Ibadan Mesiogo*

February 2, 2007

MKK's birthday was a nice, quiet celebration. That morning began with writing my last entry. It was a morning I won't forget in a hurry. I went back to my room after sending off the entry. Baboos was still sleeping. I was contemplating whether to wake him and give him a bath before we went to wish MKK happy birthday when my mother came into the room. As she entered, she said K'aro o, oro wa (loose translation: Good morning, let's talk). I knew whatever she wanted to talk about had to do with Baboos; it did. Her first sentence was that I should realize that her and my father love Boo and I and that nothing would make them happier than to carry grand-children from both of us in their hands. She said we must never forget that and that she is sure that Boo's parents feel the same way. She then said that shay I know that the Yoruba say: J'omi j'omi oku r'oro l'onda (loose translation: stubborn insistence that another person acts in the way that you think is in the person's best interest will eventually lead to resentment and enemity). She said so, while her and my father would have preferred that we wait on God until he gives us our natural children, that is only their own preference and at some point, they have to realize that they cannot insist that we select their preference for our own lives. I was crying by now. I guess in a way, I am still a little girl. I crave parental acceptance of my decisions. And, this was not acceptance that I was getting, it was resignation. It was not good enough. So, she said that oro ekun ko l'eleyi (loose translation: this is not a matter for crying).

She said that it is not that her and my father don't want to see things our way. It is just that they come from a time and a place where your child is your natural child. They don't understand adoption. And, it is not in our culture to take a child whose origin you don't know and call that child yours by a court's fiat. She said I should remember that they can only say what they know from their own experience and world view and because owo t'abani la ma ya yin (loose translation: It is only the money (read wisdom) that we have that we can lend to you). I continued crying. She started crying too. She said that she loves me and that she has told God several times that if she or my father offended anyone that is causing this challenge in my life, he should forgive them. She said shay I know she has been fasting that God will open my womb and Boo's loins every single Wednesday ever since we told her the truth of the matter. That her God will answer because he has never forsaken her. She said that I should understand that for her, our decision to adopt is also tantamount to us questioning the ability of God to hear and deliver. But she said, our life is ours and so, we should know that she loves us, even though the decision is a path to the unknown for her. She said that since that day I brought Baboos home to Akin's house after the fostering order, she had begun praying for God to grant the four grandparents the ability to love Baboos the way they love their other grandchildren. And, she said that she knows that He will answer that prayer too. She said that because faith without works is nothing, she and my father decided to have Baboos and I come down to Ibadan with them so that they can begin the "work" of knowing him and loving him and seeing him as their grandson even as God works on an answer to her prayers.

Anyway, the thing turned into a mushy tearfest: she was crying and I was crying. I don't really understand why I was crying. I love my parents so, so much. They have been wonderful parents, wonderful role models. They worked so hard to give their children everything they could afford. They taught us to value ourselves, to value our culture, to be true to ourselves. And, save for a few instances (e.g., telling them that Emeka was the one for me), I had always conformed to their expectations (at least to their knowledge -- leave the damn diary to the side for the moment, tatafo! amebo!!). But, I also love my husband Boo. He is my soul mate. And, I know he will be a good father. I know I will be a good mother, even if a bit strict. So, why? Why? Why? We made a decision for us. And, he is my for better for worse, not my parents. But, still it is hard. And, I love my baby. I love my baby. I did not carry him for nine months. I did not labor to bring him into the world. I will never breast feed him. But, still he is my child. Still, I am his mother. Still, I am a mother. Me, yes, me. And, I just want my parents to see from where I am standing. I guess speaking to her that morning made me realize that with their world views and experiences, I have to live with the fact that they may never see from where I am standing. And, that is hard. But, that is why Boo and I have to stand solidly together on everything to do with Baboos, everything.

Anyway, we sat there for a while. Baboos woke up while we were just sitting there talking and she said that she wanted to bath him. That request was so unexpected. But, it was such a joy to hear my mum say that. You don't understand. I have been there, watching my mum give each of her grand-children a bath as babies. I was there when my sista's son, my nephew was born and my mother gave him the traditional bath after he came back from hospital. She did it with such pride, praying over him as she was doing it. My sista and I were in the bathroom with her. I wanted the same for my son. After all, I am her daughter too. Am I am not? No one taught me how to bath Baboos. I had all the baby books that I had bought and I just did it. Laide helped me the first and second day. And then, I told her I was fine. I was not really fine. I was scared as hell bathing him myself. But, I did not want to be a burden to her because she has to get her own children ready and leave for her own business too. So, we went into the bathroom in my room and my mum had his bath for him. She prayed over him too as she was bathing him. I got it all on my camcorder. He likes water. He does not cry when he is being given a bath. I know he is my son, but he is such an adorable baby. Honestly :-). We dressed him and then we all went to wish MKK happy birthday with Baboos in my mother's arms.

