13. Ọlọmurọrọ

Many, many years ago in Idọja, a village just outside Sakowa – a town in a faraway land – there was a little girl called Saraya. Saraya, an only child, lived with her parents. Her father was a farmer, and her mother a trader. Father and mother worked in Sakowa – father at a leased farm, and mother at the biggest market there, where she sold the produces from the farm. The couple had to leave home very early in the morning to get to Sakowa and did not return until early evening.

“How I wish we were still in Teregun, and not have to be away from home this long every day!” Saraya’s mother lamented from time to time to her husband.

“So, do I, my dear. Neither of us likes having to leave Saraya by herself all day!”

The family had been living in a town called Teregun, where Mofolu, the father had a farm of his own, and Farada, the mother, sold the produces at a market, and their work did not take them away from home that long every day. Unfortunately, there had been a great drought which led to famine, and there was nothing any of the inhabitants of Teregun could do to stop the famine. The effect of the famine was devastating for the inhabitants, including Mofolu and his family.

One day Mofolu called his wife and child, and said:

“We have to leave Teregun for another town where there’s no famine – where there are prospects of a better life. There’s no famine in Sakowa where a relative of mine lives. I’ve been in touch with him, and he says that there’s a piece of farmland for lease at a good rate there.”

“That sounds promising!” replied Farada, who had been thinking that the family might have to leave Teregun sooner or later in the face of the famine.

“Unfortunately, we can’t afford to live in Sakowa itself because rent is too high there, but my relative has offered us his village abode – free of charge – at the outskirts, until we can do so. The abode – a one-storey building at Idọja Village is at some distance from Sakowa. This means having to leave home very early in the morning for work, and not returning until early evening. By the way my relative says that there’s a market in Sakowa that’s well sought after where you can sell our produces”.

“The bungalow, the farm for lease, and the market idea all sound good, but what about Saraya? Who’ll take care of her while we’re gone the whole day? You know that in the village it won’t be the same as here where the houses are close together, where there are people around, and we know them. We can’t afford to employ someone to take care of her…”.

“That’s out of the question, it’s true – at least not until we make enough money.”

“But we don’t know anything about where we’re going to live. It may not be safe to leave Saraya alone by herself the whole day!” Farada was frantic by now.

“There are other one-storey buildings in the area, each one with a front and back yard, and they’re not close to each other like here, but I’ve been told that it’s a safe area – that the neighbours are friendly and kind. So, it’s not as if anything on-toward can happen to Saraya without their knowing. Besides she can always call for help if necessary. Don’t worry my dear, nothing will happen to her. She’s a very sensible girl”.

“But she’ll have no one to play with, unlike here.”

“You know that Saraya is quite an independent girl. Even though she has other children to play with here, she still plays for hours on end on her own. Remember she likes singing to herself, dancing, and running around in the garden, and so on”.

“But we’re not away from home from very early in the morning to early evening here”.

“Don’t worry, dear, I’m sure we’ll work out something. The neighbours in Idọja Village are likely to have children, and she’ll be invited to play with them from time to time. We’ll make sure that she has all she needs during the day by way of food and drink. She’ll keep herself occupied playing in the backyard – jumping about, singing, dancing and so on”.

“She may still get bored, you know. We’re talking about from very early in the morning till early evening”.

“It’s not for ever you know. She’ll get used to it. As soon as we have enough money we’ll move into town. There the houses will be closer to each other, and Saraya will have a lot of people to play with”.

The family had been living at Idọja Village, at the outskirts of Sakowa for about six months, and things had been working out better for them as far as the farm was concerned and selling of the produces from the farm at the market. However, the couple had had no choice but to leave Saraya at home every day on her own when they went to work. The families around were friendly and kind, supportive of each other, but their next-door neighbours had no children of Saraya’s age living with them. Their children were older, and now lived in Sakowa itself.

The dwellings around – thatched roof one-storey buildings – were at a distance one from each other, separated by bushes, but a few people could be seen passing by in the front or at the back from time to time. There were footpaths to places such as nearby rivers, and passers-by exchanged customary greetings when they came across each other. The area appeared safe; there was no history of anything dangerous happening.

“We’re not badly off, living here you know and going to work in Sakowa” Mofolu said to his wife one day. “Village life is quite nice, you know – not hectic like in the town”.

“Yes, it’s nice and peaceful here.”

