Tale 10: Of Auditions and Adopted Family

Act 2, Scene 2
Set in the late evening at Ajose Lecture theatre. Lights deemed. Outline of ±5 people scattered in the seats about 5 rows from the stage. Walking up on stage is skinny Titi - my audition to join a drama group.

Titi (In my head): I can do this, I can and have overcome my innate shyness driven by my gangly arms and bony knees. I can do this! {I finally look directly into the seated auditors and shock! In the shrouded theatre I see the outline of a recognizable head - one that looked like a friend, music group mate (R.S.P - a story that will be told) and older brother}. Could it be? Is that Olumide Akinsola? O my God, IT IS Olumide Akinsola!

And gbam, my nervousness came crashing through again. For you see Olumide I have known since before my teen years. He knew me, knew my etymology as an All Saints Anglican Church Yaba + R.S.P member. At least some history i eventually thought. My older brothers mate and friend...sigh…

In the chairs - two other gentlemen I came to know as Abiodun Oduyemi and my very own Chief O - Olatokunbo Fagbamigbe!

Then the audition began. And truth be told Olumide Akinsola was not gentle at all :-) He drew on all my vulnerabilities he knew off :-) and he prodded me

Olumide A: You are a hawker - Action!
Titi {I respond with appropriate body language, swaying non existent hips, singing in lilting voice}: ‘L’angbe ji na o! L’angbe j’ina!’ then E w’oju obe e mu yan!’
Olumide A: Now a mad person Action!
Titi went ballistic! Hysterical laughter, jerky start and stop runnings; well put together coiffure promptly undone. The transition from normal to crazed executed.

And it worked! DaddyMi, courage came. That bag sure comes in useful. And so I successfully became a part of a family of love: 4:5!

This day is therefor to say thank you to the 4:5 family, too numerous to name indvidually. Thank you for being a partof my time in ‘africa’s most beautiful campus’ {ahem} such great fun! Many are the stage productions heralded by midnight rehearsals, movies in botanical garden - including a song recording that took me close to my now husband but I knew not; to crushes and loves unrequited {ahem!}; to picnics and most important life long friendships forged. Some stories are best told over the glowing embers of a well tendered fire while watching a fiery sunset with loved ones. Some I might tell others I leave to snicker over even as I grow in Grace and wisdom!

HELLO 4:5!!!!

‘We are a Convenant House, A family of Love,
WAlking in the light of His word;
Our foundation is Love,
And our Walls made of Unity,
We go on in the Strength of His Love!

Lord Lift our hearts, make Us One,
Build Us up and make Us strong,
Till we come to the Fullness of Joy!x2 (Written by Olumide Akinsola for the ECU 4:5 family).

Ps: Olumide Akinsola, Caroline Biuware SAdio, Faith Biuware, Patrick Osagie, Cyril Osagie, Eyitayo Akinsanmi, George - It's’ been over 20 years already!

A step away today from the Thankful tales,to ask You, my friends, for an even more intense moment of your time.

There is so much evil in this world Lord! Perpetuated under the guise of custom and culture; as a result of political grandstanding; and due to the warped evil that some human beings (male and female) are.

My one request today - please say a prayer for the innocent babies, children out there. A word of prayer for protection, for redemption, for deliverance. A thought their way that the pain suffering and evil will end.

An extra ask to those with kids (biological, adopted or anticipated) give your children an extra hug, hold them close and tell them you love them. As you do send a word out in prayer that any child out there who is in a loveless situation or environment will find love.
And lastly that strength of heart and mind to those who work to help these kids in need.

Thank you.

ps: tales continue

Tale 9: Of Tears & Beginnings

Act 2 Scene 1

Titi Soliloquy
I slept the sleep of the exhausted. unmoving mostly only to be woken at daughter, to the slushing sounds of water.
To the sound of activity: early bird risers ensuring they had water.
My first shock - unusable bathrooms, dysfunctional taps and peeping Toms!

I made it to the department of International Relations on an empty stomach
And Yes, my name was still not unmarked! Then I wept, Huge heaving tears

For the injustice,
For the corruption,
For the seeming lack of recourse.

I wept
huge tear drops falling like a waterfall with rock like thoughts of what it took to get so far, only to have the rug seemingly pulled out from under me.

I wept.
Even as I walked up the stairs of the Senate building
Having exhausted all options at the Department and finding no sympathy.
My goal: the admissions office
My silent tears unabated but my spirit determined.

