To Kelegbemegbe FM Radio Station on the marshy outskirts of Okokomaiko where Mama Igosun was billed to clear the air on some pressing cultural matters. Owned by a feisty, no-nonsense ethnic supremacist, the station had become quite famous for its incendiary broadcasts and no-holds-barred interviews proclaiming the end of the Lugardian contraption.

Earlier in the morning, one had been roused by the din of a truly historic commotion. Having polished off a huge bowl of corn pap with six outsize wraps of moin-moin, Mama demanded a proper breakfast of plantain porridge with wild vegetables and porcupine meat. Okon was so livid and exasperated that he almost flew at the poker-faced amazon.

“Oponu abi wetin dem dey call dat your yeye name? I dey go Ore war front. I no want make dem aparutu boys come roga old woman like dat. Sebi you understand, abi your kokonut head no correct  again?” the old woman bellowed with girlish mischief.

“Mama leave me o jare. Nobody dey chop dat kind Yoruba nonsense again. In fact why you no wan go home again? Sebi covid don finis? Dem Yoruba people don begin dem owambe again”, the crazy boy screamed.

“Iyen lenu ee? (That one from your mouth?)  May Allah dumbu your Nabi mother.(Nabi is an old Yoruba word for prostitute) Se ile babanla baba e ni mowa ni? (Am I in your great grandfather’s house?) Who dey chop and dem Kukuruku dog dey wag him tail?” the ancient woman screamed as her eyes darted around for the nearest domestic weapon of offensive. Okon took to his heels never to return that morning.

It was a frustrated and angry Mama Igosun that finally arrived at the premises of the Kelegbemegbe FM Station later that morning. As a matter of fact, despite quiet nudging and polite hints that it was time for her to return home, the old lady refused to budge. She had begun to enjoy Lagos tremendously. Sometimes she would disappear for hours on end only to return fuming that she lost a game of draughts to some foolish Ibadan tailor at Ogunmokun Street in faraway Mushin.

“Akanbi, dem mad Beiyerunka tailor come use layipo for old woman”, she would rave in self-pity.

This morning, it was clear that the fiery contrarian was in no mood to take hostages as she brushed past a local guard of honour made up of militiamen hurriedly assembled by the rogue proprietor. Sensing that the old warrior was in a foul mood, the audience wasted no time in opening proceedings.

“Mama, what is the Yoruba word for needle?” one man asked.

“Okini”, Mama Igosun replied.

“What of a pair of glasses?” another demanded.

“Molubi”, she retorted without looking up.

At this point, a scholarly looking Lagosian gentleman cleared his throat.

“Thank very much Iya Agba. Can you tell us the difference in Yoruba between epidemic and pandemic?” he asked with a polite chuckle. The old woman hesitated for a moment and then proceeded as if reading from the ceiling.

“Epidemic na ajakale arun, dat one na local plague and pandemic na ajakaiye arun and dat one na world palaver”. There was wild applause for the old sapiens. Amidst the din, the radio host put his boot in.

“Mama rere. What is the difference between independence and self-determination?” the old rogue rallied.

“Independence na omi inira(Water of pains) and self-determination na ominira (Liberation). The ensuing melee was indescribable as a crack police team invaded the premises. The old woman vanished into thin air.

The Nation