The one-storey building occupied by Mofolu and his family had a big front and back yard, surrounded by trees and bushes. The house consisting of two bedrooms, a sitting-room, kitchen and bathroom, had very small windows, and it was rather dark inside. Most of the time the family, like other families with similar dwellings, sat outside – in front of the house, going indoors only when necessary.

“At least we have more space here than at Teregun”, Mofolu said to his wife one day when they were both reminiscing about their life at Teregun, not wanting to regret coming to live at Idọja .

“Yes, and Saraya seems to be coping well on her own.”, Farada replied.

“I told you she’d get used to being on her own – with no one to play with.”

“The garden makes a big difference to her it’s true.”

“You don’t need to worry about her safety, either, and it’s not as if we’re in the middle of nowhere, with no human beings around.

She can always run for help if needs be – to the lady next-door, as we’ve told her to do. At any rate it’s not going to be forever. When we have more money, we’ll be able to afford to employ someone to stay with her, and we’ll move into town eventually”.

“I’ll just continue to make sure that we leave her enough to eat and drink – for breakfast and lunch.” Farada said.

Every morning Mofolu and Farada left very early in the morning intended for Sakowa, not waking up Saraya, but Farada would have prepared her breakfast – akara and ogi or mọimọi and ẹko (wrapped in leaves) (bean- and corn-based foods often eaten together). For lunch there would be pounded yam or fufu (cassava) or amala (food made out of yam flour or cassava flour (also wrapped in leaves)) and vegetable stews ( ẹfọ or ewedu). The breakfast was left on the table – at easy reach – for her to eat immediately she woke up and took her bath. The lunch, on the other hand, was kept on the ceiling shelf in the kitchen.

Saraya did not really like being left on her own all day long, although she still got by because the garden was beautiful and big, and she loved playing there, singing, dancing, skipping or jumping around. She was a very lively, cheerful girl, and self-sufficient. She could play for hours on end on her own. She was a sensible girl – advanced for her age. She had come to accept her family situation; she knew that her parents loved her.

After taking her breakfast in the morning Saraya would go outside to play, and since the family had come to live at Idọja, the weather had been good – sunny most of the time, and it was not yet the rainy season.

Saraya had a programme worked out for herself: singing, clapping and dancing to the songs she sang, jumping around until lunch time, when she would go inside the house to eat. After lunch she would take a nap; the sun would be too heavy in the garden by now. After the sun went down, and it was cooler outside in the garden, she would go back there to play-act at cooking – for example vegetable stews (ẹfọ/ewedu) and ẹba (food made from cassava flour (garri), like she had observed her mother doing. She would first of all gather together the ‘ingredients’ needed, substituting small stones for pieces of meat, small moist wood for fish, red mud or red sand mixed with water for ground tomatoes, onions and pepper, green leaves for ẹfọ which she cut into small pieces, and sand as garri for ẹba.

No matter how well Saraya kept herself occupied when her parents were at work, she always looked forward to their coming back. As soon as she heard their footsteps, she would rush to meet them, chatting away about what she did that day.

One day as Saraya was going back indoors to have lunch, after playing in the garden – roaming around, singing and dancing, she heard someone humming the song she had just been singing. She turned around, and there was a strange, scary-looking woman – the scariest she had ever seen in her life following her inside. The woman had long, scraggy, unruly hair, and staring eyes that seemed to be popping out of their sockets. Above all she had huge, pendulous breasts. Saraya screamed and tried to rush out to the neighbour next door, as she had been instructed to do if she ever found herself in need of help, but the woman blocked her way.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you” the woman said, smiling sweetly. “I heard you singing, and the song is one of my favourites. You’ve a lovely voice, and I’d like to hear you sing it again”.

Saraya relaxed a little.

“My parents tell me not to let anyone in when they’re not here”, she said.

“But wouldn’t it be nice if you have someone to play with?”

“Yes, but I can’t play with you. You’re too old!” Saraya replied, chuckling, because she found the stranger’s suggestion absurd and funny.

“I may be old, but I can still sing well, and we can sing together. I can dance as well”, she said, demonstrating a dance in a funny, exaggerated way, and Saraya burst out laughing.

“I can also tell you stories which we can act to”.

Saraya relaxed even more. Noticing this, the strange woman pressed on.

“People call me Ọlọmurọrọ, and you can see why”, she continued, pointing at her huge and pendulous breasts. “Nobody knows anything about me. Do you know what a spirit is?”

