Adebayo Lamikanra

Adebayo Lamikanra

I must have inherited my love of sports and whatever sporting abilities I have demonstrated from my father who for three of the four years he spent at St Andrew’s College, Oyo was the school goalkeeper. It is very strange therefore that I watched my first football match in the company of my mother who but for that single occasion did not for once again as far as I know, bother to acknowledge the existence of sporting contests. That memorable football match which took place all of sixty years ago was played out between teams representing the townships of Osogbo and Ikere respectively at the Osogbo township stadium at a time when we lived in Osogbo and it was the first time that I heard anything about a place called Ikere.That occasion has however kept the place on my mind and my interest was further roused many years later through the poems of NiyiOsundare, one of Nigeria’s most celebrated poets and arguably, the most illustrious son of Ikere who mentioned his home town in several of his poems.

And so, for many years before I actually set foot in the town, Ikere has been a name to conjure with and I looked forward to visiting the place. Before leaving the subject of that football match, it is pertinent to mention that my mother did not just take me to see a football match but to see a genius at work. The star on the Ikere team was a man called Fiofori and my mother must have been aware of his fame several years before that famous match as a young teacher in Owo. His fame was such that people flocked to matches to watch him perform and were hugely entertained by his genius. I no longer have any memory of that particular football match but I still have images of the man in his distinctive half drawback working his magic all over the pitch.

When towards the end of last year I received a text message from my adopted egbon, Professor Niyi Osundarer that his mother had died at the age of ninety-six, I knew that my long delayed visit to Ikere was imminent. Sure enough, I received another text message shortly afterwards inviting me to the funeral which had been fixed for Friday, 8th of January. For many days before, I looked forward to going to Ikere to join in the celebration of a woman who long only lived to a grand old age but had in the process produced three illustrious sons including a world renowned poet, an outstanding political commentator and analyst as well as a complete gentleman whose love of country and productive scholarship is exemplary.

From left at the funeral: Femi Osofisan, Prof Biodun Jeyifo, Prof Niyi Osundare and Odia Ofeimun. Photo credit: Idowu Ogunleye

The funeral was everything that I thought it would be; simple, dignified and yet, deeply moving. As expected, the church was packed out with the largest collection of professors outside a university senate meeting in rapt attention. There they were, a few young ones sorting their first crop of grey hairs, not so young ones, old ones and a few truly venerable ones led by emeritus Professors Bamgbose and Banjo who many years ago had put the young Niyi Osundare and countless others through their paces at the University of Ibadan. All were warmly acknowledged by the Chief Host in his scintillating vote of thanks after the service. The entertainment of guests was in keeping with the tone of the service and it was also an opportunity to touch base with many writers who had come to honour one of their own with their presence. My first visit to Ikere was thoroughly enjoyable and it was with a deep sense of satisfaction that I started the homeward journey back to Ilesa where I welcome poets to my annual poetry festival on the first Saturday in December. (You may wish to keep that date in mind).

The journey to Ikere was uneventful and I did not think that the return journey was going to be more so which is why we set out in high spirits hoping to be back home in a little over one hour. The journey was broken at Ado so that we could say a quick hello to one of my favourite cousins, after which we settled down for the last stage of our round trip. It was then that our adventure started.

We were only a few kilometres after Ado when without any warning the car simply conked out in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere. When the bonnet was opened, we found that the water inside the radiator was boiling hot and we thought that when it cooled and the water topped up, we would be able to continue on our journey. We waited patiently for a little more than one hour before topping up the water in the radiator but even after our ministrations, the engine defied all attempts to restart it. By now, time was creeping towards dusk but we had not begun to worry because we still had about a couple of day light hours left and we were sure that the car would eventually be made to run well within that time.

Our first piece of luck appeared in the shape of a very spare man dressed in a violently yellow dansiki with a matching abetiaja perched rakishly on his head. He was driving an old Mercedes Benz in another shade of yellow and introduced himself as a Benz mechanic which was music to our ears as our silenced car as of that brand. We explained our predicament to him and he fiddled a bit with parts of the engine before explaining to us that although the water in the radiator was cool, cold water had not circulated in the engine and the water in there was still piping hot. After what appeared to me to be a magic trick, he bled the engine of what was boiling water and assured us that as soon as cold water was used to replace the hot water in the engine all would be well. We bade him a cheerful goodbye and once again filled the radiator with cold water. The first slivers of anxiety crept into our minds when after our careful ministration, the car still refused to start.

