That day, I knew I had crossed the Rubicon and fostered my mum’s anger. “Ayo, Ayo, tell me you have not misplaced my scarf.” It was given to me by my mother-in-law when I gave birth to your brother. She said I could not say a word. She didn’t stop there, and I knew that I would listen to more about the history of that scarf.
That morning, we were on our way to the government secretariat for a mandatory National Identification Number (NIN) registration, which is required for every citizen. My mum woke me up very early and told me to hurry up. At that time, getting a NIN was a tug of war. As early as 6 a.m., you would meet over 200 people already waiting. In fact, going early didn’t even guarantee you’d get a spot that week.
My mum adjusted her wrapper, as if preparing for a stressful activity, and wore a tough look. She greeted the gathered individuals and asked where to write her name for numbering. Everyone paused for a while, then she asked a man adorned with beads and necklaces, like a chief priest, “Baba o, ibo ni ma ti fi number fun emi ati omo mi?” (Where do I write my name and my child’s for numbering?) Everyone responded by pointing to the paper sheet on the table close to the secretariat gate.
I paused for a while and then asked my mum why they were quiet earlier. She smiled and said, “These are my people, and I was meant to speak in my language for easy understanding.” “Oh! Oh! No wonder,” I said. Immediately, I got a sense of what had transpired.
I couldn’t control myself after a few hours of waiting. It happened that I hadn’t eaten that morning, and my mum was also hungry. “Mummy, I dey hungry,” I said. She replied, “What is ‘I dey hungry’ bayi?” It means I am hungry. “Ha, no wonder… I am also waiting for the food and drink vendors.” It happens that in areas like that, food vendors soon appear out of nowhere. Real Nigerians know how it works in Lagos. Where there is traffic, needs arise. People become hungry, and soon you see people buying and selling items. Same thing at the NIN office—when there’s a queue or gathering, food vendors and soft drink sellers show up.
Around 8 a.m., the secretariat gate was opened to allow people in. For a while, everyone rushed in, as if trying not to miss their chance. Lagos people don’t want to waste time, but the system itself wastes time.
“Ayo, Ayo… wa gba,” she called me to come and take a hot egg roll and a bottle of Coca-Cola. I loved it. Soon, the officer said in Yoruba, “If you have been here last week, come and make a queue here, and I will call you according to your name on the list. And for the debutants, wait for a while for us to assign you to a particular day of the week.”
We were still chatting when the man called out names. My mum became attentive. Soon, her name was called, and she instinctively stood up, leaving her scarf on one of the chairs. I was also called and was to return on Friday morning for capturing and registration. We became elated and zoomed off. Unbeknownst to us, my mum had left her scarf on the chair at the registration centre. Initially, we didn’t notice—not until she was about to change her clothes that she called for me.
“Ayo, where is my scarf?”
“Scarf?” I said.
She replied, “My scarf—don’t you know it? I remember I left it with you at the registration point.”
I was completely carried away. “I’m so sorry, I think I left it there.”
“You what?!” she said. “That was given to me by my mother-in-law, the only thing reminding me of her, and it’s my lucky wear.” Ouch!
For about 30 minutes, she vented her frustration at me until I told her I was heading back to the secretariat to look for it. It was really painful, though. Soon, I boarded a bike to the venue. I went to the exact spot where I sat that day and could not find it. I searched the waste bin and other areas. I asked around, and I felt worse—Mum is going to yell at me, I’m in a big mess.
I was heading home when I noticed a man holding the scarf. With joy, I ran toward the elderly person. “Oh! Baba, good afternoon, you are still here. This is my mum’s scarf, and I have been looking for it. Thank God you took it.”
He said, “I saw this on your mum,” mentioning her name, which I did confirm that morning. “I wanted to keep it for her.”
I replied, “Thanks, sir.” He went on and on saying all sorts of things. He prayed for my mum, and I was extremely grateful. Baba had a good intention. Soon, I left his side and went back home, narrating how Baba had saved this ancient object of great importance.
Thanks for reading. Bye.
All images were generated using gemini app
