Written June 23, 2012

Bismillaahir-Rahmaanir-Raheem

Baba Okuta is the villain of this narration. I remembered him yesterday due to an event that occurred to some Islamic students in our place here in Ede. They were woken up around 2 a.m. in their 'dormitory' – an eight-room apartment near the mosque where they learn and were made to 'hawk' imaginary 'moin-moin' and 'akara' till 4 a.m. coupled with serious beating with flat-side of the machetes! It was the doing of the nightmen employed by some rich men to watch over the neighborhood. Some armed bandits came to the town recently and left some of the rich men counting their losses. So the 'security' must be improved to safeguard the rich from further attacks from the men of the underworld; the poor must be used as scapegoats. To show to the rich men that they were working, the watchmen made scapegoats out of the tulaab. The boys, before sleep, forgot to close the main entrance to their apartment so the watchmen came in the night, woke them up and made them to suffer what the armed bandits did not suffer.

[Though we tried to investigate the matter the following morning. We got to one of the heads of the watchmen who gave the order that the beating must continue when the boys were brought to him that night, the man begged for forgiveness and we forgave them].

So I remembered what occurred between me and Baba Okuta many years back in our village. Can you remember the viallge? You can read the wine-tapper story again [See here]. The event was after my 'transfer' to OAU, it was in 2004. I could remember that my lovely mum was very much alive – Allaah gafranta.

In the occurrence, it was also about the activity of some watchmen in our village. A boy 17 was seized by the men guarding our village some minutes past 11 p.m. The boy had sleepwalkingly came out to urinate and forgot to carry a lantern with him, as was the 'rule' – no torch or candle light was permitted. The 'law' in our village was that it was a 'crime' for anyone to stay out beyond 11 p.m. anybody caught would 'hawk' 'moin-moin' and 'akara' till when his captors may wish. It was an age-long 'rule' common to many of the villages, towns and cities around the country – Nigeria. In fact, it is 10 p.m. in some places!

So the boy was seized by the watchmen. It was the noise between the men and the boy that alerted the members of the household thus we all came out pleading with the men to release the boy since he had been forced by circumstance to circumvent 'the laws' of the 'village assembly.' The nightmen insisted they would beat him and he would 'hawk goods' that night. More and more people were coming out and the number was increasingly intimidating. People were hurt because earlier in the weeks many villagers had been unjustly beaten by the watchmen thus they were looking for a way of getting rid of them or, on the least, check their excesses.

It was at that point that Baba Okuta was called in. He was the de facto head of the village cum director of the activities of the watchmen. A very tough man dreaded by everyone in the village. I had known him since I was a kid. I can't recall seeing him laugh. He rarely wore shirts whether in the village or when going to farm. If you meet him on the farm-path, you have to be careful. Though he had not really done any physical harm to anybody (save an alleged murder he committed as a watchman around 1988. In that occurrence, he had mistakenly gunned down one of the boys who went for a night party in a neighboring village. He mistook him for an armed robber. The case was eventually swept under the carpet due to the powerful influence of those who stood behind Baba Okuta. He was a son of the land). People were afraid of Baba Okuta due to his look, no doubt, and his power of 'juju.' Our village, in Ondo State, is rife with juju practices. We grew up as kids fearing Juju than the Creator! We had seen many juju in practice – live!

So Baba-Okuta was called in. When he arrived, the crowd had soared. He gave the order that everyone should remain silent. The order was instantly carried out. Who dare not? After listening to what had occurred, Baba Okuta said: 'Yes, the boy must be beaten and 'hawk' around the village till daybreak!'

'No, he will not!' said a voice from among the crowd. And the voice was that of this humble writer.

'Who is that?' Baba Okuta fired back.

'It is me.' I replied without leaving where I was standing resting on a pillar with a total trust in Allaah the Mighty Lord [اللهم لا يأخذني].

Baba Okuta stood up and came in the direction of where I was standing. It was dark so he could not see me well. When he got to where I was standing, he raised the torch he had with him and looked at me in the face. When he saw it was 'Alfa, the son of Baba Ibadan' as I was popularly referred to in the village, [my late grandpa was 'Baba Ibadan' and I was his grandson], Baba Okuta dropped his torch without making any comment and made straight to the direction of his house. As I am typing this narration, I can see the way he was fuming as he left the scene for his house.

The crowd began to murmur. There was the fear that perhaps he had gone home to bring one powerful juju and deal me a blow. Some crowd began to leave in fear lest they were caught up in the firefight that was about to ensue between Baba Okuta and one young man called 'Alfa, the son of Baba Ibadan.' My mummy came to where I was and began to plead with me that I should come into the house. Some people were saying we should go to his house and beg him. That last option, I was not ready for it. By the time we all left the scene, about twenty minutes had lapsed yet Baba Okuta did not come back. And he never came!

I slept that night hoping to see some spirits. There were none except a dream of the thought that preoccupied my mind before I went to sleep. I was waiting to see Baba Okuta by the ceiling screaming at me, and I was ready with Aayatul-Kurisiyy and some other Verses and supplications of the Messenger of Allaah (salaLlaahu alayh wa sallam) against the evil spirits and jinns that if I saw him, from any angle, I would 'fire' him with them. There was nothing.

In the following morning, the news of the event of the previous night spread across the village. Some people came to our house thinking I had died before the daybreak. They were surprised to see me still alive. In fact, I made it early to the mosque that morning.

There was another theory for my continued stay in life: That by seven days, I must die or get afflicted in a serious way. I was to travel back to school two days after the event but because of what the people were saying I stayed beyond the seven days. I was hale and hearty. Alhamdulillah. In fact, before I left the village, Baba Okuta and I met along the farm-path. We did not greet each other; he went his way and I went mine. I was thinking he would take another route and waylay me but nothing like that occurred.

The day I was to leave the village, many villagers came to see me off. Some thought I would not make it to school that I must get an accident on the road. There was no accident alhamdulillah.

The conclusion I derived from it was that Allaah used my humble self to bring down the ego of Baba Okuta, and to show to the people in our village that there was no power nor might except with Allaah. All praise to Allaah over this aid and help.

[It got to my notice some few weeks ago that Baba Okuta had become the Baale (Paramount Chief) of the village and he seems to be gentler and humbler now.]