By Kola Johnson/
Dem kill my mama; Dem kill my mama; Dem kill my mama; political mama; ideological mama; Dem kill my mama; Dem kill my mama; Dem kill my mama……..
Hmmmmh! That was vintage Fela Anikulapo Kuti, the Afro-beat wizard, at his quintessential best in his stirring pathos of elegy, “Kalakuta Show,” dedicated to
his mother, Mrs.Funmilayo Ransome Kuti, in ineffaceable remembrance of the tragic Kalakuta Invasion at which a detachment of grimly armed soldiers invaded his Kalakuta Republic and threw the aged 77-year-old mother of the maverick musical idol all from the Storey building of her son, to land with devastating impact on the ground, resulting in her lamentably untimely death.
To be sure, Fela was certainly not alone in this evocative passion for motherhood. In this connection, one remembers the celebrated “Sweet Mother” by Nico Mbarga of blessed memory, the chart bursting” Iya Lalabaro” by Olalekan Olorode, among other melodious variants by the Miliki maestro, Chief Ebenezer Obey, Hubert Ogunde, the theatre wizard, eulogizing the sublime virtue of motherhood to high heavens.
For those familiar with the irresistible allures of these inspirational melodies, one discerns with unambiguous clarity, the indisputable truism of the endemic riddle in motherhood.
Call it the mystery or enigma of sweet motherhood – that is for those tickled by semantic fancy – and you sure have not missed it, as creative variants of same idea.
Motherhood evokes a surreal ecstasy, inexplicable sentiment
defying verbal expression. No wonder, the popular saying that motherhood is divine.
It is against this background that one remembers with emotional pathos of grief, the death of Madam Elekia Giwa, mother of Dele Giwa, the brilliant and charismatic founding Chief Executive and Editor-In-Chief of the Newswatch, now defunct – at that moment of tragedy, as her beloved son, emotionally entrapped in irresistible mournful fit, re-echoed from his incorporeal abode in heaven, a lamentative mimicry of “Dem Kill My Mama”.
Going down the memory lane, one recalls that particularly dark moment of October 19,1986, exactly 37 years ago, when the scepulchral great ripper, abruptly put paid to his life, via an official parcel bomb, which re-invented, with the most brutal sadism, his ebullient frame, hitherto brimming with life and vigour, into a mangled piece of shattered flesh, in a scenario that would make even the butchery green with envy.
Tears flowed in unfettered torrents, as dark pall of mourning enveloped the landmass, waxing in its chimeric grotesqueness, across the vast global space.
On this particular feast of horror, one person stood out in eminently conspicuous terms. She was Madam Elekia Giwa, the one who haboured him in the womb; nurtured him in the emotional closet of her tender bossom, and who in affectionately motherly empathy, doubled in spirit, soul and body with him, at every dimensional frame of time.
One remembers as if it were just yesterday, the horrifyingly beeblubbered imagery she conjured in the wake of the gory sadism unleashed against her beloved son by savage blood hounds who in a conspiratorial code of omerta, hitherto unyielding to forensic scrutable intelligence, in its enigmatic elusiveness, dispatched her son to the distant world, beyond the Ken of mortal existence, as Elekia Giwa’s world collapsed, almost immediately, and never to remain the same again. What a tragedy?
Would you now see why Elekia Giwa had remained crying ever since? Why she cried to her grave, and why even in her grave, she defies in inconsolable whiff of agitation, the healing balm of time, in her lachrymal canticles, that would simply refuse to let go.
But for anyone that might wish to argue to the contrary – that Madam Giwa had since stopped crying – that would be on the condition that the hard truth be told on some extenuating balm of gestures, of which the most significant in this context could only worthily have emanated from Dele’s supposed coteries of bossom pals; with particular emphasis on the inner circuit bracket of the Newswatch fraternity of old.
And considering the fraternal Bond of friendship amongst them, and a particularly endearing relish and esteem bordering beyond sheer pretensive affectation as they would have us believe, even if outwardly, to what extent would these inner circuit buddies of the slain media mogul beat their chest in confident affirmation that they often related with his mother, Elekia Giwa, not only in consistently regular frequency, but with substantial gift to boot, following the demise of her dear son, until the mother bade bye for the world beyond.
Thirdly, to what extent if any, was Dele Giwa’s case factored into consideration, at that crucial moment of negotiation for the transition of Newswatch to a new phase of ownership.
Fourthly, how much could the strategic media-related organizations like NUJ, NPAN, NGE and the likes, boast of a relentless resolve to unravel the gordian knot of Giwa’s dastardly murder 37 years ago, on that celebrative feast of unprecedented brutishness that remains the height of man’s inhumanity to man.
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