It was a Saturday morning in Abeokuta barracks. Some soldiers in vests were playing draughts, while their radios blasted Fuji music from the 90s. I was seated in the corridor, watching my aunt wash her clothes. Her three years old daughter popularly known as T. Mama, a shorter version of the name Tofunmi was also there with us, scanning the compound like a patrol officer on night shift.
T. Mama had been unusually quiet that morning, a clear red flag, because she is known for talking. She just sat on her kiddies chair, chewing her biscuit with all passion and scanning the entire Block C with her eyes.
But suddenly, she began to sing.
“Shake, shaky, shake your bumbum, ti ti ke. Shake, shaky, shake your bumbum, ti ti ke.”
Her mother, unbothered, only began to nod her head to the rhythmic melody coming from T. Mama’s mouth.
I was also unbothered at first, until I looked up and saw a curvaceous woman walking past the front of our corridor. Her backside had its own rhythm and authority. As the woman swayed past, T. Mama’s voice grew louder and more committed, like a performer who just found her spotlight:
“Shake, shaky, shake your bumbum, ti ti keeeeee!”
I froze.
She was now up from her chair, biscuit crumbs on her chest, hands on her waist, dancing like her bones were made of elastic.
“Shaky, shaky, shake shake, shaky!” she added, with full drama, singing the song in perfect rhythm with the woman's bouncing backside.
My aunt paused from washing, and turned towards her daughter whose drama was shockingly surprising. Then I pointed towards the direction of the woman who was now standing, and talking to one of the soldiers.
As the woman moved again, T. Mama picked up the song. Once the woman stops, she also stops.
The curvy woman turned around sharply. Her eyes scanned our corridor.
“Ah! Mama Tofunmi, you dey there?” the woman said and began to move towards our block.
Tofunmi, who stood there like Beyoncé at the Super Bowl, began to sing again.
“Shaky, shake, shake, shake your bumbum, shake, shake, shaky.”
The woman, now conscious of the song and the unexpected rhythm report from Tofunmi, slowed down her steps.
But T. Mama wasn’t having it. She suddenly shouted,
“It’s not shaking again! Shaky na!”
At that moment, the compound went silent.
“Ah! Tofunmi!” both the woman and my aunt exclaimed, eyes wide.
“T. Mama, na who teach you dat song?” the woman asked, hands on her hip.
Without hesitation, T. Mama pointed. “My mummy!”
My aunt fainted, resurrected, and almost fainted again. “Ehn Tofunmi! Which mummy?” she shouted and almost burst out laughing.
The curvy woman, trying to stay composed, forced a smile.
“Ehn… Mama Tofunmi, make Una dey watch wetin una dey sing for dis girl ear oo. Her ear sharp well well.”
“Abeg no vex, aunty.” My aunt responded and the woman left.
“Oya Tofunmi, get inside,” I said, almost laughing out my heart.
“Shaky, shake shake, ti ti keeee!” T. Mama continued her song as she strolled inside the house.
