My ‘Baale’ Idi Araba story

Today is my 50th birthday. As usual, no celebration. That is my style. However, as usual again, for the past one week, I have been doing some introspective review of my life, doing  what some people will call stock-taking. There is an incident which kept on coming to my mind. One incident that would have […]

Today is my 50th birthday. As usual, no celebration. That is my style. However, as usual again, for the past one week, I have been doing some introspective review of my life, doing  what some people will call stock-taking. There is an incident which kept on coming to my mind. One incident that would have changed my story. An event that also demonstrates how the Nigerian story has changed significantly. It was one story that shows how times have changed in our country. Let me also stress that this aspect of the story of my life happened so long ago that I cannot remember some details.
I guess I must be just about six years old or a little younger. That means, it should be about 1971 or 1972. The practice for many Abeokuta men who lived in Lagos then was to send one or two of the children back home to live with their aged or aging parents. The children not only helped the grand-parents back home, they provided the link for the man and his wife to constantly go home or send money for the upkeep of those in the hometown. I was the first of my father’s children to be taken back home to live with my old aunt (his eldest sister) who was like my grand mum. More importantly, the education system in Abeokuta, then in Western State, was better than that of Lagos State. And that was another reason for this backward integration system to thrive.
During our long holidays, I had the opportunity to reunite with my siblings in Lagos. We were living in a house in Mushin Olosa which is just about a kilometer to Idi Araba, the present location of the University of Lagos. Then, Idi Araba was a village by Yoruba categorization of its settlements. It had a Baale or a village head.
During this particular holiday for students in the Western State, the schools were still in session in Lagos. On a sunny afternoon, I remember vividly, my siblings were going for a private tutorial session which in local lingo was termed ‘lesson’. I decided to follow them. I had with me the seat and writing plank called ‘slate’, the one that we used a white chalk to write upon.
Somehow, my sisters left me behind. By the time I realized I was all alone, there was no trace of those who knew the way. Then I saw this open space in front of a house where some children gathered. Some of them were just playing. I calculated that that might be the venue of the ‘lesson’ being attended by my sisters. I decided to mount sentry and watch. I was there until it was getting dark and gradually, the children dispersed one by one. I was now left to my fate, lost and afraid with no chance of tracing my way home. If it was Abeokuta, I could describe our compound and my aunt’s name. In Lagos, I was a stranger and visitor, even though I was born there. I can’t remember now how some good Samaritans took me there, but I ended up that night in the house of the Baale, the Village Head. I ended up sleeping there after having my dinner. I remembered that when the wife of the Baale spread a mat for me to lay on for the night, I still requested that she should spread clothes on it like what I was used to in my aunt’s place.
The following morning, they treated me to the normal ritual of  a clean bath and good meal. I noticed there were no children my age in the house. Later that morning, the Baale’s wife left the house for the market, where she had a stall. She was still kind enough to leave me a pack that would be my lunch.
Before lunchtime, another elderly man visited  the Baale. I noticed they had a discussion and after sometime I was told to carry the ‘seat and slate’ which formed my luggage and followed the man. We boarded a ‘molue’, at a bus stop which I later realized must have been Mushin, just one bus stop before the closest one to our house. Meanwhile, back home, search-parties scoured, and combed the nooks and crannies of the entire area throughout the night. People kept vigil as confusion reigned in the neighbourhood.
However, in God’s way of performing miracles, when we got to our bus stop, in the process of giving way to some passengers to disembark from the Molue, my slate fell down and I bent quickly to pick them. At that point, I just heard shouts from some people around the bus stop and a woman grabbed me. A member of one of the search parties which happened to be moving along the bus stop area had sighted me. The old man I was going with had to discontinue the journey. In the euphoria that enveloped the atmosphere, I could not recollect how the handover ceremony went. All I knew was that I returned home to the warm, overjoyed embrace of my mother, the rest of the family and our neighbours. That was at a time when there was no Child Rights Act. Yet, I benefitted from the pervasive fear of God.
Imagine if the incident had happened in Nigeria of today, particularly in Mushin area. Will the person or persons who took me to the Baale’s house bother to take the trouble? Will they not have concluded that I  was a perfect ‘item’ for money ritual or something, to sell to those who may need me for other purposes? Even if the Baale wanted to help, will the present way the police  react to and handle such cases encourage the man? Today, will it be difficult to find somebody who will know one or two persons willing to pay some cash to take custody of the boy and ‘use’ him for their own purpose – most likely an evil one? So many questions!
I thank God that incident happened well over 40 years ago. I pray for God’s mercy on the Baale, his good wife, those who took me to his house, the members of the search parties, my parents, aunt and my schoolgirl sisters. May God bless our country and return her to that era when kindness reigned among the citizenry and when we all lived like a large community peopled by good neighbours, the time children enjoyed protection from all and sundry. These are my birthday wishes.
Olaniyonu is Special Adviser to the Senate President.