A day at Igbole-Ekiti, by Tope-Bentop Adeboboye

Sunday, December 22 2024. I was in Ado-Ekiti with my family, primarily to attend the End of the Year get-together of the 82-87 Boys of Christ’s School Ado-Ekiti, hosted by the Home Region on Saturday December 21. I was a special guest. It was a classy event with lots to eat and drink. It was also a time to visit family members, friends and others. A time to move from community to community to rediscover old sights and sounds. On our way to Ado, via Efon Alaaye, we had stopped by at the awe-inspiring Ikogosi Resorts, where a warm spring flows side by side with a cold miniature water body, as an eternal testament to the wondrous works of the Almighty.

I would later take my family to Ikere Ekiti, the lovely town where I completed my primary school days at Ansar-Ud-deen Primary School, Oke Osun area of the town. I wanted my wife and kids to savour the sight of those two iconic rocks in Ikere – Oroole (Lord of the mountains), and Olosunta. In those days, the most popular transport vehicle in Ikere was a mini bus which we called Akoto. Some called it Akoto Robb or Akoto Sooro. Those contraptions, a terrible replica of today’s Korope, have vanished from the well-paved roads of Ikere. Later that evening, I called one of my big brothers, Rotimi Aromolaran Essential, to see if I could pay him a visit the following day in his hometown, Igbole-Ekiti. Oh, he would be delighted, he assured. I would be there later that day, I promised.Then he told me Pastor was also in town but would be returning to Lagos the following morning. Pastor is actually Essential’s younger brother, Pastor Olaitan Aromolaran, the self-effacing Founder and Senior Pastor of Joy Cometh Ministries, Ikorodu, Lagos. I hadn’t seen Pastor in a while, so it would be great if I could kill two birds with one stone. “He would be conducting a service in his house early in the morning, from 8am. If you leave Ado by 7am, you should be able to see him,” Essential stated.

I had never been to Igbole, so Essential recommended the Iyin-Igede-Awo-Iropora-Osi-Igbole route, which he said was quite straightforward. By 7.02am, I drove out of the house to connect the New Iyin Road. In about nine minutes, I was already cruising towards Igede-Ekiti. The road was relatively okay. There was police presence everywhere, slowing down movement. But in fairness to the men in blue, black and camouflage, they were quite respectful and chivalrous, and it was in order to ‘do’ Christmas for as many as possible. An avalanche of exaggerated panegyrics, composed on the spot, usually followed every N1000 or N500 gift.

Essential had told me his house was shortly after the Osi-Igbole boundary, and that I should slow down while leaving Osi. By the time he called to know where I was, I had passed his house and was already deep inside Igbole. He said I should pull over where I was and ask anyone how I could locate Pastor Aromolaran’s house. Inside the Pastor’s very large compound, service was ongoing, with a multitude singing worship songs. I made my way to the front where I saw Pastor’s Personal Assistant and another brother, both of whom I’m quite familiar with. I was told that Pastor was still inside the house, but would soon come out.

I deposited myself near the door. Minutes later, Pastor came out, sporting some simple brown attire. He saw me and couldn’t curtail his shock.

“Oga Tope, how come,” he managed to ask after moments of evident surprise. ‘Oga,’ in Ekiti parlance, does not necessarily mean ‘boss.’ It mostly means, my brother. Even though Pastor is older than me, the jocular and humble man of God – one of the humblest I’ve ever met – still calls me Oga Tope.

I told him I got to know he was in town from his elder brother, Essential. He said we would talk after his ministration.

He went to the front and spoke on the Perils of the last Days, emphasising that knowing and serving the true God was the antidote to escaping the bizarre and evil happenings of these strange times. The service was quite short. He said he wanted the people to return home and prepare themselves for their regular churches.The Olugbole of Igbole, Oba Emmanuel Adetiloye also spoke for a few minutes, corroborating Pastor’s words. The ministration over, Pastor beckoned me over with some eye movement. He introduced me to the king as the editor of a national newspaper who was there to surprise him with a visit, and we took photographs. The Oba took my card and said he would be in touch. In my mind, I was like, abi Kabiyesi wants to make me a Chief of Igbole-Ekiti ni?

As the Pastor was seeing me off towards the gate, I noticed that the attendees were forming a long queue, the oldest lining up in front. So, curiosity made me ask: “What’s going on sir?” “Oh, they’re lining up for their envelopes.”

“Envelopes?”

“Yes. After the pre-Christmas ministration, we usually give them little tokens. We do this from time to time. Some would get N10, 000, some others, N5000. The children would get N2000 or thereabouts. And so on.”

“But no reporters are here to cover it?”

“No, no, no,” he smiled. “It’s not a media event. The people already know that we do come around by this time of the year. It’s not a hidden thing. Those that should know, know. There are people from the nearby communities like Osi, Ido and Ifishin, apart from people in Igbole. This year, we prepared N10 million for this, but I didn’t know people would be this many. I hope the money would go round.”

The people lined up facing the gate. As soon as you got your token, you would go out of the gate.I was impressed. Now it was my turn to pray for the pastor. I beseeched God to keep blessing him more and more so that he would continue to do more for humanity. I left the place a more sober person.

I went out and relocated to Essential’s mansion. Essential is my Egbon, but he’s also my paddy. I’ve written here how we met at a library in Brooklyn Center in Minnesota nearly two decades ago. An interesting personality, he was the cynosure of eyes that afternoon in summer at the library where he donned an Ankara danshiki. This Sunday at Igbole, we got talking and talking, recalling old times, making jokes about ourselves, about each other, and about others. Then I realised that no food was forthcoming. And I had told myself that I would eat only Iyan (incorrectly tagged pounded yam by many) throughout my stay in Ekiti“Iyan da now,” I suddenly demanded.

“But you told me yesterday that I shouldn’t worry about Iyan…”“Egbon, that was yesterday ke! I changed my mind sir.”

Well, he summoned a domestic aide, gave the necessary instructions, and soon, the unmistaken sound of the pestle angrily hammering the mortar and its yam content could be heard from the kitchen.

As I sat beside the window, condemning mounds of Iyan to life sentences via the oesophagus into the stomach, I could glimpse, from time to time, a steady stream of people coming from the pastor’s house and legging it towards Osi-Ekiti, chatting excitedly, gratitude and contentment etched on their faces.

PLEASE NOTE:

I still can’t comprehend how my Ekiti ancestors, including my father and members of his generation, were comfortable ingesting only Iyan two, three times each day, 365 days a year. How?

Once I take Iyan, I become extremely heavy, exhausted and too full to consume anything for the rest of that day. Yet wherever you go in our Ekiti, the first thing you’re offered is Iyan. How do my Ekiti people manage to remain active after such heavy meals?