There I met a crowd
It seemed my plight would not be addressed
Afterall I showed up alone
No parent, No connections.

That day I took a vow
I will not leave, till I laid my came before the DV admission
And thus my quietly stubborn aluta persona came to the fore.

I took a seat on the floor, on the corridor outside the office of the dVC
Back to the wall, Legs stretched out,
Silent tears unending. Determined to not leave till I had audience.

Twice the dVC walked - busy but observing, unknown to me.
Many simply crossed over shaking their heads.

All day I sat, never losing sight, not losing my comportment
Laying siege, , seeking audience.

A calm voice at ± 5pm

Voice: Young lady, how can I help you?
Titi (Looking up): Good evening sir. Yes Sir. They struck my name off the admission list.

He shook his head, then said come.
He gave me tissue to clean my tears,
Access to his landline so I could call home

And most important, He assured me on this

‘Pstr Adeojo: You will be fine, Your marks work.
Pick a course
Transfer in part 2!

And thus I became a full and bonafide
Greatest Ife!

To you, Mr. Ade Ojo
I say thank you.
Your lineage will always find help.

And so I became a student card carrier
and my adventures in Ife truly began.

Tomorrow Calls

Tale 8: Of Admissions, Corruption and Favour

Great Ife, Great Ife!
Africa’s Most beautiful Campus!
Conscious, Vigilant, progressive {Ahem}
Aluta against all oppression! { Looto?}
Ati be be lo…

Ps: If you know the rhyme song ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little star’ you can sing the Ife Anthem. Hee hee hee!

ACT 1, SCENE 1

Location: Ojota Bus Stop, Lagos

Distended Voice on Megaphone: Osoooogbo, Osogbo! Ileeeesa!

Me (in my head as I walk with my mum into the park): Nope, Not me!

Distended Voice on Megaphone: Challenge, Challenge, Challenge!

Me (still in my head): Nope not me - no challenges!

Distended Voice on Megaphone: Iwo road, Ibadan!

Me (voice raised in my head): Noooooo not me, stop haranguing me (at the hustlers following my mum and I).]Me: (Finally voicing out) Stop following us - we are not going to those places.

Distance Voice: Ile-Ife, Ile-Ife! Ife Campus straight!

Me (With a huge smile in my head voice): Ope o! Finally Yes!

My Mum: Titi, are you sure?

Me: Yes Mummy. I will be fine.

Then follows loads of prayer, publicly said and my answering Amen. All while we settle my bag securely in the trunk of a station wagon, and I take the ‘luxurious seat’ next to the driver in front - well paid for. The conductor attempts to place someone on same seat with me - on account of my tiny physique. He ends up being ‘withered’ by my mother’s laser eyes!

My mum, bravely - I now realise - waves me off, at fifteen and a half years old - to University - three states away. To her alma mater, my first time ever away from home.

{Now as a mum of two, having to see off my three year old to pre-school and how much that draws my heart strings - I appreciate you more than ever before mummy.}

Me (soliloquy): And thus my sojourn to an in Ile-Ife began. With one traveling bag, No cell phone. Bag stuffed with clothes, food and books. Some change in my pocket and an even bigger bag of courage hefted across my shoulders {Thank you Daddy}. I had been shortlisted and offered admission to the most beautiful university in Africa, nestled in the hills and valleys of of the land of origins - ‘Yo Ho! to Ile Ife!
Thanks to the atrocious state of the Lagos Ibadan Expressway and the then terrible and notorious Ibadan Ile Ife road, a journey of 2 hours took me 5 hours. I arrived in Ife at about noon.

Aside: {Of Corrupt Politicians, Contractors and locals - a tale that beckons to be released}

ACT 1 SCENE 2

Location: Great Ife Gate, SUB and Department of International Relations

The gates of Obafemi Awolowo University loomed as we drove past its then impressive archway past security. My front row seat meant I saw it all. My senses drank it all in like on starved of natures beauty. Coming from the concrete jungle of Lagos, we drove into the rolling green hills; rivers and well tarred roads ending up in front of the Student Union Building (SUB) - where I encountered my first blockade!

Power drunk security: All of you hout! Now! Come hout! Ha you registad?

Me: No but I…

Him (cutting me off): Ahhh! Jambite!

Me (aside) Na you sabi!

Him: Oya come out. No cars towards hostels (for some security reason). You go and register first - if they clear you, you can enter. But you, if you have friend go and drop your bag first.

And thus I got my first favour on campus - Thank you unknown man - for letting me through.

