This column series of the “The Arugboya Chronicles by Eleyi” is a fictionalisation of my living experiences to show the deplorable social and cultural mileu that underpins Nigeria’s seemingly intractable developmental maladies. There are deeply entrenched cultural practices behind many of the failings of Nigerian society. Our politicians are not strangers to the masses they lead and exploit. They are us. We are them. And so the story continues.
Eleyi keeps a meticulous record of Arugboya’s disturbances. Every time she does one of her noisy nonsense, banging my walls to irritate me or shouting aloud in a purported conversation with the youngsters whose essences she taps for her fetish sustenance, I make sure to respond in an exponential way.
People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Sound is an interesting phenomenon. Intelligence agencies long figured how if deployed intelligently (pun intended), sound can be a severe source of unbearable irritation, allowing operatives to extract vital intelligence from targets. It is slow. It is fast. It is benign. It bangs. It soothes. It is deliberate. It is effective.
There are deeply entrenched cultural practices behind many of the failings of Nigerian society. Our politicians are not strangers to the masses they lead and exploit. They are us. We are them. And so the story continues
The frequency of the noisy annoyances reduced. First they were days apart, then weeks. They are months apart now. Arugboya is as sure of her breath as she is of a retaliation when she engages in such nuisance acts. It is what motivated her new mischiefs by proxy.
One of the ways Eleyi was sure that Arugboya’s claim to some higher power was false was in her approach. I suppose her “sisters in the realm” intended to humiliate her by letting her be. Arugboya is a traditionalist who wears the garb of religiosity to prey on the young. To succeed, she prefaces her ugliness with acts of generosity and overt empathy. His aura is not a good fit with mine, she retorts to a confidante. What nonsense?
This superstition is not unique to her. It is very pervasive in southern Nigeria. A boss will fire a subordinate or frustrate him to leave if she thinks their “stars” are not aligned. A parent supposes that her children’s divine gifts are hers to legislate. Swiftly they act, the boss uses her supervisory powers to edge out a rising star that could potentially outshine, a parent uses her emotional and economic privileges over her child to conjure a turn in fortunes towards servitude, or as Arugboya is attempting, the irritation of a neighbour that is destined to expose her ugliness and those of her ilk.
Before her fear is determined, Arugboya hurries with the narrative of her intended victim’s surrender. Lest her smelly aura over a once prosperous place be found out, a scapegoat must be found to cover her tracks. Why not someone so difficult to subdue? Incidentally, these self-preservation acts of the wicked, which are typically borne of fear of their destined demise, almost always become self-fulfilling. They become Pharaoh looking for Moses. They drown. The revelation is the trigger of the revelation. And for all their self-acclaimed wisdom and mystical sight, and a rich historical literature of the futility of such folly, the error is repeated over and over again, generation after generation. They never learn.
Read also: Arugboya v Eleyi: Lagos estate shenanigans (2)
We know the elders are wise when they pass by sleeping dogs in silence. We assume that, at least, for they might know something about the dogs to force their reticence so. But how will we know for sure? Arugboya tells her “egbe*” (*secret society) that Eleyi’s aura is not compatible with hers. Are you in business with him, they ask. No, she replies. Is he bothering you? No, she says. So what then? Can’t we do as we do, she pleads. They look at each other bemused as much as they are irritated in tandem.
The curses have not worked, they oblige finally. Each time we’ve tried, they are turned into blessings for him. So we stopped lest he be blessed overmuch. But Arugboya is as stubborn as she is foolish. If the old ways will not work, how about the new ways? She did not know.
“Oga, omode yii disturb me o. Ta ni? Kiloruko e? What is his name? Eleyi Eleyi ni. Eleyi Eleyi? O sure? Rara, ewu wan be. Omo rada rada yen? That stupid loser? Akisa lonwo, ko ro wo jeun. Obun, obun jati jati yen? I don’t think we are talking about the same person, she prods her “highly connected” benefactor. This is the typical modus operandi of the oppressors of the land.
First they go “highly spiritual”, to use the Nigerian parlance. When that fails, they tap their network. The Arugboyas of this world tend to succeed with the first step. It always easy to know when they fail. What they unabashedly tout as the “secret arts” hitherto become “the hunger games.” “Shora e, ewu wan be.” It is risky, she is told. Still, Arugboya could not reconcile the pedigree she had been apprised of with the meek hermit she had made such elaborate plans to conjure to her wishes.
