Execution by choice

Execution by choice

By Clem Oluwole

Talisman is as old as creation. And because we all live in eternal fear of one danger or the other, we are quick to resort to self-help, unsure that the unseen God is up there to protect us or in the belief that God helps those who help themselves.

Talismans are employed for different purposes. Some use them for protection, some use them to commit crime, while others use them to win contracts, attract good luck, gain promotion at work and win a man or woman’s love.

But talismans, like drugs, do expire. Some can also be counterfeit. A typical example of expired talismans played out in Biu, Borno state a few months before the Boko Haram insurgents overran the community. According to media reports, one head of hunters (Sarkin Baka) was executed by a firing squad during a hunters’ fun fare staged in honour of his daughter’s wedding.

Sources at the wedding said that the head hunter named Alhaji Suleiman Biu, was famous for his magical prowess and ability to apprehend armed robbers in the locality. In keeping with tradition, all his co-hunters and local vigilante converged at the venue to showcase their bullet-proof talismans by opening fire on themselves indiscriminately to the delight and awe of the guests. 

In the midst of the shootout, the head hunter emerged, waltzed his way to the arena and ordered the gunmen to open fire on him. They gladly obeyed him. The arena was booming with gunfire and the onlookers cheered on as the bullets fell off his body in the manner that grains would ricochet against a concrete wall. Then suddenly, the Sarkin Baka who was in his mid-50s sank on his knees and slumped. An unfriendly bullet had defied the talismans he wore.

There was pandemonium, followed by the theory that a Boko Haram gunman must have infiltrated the firing squad. The fundamental question is that for a man who could arrest armed robbers that bear sophisticated arms such as those at the disposal of Boko Haram, why couldn’t his magical powers stop the penetration of the killer shots into his bullet-proof body? Anyway, the SSS director in the state ruled out the presence of Boko Haram among the pack of hunters that publicly executed the head hunter. It was his choice. And who knows… perhaps, the talismans suddenly expired in the midst of the bullet rain

The late Sarkin Baka of Biu was not the first victim of failed talismans. Some years ago, a man was caught in a new generation bank helping himself to customers’ deposits being processed for lodgment. I cannot remember the location now. But when confronted by the owners of the cash, his response shocked them, as he insisted that they were not supposed to see him. He had entered the bank building wearing a talisman that his father told him ought to make him invisible. He was promptly handed over to the police.

Renowned man of God and General Overseer of Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), Pastor Adejare Adeboye, in the April 10, 2011 edition of the Sunday Mirror, spoke in an interview to the effect that a talisman once failed him too. His kinsmen had advised him to lace his car with charms to protect him from envious relations and friends who might wish him killed in an accident. So, they took him to a Babalawo in Osogbo who gave him three charms: one to be strapped in his boot to secure him from being hit from behind, one to be fixed under his seat which would cause him to disappear in case of any accident and another one to be fastened under his steering as an insurance against crashing into anyone.

Pastor Adeboye must have driven anyhow like most of the commercial drivers on our highways who tied anti-accident charms under their steering wheels until he crashed the car and was lucky to escape with his life. He actually had three accidents in two weeks! It was either that the charms were fake or they had expired.

In my own case, I used my talisman to eat. I never went in search of any talisman for that purpose. A babalawo had conned me into parting with a cap made from leopard skin and shaped like taboosh during my long vacation at a town called Inisa… a settlement hemmed between Kwara and Osun states. I was defecating in a nearby bush on the outskirts of the town when one woman saw the cap moving amid the shrub. She was frightened and began to raise a false alarm in the local language: Mori ekun, mori ekun, meaning I have seen a tiger, I have seen a tiger as she fled the scene. I was so amused as she took to her heels. Then I heard a man who must be a local hunter screaming ibon mi da? Ibon mi da?, meaning where is my gun? Where is my gun? Upon hearing the mention of a gun, I quickly cleaned up and sprang into the open so that they could see that it was a little boy wearing a cap made from leopard skin. A motley crowd soon gathered. They observed me from afar to be sure it was not a tiger that had suddenly transformed into a human being. 