Titi Soliloquy: I ventured to go and register before the day ended. Confident in my acceptance into the course of my dreams - straight to the department of International relations. I arrive there and behold on the notice board, my name.Yes! But wait why is there a line across it? O No! Why is there someone else name in front of mine??? No, not again! Noooooooo!!!

Someone had sold my spot to another, derailing what I thought was my ultimate hope and dream to being a diplomat with a single pen stroke across a name unknown to them.

And there I am, confused, distraught, in a strange city, all naivety fallen off, alone, as night falls...knowing I cannot return to Lagos, I have to find a way. First though - where am I going to sleep???

This is where I say Thank you Toyin Onasanya - as she was settled somewhat thanks to an older brother. You only knew me due to the ride from Lagos - yet you lead me, fed me and housed me in your bunk space - U2, Mozambique hall - my first squatter space! Some would call it managed homelessness. I laid down my head afraid but courageous - knowing I had a battle ahead of me as the cock crowed at dawn.

See you tomorrow - sleep beckons.

Odaaro!

Tale 7: Of Bells, Bubblers, Boyz and Parties

‘Bubblers’, a slang firmly rooted in the 90’s

So, my skirting of lines that were meant to be toed, transversed the hours and walls of high school.
I stabbed classes (Sorry mama!), braided my hair, dealt in contraband, got into fights and played pranks on unwitting teachers.
Sincerely in light of today's high schooler, all these are tame :-)

I was not a ‘boarder’, More of an in-between, Day -boarders I think the term was.
living in the high rise staff quarters such that five minutes walk got me to my class.

This ‘day-boardering’ meant my after school life even though I went home to my bed,
Was always ruled by the ‘tin-tin bell’.
It meant prep in my Obong wear in the afternoon and evenings,
once or was it twice or more, it meant walking right into dinning hall unchallenged and eating like a boarder. O what tasteless grief.
(How on earth did you full time boarders stomach some of those meals all term?)
Lights out when it went off with none of the night time frolicking full boarders got into.
But I looked in, I could see - living in a high rise overlooking the boarding house.

So you see, I ended up being privy to much - both students and staff shenanigans.
Some I wrote off, others I filed away.
From the memories of the day a monkey terrorized boarders, to tales of ‘madam Koi-Koi’ ( a dripping tap or a ghost - each boarding high school had its own version)
To sights of Bubblers, dare devils
Scaling walls, gates and jumping gutters
For Suya, Boyz and Stupendous unilag connected parties
Of things thrown and missing their mark
ending in hands that opened up punishment

Let it not be said that decades later I became an ‘akpere’
from whom secrets emerge.

Memories of hand stitching together an outfit for a party at Chidinma Agbamuche-Maduka’s;
of raiding my brothers closet for Bisola’s class party (ahh her love for a certain Toni Campbell),
of creativity and adaptations in getting parental consent for escapades that only Grace saw one through and duly earned my ears pinched pretty pink

So I don’t cause error or offence to any,
I say a heart warming thank you to all W QCOG of 96
for an interesting six sessions: You all feature!

I bid farewell, for now, to tales of passing on the Torch!

Tales nestled in the midst of hills and valleys of Greatest Ife - See you tomorrow!

Tale 6: Of Productions, Pageants & Adieus

‘Tarry a little, there is something else.
This bond doth give thee here no jot of blood;
The words expressly are "a pound of flesh."
Portia, The Merchant Of Venice Act 4, scene 1, 304–307

Some tales push hard at you,
Straining and clamouring
Pushing till all else is out and it is told
Till you give them life through the written word!

How can I share tales of Passing on the Torch and not mention our many theatrical endeavours?

Of Shakespeare's’ penny pincher Shylock

Memorizing lines
Assuming right tonality
Perfecting movements and expression
Speaking bygone English.
Seemingly endless rehearsals
Outfitted in beautiful costumes - leotards and puffy pleated shorts
Crowned by a beautiful production.

Ahh how liberating the stage remains for me - a place to time travel, see many versions of oneself as in Looper
Of a dream to dance but economy of person must chop no gree totally!

Don’t get me wrong - I no fit stop acting, directing, producing or critiquing! :-)

RIP Mrs. Onyewadume - Thank you!

Of Music - pure beautiful
soul stirring transporting beyond the humidity and dirt of Lagos
The Pirates of Penzance, A future-stars studded production
Dare Art ALade in Lead.
QC girls and KC boyz - a treatise for another day maybe.

