They Lied

THEY LIED! Seun Touch®* Ìmòfin!, my village where amazing things happen, where men speak things in their mouths that their minds do not know. As we treaded, in those days, the muddy path to the village river, they each sang to me their solemn praises, swearing shallow oaths somewhere between their double mouths. As we courted village virgins luring waters of the streams into their spouted vessels, they bared each their bony chests, dancing their muscular jaws off in feigned sincerity. And while we worked our joints in mock wrestling bouts at evenings to prepare for the great fight, each told me again and again how so firmly my head would sit in the village crown. Now I know it was a lie they told me; they lied when they promised to make a ruler of me. It started when Bíbílarí, the erstwhile Basòrun1 of my village tagged me in the …influence, he told me was not a function of altitude but of attitude; I should have listened when he told me that kingship is not about the strength of the arms but of the strength of the heart…

presence of my father that I would be the next Onímòfin. Ìmòfin, My village is such where communal leadership does not divest to children of the incumbent after his death; after the tenure of each leader, the community stages a friendly wrestling contest where the one who emerges

winner overall would be the next Onímòfin; so they told me when I was much younger, so they taught me to believe, until now that I see that it is no more so. Whether they also lied, I do not know. I would have given Bíbílarí’s words but little consideration but for the respect I had for him; having participated in communal leadership himself, he appeared to me a genius in such matters. To me then, Bíbílarí was the compass I needed to chart my course in the leadership race. That was my first mistake in the making of me. Never 1

The Village war generalissimo who is also the second -in-command to the paramount ruler.

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before then had I forgotten to listen to the still voice within me, that soft voice that corrects and never condemns; that voice that leads and never pushes. However, that moment in my life, I forgot that the most basic of decisions in life can only be influenced by voices without; the decision will have to be made by you with the guidance of the voice within you. I remember the words of my father who, present then, asked if it was ever necessary to fight for the village stool; smiling gently, he told me influence was not a function of altitude but of attitude; I should have listened when he told me that kingship is not about the strength of the arms but of the strength of the heart. I should at least have listened, now I know. It was an evening like we had never seen before; that evening Sáálù, the village town crier announced the date for the next wrestling rounds. For many days had we waited for the Àwòròs2 to review the activities of the last village administration headed by Olámitóóké, the village matriarch.

…the most basic of decisions in life can only be influenced by voices without; the decision will have to be made by you with the guidance of the voice within you.

Nobody ever

thought Olámitóóké would perform as well as she did. Olámitóóké was more of a regent than a ruler; Ìmòfin was such a place where female rulers were rare to emerge. Whatever the attitude was towards Olámitóóké however, she won the support of the rulers of the other villages around and of the Kingmakers of Ìmòfin. There was not much therefore to review about the administration of someone who had surpassed expectations. Hardly had Sáálù finished his noise than Bíbílarí came to my father’s house with the news of his wish. “Ilésanmí,” he started, “I would want you to consider your son being the next Onímòfin.” “Mmmnn!” my father sighed but he gave no reply “Wont you say anything Ilésanmí?” the Basòrun tugged him

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The Elders-in Council of the village who make ad-hoc laws for effective governance and act as watchdogs to the activities of the village leadership.

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“I have nothing to say” my father replied, then looked in my direction, “Eniafélamò is old enough and will have to make the decision himself.” That night my father and I had one of the most extensive of our discussions we ever had. “Ilésanmí dùn ju oyè3” he told me, but instructed me to make my mind up myself. The prospect of power is more potent than a keg of wine; the following morning, hardly could I remember the words of the night before; neither did I consult the still voice within. Of all the mistakes the offspring of the human species are prone to making while growing, one of the most common is the assumption that they can make major decisions without the help of others. I was no exception to that mistake. I woke with the feeling that a royal impartation had been made on me in the course of the night and all I needed was just to go ahead and exercise the power of rulership. In the bid to rationalize a mistake, often, we take bold steps in wrong ways. That morning, I made another of the most common mistakes the children of humanity make; I assumed that everyone who smiled at me was a friend. While we made our sojourn to and from the village river, I informed both authentic enemies and adulterated friends of my intentions. I remember I told Amúkùún, who I also thought was my brother; he was the same who laughed at me most when I turned my back. And Èrínòdénú too, together with his lover, who gave me their words in my presence and took it back in my absence. It wasn’t that I needed anyone to tug me on to fight for the village stool, It is just that in times of trial, one voice of friend or kinsman gives more strength than seven mounds of èbà4. Bíbílarí believed in me so he tagged me for the stool but I needed the support of people to fight the fight, I needed people to sing while I fought. Then came the night of songs before the day of the big fight, when each of the intending fighters would sing in the village square to gain supporters to their side. It was that night I knew how so many mouths men could possess; that night I saw how so easily friendship could putrefy. That night I sang and only few bothered to sing with me; 3

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(figuratively,) It is better to remain without titles and have peace than to take on titles and lose one’s peace. Starchy meal made from processed cassava granules.

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Alábahun5 had collided with Amúkùún to spread falsehood about me and my father’s house. Whether for jealousy or for vengeance of any wrong I had done him, I do not know. How many men then would sing with a person against whom their minds have been poisoned? But for Olódùmarè6 who reserved for me a few true friends who still sincerely sang with me, I would indeed have sung that hard song alone. All Amúkùún and others said to people about me, I am not so vulgar to repeat. Whether I could have won the contest without the lies told to, and about me, I do not know, but I know I would have retained the confidence of more villagers, I would have had more people left I could call friends, I would have had more people to sing that day while we tangled.

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The fight came and was over before we could even realize it; the most inglorious in several years. For many years had my village had mock wrestling bouts, a mere test of physical strength to help determine who would carry the burden of rulership, that year we turned it to an avenue to seek vengeance and to destroy, that year while we fought with charms and weapons of war, that year we tore to shreds the moral fabric of our little village; that year men killed to wear the crown. That year, the big fight took away our glory the same way it brought it to us. We have not till now recovered from that fight.

I do not know whether I could have won the contest without the lies told to, and about me, but I know I would have retained the confidence of more villagers, I would have had more people left I could call friends, I would have had more people to sing while we tangled… 5 6

The Tortoise, reputed in Yoruba folklore to be entirely crafty. Yoruba name for God, which means literally the Great Diviner who knows he who is not guilty.

* Omotoso, Oluwaseun Adedayo, Columnist and freelance writer. Omotoso, Oluwaseun Adedayo is the Principal Partner of Image-Anew® Nigeria, an organization geared at human resource management and cultivation of seeds of leadership in young minds. His works have been published in national dailies and a couple of websites. Omotoso is presently working on his novel, The Rusty Metropolis. See personal blog, www.oluwaseunayofunmi.blogspot.com. For feedback; [email protected]; [email protected]; +234(0)8053240248;+234(0)7033324004

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