CHAPTER ONE

“Everly the day breaks, the day brightens. Rise to Riches, Rise to Children, Rise to immortality
the Lord of wealth. Today's rising should be a joyful one for each one of us in our various
domains. May each and every one of us be lifted by our heads, lest destiny deprives us.”
It was Baba Ogidiolu, the great storyteller of Oodua, who woke in the early morning to make
prayers. He held his head and money as he proceeded with his morning prayers. He said, “My
head will pick today's blessings. The fish uses its head to move through the ocean. It is the head
that the axe splits the Iroko tree with, the pole roots itself to the ground with the head. The
earthworm makes a pathway with the head, the shark picks prey at the river bed with its head.
The fish swims for freedom at sea, the crab swims for freedom at the lagoon. The bird doesn't
smite its head against the tree as it flies, the stone doesn't hit the bird at its legs whilst flying.
The stone doesn't hit the snake while it's on the road, the road never ceases to be open. We do
not restrain the wanderer from the road, the needle will move before the way of the rope is
blocked. Ela Iwori removes evil from our collective paths”.
As Baba Ogidiolu was making this prayer, I knocked on his door. I wasn't aware he was making
the morning invocation of blessings, as I didn't hear his voice from outside. But as I kept
knocking, what I heard coming from inside was the sound of him clapping his hands three times.
It was then that I perceived he was busy with something. I then began to hear his voice, saying,
“We do not climb the tree and meet someone, we do not climb the palm tree and meet a human.
Night and day do not meet themselves, may calamity not befall I Ajayi Ogidiolu, the Master
Storyteller, and my wife and children. Because the pepper doesn't ripen in the eyes of the farm
owner, àfòn does not break in the eyes of the passerby. Those who cut leaves on the road do not
see each other's backs. Evil happens in the donkey's rear, the hawk's eyes do not see evil, the
eagle's eyes do not see misery. Misery doesn't meet tears at home. May our eyes never see evil,
may we never walk on the day the road is possessed with Ogun's hunger”.
As Baba Ogidiolu finished this morning invocation of blessings, he rounded up with three chants
of “Ase”. It wasn't long after that I knocked on the door once more. Baba told me to come in, and
I entered because I knew the sign he had made to me previously.
As I entered, I prostrated myself and greeted him, “Good morning.” Baba replied and asked about
my family, if there were any disturbances, and then said my face looked familiar. I replied, “My
name is Ayinde Ogun, and my father's name is Arowojobe. I had been away from town for a while,
going to and fro. This time around, I remembered the joint project you had with my father as
close friends. These are the reasons I came over to your place to greet you”.
Truly, without any self-deceit, when one gets to this Baba's house, they see that it is a grand
house, built with modern concrete blocks. It’s roofed with long green sheets stretching up to
eight fathoms. The windows were made of mirrors, and two different kinds of paint were used:
the first was green and the second was ash. The whole house was glowing greatly due to the
carpet of greenery that laid on the home grounds. This house was a sight to behold; it also had
things in it like a stocky goat.
Baba Ogidiolu's story wasn't always like this. Aside from the fact that he worked for his money
before retirement, he also enjoyed the fruit of his labor on his children. After I finished revealing
myself to him, he began to look at me blissfully from the hair on my head to the sole of my feet.
He pulled me close and shook me strongly, then pointed at a chair and bade me sit. My legs were
already hurting from standing, so I sat. Baba kept greeting me time to time from the chair where
he sat. Baba's chair almost faced me when he called me "Child of Arowojobe". Once he called me
this, he would go quiet, then move his head back and forth and tell me "Pele".
As this Baba started to speak to me, his eyes became watery, but he applied elderly restraint,
and he went thus: “Ayinde Ogun child of Arowojobe, child of I. The child who cries and people
listen, the child who speaks and makes people know, the child we look lazy without relying upon.
He who fights bravely will bring a dog home, the child who we look upon to harden our gaze. The
child who he who makes charms today, makes charms tomorrow, tests out charms tomorrow.
Once it's four days from today, I'll obtain the properties of the elderly ones. Once it's five days
from today, I'll ask those with elders to keep their elders. Arowojobe takes over”.
