ESSAY: THE YEARS

By Amuda Abbas Oluwadamilola

THE YEARS: A Personal Essay

Growing into adulthood has many phases. But the one I believed shaped my educational life the most was my three years sojourn in Ìpínlẹ̀ Ọmọlúabi, State of  Oṣùn, South-western Nigeria. 

Sadly, no certificate of mine lived to survive this journey. But my transition from an obese Abuja Butter-Boy who could barely speak Yoruba, to one who could dobalẹ perfectly, could recite Ewis as much as his ayahs and who came first in his penultimate Yoruba class is a mosaic of memories. 

Some horrible, some pleasant, some which still makes me cringe as I scribble this epilogue to my memoir. 

I remember how - I'd spend my transport money on beske[ soybean cake] so I'd trek home with friends, How I'd always stared at the GOF International School's billboard on the expressway, wondering why I wasn't one of those kids in blue suits and colourful P.E wears. Sometimes, I cried when I was called "Ọmọ Aregbe" [ Rauf Aregbesola was the governor then] by our neighbors’ kids, and I was angry when I saw other students who didn't attend my school wearing the same uniform as I did. They said we were all Aregbesola’s children. 

How I'd trek from our new house at Station Road to the Osun State Library at Òkè - Fia [ What a distance!] just so I could read newspaper dailies, how I secretly developed an interest in Yoruba Theology, and how the librarians stared at me in awe as I always requested to read Yinka Elebuibon and his contemporaries. 

How I still managed to camouflage as a good dalib at my Madrasa in Umani Adigun, how the Imam grew fond of me and often let me break the fast with him in his study room, and I was chosen as one of the lads to participate in the I'tikaf programme of 1439 AH. 

How I often spelt my moments of depression [ never knew that was the name for it then] in the quiet of Freedom Park in the evenings, thinking I was a Mushrik because I still read Elebuibon and watched the colourful processions at the Osun Osogbo Festival, even when mum told me not to. Sometimes I wondered if one of the oncoming honking trains would come out of their way and crush me, for I heard Munafiqs and Mushriks die painful deaths. 

But here I am, a sophomore in a university on the other side of the Niger, writing a research paper on the Osun Osogbo Festival, feeling waves of nostalgia rush over me. 

The Muezzin is calling.  And I stand up to answer my Lord's call, I feel more of a Dalib than a Munafiq. 

It was just a phase.

                                                                                  

Amuda Abbas Oluwadamilola is an undergraduate majoring in Literature at Ahmadu Bello University, Nigeria. His works have appeared in the Trouaville Review and a few other online platforms. When he's not writing, he's doing mobile photography. Abbas tweets at @aadamilola.