REMEMBERING BUODA TAJU THE TAILOR

As I came down from the Mosque in Amunigun into the midst of poetic chants from quaranic verses by students of the madrassa, my eyes unconsciously roamed the rustic scenery. I felt something was amiss, but it took a while for it to register.

" What about Baba Taju?" I asked, now focussing on the locked shop across the road.

"He died" one of the Alfas volunteered.
"When?, How long ago?"
"Its been over a year, he was sick for a while. He was very old"

I looked at the young Alfa as he mouthed a prayer, and I unconsciously mouthed amen.

Taju the Tailor, London trained and Specialist in all wears, was a permanent fixture of the Amunigun of my youth, but my recollection of him was more about his lack of political correctness than his sewing skills.

You see, Buoda Taju had an opinion about everything and everyone. But his speciality was in interpreting non Yoruba names, and putting it in a context that was not only humorous but would be viewed in these days of political correctness, as offensive.

In his memory, let me see if I can recall some of his gems.

Owobokiri- why would he not be broke when all he does is chase women around.
Opara - what concerns me whether he rubbed pomade on his body or not?
Okoro - why will it not be bitter, see the size of his head.
Okocha- its about time his thing is ragged, since all he does is sleep around.
Nwokolo- why is she searching. All the manhood she needs is here.
Nwokocha - who will not be jaded if all she does is look for the thing
Nwobodo- let him go and marry instead of searching for girls to sleep with.
Ojukwu- when all he does is frown, how will his eyes not die
Obi - is it red or white kolanut.
Aguinyi Ironsi- if he has climbed it, then he must pour it there.

........to be continued.

May his soul rest in peace, and may Allah grant him Aljannah fridous.

My Ten Kobo.