They asked me to turn around. I did. They saw no tail. I inched towards them and they backpedalled. Then they ordered me to bare my teeth. I obeyed, revealing no fangs. Finally, they asked me to identify someone well known in the community. I did. At that point, they relaxed and dispersed, occasionally looking over their shoulders… just in case.

It was at the point of their dispersal that the babalawo accosted me and warned me of the danger of wearing that kind of cap around the bush area and that if a hunter had sighted me in the bush, he would have blown my little skull sky high. He then offered to give me a talisman in exchange for the cap. He assured me that with the talisman, I could become a kid millionaire overnight. All I needed to do was to express any wish and the talisman would see to it. I handed the cap to him but not until he parted with five shillings. He asked me to see him on the third day and that he would use part of the leopard skin to wrap the padlock talisman. On the third day, he made good his promise and I collected the talisman with thanksgiving. He explained that all I needed to do was to lock the padlock after speaking my request to it. He assured me that I could walk up to a bank manager and order him to surrender the keys to the vaults to me and he would simply scream: “Yes, Sir”.

The following afternoon, I decided to test the might of the talisman first at a popular food joint in the town before graduating to the only bank in the town then known as Standard Bank. As a kid, I had reasoned that all I needed was free good meals for myself. Big bucks could come later when I grew older. As soon as I sighted the joint, I heaved the padlock into the open and spoke to it in a language that the buka operators would comprehend: “Mofe lo jeun ni buka yen, Ki enikeni ma bere owo lowo mi”, meaning I am going to eat in that food joint (pointing in the direction) and no Jupiter should ask me for payment. Then I jammed the padlock.

Conspicuously printed on the fascia-board of the buka was a request to all patrons to pay before service. I ignored it, elbowed my way past those milling by the door and settled in one corner. One of the attendants came to take my order. I told her to serve me two rations of pounded yam, grasscutter bushmeat with egusi soup complete with a bottle of fresh palmie. She genuflected and left without as much as asking for payment before service, which was the extant rule. What further proof did I need to convince myself that the talisman was working? My order was served and I did justice to the meal, washed down with the palm wine. I felt overfed and began to belch. This drew the attention of other patrons to me, as I spread on the chair like the proverbial king of bedbugs. 

It was time for me to go. Then I asked the girls who attended to me to package some bush meat as take-away, which she did. I made for the door but to my greatest surprise, the girl held me by the clavicle and asked me in Yoruba: “Omode yi, oo ti san owo fun mi ke”, meaning this boy, you have not settled me yet. I was so shocked the take-away nearly fell off my hand.

“But this girl is not supposed to ask me for payment now,” I said to myself in frustration. 

I dipped my hand into my pocket to be sure the padlock was well jammed. It was. The girl expected me to produce the cash but I could not because I had no dime on me. The girl shook me vigorously when I revealed an empty hand. She promptly drew the attention of the buka owner to the boy who had come to eat free food. I was dumbfounded, sweating like a Christmas goat. But just as they were contemplating handing me over to the police, I sighted the babalawo inching his way to the buka. I could not believe my luck. Then I screamed: “That is him.”

“That is who?!” My arrestor wondered aloud.

“That is the man who will foot the bill,” I assured them.

As it turned out, the babalawo was the husband of the buka owner, and he had also come for his lunch. Then I began to sing like a canary. I told the onlookers what had transpired between the babalawo and I; how he made the talisman for me and what to use it for.

One of the patrons saluted my wisdom for choosing the buka owned by the babalawo’s wife to test the talisman. I told them I did not even know that the buka belonged to the babalawo’s spouse. Emboldened by the effect of the palm wine, I turned to the deceiver, threw the talisman to his face and asked him to return my cap while raining abuses on him amid belching. He was angry at me and warned that if I did not back off, he would turn me into a tiger and send me to the forest to live the rest of my life with bush meat.

I wheeled away in disgust and fright. As I began to distance myself from the scene, I heard the girl screaming: “Eran gbe yen nko? Eran gbe yen nko? Meaning what about the bush meat? What about the bush meat? That question was on her thin lips until I thinned out of their sight.