By

Eniola Olatunji 

As i laid upon my couch battling general fatigue for three days due to burn out, i thought of Christmas periods i have spent on earth.

In 1966, i had followed some boys in the traditional emergency masquerade dance of boys against the wish of my mother. I thought i was a big boy now going to primary three. I had never had the grace of moving around the Abadina Community of the University of Ibadan singing, "baba thank you, oyingo, God go bless you, oyingo" and other songs.
Whenever any group danced to our house, i try my best to identify who the masquerade is. I whisper to the drummers most of who i know. 

Living in that community was great fun especially with the Ishan people of old Bendel State. Their masquerades would tumble and gyrate in spectacular ways. I tried copying in 1965 and ended up with minor wounds at the Jaja Clinic of the University community.

And so in 1966, armed with two empty 'peak milk tins' and striking them in a rythymic manner to produce music, i was admitted in the group of someone i don't want to name. He was six years older than me and led perhaps the most youthful squad.

Don't forget i told you my parents did not know about and approve my escapades. We went round Abadina, Chima, Sankore and other senior staff quarters. It was exciting. At the end, our leader handed me one penny stating i don't need the money because my parents were rich. The money was not my problem but the joy and fun therein.

I got home and was told by our househelp then that they had searched everywhere for me. I knew there was trouble. My heart beat increased. 

My father, Baba Kassim alias baba Yanguard, gave me the right hand of righteousness - beating. Bro Tomi Takpe carried me on his shoulders while bro Olu carried my legs and my father arranged six strokes of koboko on my bumbum and back. I called Jesus Christ to save me but he abandoned me. I didn't know how to shout ELOI ELOI LAMA SABACTANI like Him.

That was not the end. After the bulala session, my mother asked me to tell her who i went out with. I told her and explained that i was given one penny. Jesus! I thought she had pulled my ear off my body. The right ear hurt me.

She took me to our leaders' house. All what they discussed i didn't hear. I was very busy holding my right ear. Mothers are proficient in ear pulling. I didn't fear koboko but i can argue that still having ears are miracles from God.

Then the bro that led our group pressed ten shillings into my hands. I was dazzed. That was big money then. My mother tapped my head from the back, "move home Abayo". I gave my mum a hug. I love her even with my aching ear.

That Christmas eve, she told me i would eat the thigh of the chicken for Christmas lunch but for that dinner was with the wings of a chicken. Eating chicken in those days was a rare thing. I begged my mum for a kiss. She gave me a lavishing one and added, "i love you Abayo my first son". The hug reminded me of a pain from the koboko lashes on my back. Mummy said me sorry.

Outside as the clock ticked 11:15pm some boys came with their masquerade and daddy told them to go home for it was late. I know the masquerade. I shouted, "brother Aliu" (that was Aliu agba. The younger one, my mate is late now). A look from my father made me run into bed. That was it for Christmas eve of 1966.

Can you remember any christmas you spent on earth?

I used to be Abayomi Kassim then but now Rev. Joseph Eniola Olatunji. Olatunji is from my father's name, Michael Olatunji Kassim. 

He died 1st October 2015. My mother, Marian Ayodele Kassim  aka iya Ibeji died 28th December 1971.