starring FF, Edward Keazor and John Benoit
The 26th of July 2016 was the date of my second NFS trip to Epe a satellite town 20 km from Ajah in Lagos. Epe is a mélange of interesting and differing sites, its 400 year old harbor is a source of fish for Lagos’s palate and host to a secluded recreational center, the Epe recreational center, but its prime attraction is the relatively unknown Sungbo’s Eredo. Apart from the 16000 km Benin moat built in the 9th century it stands as one of precolonial Africa’s largest [JPBJ1] engineering feat[Ek2] s. Epe is a place to savour Lagos’s history, in earlier times its fishing village served as haven for a slave merchant king in search of freedom. King Kosoko. Early after sunrise, we assembled at the Lekki Conservation Center. After a half hour wait a Toyota coaster bus approached us from the Lekki Epe highway. On board were John Benoit our trip leader and Emeka Ed Keazor our guide to history.
The bright steady luminescence hinted at a rain free outing. Much welcomed weather considering that we planned to enter jungle territory (and a 70 foot ditch!) John alighted. We shook hands, he flipped through a roaster went back into the bus and alighted again for final roll call of the off board passengers. In total we were 22. 23 actually. Our driver made the driver’s seat look like a baby’s crib…he was a beefy but unintimidating road warrior. Traffic repellent. A look through windscreens would turn steering wheels. Being already 30 minutes past the hour of departure we did need to get to Epe as quickly as possible.
The Road to History
Along the road the urbanity steadily withered, Lagos’s buildings shrank to stalls but the estates adorning the highways retained the same mighty acreages. Ed’s literary contribution to the Nigeria’s centenary “A hundred Nigerians you didn’t know” was glossed over. We passed LUMFASI, popularly referred to as “Majek” (it belongs to the passionate environmentalist Desmond Majekodunmi) the site of Lagos’s first Animal shelter. The Lagos Business School had already receded two minutes into the past. The concrete split between the highways had now turned into sand and shrub but the hustle of the people around us was still unchanged. Our silence shouted out our Epe Expectations. Ed reclined like the Sphinx, muted history mystery. It was as if via telepathic consensus we had decided to channel energy via our posteriors to power the buses 8 well laden wheels.
Then the laws of conversation conservation were broken.
“What people live in this part of lagos?” John said to Ed as the driver down shifted (the gear).
“You have various groups of the Yoruba, the Egba, the Ijebus, the Isekiri and Ijaw who came in from the Niger Delta and Egun fishermen from Benin and Togo.”
“Did Richard Burton visit here?” My mouth added momentum.
“Yes indeed.”
“Those guys went everywhere.” John said, recalling great experiences past.
“Actually most people don’t know this but the term Yoruba is actually a derogatory word given to the Yoruba by the Fulani. Before the Fulani invaded Oyo they had a nickname for the people of Oyo “Yariba”, later transposed to “Yoruba” (said to suggest treachery). Bishop Ajayi Crowther and Rev. Samuel Johnson, who translated the first Bible into, Yoruba later on popularized it, probably unaware of its original meanings.”
“To Yab” is vernacular for “to jibe at” in Nigeria’s very “broken English”. The late and celebrated Fela Ankipulako Kuti begins his song “Beast of no nation” Chanting “Make I yab them”. Them referred to Nigeria’s military dictators.
So it turn out that a Christian evangelist had christened his people with a legacy of the Fulani jihad! History’s bus moves in strange ways! Apparently there’s a lot of unknown self-deprecation coming out from Nigerian tongues! History can be fishy stuff. We were headed towards a 400 year old aquarium!
“This is a place I would like to do a trip to.” John spoke of great experiences to come. We moved through a sliver of land from which we could spy the coast. “I often ride my bike down there.”
“Epe has produced most of the governors of Lagos….Jakande, …Otedola,….. (now Ambode)……..the claim that the Old Vicarage in Badagry was Nigeria’s first story building is incorrect. …..the Gobarau minaret in Katsina was built in 1398 to the height of 450 feet. There were also storey buildings in Kano and even Igbo-land, as far back as the 18th century”
Returning our focus to the present we pass by the cultural-commercial filling stations of southern Nigeria. Palm wine kiosks that seemed to materialize out of our adventure thirst. We then came across the bridge that straddled the Lekki lagoon. Floating on it were rusting trawlers, under its waters were possibly some Lekki lagoon monster and other scientific discoveries.
“So pilot we’re going to turn right at the junction…go to the Total station. Do you know where that is.”
After roughly 1 ½ hours we entered Epe.