I just hope that the whole process goes through quickly. I cannot wait for us to get back home to be with Boo and really start living life as a family. Spending these days with Baboos is leading me more and more to think that I am probably not going back to work after my leave. You know, I had been debating that I will go back for a little while, leaving Baboos with a Nanny or in a Day Care. But, I am not sure that I want to leave him. Especially because I am not his natural mother so I want to have time to create that bond more and more. I mean, I am not sure. May be I am feeling this way because this is all new and emotional for me. May be six months down the line, I will be craving a little bit of argument and craziness in my life, which speaking baby language with Baboos will not give me. I don't know. Just don't tell Boo that I am feeling this way o! He does not know yet. And, I know it would be his preference for me to be a stay-at-home mum, at least for a while. Remember, my Boo's mother never worked her whole life. Now, if you look at the history of Boo's girlfriends and me, they have always been professional, career-minded women that hold their own. I have always tried to juxtapose me and the serious girlfriends (the ones I know) he had before me, Emefa, the b***h (a doctor), Motun (a telecoms engineer), Leslie (a veterinary surgeon), Amaka (a professor of economics), and Somine (a lawyer with a Ph.D.) with his mother. And, Mama Boo is so different in many ways. Whenever I bring it up, he says I am trying to psychoanalyze him with my feminist "nonsense". So, he never wants to discuss it. Anyway, he thinks that he needs to convince me to stay at home. The way I am feeling now, I know I don't really need to be convinced. But, if I let Boo know that or know that too early, he is going to take it for granted. He is not going to see it as a sacrifice for our family. I need for him to value my work too. I don't know how to explain what I am saying because it is still a bit fuzzy in my brain. But, knowing my husband, he is not the type of man that appreciates stuff that he does not have to work for. He needs a bit of a challenge. I have always hinted that it is an option and we have even spoken about it, but I have never committed to doing it. You think I am being crazy right? No, I am not. I just know my husband that is all. Anyway, enough of my moodiness. In the words of Sefi Atta: Everything good will come [to Boo, Baboos, and I].

So, a couple of my parents Ibadan-based friends stopped by to wish my father well. I had not seen a number of them in a while so it was good to see them. Well, all of them apart from one woman, wife of one of my father's old school mates, who said that she was annoyed because my mother had not told her that I had a baby, and there I was with Baboos. You know those kind of women that just adopt an air of offence for nothing. Haba, Apinke o so funmi pe o ti bi'mo (Haba, Apinke you did not tell me she had had a baby). Well, my mumsie just played along. She said that she could not remember that she did not tell her. That she is sorry. On one level, I have a concern about my mother's response. On another, Nigeria is just not the place for honesty about Baboos in that kind of gathering and age group. Unfortunately, one of my father's friends is in the early stages of Alzheimer's. He and his wife were there. He forgets things a lot and, after, my mum told me that he had degenerated rapidly in the last couple of months. It is sad that such a jovial, bright, elderly man is gradually moving into his own closed space. And, I wonder how his wife, a kindly lady in her 70s is going to cope. They have a nurse in the house with them already, but for how long? My mum said that she heard that people with Alzheimer's can become violent too and she worries about that for them. I don't know. Moreover, he is, apparently, not accepting that he is ill. It is a strain for both of them. He had forgotten my name. He kept forgetting my mum's name too. But, he still remembered my father's nickname, MKK.

So, finally got round to continuing my interview with Asuquo. I also interviewed Risi, a girl who goes around the neighborhood where my parents' house is in Ibadan, selling bread. I was sitting outside in the garden with Baboos and the neighbor, Toun when I heard Risi's voice from the street: "Bread, Bread, E ra Bread" (Bread, Bread, Buy Bread). I will post those two interviews, but first, that Toun. Shay, my parents don't yet live in Ibadan, but they have been spending more time there in preparation for what looks like a final move. Well, my mumsie is the kind that likes to know her neighbors. So, she convinced popsie that they should go and greet their neighbors during one of the trips. Almost all the neighbors are younger than them. My parents have really taken to Toun and Tipe. They just bought the house next door off the neighbors that my parents knew from way back when. They are a young couple. They have three kids, Dare who is eight, Seyi who is four and Fola who is a baby. I can see my mother adopting a motherly posture towards them and they both seem fond of my parents. I like it because you know, my parents are not spring chickens. So, it is good that they have younger friends in the neighborhood to look out for them. Tipe is a son of a well known Ibadan family and he has come back home to run the family business. Toun describes herself as a woman of leisure. And, she is. I think she is a bit of a fake though. She is a Lagos girl and you can tell that she kind of thinks that Ibadan is beneath her. Anyway, I guess I meet her specifications for friendship because she is being very friendly. And, it is good that Baboos has a playmate in Fola. Baboos is more friendly to other babies. I guess because there were always other babies around him in the home. Fola is a bit more of a "this is my territory" type of baby. Baboos and I were in their house for about an hour yesterday and it was fun to watch the two babies socializing in Fola's play pen.