Beauty Pageants
some sadness
One in particular I heavily invested in
My father’s trove of hats
My mother's ankara wrappers
All, made it into her wardrobe for the day

One wherein a kind hearted dimpled beauty
shone bright and beautiful.

Fast forward

The Shylocks of our time brought sorrow to be
By their subversive corrupt actions
They took away from us Maimuna Anyene nee Mijindadi and her kin.
You are no more - but I still say Thank you!
Till date I still cannot recall
Your face ever set in a frown or pout
Not even when life hurt you.
Thank you for being beautiful person inside and outside

To others of our time,
That have passed on
Adieu! Adieu! Adieu!

Tale 6 six beckons, knocking on my door - I step into higher learning.
Till tomorrow!
Odaaro!

Tale 5: Of Teachers and Terrors (looongish)

Matamba, Thatcher, Tessiwaju!

My journey through High school was filled with highs and lows, joys and suffering (being a teacher's daughter - a strict one at that) compounded by home being a mere 107 steps up the green high rise in front of the Home Economics building.

Memories of having my ears pulled assailed me - and not for what I had done but said teacher Mrs. (slim, Social studies ahem!) gave me a tongue lashing and loads of pinches for a crime committed and no respect. She finally heard my tiny wails saying no I am not Toyin Akisami. Kudos to her she pulled me close and rubbed my ear saying sorry - but she still chided me (I was reading an Archie Comic in her class - sigh I told you I skirted the lines).

Recollections of Mathematics class taught in a manner that froze up my neurons no matter the teacher (well in Naija then, only one mode of teaching only - not sure that has changed much giving room for students varied learning methods). Again I got to go for extra lessons in Maths this time with an at first single deeper lifer. Till date my memory serves up more of pictures of her many pleated patterned skirts and puffy sleeved high necked tops than any theorem or formulas she tried to afix in my brain. :-) Me and Mathematics sha!

Conversely Geography I loved to a fault- so loved I never got less than an A - ever! Mr. Gboyega I see in my mind's eye rhapsodizing about longitudes and latitudes and painting pictures with words of the beautiful vistas - of mountains and deserts; of rainforests and Savannahs. Of Rivers brimming with tales of those long past - Nile, Niger, Senegal, Congo, Orange, Limpopo, Zambezi! I longed and vowed to see the world for myself. Thank you.

Economics and the joys of demand and supply I bore - the teach Mr. U. was not a hard one to look upon - many teenage eyes appreciated this! And he most definitely knew it - knew the effect he had on us students. WAs there rumours of a liaison or my memory writes a story here?

Moving on...

Memories of falling behind on note taking and not catching up to complete them - but still passing albeit averagely. I had dreams for a long while of trying to catch up with missed notes from Intro. Tech, Geography and Economics. Biology haunts!

With fondness I recall Mrs. Kehinde, Mrs. Bickersteth, Mrs. Shoda and a whole lot more (recall the terror of being summoned to staff room, the English department or even Music. Memories of being smacked because I dared to tilt my beret like the French - those things were wider than the National Theatre on my pointy pixie face! Thank you.

My foray into ‘formal’ writing from encouragements by my mums colleagues - one that saw me write in Pidgin and publish in the school Mag. Ouch. After decades I just outed myself! The gossip column Pidgin corner was written by yours truly. Decades later the rate at which I still slip into pidgin … (‘make you no go dat side yet abeg Titi’ - said to self).

And speaking of languages - Yoruba period and Uncle Tessiwaju - a nickname so well earned I cannot recall his real name beyond it starting with an F! Uncle Tess as we cheekily and affectionately began to call him and the reading of ‘Iyan ogun Odun’. Such an effusive love for his role as a language teacher - we would forgo lunch breaks and have the Hausa and Igbo students join us as he read in a theatrical voice. ahhh. Thank you.

To Mrs. Onuzo for encouraging me when I froze during Oral French in senior school. I don’t freeze up anymore ma. Je parle, ecrit et lis francais tres bien. Hee hee - and I made more chin chin to pay for evening classes at Alliance Francaise once I graduated University. Thank you.

And then there was Mrs Aganga my biology teacher. She saw beneath my decision not to exert myself beyond average then - and she challenged me to be the best version of me I can be. I determined to show her I could “*if and only if* I wanted to excel (stubbornness ehn!).

To each of these and many unnamed I say Thank you.
For giving yourselves to a profession that shapes and moulds us ,for our future but which is more often than not unrewarded and uncelebrated.

Merci, E she, Danke, Na go de, Dalu so, Thank you