Saraya shook her head.

“Spirits are not ordinary beings; they’re special beings, but there are good spirits, and bad ones. I like children, and I love to play with them”.

In those days people believed in the existence of other beings – spirits – who were not real human beings. Even though they were not human beings they had special powers that they could use for good or evil.

Saraya said nothing; she just gazed at the woman, trying to understand what she was saying to her.

“Spirits are everywhere; they can live anywhere, go anywhere they like. People have been seeing me around. Some of them call me Spirit Woman because they believe that I’m an Iroko Spirit – that I come from the Iroko. The Iroko is no ordinary tree, and people believe there lives a spirit inside each Iroko. Now, enough of that! That song I heard you sing -”, the woman continued, cheerfully, humming the song. “It has what is called a refrain”, she added humming the refrain.

“Let’s make up our own song, and put a refrain in it, like ‘Tere na na jantako’, she continued, humming the refrain.

“How does it sound to you?”

“It sounds good. What does it mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a refrain”.

“I’ve made up songs before, but how do we make up one together – I mean, what do we sing about?”

“Oh! That’s easy! I’m just going to ask you some questions about you in a sing-song manner, and after each question we’ll both put the refrain,’ Tere na na jantako’. You must, of course, start off by welcoming me. You’ve just seen me at the door. So, how does this sound to you?

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

the strange woman sang, and asked Saraya to repeat it. Saraya repeated it.

“It sounds good!”

“Now, you answer, in a sing song manner, each question I put to you, and each time, we’ll repeat the refrain. Let’s start from the beginning:

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ Saraya sang.

Tere na na jantako they both sang.

The question and answer sing-song continued, and that was how a song was made up by the strange woman and Saraya, as follows:

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Iya re sikọ? Iya re sikọ? How is your mother?

Tere na na jantako

Iya mi lọ s’ọja My mother has gone to the market

Tere na na jantako

Baba re sikọ? Baba re sikọ? How is your father?

Tere na na jantako

Baba mi lọ s’oko My father has gone to the farm

Tere na na jantako

Ki lo fi silẹ? Ki lo fi silẹ? What has she left for you to

eat?)

Tere na na jantako

Amala ati ewedu wa l’oke pepe Amala and ewedu are kept on the ceiling shelf in the kitchen

Te-re na na jankato

Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Bring them and let’s eat them together!

Tere na na jantako

Ọwọ ọmọde ko t’oke p ẹpẹ A child’s hand can’t reach a ceiling shelf

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Saraya had been getting the hang of the sing-song, and enjoying herself, but by the time she sang the last bit: ”Ọwọ ọmọde ko t’oke p ẹpẹ” (a child’s hand can’t reach a ceiling shelf), in answer to the woman’s Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ!” she started feeling very uncomfortable.

“Does she really expect me to share my food with her?” she wondered. “Something is wrong here”.

Saraya’s worst fears were realized immediately. The woman looked very angry, and not friendly any more. In fact, she looked menacing, and when she ordered Saraya (still in a sing-song manner) to climb on a stool to bring down the food from the ceiling, Saraya started shaking.

“Do as I say at once, otherwise…!”, the strange woman barked, braking off the sing-song.

Saraya acted promptly; she went in search of the kitchen footstool and brought down the food. The woman grabbed the food from her.

“You must not tell your parents or anyone else about this”, she said with her mouthful, gobbling down the food. “If you do, I’ll come back and carry you into the deep forest where there’re wild animals like lions, tigers…That’s where I come from. The thing is I pretend that I’m a good spirit, and that I like children, but I’m not, and I don’t. I’m a bad spirit, and I just want to eat your food”.

Saraya was too frightened to say anything.

“I’ll come again, rest assured, and each time we’ll sing our song – or I alone will sing it if you don’t want to. Just make sure you bring down your food from the ceiling shelf, and don’t forget my warning. Tell anyone and see what’ll happen to you!”

The woman rushed off after eating all the food, leaving nothing for Saraya. She had even licked the bowls. Saraya was so badly shaken by the whole experience, and started to cry, shivering uncontrollably. She did not know what to do with herself, so she just sat up, drew her knees together, and put her head on her lap. She cried and cried until she was spent. That was how her parents found her when they came back home. They knew straight away that something must have happened when they were out, because usually Saraya would rush out to meet them, and would be bubbling, but she was subdued. She looked sad, despondent.