At Epe
A thousand rusting roofves slap our vision but Epe’s undulating roads form no question mark on our driver’s mind. Epe’s looks like a miniature Ibadan, on both sides of the road were gentle slopes of garbage sprinkled grass, then came the story high Mosques next to buildings with the ceremonial symbol and servant of the Benin empire, the crossed Ada and Eben swords. Epe’s citizens looked at us with a fresh curiosity. Epe’s children looked at us with cheerful curiosity. A statue at a roundabout near the government billboard informed us of our proximity to the Eredo. Eredo is Yoruba for rampart. Sungbo Eredo is a 1000 year old, 70 km diameter, 70 foot deep moat, supposedly built by the Queen Bilkisu; Bilkisu Sungbo often described as the wife of King Solomon. Bilkisu was childless. So she drove history’s phallus deep in Mother Earth. Out came the Eredo. Immortality interred. It is solid proof of precolonial African ambitions. Before our main attraction, our trip takes us to see the Mosque built in 1862 by King Kosoko and the fish market where he first landed as a fugitive.
Inside the Mosque and outside the Church
Finally a minaret stands tall. An invisible muezzin shouts. ”Come, Come and Explore”. King Kosoko did express his gratitude to God very solidly. The wide span of dual gable roofing separated short and narrow ventilating portals. The minaret stood proud by three stories both large enough to accommodate a small family, then it step tapered into a muezzin’s outpost, the air seem infected by the mosques dark orange hue. At the ends of the edifice were what looked like giant lifting lugs meant to hoist the collective mass Heaven wards. We had reached Eid Street. After stopping at the gate of the mosque’s court yard John marched to find our tour guide. Ed animated with hope of gaining entrance into the mosque spoke. “They are two contesting narratives of Epe. Some of the natives believe that when King Kosoko came and met a prosperous thriving commercial village…others believe it was his wealth and industry that made the town into what it is today. This is a very political town…they are the Ijebu-Epe (Ijebu settlers of Epe) and the Eko-Epe (Immigrants fro Lagos) we do have to be cautious about what we say.”
The Main Entrance to the Mosque
Ed led the way for us to the gate. To our left, a party of lace attired gents greeted us with faux charm. Were they waiting for our allegiance to manifest? They vanished soon after John returned. He had successfully met the mosque caretakers. With more genuine demeanor, they swung open the gates. “The architects and builders of the mosques were returnee African artisans from Brazil that Kosoko employed. I really love this mosque as it so well preserved. The rafters are really beautiful.” We had arrived before noon prayer time. 44 shoes deposited at the arched entrance, we entered. There was no calligraphy. With dark brown tone and ends shaped like inverted fleurs de lis were vertical members connecting the horizontal beams of the lower and upper roof. Our necks craned to see the rafters. Sculpted like uneven wood waves they crested and troughed at their ends and midways uniformly from rafter to rafter to rafter……..
The Dangling Wood Li Masters
Rafters, columns and beams…..153 years of static callisthenic aesthetics. May they pose till Judgement Day! An ecstatic Ed led us to upwards. We headed to a ladder that took us to a cement mezzanine measuring about three meters wide. Looking below we beheld the naked interior of Islamic architecture.
The Desert Domesticated.
Via a short upward passage we climbed on to the roof. John with hands on hat-camera-rung led/wiggled us to a grand view of the crowded exterior.
Epe, a mini Ibadan
After we had filled our pupils we motion down down down. Back inside the Iman along with a cortege had arrived. He was medium height and wore a brown Kobe cap with blue embroidery. Dressed in white lace a long rosary swung dutifully from his left wrist. His brown skin and totally white jaw fused forged a peaceful but inquisitive expression.
An enclosed space within the mosque marked out the harem for the men during the Friday’s Jummuat sermon. Female believers prayed in the main hall. One of the Iman’s men invited us in. Ed stood a meter or so back from the short barrier. “It’s pretty dark inside, but if you look hard to the east you will see a Star of David.” Ed said referring to the enclosure. We took turns to periscope through the window. Indeed there was a star, sans nativity scene…..this Star of David/Bethlehem was on a high wall facing the qibla, the direction to Mecca, heart of the world.
A Dim Star of David lights up Epe’s Mosque.
It was time to leave. We moved to the doorways. Ed was already outside chatting with the Iman as if he was a long lost ancestor. After they exchanged numbers (and bacteria) we return to the bus. “Epe is about 80% Muslim….the first Christian missions were established here in 1891” Our driver’s next mission was to get us to the perimeter of the African Church.
