Imminent torrential rainfall

“As darkening clouds quickly gather over Project Nigeria, our fervent prayers are that these very mobile clouds, as is regrettably often the case, do not transit to torrential rainfalls…” – Fine tooth comb for Ekiti; The Guardian, August 10, 2018.

                   

One of Nigeria’s more creative comedians often transports me back to my teenage years. This has less to do with the particular comedian’s style of delivery than his stage name: I go die. The theme, “I go die o!”, was the title of a rib-cracking comedy programme on Nigerian Broadcasting Corporation Radio, back in the day. Both children and adults used to eagerly look forward to the weekly programme; and I recall that my only complaint about the programme was that it ought to have lasted for at least thirty minutes, instead of the usual paltry ten or so minutes that had been allotted to it. Our teenage appetite had been simply insatiable because the pidgin-English programme was as entertaining as its story lines were educative. The average teenager of that era was as likely the street-wiser on account of the programme. I still recall a number of editions in every particular to this day, of which one of my favourites is paraphrased below:

“I was carelessly strolling along a popular street in Surelere one Saturday afternoon when I stumbled on a crowd of gorgeously attired people. Nearby, chairs and tables were arranged in owam be party fashion. An animated man stood at the center of the colourful crowd. Periodically snatching a glance at the gloomy sky, the man kept repeating the words, “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo! To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo!...” (An ungrammatical Yoruba for: If you give me money, I will avert the rain…) Suddenly, practically everyone in the crowd started throwing money at the man. The man persisted, even as bank notes continued to rain around him; “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo! To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo!”. The crowd enthusiastically flung more crispy notes on the ground still.

This can’t be true! I told myself; I must be dreaming all this up, because I had not seen that much money in my life, not even in a bank. So I sharply bit one of my fingers to confirm I wasn’t dreaming. I go die o!

It is real after all! I exclaimed, looking curiously around me as the man started to pack all the money into a large sack. So this is how easy it is to make money in Lagos, eh? I thoughtfully said to myself, uncontrollably swallowing saliva in envy of the now rich rain-doctor. I spent the rest of the day thinking about my surprise encounter; and finally made up my mind. I too will from that day become a rain-doctor. I go die o!

So after that day, I started searching for owam be party venue around Surulere. After a week of searching, I ran into luck, or luck ran into me. A big owam be party was about to start, with Lagos money bags already majestically seated at a venue near the National Stadium. I smiled broadly when I looked skywards; dark low clouds made their presence impossible to ignore. Performance time! I told myself, clearing my throat; “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo! To ba funmi owo, emi amu ojo!”, my voice ran out amid thunder-clapping. I go die o!

At first, no one paid me any attention; so I intensified my efforts. “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo! To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo!” I persisted with the thunder-clapping apparently intensifying with my efforts to impress the richly appareled audience. Then suddenly, few in the audience stood, walked proudly towards me, and flung tens of crispy notes from wads of cash at me. And as though on cue, many more others in the audience followed them. Fresh bank notes of all denominations soon covered the ground around me. I go die o!

Consciously imitating every action of the first rain-doctor, I didn’t relent in my performance even as hundreds of crispy bank notes continued to rain on and around me. “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo!...”, I chanted still, now packing my rewards into a large nylon bag. As I swept another handful of bank notes from the ground, I noticed a drop of water on the back of my hand. Impulsively looking upwards to check the dark clouds, I sensed two large drops of water on my face… I go die o!

Now looking around in panic, my mind raced for a quick escape plan. But it was all too late because the rain was already pouring down! A big blow from behind knocked me senseless to the ground, as many more blows and vicious kicks landed on my body and head in blinding succession. I was beaten black and blue. I go die oooooo!” 

Rainfall is a critical medium for sustaining life on earth, yet it is widely regarded as a metaphor for ruination or failure. In southern Nigeria, most tribes liken hopelessly ruined persons to “rain drenched animals”. Elsewhere, people speak of the dread of “raining on one’s parade”. Always, the omen is negative. So it is easy to relate to the impulsive action of those richly attired Lagosians who had doled out wads of bank notes to an unknown or unverified rain-doctor. Interestingly, that seeming foolishness is not confined within the realm of comedy. The real world daily breathes and revels in it before our very eyes, thereby re-affirming the notion that comedy is a direct reflection of the real world.

Since 2018, some less-than-creative Nigerian stage-performers of another genre have taken that potentially fatal act to nigh-psychiatric proportions, by reversing the “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojo” comedy sketch. Unverifiable but card-carrying rain-doctors are being desperately scoured and financially rewarded to temporarily avert rainfalls in some states!!! (If inflicting avoidable miseries on tens of millions of trusting citizens due to governance failure, and then paying them pittance to live in denial of that failure is not lunacy, then the term psychiatry can have no meaning) At the previous count that psychiatric act has been witnessed in Edo, Ekiti and Osun states, much to the alarm of both local and international meteorologists. Basic meteorology tells us that, because of Nature’s immutability, the sum of delayed rainfalls in one cycle would inevitably pour down in torrents in the subsequent cycle.

Conclusively, or inconclusively, (since Osun Guber2018, both adverbs have become interchangeable) therefore, Nigerians should expect the cumulative “To ba funmi owo, e mi amu ojos” of 2017 and 2018 to explode into torrential rainfalls in 2019. By the by, in Edo, one of the states where rains have been counter-naturally stayed, and the homestead of a chiefly patron of the 2017/8 rain-doctors, the ordinary people there say, “Na rain wey no wan fall na im dem dey hold!”

Afam Nkemdiche is an engineering consultant; October, 2018