“What’s wrong, Saraya?” her mother asked immediately, gathering her child in her arms.

“Nothing!” Saraya answered.

“How can you say nothing is wrong? Aren’t you feeling well? You look as if you’ve been crying.”

“I’m all right. I’m just very hungry”, Saraya went on quickly.

The parents looked at each other, surprised because that was the first time they had come home and found Saraya hungry. Her mother rectified the situation immediately. She prepared food for Saraya, who gobbled it down so fast that her parents were taken aback.

“Would you like some more?”

“Yes, please”

“She’s a growing girl. Maybe she needs more food than we think.”, Farada said to Mofolu, going back into the kitchen to get some more.

“Perhaps she played too long outside today, and it’s increased her appetite”, her husband replied.

The parents noticed that Saraya was still not her usual cheerful self after eating. In fact, she was so quiet, and seemed to have nothing to say. The following day, Saraya’s mother increased Saraya’s breakfast and lunch, but left the lunch in two bowls – vegetable stew ( ẹfọ) and pounded yam. When the couple was about to leave the house Saraya said to her mother.

“Can I come to the market with you, today, mother?” holding on to her dress.

Her mother was surprised because Saraya seemed to have got used to being on her own when she and her husband were out, and this made her wonder yet again if something had happened to Saraya the day before.

“Why do you want to come with me, dear?”

“I don’t want to stay at home. It’s boring by myself all day”.

“But you’ve been staying at home for the past six months on your own, and you’ve always told us how you enjoy playing in the garden, since we got here”.

“I know, but I just don’t want to be left alone, anymore”.

“You know that you’re too young to be taken to the market. When you’re older…Is something bothering you?”

“No, mother.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t be living here forever. When we move into town, there’ll be other children around for you to play with, but until then make sure you play within the compound, and don’t forget that you can call on the lady next door if you need her help.”

“Yes, mother”.

Saraya’s parents left.

“I’d better not go outside; I don’t want that woman to follow me inside.”, Saraya told herself.

So, Saraya stayed inside the house, but after a while she soon found it unbearable. She felt miserable – not only because it was stifling inside, but also Saraya was not the type to just sit still, especially in a rather dark house with tiny windows. She needed to move around. It was sunny outside, and the birds were singing on the tree branches, and she too would like to sing like them, play act and dance.

“Why don’t I just go out, and not play for long there? I can then come back in and eat before the woman comes”, she thought, not knowing that the woman had been hiding behind the bushes at the back of the house, watching. As she was going back in the woman came and brushed past her quickly – just like the day before. The woman started singing, not even waiting for Saraya to join in:

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Iya re sikọ? Iya re sikọ? How is your mother?

Tere na na jantako

Iya mi lọ s’ọja My mother has gone to the market

Tere na na jantako

Baba re sikọ? Baba re sikọ? How is your father?

Tere na na jantako

Baba mi lọ s’oko My father has gone to the farm

Tere na na jantako

Ki lo fi silẹ? Ki lo fi silẹ? What has she left for you to

eat?)

Tere na na jantako

Amala ati ewedu wa l’oke pepe Amala and ewedu are kept on the ceiling shelf in the kitchen

Te-re na na jankato

Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Bring them and let’s eat them together!

Tere na na jantako

Ọwo ọmọde ko t’oke p ẹpẹ A child’s hand can’t reach a ceiling shelf

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

At the end of the sing-song, during which Saraya’s body was shaking uncontrollably, anticipating what was to come, Ọlọmurọrọ ordered her to get on the footstool, and bring down the food from the ceiling shelf. Saraya was too afraid to do otherwise. Ọlọmurọrọ gobbled down the food (fufu and ẹfọ riro this time) and warned Saraya once more not to tell her parents or anyone else about her daily visit.

“Don’t bother to change your lunch-time either or think that you’ll just stay indoors throughout the day to avoid me. If for any reason I can’t get in when I come, I’ll be back to carry you into the deep forest – just like I said I’d do yesterday.

“So, you see”, she continued, noticing with glee the horror on Saraya’s face. “Just accept that I’ll be coming every day to eat your food, and you must make sure it is available. There’s nothing you can do about it unless you don’t want to see your parents again”.

