To Iyaniwura Hall in Ikotun-Ajangbadi on this cool and wet morning as part of the weeklong celebration of the fairer sex. The atmosphere had been calm and tranquil until Mama Igosun began her shrill and implacable hell-raising. The modish and militant station which openly advocates confederation or balkanization must be a glutton for punishment.

The last time it invited the ancient Amazon from Igosun, all hell broke loose from rival factions of Yoruba self-determination groups laying exclusive ownership claims to the old female matador. They ended up wrecking the studio even as the authorities threatened to withdraw their license for spreading hate speech.

As a matter of fact, Mama was having a post-Covid-19 revival and rejuvenation. For a moment, it appeared as if the great lady was going to succumb to the pandemic scourge, having tested positive on four different occasions. For days she lapsed in and out of consciousness mumbling insensate curses at invisible enemies while remembering to take a dig at Okon’s ancestors. Poor Okon who was already quietly celebrating his tormentor’s imminent exit could not fathom this drama of indestructibility. Thereafter, the old woman rallied and immediately went for Okon’s jugular.

“Ekolo, abi wetin dem dey call you again, bring me the remaining hippopotamus soup with Esuru”—a species of wild yam popular with the Yoruba people. And then she rounded on yours sincerely. “Akanbi, I know I don tire you well. But I want to be able to tell my sister your mother that you took care of me, even though she stole my inheritance to send you to school. My sister na real gbewiri” (Yoruba for redoubtable thief), she noted with a devilish grin.

At the radio station, the firework started immediately.

“Iya Agba, how do you see the state of the nation?” she was asked.

“Which gbarogudu nation be dat one and which yeye state? Dis gelegolo one you put there him no sabi nothing. Everything don pafuka and kontri sef don kaput”, the ancient one screamed.

“Iya, government has ordered that they should shoot all bandits at sight”, somebody quipped.

“Hen he? So which minister dem don shoot and which of dem senator? Dat one na nonsense talk. Na dem forest bandit dey shoot dem at sight. As I dey reach here dem don reach Kaduna. Make dem dey talk dem yeye talk until dem reach Abuja. He no go tey again”, the old woman shrieked. The interviewers decided to change tack.

“But mama, the minister of Defence has said that everybody should defend themselves,” one interviewer mused half to himself.

“Wo, let me tell you. Dat one na senseless talk. I dey shame for the man. How many people get gun? Abi na with ordinary hand you go fight dem people with dem agidingbi gun?” the old one spat.

“But mama we hear say you get better gun”, somebody said in a bid to inject some humour.

“Yes I get Dane gun and give am to dem Amotekun people and dem no dey use am. So I go give dem Sunday Igboho boy. Igboho people no dey carry last. Dem people be dem old Alaafin hunter”, the matriarch noted with chilling resolve. A wild wave of applause resounded and resonated through the hall. The atmosphere became rowdy and uncontrollable. A shot rang out and people took to their heels. As usual Mama Igosun melted into thin air and vanished without trace.

The Nation