BARRISTER SHOOK EBUTE ERO.
By Mufu Onifade, Ph.D
Despite my youthful age and many unpleasant occurrences that defined my childhood, one of the mesmerizing joys that heralded life in Ebute Ero was music; yes, the influx of music in an astonishing variety.
I was sent by my parents to Ebute Ero at age 7 and eloped at age 15. That was 9 years of lessons of a lifetime! I was an apprentice vulcanizer. Right opposite our workshop was a mosque belonging to the Nawair-Ud-Deen Society of Nigeria on Kosoko Street. Most of us were Muslims, the mosque was our refuge.
READ ALSO: Shehu Sani’s Viral Tweet Sparks Debate Over Alleged Bandits’ Drowning in Sokoto
There were two vulcanizers’ workshops: one at the far end, under the shed of the mosque and our own, opposite. At night when our bosses had closed and gone home, we – apprentices, urchins, motor boys called omo ijeka, and hangers-on – slept under the shed of the mosque. Under the same shed were Buoda Dele’s makeshift stall where padlocks were sold. There was also a record store, which made it possible for us to be the first to listen to any new release by such musicians as Sikiru Ayinde Barrister, Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obey, Haruna Ishola, Ayinla Omowura, Dauda Epo Akara, Admiral Dele Abiodun, Sir Shina Adewale, and a host of other music stars of the time. Of them all, Sikiru Ayinde Barrister was outstanding. He was my favourite. I loved his many insightful philosophies that would later shape my life’s essence and direction.
My boss who doubled as my guardian and his wife (my aunt) with their children lived at Mustapha Street, Oke Arin – about 5-minute trekking distance from the workshop. Occasionally, I slept at home, but I mostly passed the night under the shed of the mosque with my colleagues. Not far from our workshop and our Oke Arin home was Iga Olusi (Olusi Palace) sandwiched in Oke Arin Market; one of the biggest markets on Lagos Island.
Olusi Palace was home to musicians on weekends. On each weekend (Saturday to be precise), the palace was in the practice of bringing a popular musician to perform live to the mixed audience of Lagosians and other indigenes who resided in Lagos at the time. On such occasions, all roads leading to the palace from all angles were blocked by humans in their large number – no vehicular movement at all. Oftentimes, the musician and his band, stationed in front of the palace, would start their performance from 9.00 pm and run the show through the night. This was where I had my first encounter with such musicians as Haruna Ishola, Yusuf Olatunji, Sunny Ade, Ebenezer Obe, Ahuja Bello and, of course, Sikiru Ayinde Barrister, just to mention a few. They were young, they were energetic, they were full of vigour and entertainment; they were profound stars of the time. Of them all, it was Sikiru Ayinde Barrister who often commanded the largest crowd. There was always hardly any free space to stand to watch him perform, but one could not miss the sound; his speakers were loud and heavy. In the night, his music pierced the air like an arrow and hit every home around. When he performed, people thronged the venue and perched at available spaces to get thrilled – some on the roof of cars and buses parked by the roadsides. Barrister was indeed a spectacle to behold.
One night, I spent the night at our Oke-Arin home instead of the workshop. I was between 9 and 10 years old. As I prepared to go to sleep, my aunt directed me to go and fetch water from Oke Arin Market. The market was just a stone throw from us, and not far from the Olusi Palace on the opposite axis. It was around 10.00 pm. I took the metal bucket called koroba and headed for the market. On my way, I started hearing some familiar music tunes blaring from the palace. I wondered who the musician was this time. It became clearer when I got to the tap. It was Barrister! Wow! My favourite! I dropped the bucket by the tap at once and sped to the performance arena.
As I found myself at the performance space, the crowd was so large and closely knitted that it took a great gusto and stubbornness on my part to push my tiny body through the crowd until I pushed the crowd behind me and found myself standing close to the band. The nostalgic feeling of seeing Barrister performing live was simply an impression that arrested my whole being. I felt transformed like I was in the presence of a deity. The music pierced my soul and serenaded me like cocaine. I was high. My spirit floated with a tingling feeling of reinvigoration. I relished the lyrics and internalized them. The beat, the sound, the drums, Barrister’s mouth organ – they all enveloped and took me to a different level of existence – like cloud 9. I was in a mixed state of ecstasy and utopia.
Suddenly, while I was still enjoying the melody of the music, Barrister rendered his usual closing line: E rora maa jo/ Lo sori ijoko yin/ Won ni e see gan. Salalah.
As the music rolled and faded to a stop, I snapped back into myself and now remembered the errand I was on; then the metal bucket! I ran like a thief back to the tap. To my surprise, the metal bucket was missing. “I am dead” was all I could whisper to myself. I quickly prepared my mind for the beating of the night and sluggishly returned home.
The main entrance door was still open. So, I slid in and faced our room. I stood in front of the door and did all the prayers I could to prevent any form of beating…even though my inner feelings kept throwing the prayers away and urging me to get prepared for the beating.
As I entered the room, my aunt was there, seated at the edge of the bed. My boss, facing the wall on the bed, was asleep. My ‘siblings’ (3 of them) were on the floor, sleeping on the mat.
“You’ve been gone for 3 hours! What happened?” That was when it dawned on me that I had been away for that long. In my mind, I didn’t spend more than 10 minutes in front of Barrister.
“Somebody stole the bucket,” I lied.
“How did they steal the bucket?”
“I went to urinate. By the time I came back, I couldn’t find the bucket.” Even as I said this, I knew it was a weak lie. A large gutter ran past the tap. This was where most of the guys selling meat at the market took their bath at night. We often saw them doing it. I could have urinated there without leaving the tap.
At this point, my aunt terminated the interrogation and descended on me with everything available: punches, pinching, biting, slapping and all. I screamed myself hoarse; our household was used to it. So, nobody intervened or interfered. I carried the cross, but deep inside of me, the music of Ayinde Barrister soothed and healed me faster. I did not cry. I knew I deserved the beating. I would do it again, given another chance! It was Barrister we were talking about here! Nobody would separate me from him and his music.
As I lay on the mat, facing the hollow underneath of the bed, what did I see smiling at me? The metal bucket!