Tinkerbel the Egufe Snatcher

A blood cuddling scream from the living room caught me unawares. In my shock I spilled ewedu soup (traditional yoruba delicacy) on my new white jean shorts. My elder sister who was sitting beside me quickly stood up and ran out of the room as I followed in close pursuit to the living room. The scene we met was like something from the famous Tom and Jerry cartoon. My youngest sister, Esse, was in tears, rolling on the floor and howling at the top of her lungs, while another younger sister, Ohis, had caught one of our dogs 'Jackie' and was trying to beat it with a shoe!

It was the year of our Lord, 2004, my elder sister and I were visiting home from university. We had bought amala (plantain meal) and ewedu with 'egufe' (goat meat). For as long as I can remember, our parents have prohibited buying cooked food from roadside canteens because my mom who was a nurse was conscious of the health hazards and my dad simply didn't like eating out. This strict upbringing however, did not stop us from craving the odd roadside akara (bean balls) fried in palm oil or the the tuwo (Hausa traditional meal) sold on the way from the local bustop. Rather it sharpened our thirst for roadside canteen foods.  

Photo Credits: Idowu Ejere sefiesm...Sept 2015

Presently

We had bought 4 helpings of amala and egufe and my elder sister and I went to eat in the bedroom, another taboo we never try when our parents are around, while my younger sisters went to eat in the living room sitting as close to the TV as possible. They had just settled down to eat when there was a knock on the door. A friend of one of our other sisters (we are so many), who was not at home at the time, came looking for her. Ohis was anxious to begin eating and so summarily explained that Olly was away on a French Village excursion. She saw the guest off but forgot to close the door to the porch so one of our dogs, Jackie, who had smelt the food from afar quietly entered the living room and ate Esses's Egufe. Esse who was at the fridge getting some water, walked in at that moment and let out a blood cuddling scream. We heard the scream from the bedroom and ran to the living room and found Ohis who was now back in the house trying to beat the dog.

The dog was faster than her and ran out through the front door closely followed by Ohis, crying Esse, Odion and I. As we chased the dog round the back of the house, the dog noticed that the back door was open and ran through it to the living room and at that moment it must have noticed that there was another plate of egufe right there, all for the taking! We chased the dog into the living room and saw it flee out the front door with Ohis's egufe in its mouth. 

Even as i recall that day i can't help but laugh as words cannot explain the sadness we all felt that day. Ohis and Esse's sadness was justified because the dog ate their meat but even when we shared with them we felt bad and they were still dissatisfied. Esse was to mourn about the egufe for dayssssss!

Right now I am on my way to 'Iya Oyo' restaurant in Utako Abuja.. egufe on my mind!

Idowu
Abuja
2015

THE ONE EYED SUNDAY

Dragging my battered Ted Lapidus roller luggage and clutching my newer Ted Lapidus carry-on bag I stumbled into the departure area of Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, glad to be out of the frigid cold outside. Passersby paid me no attention, not even the slightest look of pity at my one closed eye as I squinted  my opened eye in an effort to read the directional signs. An old woman in a black overcoat and stringy grey hair hurried past me, carrying what looked like a sack of 'garri' (African rough flour made from dried, ground cassava) except that the sack was brownish, with catarrh green streaks running along the sides. "Eww" I muttered, my mouth twitching as I stepped aside to avoid being brushed. I let out a yelp as the movement caused me  to trip over my luggage. It was going to be a long journey.

"Gobo" by Idowu Ejere Accra, 2012

I had been in Wageningen, The Netherlands for 4 days in what had been a fairly interesting mission mainly because I was attending an Africa, Pacific and Carribean youth strategy meeting. It is not often one meets young professionals of like mind discussing agricultural research and development or developing strategies that affect millions of their peers. But that is not what made it interesting. it was interesting because in development work most of the meetings are crowded with old people many of whom are retiree consultants, more of whom believe they have a cure for Africa and the developing world's poverty malaise. But I digress.

Going to bed the night before, I gently took off my contact lenses and put them in their case where I soaked them in my usual Renu solution. It was imperative that I took them off before going to bed because when I sleep with them they turn cloudy and itchy and it would do me no got an entire day with itchy eyes. I woke up early the next day to join the taxi arranged to drop a couple of participants and I off at the airport at 4:30am, because my flight to Accra was scheduled for 7:00am and it would take approximately an hour and a half to get to Amsterdam Schipol from Wageningen by Taxi. I rushed through my morning rituals only to discover after taking my bath that one eye of the pair of contact lens was missing. After searching frantically for it, I realised my dilemma. It had been an impromptu trip and I had mistakenly left my spectacles behind in Accra. I also did not carry my usual toilet bag which means I travelled without an extra pair of contact lenses. Not for the first time. 

The first time I ever had to do without my contact lenses, I was a university student. I had travelled from Okada to Benin City to do some shopping and during the course of the day, my eyes had become irritated. It was so bad that I had to take off my contact lenses. With no solution at hand, both lenses were disposed of. This however created a problem of getting my car from my hostel from the bus stop when I arrived Okada. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth when I think of what would have happened if Engr. Paul's car had not swerved fast enough. Again I digress. 

