Hey, I went gruvving in the Egungun grove again: Does it make me less Christian?

Hey, I went gruvving in the Egungun grove again: Does it make me less Christian?
By YINKA FABOWALE, Ibadan

Oba Sonariwo

Were I a papal Christian I should be before a priest now saying my confessions or having some penance dictated to me.
Or if I were to be of the Pentecostal order I would probably be observing some sentence to days of fasting and prayer decreed by a pastor for my "deliverance" and sanctification for daring to mingle with the circle of "idolaters" and “infidels”.


But though a follower of Christ, I'm happy I don't answer to that respectable nomenclature in a conventional sense, nor can I be pigeon-holed. And that, perhaps, explains the peace, indeed excitement I still feel even as I write this, hours after I frolicked with Egungun masquerades. Yes, I had a nice time with the cult of Yoruba ancestral spirits. And I felt freaking good, as I've not felt in the last 40 years!
The day was Friday, July 24, 2015 and the venue was Ita Oba (King's square) within the massive premises of the palace of the Akarigbo of Ijebu Remoland, Oba Michael Adeniyi Sonariwo, in Sagamu.
I was at the palace to interview the monarch, the Chairman of the Ogun State Council of Obas and Chiefs as well as the paramount ruler of the 33 communities that make up Ijebu Remo, on the 25th anniversary of his coronation. It was the eve of the grand finale of the weeklong celebration which climaxed in a lavish party on Saturday, July 25.

Unfortunately, the interview could not hold, as veteran journalist and former Commissioner for Information and Culture in the state, Chief Taiwo Alimi, who was a member of the anniversary organizing committee, told me regretfully, after waiting for almost two hours, that it had to be postponed because the Oba's itinerary for the day was too tight and could no longer accommodate it. "He's in fact on his way to watch the Elegungun (Egungun cult) perform now. They are putting up a show for him", Alimi said, dashing my hope of an audience with the revered traditional ruler after  courtesy calls by his chiefs, the Muslim community (who had marked the celebration with a Special Jumat Service earlier that day and a delegation of the National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) members serving in Remoland.

I was heading towards my car, which was parked at a side of the expansive King's Square when the sound of the inimitable traditional drumbeats floated across. Then I saw the crowd, forming a large square and the Akarigbo and his chiefs under a pavilion that commanded a magisterial position in the formation.
In the centre were my childhood love, the Egungun masks, in different bright and colourful costumes dancing for the king! I was ecstatic! And instinctively I abandoned the car and raced to the scene.
Getting there, I introduced myself as a journalist there to cover the event to some whip-wielding masks and Ojes (initiates) who formed a security cordon to prevent the pressing crowd from shrinking the open space being used to stage the performance. Graciously, they allowed me into the ring and I boldly made my way to where the drummers and singers were seated, side by side a horde of the masquerades awaiting their turns to show their acrobatic skills.
A set of three "Labatas" were already on stage displaying the graceful dancing steps in precision to the dictates of the idiomatic codes issuing from the drums. I perfectly understood each note and the corresponding body movement having been part of the tradition in my childhood, despite being from a Christian home. Quite instinctively my feet too began to itch for a dance.
There was an interlude and according to tradition, each of the Oje clans went before Kabiyesi and his chiefs to pay homage-men and women, young and old, in their traditional attires and carven sacred staffs.

Then there was a fresh burst of sonorous music from the band of drummers and singers and more masquerades took to the stage, drawing cheers from the gleeful gathering consisting of both the nobles and plebeians.  I felt myself haunted by a sense of pride and at the same time disappointment at Nigeria's neglect to harness this cultural asset for its tourist and entertainment values. The impact of the moment was so enormous it brought floods of old memories of my growing up years in this town, which I may say I effectively left about 30 years ago after enjoying the protection and nurturing home of my parents to pursue my own independent life. I felt a nostalgic thrill as I scanned the ranks of the masks and discovered some favorites that made our faces as children to flush with fear, excitement or joy, depending on the age.

Yes, there were "Labatas". Benign and beautiful they were the commonest and largest population of masks. Often to be seen in costumes with touches of - yellow, red, green, orange and other vibrant colours, as well as a matted head dress made from sheared 'hair’ of sheep. These went from house to house either singly or in clusters praying for people as the Egungun Festival rolled by on the cultural calendar of the town. They were also fantastic acrobatic performers and entertainers.
Then there was Egun Oba, (The king's masquerade). Regal and majestic, this mask not only donned swathes of expensive and exotic costumes, which it proudly shed one after another while  performing ostensibly to show off its rich wardrobe, but also wields a horse-rail, the insignia of royalty that it represented.

