I am an Ijebu Christian. I make that distinction because, as I will show, Christians and Muslims in the context of communal relationship have no real distinction. We relate as if the two religions are the same.
–Ijebu’s shared Ileya: When faiths celebrated together–
The much-celebrated Ojude Oba festival has its roots in the Islamic festival of Eid al-Adha. Eid al-Adha, Arabic: عيد الأضحى, literally “Feast of the Sacrifice”, is the second of the two main festivals in Islam, alongside Eid al-Fitr. It falls on the 10th of Dhu’l-Hijjah, the twelfth and final month of the Islamic calendar.
For us in Ijebuland, Ileya is everyone’s festival — whether you are Christian, Muslim, or traditionalist.
Within my extended family in Ilese-Ijebu, our branch of the Lajoogan family is the only Christian branch. The other branches are all Muslim. Yet on Ileya day in my town, Ilese-Ijebu, the Christian Boys Brigade would take their drums as early as 7am and visit the houses of Muslim leaders and imams. They would beat the drums to Muslim music and accompany them to the Eid praying ground. All the Christian leaders, with priests in their cassocks, would also follow and stand at the side of the praying ground while Muslims offered their prayers. As a village lad, it was a festival my friends and I looked forward to.
After Eid prayers, we boys would go from house to house of our cousins and relations to help skin the rams. We collected what is known as “eeja” as gifts for helping out. If you were fast enough to run around five families and help out, that eeja could provide your protein needs for a whole month.
After the eeja runs, we would retire home with an exercise book to note those who would bring fresh meat, cooked or fried meat, cooked rice, etc., for our parents. That list would be kept until Odun Nla, the New Year, when Christians would slaughter their own rams or chickens and return gifts to those who gave us Ileya meat.
Life was interesting, uncomplicated, and fun. In my interactions with my children and grandchildren, I have regaled them with stories of how interesting it was growing up in a multi-religious society where no religion was allowed to bully the other. The terrible Egungun masquerade that once disturbed Muslims during Ramadan prayers was banned from public view for seven years.
–A grandson’s radical fix: “Outlaw all religions”–
This morning, my grandson called me and threw questions that will need another lecture to explain. He is a mnemonist — a person with an exceptional ability to remember large lists of data and general information. He asks questions drawing on statements I made when he was about six years old.
My grandson wanted to know: if, as I told him, there are good Christians and bad Christians, good Muslims and bad Muslims, good traditionalists and bad traditionalists, why are people who claim to be religious in Nigeria doing bad things?
Conscious that my eleven-year-old was laying a mine for me, I changed my tone. I asked him gently, “My son, what do you suggest we do to end this phenomenon?” He paused for ages, and I could almost hear the components of his brain clinking. Then he said in a quiet voice: “Grandpa, get your government to outlaw all religions so the bad ones have nothing to latch on to do evil.”
So here is a solution from a child’s mind: outlaw all religions and bring an end to terrorism in the name of any religion.
My grandson asked if I agreed. I told him no. I told him that being religious does not mean you are godly. He fired back: “Then scrap religion. God will not mind!”
–When memory meets reality: “Grandpa, how do we rescue the kids?–
“Religion is not our problem,” I said. “What then is the problem?” he asked. I feigned tiredness and asked about his siblings. I was about to ring off when his tiny musical voice asked: “Grandpa, how do you solve the problem and rescue all the kids in captivity?”
I had no answer. All I had told him before was that religions gave us peace when I was growing up. Now I do not even know.
● Asiwaju Kunle Kalejaye, SAN, is of Eagle 102.5 FM, Ilese-Ijebu.
