Ibadan!

“Ẹ n f’àdá bọ̀’dí, Ìbàdàn yọ́ọ̀ ọ́; anbeletase ẹni fi ti ẹ̀ bọlẹ̀. (The one who dipped his cutlass into his rectum, Ibadan removed it; not to talk of the one who dipped his into the soil.)”

Ibadan, that beauty by the meadow, needs no introduction. The city of warriors, she is the total sum of the variety of her inhabitants, the harmony between cultured living and expedient swings. Unlike some of her mates, she’s not a beneficiary of a wandering stranger but a product of a conscious effort to grow and evolve. She paid for her enviable position in blood and sweat, and tact. So please understand her peculiar ways.

A beacon on the hills, she grew into a fortress and many flocked to her from every angle. And in her unparalleled generosity, she accepted everyone, nobles and troubles, chiefs and thieves. There’s a place for everyone who found his or her way to her irrespective of origin or social status.

A skilled equivocator when situation demands, she learnt to talk with confidence which some mistook for arrogance. It’s not an overbearing sense of pride towards others but a need to be properly understood free of sentiment. She didn’t swear to a world of pedantic existence; unfortunately the non-initiate judges this as roguish or obstinate.

She learnt how to succinctly and sufficiently describe people and events. Even intangible things like common sense and thoughtfulness transform to concrete beings on her effusive tongue. This, descriptive analysis, her people heard and learnt, in spoken form, and passed same from generations to generations. It’s nothing serious, I promise.

Courtesy Ayoadams on Pixabay

The case of the Ibadan Market woman may seem poignant. She comes prepared to blow cold and hot in one breath, and you can’t blame her for offering thorough analysis to anyone who fails to understand simple market dynamics. You can go from ‘Bàbá ọkọ mi’ (My Father in law) to Ọ̀lẹ Olé (Lazy thief) faster than they can remember their child’s name. Ṣé ẹ mọ ibi tí wọ́n ti n yáá ìbọn ni? (Don’t you know where to rent guns).

The Ibadan Taxi man is another worthy specimen in the laboratory of hard-knocks; he is an accumulation of information and mental (in)ability which result from participation in different discussion forums and other activities.

Taxi? No, Micra. The Micra driver, like his Commuter bus parents, is brash and unwilling to yield space. If he had displayed his complete skillset in a different situation, wearing suit and tie, defending a business proposal, you would have described this as grit. But I agree that the Ibadan Micra driver is a great example of a work in progress.

You may see vituperation but we see an expressive style, perhaps a preemptive strike or a proper defence. Ibadan talks and she’s not afraid of war. It’s her greatest courtesy to invite her friends to the battlefield, to watch only not to audit. With a historical guaranteed security, Ibadan may proceed to describe you as she deems fit.