Oh Jericho

There is a place in ancient Ibadan, Nigeria, known as Jericho. It is located in a portion of the city where the population is generally limited to those affluent enough to live in grandeur fortresses. Some of the land is home to government residences, while every now and again you will find a store, hairdressing salon, or even a "bukateria." (For the unaware, a bukateria is the working person's eating joint).

Frances and her family lived in Jericho. Her father, if my memory serves me correctly, had something to do with government. As a kid, I often wondered if this same Jericho was the one which was spoken of in the bible--the one around which the children of Israel marched for seven days and seven nights.

I didn't think it made much sense for the children of Israel to march continuously for seven days and seven nights. I was under the impression that had they just marched twice a day, every other day, or even just one really intense march on that seventh day, the walls would fall anyway.

Seeing as each individual house in Jericho, Ibadan, had it's own walls, I was convinced that the people had learned their lesson and decided not to have just one wall around Jericho, but several one around each house. This way, the children of Israel, should they wish to march again, would have to march around each house for seven days. By the time they got to, say, Frances' house, people would have complained to the Dugbe police down the road. The reaction time for the police in Nigeria ranges from 2-days to 3 months, so it is reasonable to assume that the children of Israel would be contained eventually.

The Dugbe police as well as the police in the compound where I lived never did inspire in me any amount of confidence. Once when an auntie’s house was being visited by men of a criminal disposition, sometime after the midnight hour, my aunty heard the noises in the living room and promptly dialed the police from her bedroom.

"Madam our patrol car has broken down" the policemen lamented. They would only be able to assist her if she came to pick them up. The irony of it all is that right at that moment, there were probably a billion and a half other patrol cars parked strategically at "checkpoints" in order that these policemen be able to make enough money to treat their families to the barest necessities of life.

It was this dearth of security that allowed the instance of "night watchmen" to flourish. In my juvenile opinion, these watchmen were all of the same family, for they seemed to share the same name--mallam. They had bows and arrows and often made a small bonfire so that they could roast corn--a necessary pastime for night-watching-- while guarding the house. <

Some had achieved legendary status, like Mrs. Ette's mallam. It was rumored that he once single-handedly fought off three armed robbers using nothing but a sugar cane stick which he promptly devoured after his deed was done. Granted, no one ever was a witness to such acts, but we all liked to believe that corn-roasting, sugar-cane-eating mallams had what it took to protect our estates from Uzi-wielding bandits with blood on their minds.

We didn't reside in Jericho, but we learned from their tactics. Initially we hired, for our neighborhood, a bunch of roaming mallams. As a matter of fact, I believe that was their name: The Roaming Mallams. Or was that the rock group from University of Jos? Who can know it? But these mallams used to walk up and down the Samuel Ajayi Crowther Lane area where we lived, singing songs and keeping us awake:

"Yo ra nana hazo"

"Yo ra nana hazo"

"Yo ra nana farin si kira nana hazo"

If it wasn't their prowess on the bow and arrow; if it wasn't their skill with the stick; indeed, if it wasn't their terrifying appearance, then it certainly was their singing that got the job done. In fact, within three months of their being our guards, there were two suicide attempts and Bassey's cousin, Ubong Akpan Ubong, had gone crazy. They were no Luther Vandrosses, these mallams, but they got the job done.

When Ubong went crazy, everyone said it was the work of witches. I wondered why witches went out of their way to make people crazy. First, as was common knowledge, they hung out in the branches of the iroko tree near my house. At these times, anyone who was not witnessed present in

the Crowther Lane area was immediately suspected of being a partridge present in the featherly gathering. Luckily, females alone were accorded that honor. We, the males, were said to change into monkeys or other such creatures. We'll get back to the monkey thing in a second.

My cousin, Karo, had said she knew who the witches were who made Ubong crazy. I asked how she knew, and she informed me that the witches came to our house one night to "press" her. Why witches would press a person was beyond me. What did they gain out of it? Was it some power trip? Let's press her and watch her scream.

Then what? Go hang out on the iroko tree. Grab a beer or two? And why didn't the mallams have weapons to fight against witches and other principalities and powers? I asked one while he roasted corn one late night and he informed me that it was not in the job description. Thusly, we understand that had night-watching included protection against witches pressing members of households indiscriminately, the mallams would have been up to the task.

He sometimes gave market women some of the spoils of his endeavors. Well, one day I sat down in my uncle's house watching the news in pidgin english. In this state, at the time, they read the news in every language of the state, so the evening news would start at about 7p.m and last till somewhere near midnight. The news in "pidgin" was always the last because everyone spoke pidgin.

As I sat, my uncle's friend, a state commissioner, came in puffing. He looked every bit as excited as he was chubby. "We have caught Lawrence! We have caught The Law!" he proclaimed. All applauded then waited for the tale. He would not give until John brought him some groundnut and a Guinness Stout. As though like the rivers of water, he burst forth with story.

Apparently, due to a tip-off, the police had surrounded a compound within which Lawrence was rumored to be sleeping. During the ensuing raid, he was able to escape by foot and run into the bush. The officers pursued and were able to trap him in a mud hut in the middle of nowhere.

After an hour of carefully mapping out the environs and enticing him to come out, the officers charged in, guns blazing. Within the hut they found no Lawrence "The Law." Instead, they found a monkey in the corner. The commissioner continued: "He tried to outsmart us by using his juju to change into a monkey! But we are smarter!" With a satisfied burp, Mr. state official informed us that the monkey was currently being kept under strict guard at the New Ekupkolor National Zoo.

As he spoke, a news report flashed on the screen. Lawrence "The Law" had just struck again. He was reportedly distributing the money as the report was going on. Somewhere in a Zoo, a monkey lay chattering in the corner, a gun barrel against it's sides. The commissioner waddled on out of the house in sincere dismay, He had really believed they had caught Lawrence.

I changed channels. Eventually I turned off the TV. I can't remember what it was on at the time but it was some historical documentary about some people somewhere on a march. I couldn't be bothered with these crazy folks. They were marching round some place with high walls, trying to make the walls fall. This is what happened when you had no protection for your property. Where are the mallams when you need them?

The end