Some masks at the event

As a counter pole to Egun Oba was Jantirere who normally retired from its outings to come and flog the Akarigbo right in his palace. The Oba must bear this bizarre custom, the origin of which, I have not been able to fathom.

Although the Oniko, the raffia-costumed mask was also missing on the field this day, you had in the mix Ere (The sacred python); the Oni (sacred crocodile); the beaky Onibebes (a set of gaily dressed, beak-mouthed feminine-masks, with artificial protruding sexy butts, actually made of stuffed clothes), as well as others depicting social professions such as teaching and even the clergy that the dynamic, creative genius of the people have been able to devise within the unfamiliar intervening period I left home.
The "Onibebes", whose actual generic name I cannot immediately remember, were also fantastic performers, who mocked male spectators and female fans alike with suggestive and sensual gyrations of gypsies.
And of course, "Anobeni"! A never-to-be-forgotten, dreaded reminder of an important aspect of my socialization in the wisdom that it pays to obey parental admonitions. Quite unlike the Labatas this set of masks, were not as attractive or friendly. They plodded the streets solitarily, wielding long canes and "Aja", a form of gong, which clanged, announcing their presence as they went by.
Because of their menacing mien and penchant for flogging Anobeni don't enjoy or command spectatorship especially among children. Nobody wanted to watch them.
But knowing this, the sly devils found and deviously offered a tempting incentive which predictably assured them of a sizable followership too, especially among disobedient and recalcitrant neighbourhood kids.
Anobeni, whose name is actually a corruption of "Ano-bend" (he who beats one silly till he bends) deployed this tactic by stopping, dipping into and hauling of  his repertoire of abusive and obscene songs upon sighting any group of children while on his solitary tour of the town. Then he charged forward, pretending to go on his way.
The trick never failed to work. Except on older kids who had gone through the socialization  process and become wiser. The children would abandon whatever they were doing and surge after the masquerade, chanting the refrain of his vulgar songs and poking their fingers at him in retaliatory gesture for his abuses, while keeping relatively safe distance from his whips.
"Korope n… 'ye re"; Won mi d- 'ye re ni Basha" etc, the sultry lines would go on and on. It was the beginning of our moral corruption, even though as children, we were not fully apprised with the import and gravity of the lines. We were simply having fun. Not willing to miss out in the fun, other kids would sneak out of their homes to join the train, ignoring their mothers' shrill remonstrations: "Eh! wo mi la w’anobeni? E nejo o" (What! you want to go and watch Anobeni? It's alright); which actually implied "you will see the consequence".
Street after street, the crowd swelled as more children joined.

Anobeni

Of course in the excitement of the game, many of the children were carried away  and would carelessly bridge the gap other clever ones by experience ensured they maintained between themselves and the masquerade, sometimes even almost  daring to touch his attire!
At this stage, the mask would occasionally look over his shoulders and halt to gauge the distance between him and his errant young fans or foes, if you like. Simultaneously, the moving crowd of wary youths also freezed or started backing off.
If he was not yet satisfied that majority of the youngsters would taste of the sting of his whips should he strike then, he moved on and in fact increased the tempo of excitement, by bringing on even more abusive compositions.
But when satisfied he had them exactly where he wanted them, he abruptly turned back lashing out fiercely and mercilessly on their hides. "O di bo lo, ya mi" (Give way).