“It was built in 1894. The mission however started in 1891”
“….”
“….”
Too new to catch our time, John told our driver to continue. Our next stop was the heart and Ur of Epe…..
…….The Fish Market
We approach. Eyes attacked eyes; many had already x-rayed our pockets and purses. Strangely a piscine odor does not attack my nostrils and the vivid bustle of the African market stayed behind the market walls. The batons of our police escorts had swiftly tranquilized all animation. Our driver had parked under a tall tree in front of mid-size bamboo. No attacking Pandas though. 164 years ago King Kosoko fled the attacking cannons of John Glover. How much he imported to Epe’s fishing harbor is a “contesting narrative”.
John stood up “We have about 30 minutes guys.”
Inside the walls was a wide sand filled space. Blackening Zinc sheets jumbled together to form the open phalanxes of “free market” competition…..the stalls were littered with cauldrons, buckets, jute sacks and machetes. A woman in a blue polo shirt approached, next to her a lady in a red short sleeved gown, in their hands were armadillo like creatures with large scales.
“Those are pangolins!” someone in our party shouted.
“What?” My mouth added inquisition.
“Pangolins….there highly endangered.”
“Will you buy?”
The woman in the blue shirt held out her offering from its tail and began to bounce it like a dead rubber tyre. Our collective voices shouted for mercy and hit her pretty hard. She stopped. The police waved passage for us. Passing the valley of the shadow of bush meat we reached the market proper. The paths are narrow; the earth’s dull yellow foretells a nearby beach. To our sides were the fruit of the seas and the haggling of the market women. “Barracudas”, “Trout”, “Mackerel”, “Eels (electric?)”, “Catfish”, “Corkers”. Sardined….we divided into two groups in order to squeeze between the barter.
Gone Fishing
Will Chop your Money
“Snails,” a fleshy arm ushered us to a basket full of beefy escargots. Our schools rendezvous at the pier that stretched roughly 10 meters into the lagoon.
“This is where Kosoko landed.”
“How big was the market then?
“Do these goods stay long outside here…” John asked a woman half sunk in lagoon water, she is surrounded by baskets. “Sometimes we bring them fresh, sometime we keep them inside.” Her onshore sister in a baseball cap reached for the catch.
The Catch is passed to John
After a few more minutes we return to bus base. Outside with our escorts more relaxed we are once more accosted by a young merchant madam. Her goods are also worrying….Green turtles and grubs.
Turtles, once great heros of Yoruba Mythology
Having the luxury of speed. We escape to……
…..the Sacred Pond
This was proper jungle. This was the Epe of the past, the one of memory. Spectacular green foliage fused into sunlight strangling canopies. We are in perfect primate playground. Twisted climbers and the occasional surprise (and hopefully harmless) creatures and wild flowers (maybe some unknown to science!) awaited us. This is Africa. Out of the bushes, village “custodians” abracadabra. They were about four, two women, a smaller lad and a teenager, all with hospitable swagger. Ed Keazor, played the pier piper of conviviality (he does play the trumpet!). He and John smooched-spoke to the “family”. They offered to lead us to the sacred groove, a warm aquifer. An Egyptian family who were among our party returned to the bus to rest. Our friends surrounded us and took us down a steep gradient. Our caution “caps” are now on.
Into Africa
The gradient is steep. Our feet make the needed adjustments. After a few minutes we reach an opening. John was taking shots, and then he lowered his camera.
“This is good place to lunch guys.”
It was. The ground and ambience were embracing. In front of us a sacred groove of the Yoruba. We sat and slowly ate Mother Nature. “This is a sacred groove…..women come here to drink and bath in the water…for children” one of our female guides said. A holy continuum exists between the forest and the deities of the Yoruba cosmos…the contortion of life giving trunks, branches and leaves morph in the animist mind to sculpt the idols of Oshogbo. We are now inside the pagan paintings (and consciousness) of Nike Okundaye and Tola Wewe! An elevated landing beckoned to my butt. Sitting down the view below is the picture below.
Our Pinic Spot
Next to me is a Bostonian over 6 feet tall, blonde, with square jaw and marine’s stature slowly empting a pack of crisps. With no camouflage expect for that of the Chameleons and half way through some chicken we converse about other members of the “animal farm”.
“What do you think of Donald Trump?” Chicken mouth speaks.
Down in front of us is barefoot John wading the pond. The Earth is under his feet.
John of the Jungle
Later on Philipe a Frenchman joins beach boy John. David, Kelsie, and Jason are munching, about a minute ago David bonded with a tree (Iroko or Mahogany? Oh how weak my botany!).