Anyway, as I said, she is a woman of leisure. Na so she come wake me for this morning o, say make we go one of her friend's house, another woman of leisure, to swim. Wetin concern me, I went with her now. I did not have a swimming suit, but she had an unused one for me. The friend, Rose is a Jamo/U.K. woman married into another prominent Ibadan family. That Ibadan has some potential for those who are minded to look into it!!! But, be warned, they like to go back there to live. MKK is living proof.  It was 9:30 a.m. in the morning and these women had sent their kids to school and they were beginning their day swimming and being waited upon by a host of staff in Rose's house. As the morning progressed, I realized that I wanted to record our conversation. I am not one to judge anyone, but it was a sad conversation men. Just boggles the mind. So, I told them that I wanted to interview them and they were fine with it. I explained that although I am a lawyer, I am thinking of giving up law to go into film making. Yeah, right, in my freaking dreams. Here goes:

Me: So, is this how you generally start your day, with a morning swim?

Rose: Yes, I wait for Toun and Lynne (an Oyinbo friend who is out of town) to come and then we swim and just sit around for a while.

Toun: Yeah, Ibadan is so boring you know. You know, I mean you know what Lagos is like?

Me: Well, not really because I don't live there.

Rose: Well, you live in New York, even better.

Me: So, what is there to do in Ibadan.

Toun: Well, you know, we should take you to the Polo Club, that is something to do. Then, there is the Rec Club, which is just so. Men, it is such an annoying town, everyone knows everyone. Everyone is in your business. So, you hang out with people like yourself, you know?

Me: So, do either of you work?

Rose: Martin will never allow me to work.

Me: Why?

Rose: Well, I mean what would I do? I am an executive assistant, where can one find a decent job as an executive assistant in Ibadan? I am not going to be treated shabbily!

Me: Well, you could open your own business? Or you could work with Martin in the business.

Rose: I guess so, but Ibadan does not have the right kind of people. You know, the right quality of people. Forget working with Martin. We are almost killing each other as it is living together. (Laughs)

Me: Really, what do you mean by quality?

Toun: Honestly, it is just not like Lagos.

Rose: I mean, even for fun, I have to take my kids to Funtopia in Lagos. And, you know what the expressway is like now with so much traffic.

Toun: Yes, and for kids clothes, you have to go all the way to Ruff 'n' Tumble in Lagos for anything decent.

Me: But, why don't you start something for yourselves in Ibadan?

Toun: Yes, right, Tipe says that I just love to complain (laughs). It is so much easier to complain.

Rose: One thing about Ibadan though, it is scandal central (laughs). Totally scandalous (laughs).

Me: How so?

Rose: O my word, it must have the largest number of married men sleeping with their friend's wives and daughters and vice-versa.

Toun: Yes, incestuous is an understatement!

Me: Really, so everybody knows.

Toun: Yeah, if you are connected you would know.

Me: Want to share any with me?

Toun: Men, only off camera. You are gonna know some of these people. (Laugh). You will see when we go out later.

Me: Oh, my God, you have to gist me.

Me: So, how long have you been married, Rose?

Rose: Too long, seventeen years. Got married straight out of secretarial school in London and before I knew it, I was in Ibadan.

Me: So, you never lived in Lagos?

Rose: Well, before Martin's father passed away we did on and off. But, then Martin had to come and take over the business.

Me: But, you have got a really lovely house.

Rose: Yes, that I cannot deny.

Toun: And, wonderful staff too. That your Monday is so good.

Rose: Yes, and stop eyeing him! He is my cook and he ain't going nowhere.

Me: So do you guys follow Ibadan politics?

Toun: That is another thing. Can you believe people like Adedibu running the show in this place? I mean, the man is stark raving illiterate for crying out loud.