The anti-climax of the drama were usually screams, pains and bruises that our mothers whose kind advice we’d refused to heed, ended up dressing for the next few days afterwards. 
It was not surprising to see Anobeni serving as the policemen and maintaining peace and order with their whips at the coronation anniversary celebration. 
To my disappointment, however, I could not find the real crowd-pullers and leading masquerades of the town-Sabitu, Kanimodo, Oloro and Kutukenge at last week’s show at Ita Oba.
Sabitu and Kanimodo represented the violent face of the Egungun festival. Both bore sharp swords and lethal charms and so did their supporters. It is believed that the two big rival masquerades must not meet and there were often public apprehensions on the days of their outing. Thus, a special day was set aside for Sabitu, who came out once in a year to display. On this date, indigenes of Sagamu, home and abroad, converged in the headquarters of the Remo towns dressed in "Aso-ebi" specially chosen for the occasion, dancing and going on a drinking binge. Youths engaged themselves in whiplash competition and endurance test. The entire town was always in frenzy as the revellers stopped and extorted money from motorists and travellers passing through the town. The charismatic masquerade himself went on visits to the VIPs in town, who received him and his large entourage with gifts and hot drinks.
Our house was among the few residences of prominent non-indigenes of the town marked for this privileged gesture. Although my father was the Balogun and later Baba Ijo of Christ African Church in the town, it didn't stop him gathering the family to be prayed for by the ancestral god and his acolytes with bottles of schnapps gin during such visitations. Lisabi (a cognomen underscoring his Egba roots) as he is popularly called, had a thriving petrol filling station and a pool betting business in the 60s and 70s.
Oloro, was perhaps next to Sabitu in terms of popularity. He had a penchant for initially disconcerting mothers and gladdening their hearts later. This he did by picking up their kids and running kilometres away before putting them down and tucking special gifts including money in their hands. Meanwhile, the distraught mothers arrived the scene relieved to be united with their progenies, but not until after having had to laboriously wade through the milling crowd of spectators/followers often stretching more than a kilometre.
Kutukenge, of course, was the father of them all. Also an Egun Oba, his strength lay not in brawn or acrobatics, but in the wit, humour and lyricism of his poetry, with which he dazzled the townsfolk- young and old. A sage and poet, he was a master-satirist, well versed in the rare art of Yoruba oral literature called Esa, that blends storytelling with sonorous music. His satirical diatribe spared no one. None is a sacred cow that could not be touched. Hence, he it was who would see a neighbourhood Imam breaking Ramadan fast with a tasty chunk of pork, washing it down his gut with a cold bowl of soaked garri drink! A royal masquerade, Kuntukenge went about with a retinue of his miniature replica, whose attires bedecked with  mirror glasses, sparkled.
Unfortunately when I inquired of the reason for the absence of these great masquerades, I was told that since the custodians of the masks died some years ago, the last reportedly five years ago, there had been no successor! Mr. Gbenga Alayo, an indigene of the town said: "It's sad that many of the children born these days do not know the generation of the masks you're talking about. Since their custodians passed on, the masquerades have not been coming out again, because the present young generation doesn't appear interested in propagating our culture”.
An artisan, Kayode Awofeso, coroborrated Alayo's statement. He confessed that schooling, rat race as well as other modern forms of recreation have distracted the youths from enjoying traditional cultural festivals such as watching masquerades. "No one has time for it again", he told me. I turned away in pain.
Yet I could not entirely believe the excuse, for there in the assembly of the Ojes, I could still espy younger masquerades and drummers passionately dishing out the same old traditional rhythm. For a long while I fixed my gaze admiringly, albeit pensively on the lead drummer, a young man of about 25 years wondering what he did for a living and if he had a succession plan to pass his knowledge and skills to younger ones in his family. I would have loved to ask him among other questions----But he was rather too busy with the job at hand.
What are the Ojes themselves doing to preserve their rich heritage? What are our cultural activists, tourism investors and performing artistes doing to harness and develop this potentially lucrative art form that can no doubt take many out of the job market, aside boosting the nation's earnings, especially in this gloomy economic era in which oil revenue is dwindling?
Or is the necessary synergy being hampered by inaccessibility and uncooperative attitude or shroud of mysticism associated with the Egungun cult? If so, what can be done to remove the obstacle?
The likes of Nobel laureate, Prof. Wole Soyinka; the late Hubert Ogunde; legendary dramatist, late Chief Duro Ladipo (Sango) and lately ace cinematographer, Tunde Kelani, had, through their rigorous research and integration of deep and unique Yoruba traditional art forms in their works, promoted global appreciation, demand and respect for the African culture.
Has it occurred to our stakeholders in the tourism and arts sector in Ogun State that this is a potential gold mine if tapped beyond the Adamu Orisa (Eyo) Festival which continues to attract tourists from within and outside the country who spend their money in Lagos, staying in hotels and buying artworks?
These were the questions which occupied my mind as I made my way back to Ibadan after reluctantly, albeit finally detaching myself from the spectacular gathering. 
And it occurred to me too that it was the most historic and exciting visit I have made to Sagamu in years, in spite of regularly going there to see my folks.

