A man who has four wives and picks a fight with all of them at the same time is a man who will cuddle up to his pillow all night. Even if he is angry with all of them at the same time, he has to apply wisdom otherwise he will be sleeping alone for a long time. What’s the point of even attempting to punish four wives at the same time? Who does that if not an unwise man? That is what Arijagba, the man in the story I am about to tell did, and I can tell you the moral of the story up front: pick your battles so that you are not consumed by fire from a matchstick. But first, enjoy the story.
Arijagba was a rich man by every standard of the time he lived, many many years ago. He had big farms on which slaves and servants worked. He was a titled man. He was also very handsome, tall, dark and well built. That last part probably was why he ended up with four wives, he was simply a man women loved to belong to. But his wives, Awele, Abeni, Aduke and Alake were good women too, shapely and well-mannered. Arijagba boasted of his wives and told anyone who cared to listen that he married them for different reasons apart from the fact that they were all very beautiful.
Then one year, like a man the gods want to kill, Arijagba started picking fights and finding faults with his wives. The bewildered women thought he was being mean to them because he wanted to take a new wife. They made extra efforts to please their husband but he kept on complaining about everything.
Things came to a head the day the four wives went out together for a community function and, according to Arijagba, they returned late. He spat in the air and caught it with his face. He refused to let them in to the compound. He hissed and cursed, called the women unprintable names that made mothers in the adjoining compounds block the ears of their children. It was a bad night for the household. Arijagba accused his wives of adultery, treachery and everything in-between. He said they wanted to join coven of witches. He accused them of fraternizing with his enemies and he was beginning to doubt the paternity of some of the children ‘they brought home for him.’
The wives knelt for hours, wept and begged Arijagba to no avail. It was like something just snapped in the man’s mind. That night, he sent his four wives packing, out of his compound. He allowed them to take a few clothes but he kept ‘his children’ because none of the women came to his house with a child, so they couldn’t take any with them. That led to much wailing especially from the younger children. But Arijagba had decreed and so it must be. Awele, Abeni, Aduke and Alake trudged back to their fathers’ compounds in shame, heads bowed, feet dragging in sand.
The following morning, Arijagba woke up and waited to be called for his bath. Nobody came. There was nobody to lay out his ‘agbada’ and matching cap. Nobody to remind him of how wealthy and good-looking he was. That was Aduke’s job. It was his third wife’s job to usher him into a new day with praise words. It was her job to see to his wardrobe and ensure the ‘alagbafo’ (the laundry man) picked and returned his clothes after washing or ‘beating’ them. He had to search for his own clothes. He didn’t know where his caps were, whether he should wear ‘abeti-aja’ or embroidered cap. He had to scream for a slave to rearrange his wardrobe after upturning it just looking for a cap and ‘kembe’.
And when he stepped out of his chambers, his compound was in a mess. The slaves were still sleeping. It was the job of Abeni, the second wife, to coordinate the slaves and servants. She assigned them duties and ensured they did them. She kicked the slaves off their mats into the kitchen and market and to the different plantations.
Not that morning. Breakfast was not ready, not for the head of the family nor for the children. And so it was throughout the day, and many days thereafter. It was soon obvious to everybody that more than one thing was amiss in Chief Arijagba’s household. His agbada did not match his cap. His clothes were rumpled. His compound was always dirty. The children started keeping late nights and bad company. In frustration, Arijagba caned and slapped his slaves, fired his servants and replaced them with new ones. The new servants resumed with new sets of misdemeanours in addition to their not knowing who was what and where what was kept.
Does anyone need to describe the long lonely nights Arijagba had to endure? He was a man used to variety: slim Aduke with the tantalising waist beads, Awele and her full and soothing bosom, Abeni who knew how to please him most and Alake’s smooth, youthful skin and limitless energy. Ah, the nights were truly long especially when it rained.
On the day that Arijagba fell ill was the day he felt the absence of his first wife, Awele. She was the wife of his youth, the one who knew all his secrets and weaknesses. She knew the herbs and the right incantations for each ailment, she knew when to call the diviner and what to tell the other members of the household when Arijagba had to perform some rites. On that sad night, the import of fighting the people who made his life ‘sweet’ dawned on him. As he writhed in pain, alone in his room, he bit his fingers in regret , muttering ;
‘Ah Awele, where are you now that I need you most, if only I hadn’t let my anger take over my reasoning. Who will fetch me my ‘iwora’ (herbal ointment) now? You are the only one who knows the incantation to stop this headache.
My ancestors, if I survive this night, I will go and beg my wives to return.’
Fortunately, he survived that night, that ailment, but he never fully recovered. But he begged his wives and they returned, luckily.
You cannot fight everybody around you because they are there for different reasons. You cannot alienate the people in your world because on the day of heavy rain, there will be nobody willing to shelter you in his hut.
That is the word for today, and the rest of the year, for both the highly placed and the lowly, for both the rulers and the ruled. Pick your battles wisely.
Credits: Funke Egbemode, Sunday Sun