My Mum once sent me on a wild goose chase. Of course, I didn’t know that was her intention at the time, I was only pissed that I had to stop what I was doing to run the errand. Can’t remember what it was I was doing now but it must have been something naughty and noisy. But I consoled myself with the fact that I was going to be back soon.

If only I knew.

She had told me to go to her friend, Iya Moshe, to collect an ‘object’ [so i thought] called ‘arodan’. When I got to Iya Moshe’s house, she told me that she had just given hers to Iya Tinuke and that I should wait a while for it to be returned. I had waited about an hour and a half before she said I should go and meet Iya Femi for her own. Iya Femi said she had given hers to her sister a few days earlier and that I should meet Iya Yahya.

I returned home after about 2 hours, no ‘arodan’ in hand and too tired to return to what I was doing earlier-mission accomplished! I got to know the real meaning of ‘arodan’ a few days later and didn’t find it funny at all that I had been conned by a group of people I should trust without question.

The reason for the ‘Mums gang-up’ became clearer as I grew older but I started to appreciate what they did more when I became a parent. My son is 21months old but believe me there have been times that I wished he was old enough to be sent to my neighbors to collect ‘arodan’ so I could have some peace and quiet in the house. But it recently occurred to me that the boy’s age might not be the only constraint in my employing this ‘wonderful’ piece of traditional intelligence. Will my neighbor understand what ‘arodan’ means? Can I even send my son to people I hardly know? Back in the days, everyone knew everyone. It was one big ‘family-community’. My father used to say that ‘a woman gives birth to a child, but it takes the entire community to raise that child properly’.

Now you could go for months without seeing your neighbor. A colleague of mine was once asked by his neighbor what he was doing trying to open his own door. Imagine being accused of trying to break into your own home. But this is common place these days.

This is not the African way but what does one do in the light of today’s economic realities. Fathers leave their homes in the mornings before dawn and return late after dusk. The only time they see their neighbors is when they want to ask them to move their cars so they can drive out of the compound.

I am not even going to talk about how parents hardly spend quality time with their children these days. I try to spend at least one hour with my son in the mornings before rushing off to work but is that even enough. Yesterday I rushed home from work and got home before dusk. As I raced home, I hoped my son would still be awake so we could spend some father-son time together. I met him awake quite alright but he was asleep a few minutes after that. But I was glad he saw me before he fell asleep.

I keep asking myself; how am I going to pass to this boy all the things my father taught me if I don’t even see him. How and when will I teach him that he shouldn’t pick and eat food that has fallen to the ground because the devil would have tasted it just to prevent him from picking food from the ground; that he should always eat sitting and not standing because if he stands the food will go to his legs? How will I use all the ‘traditional intelligence’ that my parents passed on to me to help raise this boy properly?

Is there even a place for such intelligence in today’s world? Am I holding on to the past?

Am I rambling?

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I love to look good. Who doesn’t really?

But truth is some people are more concerned about how they look than others. My mother told me I had always been part of the former, even as a little child. She said as far as I was concerned, there was nothing like ‘Sunday-Sunday clothes’ and that ‘bottom- box’ never really made sense to me. I wanted to look good every day, even as a child. I also remember that while I was growing up, I experimented a lot with hairstyles. I knew I could do anything with my hair and because everyone used to tell me I had great hair, I always made sure my hair was in perfect condition. Well, not all the time. I remembered that one time I had an infestation of lice and my Mum had to scrape off my hair to get rid of the invaders and restore normalcy to my head. But apart from that period, I always paid proper attention to my hair, well, till I started losing it. That’s another story.

By the time I got to the university, I had perfected the art of looking good, at least as far as my own style was concerned. I knew how to look good on a very lean budget. I couldn’t afford to buy the designer shirts and pants but I knew where you could find clothes that were uncommon and inexpensive- Tejuosho Market in Yaba and Mandilas on Lagos Island were my favorite shopping spots. That was also the era of crested shirts. Many student could not afford to buy original designers clothes but they ‘managed’ with knock-offs even if sometimes the crest had a horse without a rider or had ‘ori ologbe’ [Dead man’s head or Versace’s crest] wrongly placed. But I was more comfortable with what was rare and nice. You didn’t want to wear a shirt to class and find about 3 or 4 of your classmates wearing the same shirt. It happened a few times though but my clothes were ‘exclusive’ most of the time.

Every semester, I went to school with almost the same number of items for my wardrobe- 3 pairs of Jeans  [Black, blue and any other color], 10 shirts, 2 pairs of shoes [Moccasins and loafers] and a pair of trekkers and did I rock them? No one could have guessed my wardrobe was that limited. I combined the items so creatively that you would have thought I had a room full of clothes. I also borrowed a shirt or two from my room mate to refresh and upgrade my looks a few times, especially for those occasions that demanded original crested shirts for which my limited wardrobe might have seemed inadequate but those were far and in between.

And why did I put myself through all this wahala?

I wish I could tell you it was only because I loved looking good but that would be a lie. I did it to impress the ladies. I learnt that ladies [in fact people in general] loved to be seen with good looking people. They may be with you because you are smart, rich, funny but you need to be ‘attractive’ enough for them to want to find out more about you. Please don’t get me wrong, when I say good-looking, I do not mean Taye Diggs or Halle Berry kind of good looking, but at least presentable enough to earn a second look or pique someone’s interest.

That was what I had attempted to do one day in school, at the University of Ibadan. I really can’t remember who I was going to see that day but the preparation had been the same. The ritual usually started around 6.30p.m. I would take a shower, wear one of my jeans, brush my teeth, wear deodorant and a cologne, whenever available, and then decide on which of my shirts to wear and of course complete the effect with my rugged but lovely mocs [I remember my roommates used to joke that if I placed my mocs in front of my room and commanded them to go to Queens or Idia Hall, they wouldn’t miss their way].

After I had completed what I thought was a knock out look, I left my room in Tedder Hall, feeling like a million bucks and headed towards Queens Hall, ready to impress. Halfway through my trek,  in front of Trenchard Hall [for those familiar with U.I], I noticed someone was trying to catch my attention but whoever it was didn’t know how much I hated it when people use ‘Ksiiiiii’or ‘ptooo’ to call me. I am neither a goat nor a dog. So I walked on and refused to answer. But the guy was persistent and he increased the pitch of the infuriating sounds but I snubbed him still. Moreover, by this time, I had crossed the road between Trenchard and Queens Hall and my mind was fully focused on trying making the right entrance into Queens Hall, especially with the bevy of beautiful babes that were standing in front of the hall.

Just as I was about to enter the hall, I felt someone pull at my shirt. I knew it was the same guy who was trying to get my attention earlier, so, I turned, reluctantly; ready to give him a piece of my mind.

Guy: Parley

Me: Yeah! [Irritated]

Guy: Your toothbrush dey stick out from ur back pocket

Me: Jesus! [Taking the toothbrush out of my back pocket and shoving it into my front pocket, where no one could see it.

Me: Thank you [nicely and really embarrassed]

Guy: I dey try call u but u no answer

I looked behind us and noticed that some of the ladies in front of the hall had seen the toothbrush as well and I was totally mortified. My habit had finally caught up with me. You see, I had a habit of brushing my teeth after wearing my pants and more often than not I tuck the toothbrush in my back pocket afterwards but I almost always remember to take it out before wearing my shirt and leaving the room. I had forgotten on that most embarrassing of days and it wasn’t funny at all.

Yanga tolotolo. See wetin yanga don cause.

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