The panegyrics Baba hailed me with were those with which many hailed my father during his
lifetime. My father was a person who never took nonsense; he never wanted misfortune to befall
anyone he loved. He also didn't like any of his people to get involved in misery to the extent that
misery would befall such a person, which would make my father angry. My father never fought,
but he made the battles of other people his battles. Once my father took the battles of another
person upon himself, there was hardly anyone who could challenge him; only Baba Ogidiolu
couldn't speak to my father and make him budge.
Let's not deceive ourselves—Arowojobe, my father, and Ogidiolu's father shared a deep bond.
Their friendship was built on trust and closeness; no one could tell where one ended and the
other began. My father was deeply respected in the art of traditional healing; his reputation was
firmly rooted in the work he did. Baba Ogidiolu was also known for always supporting those who
took their work seriously and served with integrity.
There was no remedy my father did not know, no illness he could not treat. He had been healing
ailments like Epilepsy and Leprosy since his youth with unwavering dedication. One day, a child
from our neighborhood came down with a terrible fever. The child's parents had already made up
their minds to take him to the hospital, hoping that even if the child were to die, no one would
blame them or accuse them of neglect. At least, the government would see they tried. But as
soon as my father heard of it, he sent for the child's parents. They brought the boy to him. My
father mixed healing soap for him to drink and bathed the child with hot herbal water using the
soap. The child was treated at exactly one o'clock in the afternoon. Before the clock struck four,
he was already playing again, and his parents returned joyfully to thank my father.
This memory reminds me of another day—when my father once took me along on a journey to
practice divination and healing rituals in a distant town whose name I shroud in secrecy. At the
time of our visit, the town was celebrating their annual Egúngún festival. When our vehicle
dropped us at the town's motor park, my father paid the fare, and we continued the rest of the
way on foot to the home of the person we had come to see. But not long into our walk, we
encountered an Egúngún masquerade approaching us, wielding a long whip in hand. Recognizing
that we were strangers in the town, he demanded money from us. My father calmly replied, "A
sacred being does not take money from another". That statement stirred the masquerader. With
a curious tone, he asked what kind of sacred beings we were. He lifted the cane in his hand with
hopes of lashing it on my father. But my father asked him to hold still and instead recited a short
incantation: "Straightly is how Death lifts the hand, Impossibly is how Sigidi carries the sword,
Skillfully is how Alagemo raises the hand to dance". And that was how the hand the masquerade
raised to flog us never came down again.
We left there and continued our journey. Before long, we arrived at the house of the person we
had come to visit. The person we had gone to do ritual atonement for in the town we went to was
an important person amongst the inhabitants of the town; this man had a lot of properties. As
affluent as this man was, he was following my father's every step. My father was a rare being. It
wasn't up to five seconds that we entered the house of this friend of my father's that we saw six
men enter. I thought they probably came to greet Baba Jagilegbo, whom we came to see, to
greet him on receiving us as visitors. As they entered, they greeted us warmly, and we extended
them the same regards.
What surprised me after the exchange of greetings was that a young man pointed at my father
and said, "This is him". My father asked what his offense was and mentioned that we were
strangers and visitors to the town and that he had an important mission he had come to help his
friend with, even that he hardly settled into his chair before they entered. The words of the men
surprised my father's host. He saw their carriage as that of those who wanted to cause problems
for his guest, and he got angry. There was no masquerade handler who was Jagilegbo's equal
when it came to charms, yet he trailed behind my father. My father was also no easy catch. As
the men saw the change in Jagilegbo's countenance, they quickly prostrated before my father,
claiming they had come to apologize for the masquerade that passed its boundaries earlier. It
was then my father truly remembered that a masquerade wanted to whip him during his journey
here. My father then explained to Jagilegbo, and Jagilegbo's mind then softened gradually until
he became happy because of my father's attitude towards the troublesome masquerade.
That was when Jagilegbo started lashing out at the men who came to plead on behalf of the
masquerade, asking them if they lacked cognizance of whose house they were in before they
acted. "And if we decide to examine you definitely, most of you have descended from initiates.
Do you think true initiates in this town do not know each other? Do you not know this person you
came to meet is a master to me, truly there is no herbalist like me within this town? Alapinni
saved you that it is my house you did this. This man is not a son of this town; he is a visitor. Do
you people not see visitors in this town? Or do you not want visitors to enter the town? Is your
masquerade festival that extraordinary, or what could have caused such disrespect from an
initiate to Baba Arowojobe?" (He chants Arowojobe's panegyrics).
