one vote trumps and upturns the 16 votes cast by multi-colour butterflies who thought themselves bird.

Sometimes quiet, sometimes shrill, she showed in herself that the true measure of a woman lies in the fullness of her humanity, the strength of her mind and character, and the depth of her influence. She embodied all these with grace until her final breath.

Geography teaches us that harmattan is dry, cold, hash, unfriendly wind. The harmattan haze of Christmas is metaphor for the blur the child who misses their mother feel. It hurts. The day breaks daily with silence performing the duty the mother once did. What this child feels is hurting silence where her song caressed. In the harshness of the hush, the child remembers how mornings were once gold, how a day felt owned simply because she announced it. Without her, time still moves, but it no longer rises to meet the child with its promise of warmth.

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When a mother dies, her child’s gold goes to rust and dust. Because a mother is the cusp that scoops to fill her child’s potholes, in her death something essential goes missing. And it is final. Everything that was a given is no longer to be taken for granted; nothing is henceforth granted; everything now makes bold demands, even illness speaks a new language. Fever comes creepy and no one reads the child’s body before they speak. Across the wall at night, other women sing their children to sleep, the tune that reaches the motherless is far from the familiar; it is unfaithful.

A child without a mother is what I liken to walking helplessly in a windy rain. No umbrella, whatever its reach and promise, is useful. Again, living is war. When wronged, or terrified by life, the child who has no mother discovers how far they can walk without refuge; they daily face bombs without bunkers.

For the one without a mother, each victory, each success; each survival; every loss, every defeat, asks for a sharer and a witness who is no longer seated where she used to.

Winning can be very tasteless. It is a very bad irony. The muse says that when a child is motherless, joy, when it appears, arrives incomplete; good news, when it comes, comes and pauses at the lips – in search of mother, the one person it is meant for.

Motherhood and its echo teach that a mother’s loss, like a father’s, is erasure, loss, negation, unpresence. It is permanence of loss of love and security.

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The child remembers that in their mum’s lines were elegant, restrained refinements that moved from the gently lyrical to the aphoristic. But they are no more. The old sure shoulder to lean on has slipped away, thinning into memory.

The orphan learns early that those who say, “I will be your mother,” are not always mothers, and those who say, “I will be your father,” are rarely fathers. For the orphan, it is a cold, cold-blooded world.

And yet, the child soon finds out that the mother’s exit has not emptied the world; it has simply rearranged its content.

In the new arrangement, the mum becomes a mere memory kept going in inherited habits, in routine and practice, in the instinct to call a name they know will not answer – again.

“Each new morn…new orphans cry new sorrows…” says Shakespeare in Macbeth. Every forlorn child fiddles with the void. But the muse insists that children that are counted fortunate do not simply outgrow their mother; they outlive her absence and grow new muscles and new bones; they learn slowly to carry and endure what cannot be put down.