Putting on my makeup was a tad frustrating, getting out of my room was the tricky part. Wearing contact lenses in one eye meant that I had perfect vision in one eye while the other was -7 myopia. The translation is that everything I looked at was double including the door I walked into as I tried to get out of my room. The elevator had two doors on each side except they seemed to close and open at the same time so I decided to use the stairs but that presented an even worse challenge. I didn't relish the idea of falling to my death on the steep wooden stairs so I went back to the elevators, deciding to take my chances. When I blinked, I realised my vision was clearer with the contactless eye closed. I decided that was the only way to manage the situation if I was to get back in one piece.

The sleepy eyed receptionist was oblivious to my situation as I handed over the room keys at the reception, so were my colleagues from Fiji who were sharing the cab with me to the airport. They bade me good bye as we arrived the terminal building rushing off to catch their plane which was to leave earlier than mine. Feeling suddenly alone and dejected, I dragged my roller luggage into the terminal building. By now, my head hurt from keep one eye shut... I barely made it through check-in with the KLM officer peering at me for minutes as if trying to ascertain if it was indeed me in the passport. It must have been my one eye looking hazel and the other looking brown as opened both eyes to look at her hoping to convince her that indeed it was me in the passport. "I like your eyes" she mocked. "Ode" I muttered though I couldn't care less, I had collected my passport and boarding pass. "You can get it at spec savers" I mocked her right back smarting as I started to make my way to security check.

To be continued...

HOTEL SUZY II

In a panic I picked up my phone and tried Ismael's Canadian number, he answered at the first ring and I said "Ismael, you've got to come and help me, there are some men trying to break into my room." He muffled something I couldn't quite catch in reply, so I said "Speak up, what did you say?" Thats when he said "Idowu, some people are trying to break into my room."

I was too shocked to cry, I just croaked "Ismael, this is your country please help me, do something, call someone.." that was all I could say before I heard a loud bang at the other end of the line. Then the line went dead. All kinds of thoughts began racing through my mind. "Ha! they've killed him," "What if they want to rape me?" "I'm finished" "So this is how people die?" " God! so I left Nigeria to go and die in another man's country?" I was drawn out of my lamentations by a hard knock on the door. I immediately dove into the wardrobe. Then I dived right back out, grabbed my passport from underneath the mattress where I had hidden it earlier and stuffed it in the waist-band of my pyjamas trouser, pulled the top over it and went back to hide in the wardrobe. "At least if I get to escape I can travel back to my country", I thought.

I had scarcely closed the wardrobe door when the hotel room door burst open. I heard noisy movements like a battalion of soldiers had entered the room. I heard them cocking their guns, ready to shoot. They were tearing the room apart searching for me. I heard one of them say "où est-elle?" meaning where is she? and then another voice said "vérifier la salle de bain" that is, check the bathroom. I was holding my breathe so much that I was barely breathing. I have always heard of silent tears but that was the first time it ever happened to me. Tears of fright rolled down my cheeks and soaked my pyjamas top. When I looked through the cracks in the wardrobe door, I saw a battered army boot and a rifle pointed at my face. Cold fear ran down my spine where I was sweating profusely. And when someone opened the door to the larger  compartment of the wardrobe, I almost yelped but covered my mouth just in time, my bladder suddenly threatening to burst open. In my mind I was praying all kinds of prayers "God if you save me this time I will never do anything bad in my life again. I will start going to church, I will not be rude or proud any more, I will give to the needy and help the poor, I will preach the gospel. Just save me."

Stanmer Court, University of Sussex UK, 2009

I was waiting for them to open the smaller compartment of the wardrobe where I was hiding thinking I'll just feign death or perhaps just surrender. However, in a weird twist of fate, they didn't open the smaller compartment, all I heard was the other wardrobe door slammed shut. I heard someone taking a pee in the bathroom, he made such a loud noise it almost seemed like it was a cow peeing. At this point it seemed like the men had given up looking for me but they were still in the room this time speaking in rapid French that I couldn't quite grasp but I heard "mademoiselle" and "Nigerian".  The one who was standing by the wardrobe door near me said something that must have meant "lets go" because they all started leaving the room. I was about to heave a sigh of relief when my phone started ringing. 

The loudest fire alarm I've ever heard is the one that seemed to blare every other day at my hostel in Stanmer Court at the University of Sussex. The alarm was so loud and shrilly that your ears kept ringing for twenty minutes after the alarm has been turned off. For one to fully grasp just how loud the shrill of my phone ringer was at that moment, one has to go stand by a cathedral bell when it is being rung at prayer time, then you will know just how loud my iphone's old telephone ringtone sounded. I died a million times in that one second before the wardrobe door was yanked open, almost clear off its hinges. I was roughly pulled out of the wardrobe by a fierce looking soldier dressed in obviously dirty army fatigues. His grimmy fingers digging into my arm where he held me as I squirmed in pain and fear. All I could say was "s'il vous plaît, s'il vous plaît" meaning "please".