When Saraya’s parents got back home they observed Saraya’s change of mood again – from a very lively girl to a subdued, silent, nervous, and fearful one. Saraya hid her hungry state from her parents so as not to arouse suspicion on what was actually going on. This situation continued for some time with Ọlọmurọrọ coming to the house to eat Saraya’s food every day, singing the song as she entered, trying to make light of things. Saraya could not do anything about it because she was afraid that the woman would carry out her threats. However, the effect this daily visit was having on Saraya continued to be of great concern to her parents.

“She must be going through a phase”, Mofolu told his wife. “It’ll pass”, he added.

“I hope so”.

However, when Saraya started to lose weight despite the huge amount of food left her, with the bowls licked clean, the couple knew that they had to take action.

“We’ll have to take Saraya to see a doctor. She can’t just waste away before our eyes. Something is definitely wrong with her. She can’t be getting thinner and thinner for no reason. We’ve been increasing her food, and look at how thin she is, and nervous and fearful too. It’s as if she’s frightened by something”, the father said.

“It’s true. She keeps on begging me not to leave her alone at home, holding on to me fervently, but claiming that it’s because she’s bored with her own company when we’re out. Well, I don’t believe that. It’s either I stop going to the market, or we take her to see a doctor”.

Saraya’s parents called her, and the father said:

“I know you don’t like going to the doctor’s, but we have to take you to see one, because we’re worried that there’s something wrong with you. You’re getting thinner and thinner, and you’ve changed.”

“Look at you! You seem to be afraid of something or is it of someone? Has anyone been coming here when we’re out?” the mother suddenly became aware of the possibility.

“You have to tell us what’s wrong. Don’t be afraid to tell us, because we can fight anyone. Nobody can hurt you, you understand?” the father joined in.

Saraya said nothing. She bowed her head, and it was as if she was weighing up whether to tell or not about Ọlọmurọrọ. She did not like the idea of a visit to the doctor’s where she would be given some horrible-tasting liquid medicine to swallow if she was indeed found to be ill. She was a sensible girl, and she did not want to fall ill, but she knew that she had become much thinner since Ọlọmurọrọ had been coming to eat her food, and that this was not good for her health. After a while she started to sob.

“A strange woman has been coming here to eat my food. She says that if I tell you or anyone anything she’ll come and carry me into the deep forest where there are wild animals, and they’ll devour me! She really scares me!”

“What strange woman?” Saraya’s parents asked at the same time.

“She looks scary. She has long, thick, unruly hair. Her eyes pop out when she stares at you. Her breasts are very big and long.”

“I’ve heard about her”, the father said. “Some people believe that she’s an Iroko spirit. She doesn’t usually harm anyone – young and old, I understand. She’s been seen lurking around, hiding behind bushes etc, observing children at play. Sometimes she’s been seen joining them, and children don’t seem to be scared of her because of the way she approaches them. Apparently, she sings sweetly and beautifully, and that draws the children towards her. She also tells funny jokes and plays pranks among other things. She dances as well. Nobody really knows who she is, or where she comes from.”

“That must be her, daddy. She says that some people call her Ọlọmurọrọ, and some Spirit Woman. She mentioned the Iroko the first day she came here, but I didn’t understand what she was saying. She also said that she was a good spirit, and that she liked children – liked playing with them”.

“ Ọlọmurọrọ, Spirit Woman, Iroko Spirit. Who on earth is she?” the mother exclaimed.

“No wonder! She hummed the song I was singing the first day she came, and then got me to play a sing-song game with her, after forcing her way into the house!” Saraya said and went on to tell her parents how she and the woman had made up the sing-song.

“Imagine that! Well it’s obvious that she can’t be a good spirit, otherwise she won’t go around depriving Saraya of her food in that way and manner – preying on her like that”, the mother exclaimed.

“The second day she came, she told me that she was a bad spirit, but pretended to be a good one, and that she did not like children, but just wanted to eat their food.” Saraya said.

“You know what? I’m going to talk to my relative here, and friends – some people I know since we came here, including one or two colleagues – farmers”, Saraya’s father said.

“I’ll talk to some people at the market as well”, the mother added.

“We really have to get to the bottom of what this woman is about – find out if there are or have been other children whose food she’s been eating, and who have been getting thinner and thinner – children who’ve been afraid or are still afraid to tell their parents about the woman”.

“We’ll talk to our neighbours as well tomorrow morning – find out what they know about the woman. They should be made aware of what has been happening around here. I’ll leave for the farm later than usual”.