Me: But, what does illiteracy have to do with political power?

Toun: O come on. I don't think the oaf can string together a grammatically correct English sentence. But, you know to get anything done with the Government in Ibadan, you better know him or know someone who knows him?

Rose: Yeah, it drives Martin mad, but what can one do?

Me: Have you guys registered to vote?

Rose: Well, I cannot vote because I am still not Nigerian. Can you imagine, so many years and it is still such a hassle to naturalize?

Toun: I have not registered. It is silly, I am not going to go and stand at some booth all day waiting to register. Then, did you hear about the machines malfunctioning? What of the officials taking bribes? I just don't care to be part of it.

Me: But, how can you change anything if you don't vote?

Toun: Are you for real? Do the votes count?

Me: But, you guys are the elite. No, I say that with all sense of seriousness, right? If you don't vote, if you don't believe in the democratic process, who should?

Toun: O give me a break. That is how all you Americans come and (loosing her fake British accent) tell us about democracy. Go tell GW about the democracy he is building in Iraq! (laughs)

Rose: You are right about that, Toun. (laughs)

Me: Okay, but what is the way out? You are saying it is not by voting, what is it then?

Toun: Honestly, I don't know. I am British, I can be out of this country in a heart beat, if it all goes out of hand. Tipe has said we are leaving the country at the beginning of May. If all is well, we will be back in July or August. This God forsaken country is not worth it.

Me: I know I am probably no one to talk since I don't live here, but what is the point of complaining if there is an option open to you and you don't even try it?

Toun: That is not an option. We all know there is going to be a selection, who cares? We are not having an election, so who cares?

Rose: It is a pity because there is a lot of potential.

Me: But, you are not the people to tap it?

Toun: Whatever! We will see when Yaradua becomes president. The whole election thing is a racket for the chicken farmer in Otta. And, my staff were trying to pull a racket too, telling me they needed the day off to go and register. I said no, you want to register, do it on your day off.

Me: Really, so you did not allow your house staff to register?

Toun: Hell no. If you are soft with "these" people, they take you for granted. Their madam is not registered, neither will they be.

Me: Really, that is kind of tough, isn't it?

Toun: Domestic staff? Domestic staff in this country are the worst all round. If you allow them to run over you, they will take you to the cleaners. And, it is impossible to find an honest one. But, you just cope with what you have. First time Dare's nanny said her mother was ill, I gave her money to buy drugs. Next thing, every week it is to ask me for money for something or the other, all the time.

Me: But, is she well paid?

Toun: She is paid the market rate. Tipe is the soft one, he will never allow us to pay below market. Rose is the rich one, pays above market and she still gets screwed (laughs).

Rose: Yes, that is why you keep having designs on my cook. (laughs)

Me: Okay. Okay. Okay. So you are not even considering Utomi?

Toun: Utomi is a joke. I only know about him because my sister in London would not let me rest about him, already!

Me: But, he has been campaigning here, no?

Rose: I have not seen him really. But, I don't really follow politics, so may be I missed him.

Toun: Have you watched his show, Patito's Gang? He cannot even control his guests on the show and he wants to rule Nigeria? Because he is a professor? Professor, profess to yourself!

Me: Do we want a president that controls us? In any case, the show is different, may be he wants the guests to express themselves?

Toun: In such an unruly manner? No class!  Honestly, have you seen the show?

Me: Yes, bits of it.

Toun: Ehen, and that is good enough for you? Can you compare it to shows in the States?

Me: Why must we keep comparing? Can't we build on ours? We need to start somewhere, right?

Toun: Okay, o. Let Utomi become president now and we will see where we end up. Me, I am British, the matter is not hard.

Rose: I just don't want any violence. I was out on the day Adedibu's boys took over the secretariat late last year. It was bedlam. So, I don't want to imagine what the elections would be like. We are going to be in Jamaica.

Me: But, you are well separated from all that kind of disturbance in this area?

Rose: Hmmm, you never know. There are some mean, angry people around. I don't know what makes them so angry.

Me: May be loss of opportunities, despondency, no hope. You know, you take away hope and that is it. You know!

Rose: I guess so, but I am not in Government, why take it out on me?  I am just trying to survive too.

Me: Good question, to which there could be a number of answers.

Toun: Yes, why take it out on me? The windscreen of Tipe's jeep was broken on the day Adedibu's boys took over. What do we have to do with that? We dislike Adedibu like everyone else, but we are the one's left to fix a broken windscreen.

