CHIEFS’ WAR PART 2.
“Olowo ori mi (my husband) what happened dear? How did the conference go?” asked Mama again, with more emotion singing out of her voice.
“Is it not that good for nothing Chief Arugbololaye?” baa’mi blew vex-fully.
“What about him?” Mama asked in a voice counter to his own.
“He humiliated me publicly in the meeting of the land rulers. Me. Me!” Papa beat his chest with both hands such that his neck beads and those around his hands hit each other, producing the scattered sound.
“Calm down oko mi. what exactly happened?
Irritated by the silence, I unmuted the TV as the channels reported in grey suit dished the news.
Papa was one of the headlines. ‘Chief Arugbololaye of Ajaho land disses Chief Akinloba, ruler of Efeh.’
I turned immediately and my gaze met with Papa and Mama’s. They were watching the news too.
Mama looked at the TV with interest, while Papa looked with disgust.
“A little incident broke out earlier today at the annual conference of Nigerian rulers in Lagos. The occurrence happed at about 10:00 am. The ruler of Efeh land was reportedly snubbed by the chief of Ajaho land, who refused to hug/shake the aforementioned but only punctuated the air with his right hand in a very unfriendly manner. One which the people of Nigeria think is a scroll of disdain. The reason for the ….”
Off went the TV. How did Papa get the remote control from me?
“Arugbololaye is looking for war.” Papa breathed heavily. “And war, he shall get.”
“My husband calm down.” Mama pleaded. But will Papa yield?
“I have never been so embarrassed in my whole life. I thought he was a human being that was why I put our ugly past behind and extended a hand of friendship. But no. he is nothing but a powerless masquerade.”
“Heyhey, calm downu kee” Mama protested.
“Those pieces of land at the border, he will get them over my dead body. I am ready to fight him to any level. Orunmila ‘n gbo.” Papa swore and headed for his room upstairs.
“Where are these guards? Ojuoba! Ojuoba?” he called as he climbed the stairs forcefully. He grabbed the superfluous white material of his agbada so it doesn’t pull him down.
“Ojuoba! Suleiman!” Mama helped him chant as she followed him up.
I felt slightly uncomfortable. My father has been ridiculed and the news is all over the country. I hushed the moody mood and logged on twitter.
Lo! Papa was number one on the trending list with the hashtag #Arugbololaya.Vs.Akinloba. Meanwhile, my WhatsApp and Facebook was full with messages about the occurrence.
“Amebo people.” I cursed. “Gbeborun.” (Gossips).
I later saw the video on the punch news site. Papa greeted other titled men on the row, when he got to chief Arugbololaye, he didn’t accept his friendly greeting but rather, he shoved a dismissive wave at Papa. His face looking unfriendly – without a tiny little smile.
“Ops.” Little wonder Papa was angry. His hate for embarrassment is next to nothing. I turned off my mobile data to avoid messages from ABC’s (Amebo business centres) and busy-bodys.
A peculiar odour clouded the aura of the sitting room. I stuck my nose forward to get an un-interrupted supply of the smell in the air.
“Yeeh! Mama’s chicken is burning.”