“B’oko kan o r’Ejinrin. Egbegberun re a lo” – Yoruba adage meaning “Ignore the boat-man who refuses you passage to Ejinrin. There are sure to be a thousand others going that way…”
Murray Rumsey, deputy to the Governor, brought out his pocket-watch from his fob as the steamer Gertrude settled beside the jetty at Ejinrin.
It was exactly nine o’clock.
He smiled grimly as he settled into a comfortable seat on the deck. The market town lay to the left and the right as far as the eye could see.
His detachment of Constabulary was deployed astern. He had ordered everybody to keep a low profile.
He was not going to step on the ground in Ejinrin, of course. He would remain in British waters.
Before the abolition, this place had been a major hub of international trade in slaves and commodities. Slaves from the hinterland were brought here, to be conveyed to Lagos, where they were put on the big ships bound for foreign parts. Local produce was also purchased for shipment to Europe. When the human trade overseas was eventually ended, a vigorous trade in commodities ensued, between the Jebu on one hand and Lagos and the rest of the world on the other. The market, rather than shrink, expanded. Big warehouses were constructed by business concerns to house the produce they bought from Jebu traders, awaiting export.
All of this, sadly, had gone into abeyance for a while now, since the market was closed on the orders of the Awujale, the King and de jure overlord of the Jebu.
Lately, the power game had taken a dramatic turn. The Jebu king fell out of favour with his people. He was exiled to Epe.
The chiefs of the Jebu, now the de facto authority, decided to reopen trade at Ejinrin market, their gateway to the outside world.
Officially, Her Majesty’s representatives in the colony of Lagos would never take sides in a local power struggle, which was what this was.
Rather, the situation called for “active neutrality”.
If the Jebu people and their de facto leadership decided to resume trade with the Lagos people, and they were ready to take responsibility for the consequences, what was the business of Her Majesty’s government interfering?
They informed him that several canoes filled with traders from Lagos had already arrived. The people of Ejinrin had received them enthusiastically. They had also met emissaries from Oru and Ode who assured them that Jebu traders were on their way to the market in their canoes
There was a stir at the quayside as a boat came alongside the Gertrude. Onboard were a group of eminent-looking people from Lagos. They were intent on coming aboard the steamer. The officer in charge of the Constabulary moved to intercept them.
“Let them” he instructed, waving the man aside.
He recognised some of the men. There was Eletu Jebu, a white cap chief. There was Soenu. There was Kasumu who had been one of the messengers of the former King Docemo. There was one of the leaders of the traders.
They had come to welcome him to Ejinrin, they said.
He had seats arranged for them in a semi-circle, facing him on the gently undulating deck.
They informed him that several canoes filled with traders from Lagos had already arrived. The people of Ejinrin had received them enthusiastically. They had also met emissaries from Oru and Ode who assured them that Jebu traders were on their way to the market in their canoes.
Rumsey cleared his throat. He appreciated their enthusiasm, he said carefully, but Ejinrin was a Jebu market, and the Lagos people could not unilaterally declare it open. Only when Jebu traders arrived ready to trade could the market be said to be open.
They appreciated his caution, and shortly they departed.
He felt almost dizzy at the sheer intensity of contradictory emotions attending the simple act of reopening a local market for trade. True, Ejinrin was not just any market. It was a crucial gateway. It would reopen access to Ibadan and places beyond for British interests. The Lagos traders, always with an eye out for profit, had pressured the Governor to have the market reopened. The Jebu monarch was adamantly opposed. To compound it all, the Jebu Chiefs, led by the Balogun, were fully in support of reopening. They condemned their exiled monarch for being excessively bellicose and hostile to strangers.
Out of the little bag he carried, Rumsey brought out the handwritten letters that had been written to the Lieutenant Governor and glanced through them once again, smiling wryly. One was from the Awujale. Another was from the Balogun and the Osugbo of Jebu.
“Epe, 29th February 1884”
– began the monarch’s letter.
“…when I ordered the Ejinrin market to be closed…I have not yet repealed it…I have been naughtily treated by the people of Oru and Ode…surely there are no two kings in any of the European countries…I hereby…protest against the opening of Ejinrin market…”
The letter seethed with anger.
On the other hand, the letter from his estranged Chiefs was unequivocal.
“Ikorodu
February 16, 1884”
• the letter began.
“We the undersigned are deputations from Ono Fowokan the Balogun to Your Excellency…are prepared to go …in trade with them, this being the principal work of their townsmen…”
The letter concluded with the marks of chiefs Ifetuga, Otenaki, Okunlaja and Odusayo.
Shortly after 3pm, the Lagos men came back to the steamer, accompanied by a powerful delegation from the Balogun of Jebu. The boats of the Jebu were close by. Very soon, they would arrive. The market would truly be in full flow, at last. They brought him some goats as gifts. He ordered them taken below deck.
He appealed to the Jebu dignitaries to ensure that they maintained law and order in their market.
He counted thirty large canoes, berthed along the jetty. Two hundred Lagos traders were already on ground with their goods.
He sighed. The reopening was a fait accompli, without lifting a British finger.
He ordered the Gertrude to begin the journey back to Lagos.
He patted his knee.
“A good day’s job, old chap.”
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