...OF SMALL TOWN DWELLERS

I grew up in Oyo; that’s a fact I’ve never hidden before. I’m proud of it despite the embarrassment that comes with claiming it sometimes. One tells people one is from Oyo town and the next thing they ask is: “You mean Ibadan?”

No bro, I mean Oyo town! Alaafin’s town.

The most discriminating encounters I’ve had within the town however has always had to do with two sets of people. Bankers and Youth Corp members. There’s just this way they think there’s no way you can be as tush or civilized as they are; especially bankers on transfer. Okay, Oyo is small. Okay, we are razz, accepted. But we are not all uneducated and even if we were, what difference does it make to humanity?

So, the point of this post is not to rant on and on about the discrimination or ‘townism’. It’s actually because today, I had a recollection of an encounter I had with some Youth Corp members three years ago. Prior to that time, I had had little encounters with them on ATM queues, bank queues or in highly unlikely situations where I’d have to deal with them and in all situation, they had been very disrespectful.

My friends had also told me about how they always seemed to look down on the idea of you being an indigene of Oyo town and for some unknown reasons; you’re seen as uneducated and unexposed. So this particular day, my cousin called me and said she had somewhere to go but at the same time had to go to the local government or something as she had registered to be a trainee for NYSC peeps for the SAED or something. She makes beads. She begged me that if she wasn’t in a tight situation, she wouldn’t have needed me to go and represent her.

Of course I didn’t want to go. I hate facing the crowd, I hate any form of attention, I hate being in the spotlight but I also knew I had to do it for her. So I agreed. The following morning, I put on a very fine shirt and my blue pencil jean. My heart was hammering away in my chest and I was very jittery. My palms watered like hell and lots of mistakes I could make came to mind. But again, I knew I had no choice.

So I went to the local government and waited in front of the CDS room. My embarrassment started when a female corp member came to meet me and asked for what I wanted. She looked at me from head to toe, and communicated with her countenance that this wasn’t a place for me. Another one came and when I told him I was there for the SAED presentation, he directed me to go inside and sit; not without an attitude though. Barely 5 minutes after, another came to meet me, looked at me from my sandal to my ‘pick and drop’ hairstyle and told me to go out. AGAIN. I was boiling inside. I got out and met 3 other people who came for the same thing I was there for.

Long story short, they eventually ushered us in. the first guy to present his product almost cried. Saying he was humiliated will be an understatement. They laughed and guffawed loudly at every blunder he made. The next woman wasn’t even allowed to communicate. “Wetin she wan talk?” “Eish! Gunshot” “Awon ara oyo sha” different derogatory statements flew across the room. I wanted to flee.

It came to my turn and I said the little I had to say, with very good spoken English. I guess they were kinda thrown off that I could speak that way but it didn’t stop insults of how my 1-1 looked like that of an Ibadan thief, how I was shaking like an ewe oju omi. Tears were threatening to spill but I kept my emotions on a tight leash. I passed the beads around and there were calls of my ‘idi gigan’.

The LGI tried to control them, even sent some of them out but it did nothing to ease how I felt. I didn’t wait for them to finish before I left. I called my cousin and she asked if I wrote some names and dropped a particular slip with the LGI, I said no. she said I had to go back, I said I couldn’t. She begged me, I said yes. When I got back there, most of them were outside.

I went inside to drop the slip, some of them that were interested came to write their names and I gave some of them my cousin’s business line. As I was about to leave, one of the guys there came to meet me, the headliner of my humiliation back in the room. Most people stopped talking when they saw him approach me. I didn’t even let him talk. I mustered my inner courage and opened my mouth, talking loudly with an ironically shaky voice.

“You didn’t have to be so stupid back there. You think you’re better than me because you’re probably from Lagos? I am a graduate of English language from Obafemi Awolowo University. I bet you graduated from Mapoly. Next time, have it in your head that where you’re from isn’t what matters, it is how you comport yourself and treat people you think are less than you. oloriburuku.” I couldn’t help adding the last part to show the Oyo in me.

I left with a raised head and chants of Great Ife after me. I was so proud of myself that when I called a bike from Jobele, the okada rider was throw off by my blinding smile even though I was still jittery deep down.