"Aunty Prof does not like me." What did you say?

Months before my sister-mum died, I repeatedly told her that I had not reached the honored zenith of the academic hierarchy, and as such, it was wrong for her to insist everyone called me Professor. As you may already know, she never stopped enforcing it for everyone, including her daughter, who insisted on calling me Aunty Seyi. She said, "I was her aunty before I earned a PhD. I will continue to be her aunty, after all." Because of this, some people will even add Aunty to the Professor, thinking that calling me a professor was disrespectful without additional appellation. So that was how I became Aunty Prof or Aburo Mummy Aunty Olamide.

This day, I meandered into the kitchen to pick my food because I was afraid that if I hadn't eaten before my sister-mum returned, it might constitute another anxiety for her. So I overheard this woman asking one of my sister's adopted daughters if Aunty Prof was around. My sister's daughter responded yes. I imagine she turned to leave (because I could only hear them but not see them) when the girl asked why she was going. She probably turned, and I heard, "Aunty Prof does not like me." So the girl prodded her further by asking why she thought Aunty Prof did not like her. She said, "There was a day I was telling mummy (that was what they all called my sister-mum) something; I thought, as usual, she was engrossed with work on her laptop, but at some point, she looked up and said what you say?"

This woman, as always, comes and downloads what XYZ said about sister-mum. Sister-mum would listen and say, "Awon nu oku Jehovah"( I leave them to Jehovah). I wonder why sister-mum granted her audience, but one day, after regurgitating all that was said, I asked her: "They told all these lies about Iya Olamide, but what did you say? I am not angry that they said all that, but I am concerned that they feel comfortable saying all that trash about her in front of you if loyalty is not in question". She was appalled.

Before the election, I posted a narrative about how I became "guilty by silence." I have wondered why many so-called critics, activists, and commentators who were the loudest under Jonathan and Buhari have nothing to say about everything happening in Nigeria.

I often feel the best thing to do is mind my business where I am, but I imagine a generation would one day ask," What did you say?"

When Abuja Area Mama was murdered, what did you say? Let me imagine "bad" influences gone.

Since Bobrisky, the mummy of Lagos is being scapegoated for the rot that we all knew existed, which was brilliantly excavated in that expose by that excellent and effervescent investigator Fisayo Soyombo to the shock of the nation some years ago, what did you say? He has been pressing the neck of the customs, too, lately. Could you let me know what you said? You are waiting for one obidient or a celebrity you dislike to be accused before your pseudo-righteous indignation finds expression.

When Iniubong Umoren in Akwa Ibom went for an interview and was missing, only to find out that her assailant allegedly had a relationship with a politician in what seems like organ trafficking, what did you say?

If Bamishe's family and friends did not have a video of what happened in that Lagos BRT until her death, which was initially denied, what would you have said?

When youth of all genders, religions, and sexual orientations singing with the national flag were massacred at the Lekki toll gate, what did you say?

What did you say when DJ Switch insisted on what she witnessed that day?

When ethnic bigotry and prejudice pervaded the last election, what did you say? I imagine "they want to take over Lagos"!

With all that is going on in the world, injustice, misogyny, sexism, racism, Islamophobia, homophobia, and more, what did you or have you said?

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. said, "In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friend."

Sometimes, it is not what you say but what you do. People can profess one thing and do the other. I know you don't have influence or followers, and your voice may be a cup of water in the ocean of voices, but I still want to know what you said.

With the wildest of events unfolding over since last week, I want to thank Black women everywhere who, despite their own grief, said one thing or the other. Thank you!

In your voice, I hear the voices and the echoes of women before me, assuring us that "we shall overcome."

I hold on to the hope that my female ancestors were handed down through generations to dare to declare that "there would be glory after this".