Investigations about Ọlọmurọrọ from neighbours and friends revealed most of the things Mofolu had heard about the woman already.

The woman, nick-named Ọlọmurọrọ, was a mystery to the people of Sakowa and its outskirts, including Idọja Village where Saraya and her parents lived. No one knew who she was and where she came from, or where she lived. She was just seen around town from time to time, especially at the outskirts, sometimes hiding away in the forests, behind bushes, and observing children at play, sometimes joining them. She was a strange and scary creature, unlike any other woman around, with wild, staring eyes, long, scraggy hair, and above all, huge, pendulous breasts, which was how she came by her nick-name. Yet despite her scary appearance, children did not seem to be afraid of her because she had a way with them. She had things in her favour that appealed to children: she spoke softly, and could sing well and sweetly, and she knew some lovely songs that children loved; she play-acted with children, told funny stories and jokes. She also danced well, clapping to the songs she sang. Above all she played pranks and games with children.

“I’m Spirit Woman. I’m a good spirit. I love children. I’ll not harm you. I only want to play with you”, she had been known to say when approaching a child.

Some parents thought that she was harmless, whilst others were not convinced by her; the latter felt uncomfortable with the woman hanging around their children – not knowing what to make of her.

“Is she a spirit from the Iroko?” one person asked another.

“Is she a real human being?”

“She looks evil to me. I think she’s covering up, pretending to be harmless, otherwise why would she hide behind bushes, or lurk around…”

“Perhaps she did something very bad in the past and was discovered and had to leave the town she was living at”.

Whatever Ọlọmurọrọ was or was not, one thing that became apparent after Saraya’s experience with her was that she was a monster who preyed on little children pretending to be good, endearing herself to them, just to be able to take their food away from them. She approached them openly with songs etc so that no one would suspect what she was after.

It soon became apparent to the people of Sakowa and its outskirts that Ọlọmurọrọ targeted children of parents with an only child left on their own that she could gain easy access to. She had come to know the movements of the parents – when they went out, and which of them left their children on their own, and for how long – for example if it was all day long. She had also come to know the children who liked to sing and dance, who played on their own – for example, in the garden, and could do with someone to play with. This was why she used different tactics to entice them: singing sweetly, dancing, crackling funny jokes, playing pranks, e.g. ‘hide and seek’. She took advantage of what any particular children enjoyed doing to while away the time, to eat their food.

Mofolu’s relative in Sakowa and people known to him – neighbours and friends – friends that the couple had made since coming to live at Sakowa, including the lady next door, were deeply shocked to hear what had been happening to Saraya. However, in talking to them about Saraya’s experience with Ọlọmurọrọ, Mofolu and Farada discovered that Saraya was not the only child that had fallen prey to the woman, without the parents knowing. They seemed to have heard about similar incidents – about children in similar situation as Saraya getting thinner and thinner with the parents not knowing why, what was going on, and worrying about them – children left on her own whilst the parents went out to work or to do other things.

“No wonder! Jere has been worried about his son… They’ve had to leave him at home for some time now…”.

“No wonder! My son has been getting thin. We too have had to leave him at home…!”

“It never occurred to us. We just thought that the woman liked playing with children.”

“She pretends…”

“Yes, I’ve heard about her. She goes around calling herself “Spirit Woman”.

“We call her Ọlọmurọrọ”.

“No wonder! She says she’s a good spirit when she is a bad one. I don’t think she’s a spirit at all. I think she’s a human being like all of us, but very strange indeed.”

“I think something must have gone wrong for her in the past”.

“I saw her hiding away when I was passing through the forest the other day, watching some children at play, and she looked as if she wanted to join them”.

Mofolu and Farada then went on to tell the people they went to see, their plans to outwit Ọlọmurọrọ.

“We have to teach her a lesson. Never in her life would she show her face here again!”

“I’m going to choose a day, and gather a few people together, and we’ll beat the hell out of her! After that we’ll spread the news about her far and near in case she dares come back here or goes elsewhere.”

After the meetings Mofolu and Farada got some people together and asked them to come to their house at Idọja Village the following day, indicating the time. Among the people were some parents whose children had had similar experience as Saraya.

“We’ll hide behind the bushes at the back of the house, and observe what’s going on inside, and after the woman eats Saraya’s food, and is about to leave the house, we’ll descend on her, and beat her up with different weapons. We’d not give her the chance to deny anything or to plead. She’d be lucky to be alive after we beat her up, and she’d never show her face here again!”