My father's head bowed and tilted sideways as Jagilegbo was chanting his panegyrics. He would
momentarily tilt his head up-down like the proverbial bald man who fell off the palm tree and
claimed truly the bald-headed man is lord over the lizard. This was how Baba Jagilegbo calmed
my father's countenance and implored him to forgive the men who came and to unbind the
masquerade. That was how my father dipped his hand into his pocket and took an ado (ritual
gourd). He spoke softly to the object and poured part of it for them to mix with Shea butter, then
rub the masquerade from his palms of his hands to his shoulder and then his arm would return to
its position and the masquerade attire that stuck to his body could be removed. The men who
came thanked my father and Jagilegbo, then they took their leave.
My people, I hope you have not forgotten where we stopped before I mentioned a portion of my
father's travels. I want you to keep in mind that we will not tarry long before getting to our exact
destination because we have digressed a lot. Do not be angry with me.
As we were saying, as Baba Ogidiolu was hailing my father, he became filled with pride. Tears
almost escaped his eyes, thinking about the fact that my father was no more; he had left this
world a few years back. This was what he thought as he reminisced about the time he and my
father spent together during his lifetime. After this, he proceeded to continue hailing my father.
"Arowojobe labored a lot during his lifetime; he was fearless. He himself was a fearful being; he
never shied away from battle. At battles, he fought without looking back. He was merciful and
lacked greed; he was always fair in rift settlement. He was one who did good, but he was
unstoppable in his rage".
It was then that Baba Ogidiolu properly greeted me and asked after my mother. And I responded
that she was dead. He lifted his hands above his head in alarm, whistled, then shouted,
"Olodumare, what kind of death is this!". My mother served him meals whenever Baba Ogidiolu
came to our house. Without mincing words, my mother had a better character than my father. In
the future, you shall hear the story of my mother, Ijiranti, the child of the Ijitade, the child of Ijiro,
the child of Adefunke Ilare, the child of Ateelogun Yegbe. My lady Aduke Ijilele, till we meet again.
My people, my mother's death pained me a lot because she worked hard. She labored for her
children, and death denied her the fruit of her labor. Without prolonging words, Baba Ogidiolu
asked what I would like to eat and drink. He bade me ask whatever so he could host me. I
immediately remembered a proverb my father told me: "Whatever brings us to battle is what we
go to battle to face". Lest my story be like that of the man who wanted to do a wedding
ceremony and when the time for the wedding came near, he decided he wanted to wear a
warrior's tunic. Only one person had such a tunic throughout their village. He rose and went to
the dwelling of the elder who owned the tunic. When he got there, he met the elder eating
pounded yam. As he entered to greet the elder, the elder asked him to join him in his feast.
Without thinking twice, he joined in and ate away. As they ate, another young man came in with
the same intentions as the previous man; he hailed them. The elder asked him to join them in
eating, but he refused and begged the elder to see him. The elder rose from his meal and went
out to see him. This young man then begged the elder for his warrior's tunic. The elder went in,
brought out the tunic, then handed it to him. As the previous man saw the tunic in another man's
possession, he told the elder it was the tunic he had come to borrow from him. But the elder
replied and said it was the food he was eating he came for, as he could see the man who left with
the tunic did not stop to eat. This was how the thoughts of the warrior's tunic left the man
confused.
After I answered Baba Ogidiolu, I told him that I came over to his place straight after eating and
that I barely had any food because I came for something important which I wanted him to use his
elderly insight to explain to me. "What did you come for, tell me?" Baba Ogidiolu asked. Then I
laid it down and told him I wanted to know the story of a brave woman called Moremi Ajasoro.
"Haha," he exclaimed, "Moremi Ajasoro, the one with the hand that calms children". "The story
you've come to hear is a very powerful one". He proceeded and said, "This is not a story you just
listen to, and it is not a one-day story. Look, my child, the day is gone already. Come and get
going; come back tomorrow morning, and I am not expecting you alone. I'm expecting you to
come with your pen and writing pad, lest you forget and so you can document it for the school
children in the future and the combined children of Oodua". "May the Lord wake us to the light of
the living tomorrow morning".
As Baba Ogidiolu finished speaking, I prostrated and thanked him. The Yorubas say, "We do not
befriend the crowd and be happy; whether late or ready, the crowd goes home on the morrow".
This is where we pause on the story of my journey to Baba Ogidiolu. My people, we meet again
tomorrow at Ogidiolu's house. Goodnight.