The man looked me up and down and smiled cruelly showing reddish black teeth, testament of a zillion years of chewing raw tobacco. I almost puked but I looked into his cold black beady eyes and knew that this man will not hesitate to kill me if I threw-up on his dirty boots. He shoved me to face another soldier who appeared to be their superior, I noticed he was over six feet tall, slightly better dressed than the rest of the other soldiers who were even worse looking than Mr. Tobacco Teeth.  But he had a scowl on his surprisingly handsome face. He said in broken English "Are you madam for minisree?" The first ray of hope, I said "Yes! oui, ministère de l'agriculture..." (I pronounced it d'lagrikulchui). The man laughed suddenly, his face creasing into friendly lines, and said "don worri I speaks English, your French bad. Welcome to Guinea Conakry. I yam Officer Abdou Coulibay." I stood there looking in surprise then he said " Minisree sen us."  I shouted "You came to save me." I hugged him, body odour and all, while his men laughed and whistled. It was one of the happiest moments of my life.

I was united with Ismael a few minutes later, he told me he had called his contact at the ministry before I called him and they had sent the soldiers to rescue us. The burglars had run off when they heard the soldiers coming. He was asked to stay in his room where two soldiers kept guard while the rest of the soldiers went in search of me. We were moved to another hotel that dawn, Hotel Le'Rocher, where I slept peacefully for the rest of the morning. 

It was when I woke up and looked outside my windows that I realised that my room at Hotel Le'Rocher directly overlooked a mortuary!

HOTEL SUZY

It was a hot night in September 2010 when I landed in Conakry, Guinea. It had been a long wait at the airport in Senegal and by the time I arrived Conakry at 11:50pm I felt dirty, sticky and tired. To make matters worse my luggage when it arrived from the hold, was torn and had what seemed like a bra dangling from the edge. I quickly stuffed it back into the box looking around to make sure no one had seen it. I wasn't going to be so lucky, a laughing custom officer beckoned to me to come over for checking. I dragged my box over thinking it will be over in a few seconds. I was wrong. After what seemed like forever, with me trying to explain to a now growing number of custom officers that I was there on Official Assignment to meet with the Chief Director at the Ministry of Agriculture, I was reluctantly let go.

Omon's apartment, Bovey Court Warrington, UK 2009

I thought the airport was hot till I stepped out to a blast of heat only comparable to heat waves in Northern Nigeria. On getting out I met a crowd of currency mongers thrusting bundles of CFA in my face asking in French if I wanted to exchange currency. I was in no mood to be touched, shoved or pushed by anyone so when Ismael caught hold of my wrist and pulled me to him I instantly started struggling and shouting "je ne parle pas français". Above the jeering caused by my shout he shouted in reply "calm down. Madam Ejere?" I said "yes, who are you?" "Ismael from Canada" he replied. Then it dawned on me. He was one of the guys in the team who I was going to be working with in the coming week. He had only just arrived from Canada himself. I took a good look at him, "not bad at all", I concluded.

It was a long drive from the airport to the hotel with military check points almost every fifteen minutes. Between the dirty windows of the truck and the unavailability of street lights I was unable to make out houses or any structure. If it was possible, the car was hotter and stuffier than the airport. Ismael and I chatted for a while, mostly about the fact that he was originally from Guinea now based in Canada. I told him I was Nigerian and we exchanged business cards. By the time we arrived the our hotel we were exhausted. 

Hotel Suzy looked like it was under some kind of reconstruction or renovations with bags of cement and wooden planks blocking the entrance. Dragging my box into the reception with the help of the driver, I could only pray not to step on nails or sharp objects. What I could make of the hotel was a three story building situated in the midst of low rising houses. The hotel lobby was bare except for a concrete slab that hid two sleeping receptionists who seemed personally affronted when they were woken up to attend to us. We were quickly registered in a tattered note book, handed room keys and settled into our rooms. My room was located on the third floor with a large window and a door leading to the corridors. Ismael's room was just a few feet away. The tap didn't run and since there was no telephone in the room I resigned myself to sleeping without taking a bath. 

I am quite sure I had not been asleep for more than an hour when I heard some noise outside my room door. I pulled my mobile phone from under the pillows and checked the time, it was shortly after 3:40 am. The noise at the door drew my attention once more, it seemed like someone was trying to break into my room. I was so scared, my heart was pounding so fast and loud I could literally hear it. I was quietly reciting Psalm 23. I dared not make a sound so they wouldn't know I was awake. I tiptoed to the wardrobe where I used my phone light to search for Ismael's card in  my wallet, silently praying the wardrobe door will not whine. Upon finding the card to my frustration it was his Canadian numbers stated in there. I muffled a sob in my palm while I tried to figure out what to do next. All the while it seemed the burglars were trying to pick the door lock. 

In a panic I picked up my phone and tried Ismael's Canadian number, he answered immediately and I said "Ismael you've got to come and help me, there are some men trying to break into my room." He muffled something I couldn't quite catch in reply so I asked "what did you say?" That is when he said "Idowu, some people are trying to break into my room."

To be continued...