Since he died last month, 12th of September, 2023, Ilerioluwa Oladimeji Aloba, aka Mohbad has been at everyone’s fingertips online. Mohbad this, Mohbad that…Mohbad was poisoned, Mohbad’s music tops the charts, Mohbad’s body has been exhumed, Mohbad was killed by Naira Marley. Naira Marley has been arrested in connection to Mohbad’s death…Mohbad’s father, Joseph Aloba won’t even stop talking…he recently recounted how he sent Mohbad to school and he didn’t get any education, and now he is telling reporters his late son, Mohbad had warned him about Naira Marley’s deceitfulness.
Those of us who had no idea who Mohbad was, never even heard his name before, like yours truly; never knew that a few songs of his I hummed to, a few times in the past, were his…can you imagine?
Well, we now know who him so well; we now identify his music, open videos of him wherever we encounter it and sigh… “Oh, what a shame, he died so young.”
Now this is fame, people!
This is fame!
Celebrities, in Nollywood and out are calling for the head of everyone remotely suspected of being behind his death. I wish though, that Mohbad didn’t die. Wish all of this noise about him is because he had gone on some tour and celebrities are asking themselves who was present and who was not. I wish his huge fan base as of today, are sharing his videos and celebrating a talent so great, even people like me, who never heard about him would start following him…
Too late for Mohbad
We can’t follow him anymore. He is done! He is dead and this fame that lights his name is ever so brief…it will fade out because there will be no more music coming from his lips.
There will be no more sound from his breathe, there will soon be, a silence, it will be deafening
So I feel bad for Mohbad.
Same way I felt bad at a funeral I attended months back.
It was the passing of an Aunty we had grown up on the same street with.
This Aunty was everyone’s Aunty. She was a greeter, the type that though you know she is good natured, means well, but you quickly duck behind a tree or building when you see her coming because, as we say in Naija, “She will use greeting to kill you.”
How are you my dear? I hope you are doing fine? How is your mother? What of that brother of yours in the abroad I hope he is fine?
What of your uncle’s brother’s sister, child’s son?
And she would hold your hand, like the Ancient Mariner, you are captive until she ends all her inquiries about your personal and business life.
She was that Aunty.
We knew she had children, one or two lived abroad. And one or two lived here in Nigeria. But Aunty wasn’t doing well. She hipperty hops (like the old woman in the poem “Old Roger is dead” from one bus to another.
She had a bad leg. ‘Was hypertensive…she often goes to the pharmacy for her blood pressure readings and too many times I have been there hearing the Pharmacist tell her to take things easy.
Aunty was a haggler for drugs
Since we all used the same Pharmacy in the neighbourhood; I see Aunty regularly pricing drugs because she usually couldn’t afford the needed drugs. Sometimes, we pay for it and say, “Aunty, no worry, I’ve paid for this one.” The drug are needed as they are the types you will be on for life.
She would greet and thank you and greet and thank you until you wrench your hands off her and run!
Many times, because Aunty is unable to afford the drugs, she skips a few days and…well. I guess that is what must have caught up with her. But this is not the story I want to tell. I want to tell you how when Aunty suddenly slumped and died, mid-last year, her funeral was postponed by her children until a few months ago, this year.
Yes, Aunty’s children kept her frozen for more than a year. I am guessing to gather money for her funeral which held a few months back.
It was a carnival! There were huge posters of Aunty’s face in every corner.
As in, I was told 15 cows were slaughtered! 15 caterers, of course.
Two halls that could each seat 500 dinner-style…(and dinner style doesn’t work in this kind of party, just grab a seat and eat!)
Five musicians of several caliber and grade…
And the souvenirs shared were to fight for! I saw people come to blows over the souvenirs…electric kettles, nonstick frying pan and pots, packs of toiletries…with aunty’s face bold on each item.
Aunty’s carnival lit up our neighbourhood
Yes, that was Aunty’s carnival funeral. Even those who didn’t know her just branched to eat and drink and join in the dance.
Many of us who thought we knew her began to ask ourselves, “Come, o, no bi the Aunty wey dey wear the same clothes for one week?”
Friend1:“No bi the Aunty wey no fit buy her drugs?”
Neighbor 2: “No be the Aunty wey dey enter bus and practically hobble down the road?”
Friend 2:“Na she, o.”
Neighbor 3: “Her children get money, like dis and left her to suffer die?”
Me: I cannot come and go and answer that kweshon, biko.
And so I felt bad for Aunty. All of the money spent at her funeral could have been used to take care of her. Aunty’s children could afford five musicians, 15 caterers…to feed almost 1000 guest or more, surely they could have bought a small car driver included. Buy her full supply of sdrugs o she wont have to haggle at the pharmacy. They could even have afforded, maybe, a decent flat for Aunty to live in comfort the rest of her years…I’m just saying because of what we knew about Aunty…she was always cash strapped and yet all of this lavish funeral for aunty?
Same way I felt bad that Mohbad’s fame came too late, I felt Aunty’s “wealth” came too late!