Expensive Money

It’s been 12 years since my grandmother, Mama Aba’nla, passed away. But the memory of earning my first 10,000 naira at her funeral remains vivid. At the beginning of the occasion, family members I had not seen for several months exchanged pleasantries, before my siblings and I retreated to our ‘corner’ (each group within the family had a designated seating area, as is typical in traditional Yoruba events). The band—a lead singer and three instrumentalists—took centre stage and called different sub-groups of the family up to the stage to dance. ‘Eyin omo omo mama, e dide, e mujo (mother’s grandchildren, get up and dance)’, was the cue for about 15 of us to make our way up to the stage. I remember dancing with so much reckless abandon to the band’s rendition of ‘My Mother’ by King Sunny Ade, holding the ends of my agbada and swaying from side to side as the band leader repeated the line ‘ta lo wa ninu ogba yi, omo kekere kan ni (who’s in the garden, it’s a young child)’. Several older family members stepped up to the stage to douse us in crisp 20- and 50-naira polymer banknotes, and I danced even more vigorously, bending my knees, and dropping to the ground level from time to time to pick up my money as my parents, uncles and aunts gently placed banknotes on my head and my agbada.