By Wale Fatade
My earliest Easter memories is travelling from Ede, where we were with my mother, and returning to Iwo. I think my father was either in Gbongan or Ikire then, but he never failed in leading us on this annual pilgrimage. We blended in seamlessly as our neighbours, the Idowu family, will be back too from Ejigbo. Beyond football and reading with occasional foray to the Adigun’s home to watch TV as neither family had the luxury of bringing the sets in our abode with us, Buoda Bunmi, the eldest among us; had the duty of leading us to go watch television and herding us back home afterwards. I think we have three professors and two PhDs in that group today.
But I digress. This is about Easter and my memories. A common feature of the period is the procession to members’ houses of our local Baptist Church which I was not allowed to join usually from midnight of Saturday till early Sunday morning.
My mother, Iya Wale, felt I was too young and playful to be allowed entry into the group. Whenever my aunt who lived with us then departed for the church where the procession usually started, I just slumped into a corner and regretted coming back from Ede. My father was never one to overrule his wife in such instances, till today he still doesn’t.
My story, however, changed this particular Easter of which I can’t remember the year but can recount the events vividly. It was definitely in the mid-1970s as I remember two of my siblings were not born, they know themselves; and one was still a baby whose ikomo we just had. A song, no, chant of that night was Iya Wale dide nle, Jesu jinde; Baba Wale dide nle, Jesu jinde….and my parents came out roused from sleep, gave the party money and prayed for them. I dragged myself out of bed too, saw my aunt who grabbed a cup of water and offered same with some refreshments to those who wanted and they left. No security concerns, no harassment, nobody ever disturbed such procession.
Meticulous records of what they collected were usually kept to be spent on extra refreshments at Galilee on Monday where we usually converged to ‘meet’ Jesus. I didn’t sleep well after their departure as I continued to rue how I missed out on the fun they must be having.
Two days after, after washing my father’s pyrex that he used in drinking his regular morning ogi, the spirit of Easter possessed me. I knew something else came over me otherwise why did I start singing Iya Wale dide nle Jesu jinde even after the event? Boom, the pyrex fell from my hands and shattered on the floor.
I remembered following my mother to buy the transparent glass container in Kingsway, Ibadan, but her slaps brought me back to my senses and I fled to Mummy Ile lohun, as we used to call Mama Idowu. She later followed me to plead for forgiveness from my mother. The result was being allowed to join the Easter procession the next year, as my mother thought that’s a way of saving her glassware.
Hopefully I will ask her about this incident today, but I bet she will feign ignorance again, as she usually does, of her many beatings which I must have received the most among all her children.
Have a wonderful Easter, folks.