When a vintage car of indeterminable make came round the bend towards us, it looked so unpromising that we did not bother to flag it down and in any case, it was going in the wrong direction as far as we were concerned. In spite of our lack of enthusiasm however, the driver brought his ancient vehicle to a stop and asked if he could be of any assistance. By this time, we were at the barrel scraping stage and so we told him that our vehicle needed to be towed to the nearest mechanic. To our surprise and disbelief, he promised to oblige us and that he would be back as soon as he dropped off his passengers. Although we were sceptical, we decided to put our fate in his hands and waited for him to return, which to our relief, he duly did.

By this time the shadows had begun to creep up on us and our concern was no longer about getting the car to start but towing it into the safety of a nearby inhabited region. So, we started to flag down passing vehicles, asking those who deigned to stop for help but none was forthcoming and our anxieties increased with each successive failure as daylight began to fail around us. The offer of help when it eventually arrived, came right out of the blues and from a totally unexpected quarter.

When a vintage car of indeterminable make came round the bend towards us, it looked so unpromising that we did not bother to flag it down and in any case, it was going in the wrong direction as far as we were concerned. In spite of our lack of enthusiasm however, the driver brought his ancient vehicle to a stop and asked if he could be of any assistance. By this time, we were at the barrel scraping stage and so we told him that our vehicle needed to be towed to the nearest mechanic. To our surprise and disbelief, he promised to oblige us and that he would be back as soon as he dropped off his passengers. Although we were sceptical, we decided to put our fate in his hands and waited for him to return, which to our relief, he duly did.

Prof Niyi Osundare and his wife

It took some time for the two vehicles to be coupled but eventually, we succeeded and we were off! We were still a few kilometres to relative safety however when our make shift tow rope broke and our car was left adrift. But, to our surprise our car engine which had remained stubbornly silent up till that point suddenly burst into life and was able to get to the local mechanic under its own steam. A quick examination even in fading light immediately showed that our problem was caused by a broken pulley on the cooling system and we confidently concluded that all we had to do was to replace the offending article. Straight away, the decision to go back to Ado to get a replacement was taken and our knight in dull armour took off for Ado and came back in triumph with the desired part.

The pulley was duly fitted and we were hopeful that we would be on our way shortly, as soon as our fan belt was fixed. And what could be difficult about that, or so we thought. Some twenty minutes after the effort to fit the offending fan belt started we realised that we had a problem on our hands. The pulley system in the car was not just complicated but it was strange to our mechanic who was all at sea as to how to carry out the task at hand. We were all crowded around the open bonnet offering useless advice and giving words of encouragement in just about equal measure in our increasingly desperate bid to get our man over the line. All to no avail.

At some point, I left the scene of action and turning away from the rest, I promptly fell headlong into the nearby vehicle examination pit, all of six feet deep. My first feeling was one of shock and as I picked myself up gingerly from my prone position, I wondered what damage had been inflicted on my person and was immensely relieved to find that I was unhurt. My inexplicable and near miraculous escape from injury raised my spirits to such an extent that my concern for the car and the resumption of our journey was immediately lifted from my mind and I became relaxed about what was happening or indeed, not happening.

After nearly two hours of fruitless effort, we decided that there was no way we were going to take a single step towards home and once again our knight, who had attached himself to us like some unlikely guardian angel once more stepped up to the plate and offered to take us back to Ado so that we could spend the night in the comfort of my cousin’s home even though his own bed was in the opposite direction from our destination. We gratefully piled into his car and cheerfully kept up a stream of surprisingly cheerful conversation as we sped towards Ado and on through the town’s deserted streets towards a long delayed supper and bed. Our reverie was however shattered when within walking distance of our destination a loud bang announced to us that a tyre had bust and not only that, there was no spare tyre as, according to our surprisingly unperturbed driver, it was at that point in time in the custody of a mender of errant tyres trying to effect some much needed repairs. The car was abandoned on the spot and heads resolutely unbowed, we completed our journey on foot.