Eloquent rage or otilo?
When my father passed in 2002, I was a shadow of myself even though I went about my daily activity with mild enthusiasm, yet the symptoms of my anger were there for a very intuitive mother like mine to discern. For those who know me, I seldom express anger with outward behavior or conduct; my anger is always turned inward, not necessarily in self-destructive behavior but in internal blame, guilt, insomnia, lack of appetite, speechlessness, and more as I wrestle with hurts and questions like how might this have been avoided, why did I stoop this low to allow this person do this to me? And more questions.
My immediate younger sister had passed a few months after Dad was buried, and mum, despite her grief, was looking out for me. One day she woke me up and said, I know you are angry about XYZ, and your anger is justified given XYZ. But if I were you, I would channel my anger and grief to serve a purpose. If you are angry about "medical issues" that exacerbated your father's condition, how about studying medicine and using it to prevent other people's parents from dying. What she said over 20 years ago has no label, but a few years ago, in the face of other realities, I labeled it eloquent rage.
What is eloquent rage?
Eloquent rage is clearly articulated rage directed toward a higher purpose that makes life better for those behind. It is the currency of anger spent to ensure those coming behind do not suffer the same plight. It is the rage that is channeled toward a clear, intended outcome. It is an angst that refuses to acquiesce to the doom of the moment when a future boom is possible. Eloquent rage holds on clearly and tenaciously in the dark night of conscience until darkness is turned to light. It is the rage that made Rosa Parks sat on that bus so that I could talk, walk and work in spaces that I do today. The rage that sat so that future generations could stand.
Every time I speak and do things in my new environment, I do so, bearing in mind the eloquent rage that was marshaled towards the civil rights movement, the march in Selma, Alabama, and Washington so that segregation may be "abolished". Eloquent rage is when you stir your anger towards stewardship of the nation and not servitude of myopic interest. It is a rage with a meaning and message that you find in the Letter from Birmingham by MLKJ. It is the fire from the pen and speech of Malcolm X. It is the rage that drove a woman whose life was brought to nothing by Nigeria to live in a one-room not far from the cemetery for six months. After six months moved to a rented self-contain apartment and brought her children to live with her. Months into that, the landlord walked up to her and said, "madam, since you moved here, I have never seen a man visit you. I want to see your husband; otherwise, I will not receive future rent from you". She kept quiet and said no problem. Channeled her eloquent rage to build a duplex that collapsed a day before roofing began and then decided if I can't build a duplex, I will build a 4-bedroom bungalow, and she did. That woman was my mother. It is the rage that made me set aside my to-do list to type this.
For those who have raged against what happened during the questionable event called elections this past weekend? Are we going to say otilo, or are we going to map a pathway to become a citizen and not alien in our father and motherland? Don't be an otilo. Otilo is when you do the Oruebebe and Melaye and go back into your shelves until the next four years. Otilo is when money that is swallowed by a snake is joked about until we are back to rat invasion of the presidency. Otilo could be the reason that we go in circles. A society that does otilo always repeats the dysfunction. A society that doesn't do Otilo remembers the Holocaust; another remembers the Alamo, and some remember other things. More so, after I read my bible and learned no place in the bible says to forgive and forget. Forgive, yes! Forget? No-where. Hence I determined to forgive. But never have amnesia.
Years ago, a student whose term paper submission was overdue opened my office window and flung the paper in to make it appear it fell from my table. Unknown to her, I counted submissions and kept the names of those who submitted somewhere. I confronted the student with evidence, and then some "senior colleague" said, "Ms. Popoola, just let it go". I said no, returned the script unmarked to my student, and it made everyone know that I don't do otilo with ethics. One former colleague told me that he observed that students love and admire me but also "fear" me. They know I will resign before I compromise.
Finally, I don't care if carpet crossing begins soon, on 29th May, or even after, or if LP merges with anything. What I know for sure is that my rage about the dysfunction in our country will not be wasted. I will not forget Bamise, that was murdered and mutilated in Government owned bus. I won't forget Lekki Tollgate. I won't forget the woman who was macheted on the side of her face because she wanted to exercise civic responsibility. There are more things I will not forget.
Also, one day I will write about the man towering over me in this picture and what accountability, reckoning, and acknowledgment mean for people serious about change and justice.
Posted on Facebook on March 1, 2023.