More masquerades awaiting turns to dance

My incredible love and admiration for masquerades I owe to the liberal socio-religious environment into which I was born. Batoro quarters, where we lived was a conglomeration of people of the different faiths- Muslims, Christians and adherents of the indigenous religions. Our landlord was the Imam of the mosque on the street, while just across the road was our local church. Further up the street, you had Baba Olosanyin, a seer and herbalist, while other streets housed the Iledi of a cult I cannot now remember and a house where we used to watch old women dance the traditional Balufon.

I'd long purged myself of the conceit and indoctrination of some Christians who condescendingly consider adherents of traditional religions as infidels or evil people that must be avoided. As I noted above the cultural milieu of my birth did not support nursing such baseless supposition.
Although, there were indeed suspicion and fears of Ojes and Oro worshippers dabbling in the occult and using "black powers", many innocent young Christians like me lost their dread of any Egungun being dangerous or possessing any magical power as early as when I was in Primary Four. That year a small Egungun, of about my height and stature I'd been fascinated with and was thus trailing one day, had suddenly turned around and hailed me among the crowd: "Yinka, omo Fabowale, mo ki e, ki e. S’o wa lalaafia ara?" (Yinka, son of Fabowale, I greet you. Hope you are hale and hearty?)
I was astounded as I was happy to be recognized by an ancestral spirit, whom his handler, a classmate and friend, whispered to me in confidence, was Kamoru, our fellow classmate. I surveyed the small spirit-being and despite his effort at concealing his voice under the guttural intonation of the Egunguns, I convinced myself it was indeed Kamoru. One thing led to another and my curiosity and adventurous spirit soon led me too emerging from Igbale (Shrine, where humans turned to spirits) on the tail of young Egunguns as their handlers. It was an appealing enterprise as there was money to be made and shared at the end of the day. And for this only a fee of, I think, five Kobo coins, was needed to hire a good Eku Labata (mask) and a few hours of trudging the streets dancing and praying for people who rewarded the “spirits” with Kobo coins and occasionally Naira notes! 

While I was never found out, it was not the same for Kamoru. His escapades of transforming from a uniformed pupil into an ancestral spirit were soon betrayed at school. For this my hero got several strokes of the cane that made him weep like a baby that he was and not one damned ancestor.
I soon became an honorary “member” of the town's Oje clan to be seen at various traditional functions including funeral rites of members, where masquerades were billed to perform.
Of course, these activities were kept secret from my folks at home. Despite their liberalism and the prevalent syncretism common in the society then, they would hardly believe that their dear son who said "Amen", with passion at morning prayers and family altar, said "Ase", with the same fervour during "Iwure" at Egungun gatherings.
But for me, I saw no obvious contradiction. Neither in the content of the supplications nor to whom they were directed.
The solemnity and purity of pronouncements during these rites were certainly more attuned to the Divine laws and injunctions to wish and do unto others what one would wish done unto himself, because you would often hear the priest or whoever was pronouncing blessings conclude: “Bim ti nwi re e, wa roun ma ri mi re” (As I wish for you, so shall it be for me also), unlike what you have in some churches and denominations today, where the pastors lead their congregations to invoke fire to kill and the earth to swallow up their alleged enemies. "Die, die, die", they declare, when the Lord, Christ Jesus himself enjoined us to pray even for our adversaries!

Certainly the traditionalists may not have entirely got some things right. But neither have many Christian sects too in their doctrines and practices. But methinks the answer does not lie in self-righteous aloofness, but even moving closer to help. Our Lord, Jesus Christ did not, afterall, shun the company of sinners, but rather went after them teaching and healing.
I also became more convinced in my objective disposition of associating with the masks basically from the view point of their entertainment value when years later and as a teenager; the identity of the revered wearer of the Kutukenge mask was unveiled to me. He was a pools coupon staker and customer of my father's third wife, who managed our agency's head office in Ijokun area of the town. Oftentimes when he was around, he could be heard boasting to close associates of his exploits under the mask and in fact, sometimes sharing some of his upcoming compositions with his audience. Pity, his real name now evades me.
Of course, with this background, I couldn't find any reasonableness in the fundamentalism of the Christian sect in which I first found myself later as an adult in my search for the Truth about God and His Will, devoid of the hitherto distorted concepts, falsification and misinterpretation occasioned by human ignorance, prejudices and selfishness. 
And now that I'm in possession of the Truth that the Almighty Creator and Ruler of the worlds is the Lord of all and that He deals with men in His Laws, according to the works of their hands and irrespective of their creeds or faith, who am I to judge and discriminate against anyone- our revered "ancestors" inclusive?