Hey friends, my 5th episode of Ariyike my lover is coming up tomorrow at penvoices.com.

This pieces is a combination of episodes 1 and 2. Please check out out episodes 3 and 4 at penvoices.com

Enjoy.
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Hello my friend.

Let me wax lyrical concerning a tale that intrigues me.

Let me recall, for your sake, a memory that would blow your mind and cool your zest for love.

Sure tete ki o lo pe awon omo yen

Run to that school field to go and call those Ronaldo and Neymar wannabes.
Quickly go and disrupt the meeting currently being held by my son and that headmaster’s daughter that he calls his girlfriend.

For my son is about to make the silliest mistake of his life
Poor lad that does not know that the  highest pleasure of life is not achieved during the crazy jangilova-ing that he does during sex.

Remilekun,
My little princess that I conceived during my times of distress.
The healing balm that Edumare sent to rejuvenate my dying logging business.

Beeni
I am calling you mode yi

Cease sweeping that courtyard and quickly run to fetch Dike for me.

Tell him that his head should reason with his feet and quickly run down here
Otherwise my strong willed koboko will come and reason with the tender parts of his bosom.

Ore mi o

Are you mesmerized at my description of the koboko?

Are you ‘obayagbon-isly’ flabbergasted and stupendously marveled that I would attempt to assign a human attribute to a dried animal skin that has been known for resetting the brains of most kids from time immemorial.

Well, don’t be.

For that koboko has passed through the tough times, unscathed.
During those moments when there was no meat in the pot and Iyawo contemplated boiling it for it to become pomo, the koboko scaled through.
Through the moments when Dike, with a blade in hand, went on a crazed mission to decapitate the koboko, the poor thing passed through.

So forgive me if I call it a strong willed koboko.

Eh eh
Remilekun o

Quickly tell Dike to leave that laptop alone.

Abi he does not rest from his constant attempts to hoodwink those faceless oyinbos?

Or has he pounded all bits of his conscience into dust and blown it over the Osun river like the Hindus blow the cremated remains of their loved ones over the Ganges?

Has he lost all touch with the reality of human suffering that is global and does he think that the ‘mugu’ grows money on trees?

Kaii!
That boy will surely recieve a good whipping from me and a good talking to.

But today, let us discuss on the sweet nature of that feeling called love and how the subjects can bite you viciously.
For just like the bee produces honey and still stings, love can heal and also sting.

The year was 1987;
A time I would never forget till I close my eyes and embrace the throne reserved for ancestors in the third heaven.

Rara o
I am a man of much wealth and would not settle for the second heaven or first heaven.
For the second heaven is filled with ancestors sitting on cane chairs and demanding champagne and full goats as sacrifice.
And the first heaven is filled with poor ancestors sitting on mats and always demanding for local burukutu and five eggs plus one chicken for sacrifice even though they never owned a chick during the course of their lives.

Let me return to the itan jare.

My father was the richest man in the village back then.
A proud cocoa farmer who had one ijapa (tortoise car) and the only cemented building among a sea of red mud houses that had cracked due to a combination of too much rain and much sunlight.

Those were the days my friend.

When the mother of a child could be rest assured that the head of her little babe would not bend due to the presence of elders who would always rescue the child.

Such a pity that the same cannot be said of this age.
As the elders seem to be becoming people who revel in the sound of their voice and are too focused on trying not to hurt the emotions of these little ones.
 
Those were the days my friend.

When one could trust the local herbalist to send a thunderbolt that would strike any corrupt individual in places of authority.

Too bad that the same is not obtainable nowadays.

As the politician can gather an an array of praying clerics who would spend full weeks on beautifully crafted mats bought from the Orient.
An array of clerics who would keep praying for protection and blessings from the God on high even though they know his crooked source of wealth.

An array of woli’s whose aduras (prayers) are filled with insincere outward cries.
For they know that Edumare is an oba mimo whose garb is pure from every untruth.

Let me return back to the tale again ore.
For this palmwine is beginning to loose my tongue the more and I am feeling more giddy like a little ‘oyinbo’ girl about to go on her first date.

A thing that would have been unheard of here in Africa because the poor girl would have been laden with much chores from her mother.

Being the child of the richest man in the village back then, I changed women like a wealthy iya loja changes her Iro and buba on a weekly basis.

Like an Are-ona-kakanfo who is a war monger, I sought out to conquer new maidens and add them to an already flowing list of past victorious conquests.

Like a randy Kabiesi who women fear to visit in the palace, my eyes shone ‘ko ko ko’ like the unrelenting and unmerciful afternoon sun, everytime I saw a woman.

Like the bloodthirsty witch who began to drink her own blood because she had run out of family members to murder, I even began to cast my net to fish in forbidden waters
As I began to call my distant cousin’s into dark corners in the village square and inside my father’s cocoa farm

Little did I know that I was being targeted too.

For the cat who terrorizes the peace of the mice in the whole village should know that it is being discussed in hushed tones during the meetings held at the midnight hour,
And the hunter who decides to shoot at the idanri monkeys for sport should know that Olorun oba also gave them the knowledge to organize meetings where they can jointly iron out their issues

Ore mi.

‘Stolen waters are sweet but poisonous in nature.”
So said mama Agba to me as she was about to leave the shores of this earth to join her Ajani who had gone three years earlier.

“Rora se Aye jeje ki o ma lo te o”
So said baba Tanimola after being struck by a scorpion in the soft part of his thigh.
A bite that meant that he would die immediately because Baba Jide, the village herbalist who knew the names and oriki of every egbo (herb) in the forest, was away for an important meeting at a far village.

Words which I personally thought, were uttered out of deliquium due to the venom working to stop the flow of blood to his head.

Words which I thought, were uttered by a man who wanted to protect Sinmbiat, a flower in his compound which he strove to keep away from my hands.

I did not listen ore.

A decision that meant that I ended in the same pakute (trap) which I had set up to trap the agbonrin who constantly enticed me with her elegant steps and infrequent disappearing acts.
#Bashorun

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