Me: Okay, looks like we won't agree about politics. What do you think of Nollywood?

Toun: Well, it is certainly no Hollywood, too much witchcraft, polygamy, religious fanatics and other such nonsense. I don't watch their movies.

Rose: Actually, I like Nollywood movies. I think Genevieve is a good actress. And, then the older woman, what is her name? Yeah, Joke Silva. She is good. Toun, I think you are too hard on them.

Me: I don't really watch Nollywood movies. I have never gotten into them. But, I have seen a few that were pretty good. I have a good impression of the industry.

Toun: Industry, sha? Give me a break. The films are so badly produced. The acting is so stiff. We are so second rate in this country.

Me: Come on Toun! I will have you know that Nigerian films are being watched all over the world. They are big in other parts of Africa and the Caribbean.

Rose: True about the Caribbean. It is one thing that is not 4-1-9.

Toun: Well, I will watch my Sex in the City and Girlfriends any day before I sit down and watch any crap out of Nollywood.

Me: Okay, next topic. We won't agree on Nollywood either.

Toun: You tell us about yourself. Your parents are such nice people.

Me: Thanks. Well, what is there to say? I am married to a wonderful Nigerian guy whom I love. We live in New York. We have a baby son. He is a doctor, and I am a lawyer. That is us in a nutshell.

Toun: How long have you been married?

Me: I thought I was the interviewer? Going to eight years.

Rose: Really! And only one child? That is a record for Nigerians!

Me: Yes. We waited until we were ready. [SS NOTE: Okay, so I lied, a bit. I don't know these women like that, abeg. No be like dat ah dey spread my yansh make stranger see jo. :-).]

Rose: Really, Martin told me Nigerians don't wait and I believed him -- four children later and I find out the truth? (laughs)

Toun: We have been married for eight years, a shotgun wedding so that put the whole waiting to have kids deal out of the window. (laughs)

Me: So, Toun how did you meet Tipe?

Toun: We met in Lagos, through my sister actually. She and Tipe's sister are friends and one thing led to another. Before I knew it, I was pregnant, my father was threatening to disown me and kick my mother out of the house, I was married, and lo and behold, I was in Ibadan.

Me: Tipe's mum lives right down the road from you and my parents, right?

Toun: O yes, how can I forget? (laughs)

Me: How is that?

Toun: Don't even ask. It is okay, really. She is into her own things. But, I feel like she knows everything about us. Anyway, I should not bad mouth my mother in law. She is a nice person. (laughs)

Rose: So, are you really serious about film making?

Me: Yes, kind of. I like to write as well. But, I have to go to film school, first, if I want to be a film maker.

Toun: As I am now, no Jupiter can send me back to school. That I passed ICAN is enough for me. After that experience, never again.

Me: So, you are a chartered accountant?

Toun: Yes, in my prior life. Now, I am Mrs. Mummy during the day and Ms. Sex-Pot at night. (laughs) I cannot get my head around a balance sheet even if I tried. (laughs)

Rose: At least you have skills to fall back on. I don't and Martin knows that.

Me: How does that work?

Rose: It works with a little cunny, as you Nigerians call it, mixed with love. (laughs)

Me: Okay, I think we can stop here. Thanks a bunch!

End of Transcript.

We left Rose's house around Noon. I had not been away from Baboos for that long since I brought him home, so I wanted to get back. He was sleeping on my mother's back when I got home. He is so cute. Honestly, he is. Yes, he is my son, but honest, he is cute. :-). He looked like he had been on her back all his life, so comfortable. Toun suggested that we should go to the Polo Club for an early dinner but, I passed. We can go on Saturday or Sunday. And, we will take the kids. I will be giving you the rest of Asuquo's interview and Risi's in my next entry. Risi is one interesting girl. And, a hard core bargainer. She made me buy all her bread before she agreed to be interviewed. I am glad that she did not just go gaga over being on camera, she thought with her head, what is in this for me and she extracted it. It is a pity that a smart sixteen year old like Risi is hawking bread on the street instead of acquiring a good education. Sad, so sad. Well, gotta go. I need to get ready for my day with my new found women-of-leisure friends. Paki like me, hanging out with beautyful ones, Ibadan style!!

How is it going with you guys?

*Mesiogo is a praise name for indigenes of Ibadan.  Mesiogo is actually two words: 

Mesi (ability to respond) and Ogo (fool). 

Mesiogo embodies the Ibadan trait of knowing how to respond with the appropriate wisdom, which will often embody wile and guile, in all situations, even to a fool so s/he does not know that you know s/he is a fool.