“Yes”, one of the people said.

“Whoever she is, let her go back to wherever she came from. We don’t want creatures like her around here – around our children. She’s a menace.”

When Saraya’s parents got home they told Saraya:

“Saraya! When Ọlọmurọrọ arrives, welcome her with the sing-song you and her have made up. This’ll make her relax, and she’ll think that you’ve accepted the situation, and are happy to see her. She won’t suspect anything. We want to do everything we can not to arouse her suspicion.”

The day agreed upon to “catch” Ọlọmurọrọ came. Saraya’s parents did not go to work but received their friends and neighbours. Everybody went to hide behind the bushes at the back of the house, waiting for the woman to arrive. Saraya was told to go and play in front of the house after eating her breakfast. She was a very happy child again because she was not afraid any more. She knew that help was around.

Ọlọmurọrọ arrived, unaware of what was in store for her.

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Iya re sikọ? Iya re sikọ? How is your mother?

Tere na na jantako

Iya mi lọ s’ọja My mother has gone to the market

Tere na na jantako

Baba re sikọ? Baba re sikọ? How is your father?

Tere na na jantako

Baba mi lọ s’oko My father has gone to the farm

Tere na na jantako

Ki lo fi silẹ? Ki lo fi silẹ? What has she left for you to eat

Tere na na jantako

Amala ati ewedu wa l’oke pepe Amala and ewedu are kept on the ceiling shelf in the kitchen

Te-re na na jankato

Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Gbe wa k’a jọ jẹ! Bring them and let’s eat them together!

Tere na na jantako

Ọwo ọmọde ko t’oke p ẹpẹ A child’s hand can’t reach a ceiling shelf

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ

Tere na na jantako

“I know that you’re not going to tell your parents or anyone else about my daily visit. You’re a sensible girl. Goodbye!”

Saraya escorted the woman to the door, and as soon as she stepped out, all the people hiding away behind the bushes in the garden rushed towards her, and started beating her mercilessly with all sorts of weapons: sticks, cutlasses, hoes, etc. They dragged her to the bushes, where they continued to beat her relentlessly. Ọlọmurọrọ was bewildered and shocked, and of course, terribly afraid. She started to plead:

“I haven’t done anything wrong, honestly. I just came to play with Saraya because she’s always left on her own from morning till evening. Look I’ve even made up a song with her. Ask her!”

Nobody listened to her. In fact, the people there were so irate that they shouted at her and called her all kinds of names. The parents whose children had actually fallen victim to the woman told her exactly the effect of her action on their children. They were very angry.

“You’re a wicked woman. You’ve been going around pretending that you like children, and all along you just want to take their food from them!”

“Not only is my son thinner than before, he’s so fearful – not speaking much anymore. We’ve been wondering what was going on…”.

“See what you’ve done to my child!”

“To my child as well! You’ve made many children ill. “

“You also threatened them. You told them not to tell anyone about your visits, otherwise…”.

“You threatened Saraya that you would do the same to her if she didn’t let you in to take her food from her!” Mofolu and Farada joined in.

“Shame on you! You’re a disgrace to women!” Farada added. “You’re a monster, an evil woman”.

“Now we know exactly what you are. We’ve been wondering about you…You prey on defenseless, little children, using all sorts of tactics – singing sweetly – “Ọlọmurọrọ ma a wolẹ” they mimicked.

“The children you’ve stolen from are no longer afraid of you. The game is up. We know everything about you now, and you’re going to regret everything you’ve done by the time we finish with you!”

The woman continued to plead.

“Please don’t kill me!”

“We won’t, but by the time we finish with you, you’d wish you were dead! You’ll be in so much pain you won’t be able to walk again; you’ll be crawling away to where you came from. Your face will be a horrible, sorry sight. You’ll never want to show it here again. We don’t want you among us”.

“Don’t think you can go elsewhere and do the same thing again! Word will be spread round – far and near – about you!”

Ọlọmurọrọ was beaten to a pulp – in fact hardly any of the children would have recognized her as the woman who had been playing games, etc, with them. If they were to see her now, they would run away unlike before when they were not repelled by her looks.

After they let Ọlọmurọrọ go she crawled away and was never seen again. Nobody knew where she went just as they did not know who she was, and where she came from.

From then on children who had been getting unexplainably thin started to get fatter in Sakowa, and at the outskirts.