David and Goliath?
Ed had become absorbed by natural history. He had vanished, perhaps to make plans for our next stop. Sungbo’s Eredo. About 10 minutes passed before we carefully obliterate all our traces and head back upwards.
Sungbo’s Eredo
Traveling back in time a 1000 years took roughly 1000 seconds. Veering off the asphalt our tyres snapped and leveled stick and grass. The road leading to the descent into the Eredo was well grounded ground. Still not a part of the mainstream Nigerian conscience the Eredo is visited by the adventurer and every now and then by the bewildered bureaucrats of modern Lagos.
“This is truly amazing site….I still find it hard to image the sheer industry that happened here, Bilkisu moved hundreds of men, she organized money, labor, talent…..” Ed raptured.
This was the site of a pre modern conglomerate. One run by a woman! Bilkisu Sungbo possibly the Queen of Sheba, (Ed vehemently thinks otherwise though). He had mapped out a path through a segment of the Eredo for our tour. The surrounding green was no less intense than at the pond, only the terrain had changed. We descend into a channel of smooth, straight down rock….70 feet deep. The space we shimmied into was very much like a giantess fallopian tube.
A Historical Intestine
“Be careful, there ants colonies around here.” John cautions. Footholds like a monster’s teeth marks chew into the earth for roughly 5 inches. Our soles weathered off more sediment into the Eredo’s floor. Once inside we step-vault to leap the contorting roots, trunk and branches. The red earth was well parted, the Atlantic water between us and the Amazon was gone…eons of continental drift evaporated. Nature mocks herself. “They will be pythons here…this is the kind of place they enjoy being in…chilled and mulched.” Ed spoke with a conviction that hissed out adrenaline. Tax collecting ants, policing pythons, marching millipedes, the Eredo had a new crop of permanent on duty officials. And they didn’t take any bribes; a thousand years of no human patrolling had led to a reconquista of nature by nature. To steady our motion we grappled at the twines. No side of the wall was uncovered. A rain drop would have terminated our march.
“This is a great place for a movie.” Someone suggested.
“Yeah, Jurassic park 6.” David acknowledged.
Vaulting over a log that looked very chilled and mulched, my foot landed on a stone, slipping slightly to the left wall a vine gave me a hand hold. Then a sharp sting pinched through my face: a bee sting. A welcome-goodbye kiss. My chocolatey skin looked must have looked like honey. Ed voice’s filtered across the walls.
“Patrick Darling rediscovered this place in 1989….he and Chief Sanni had…lived, by lived I mean they ate, slept, bath….yeah the camped here for 2 months ….my hat goes off to them…..” He marched a few steps, stopped. We had reached an elevation. On his right wrist was a coral bracelet, in his back pocket a bottle half filled with water. “…….so essentially she ordered this to be built as a monument to her greatness because she was childless…..mythology says it was dug by legion of giants…10 foot tall giants….there is no video evidence of this of course….Patrick Darlings research is one of the greatest stores of information we have about the Eredo….Darling’s work isn’t the first academic research into the Eredo, as I told you Dr Lloyd in 1959 documented information on Eredo …Darling surmise is that she was the Queen of Sheba, the difficulty with that is that there is a 2000-3000 year differential between the Queen of Sheba’s reign and the dating of the Eredo. 120 year is easy to massage but 2000 years…..clearly there’s difficulty with that…the alternative mythology I read is that she was the descendant of one of the Queen of Sheba courtiers….all we can rely on is the oral account passed down over centuries. There are a lot of issues on gender and a woman’s place in traditional African society, which this confounds. The ancient kingdom of Benin was surrounded by the Benin moat system, which was started in 1280, on the orders of Oba Oguola. .Ijebu’s creation is said to have been sanctioned by the Oba of Benin so this has a linkage with the Benin political system how that is we don’t know…. enough work has not been done and you can tell that based on the state of this place….if you go further down to Augustine University, you will see it’s outer boundary is actually built on the wall.” “……they had no idea they were building on it and they actually have an archeology department! A lot of work had been done by Chief Sanni to get the Lagos state government interested in this place…..it would only take about 4 million Naira to restore a section of the walls to akin to its original state. You can’t rent the hall in Eko hotel for that… of course there are environmental issues as you can see there are trees here over a 100 years old….any questions?”
4 million naira. A lot less than the cost of most of Ikoyi’s sleepless jeeps.
“What are the ideas on why this was it built…”
“Two theories a defensive rampart system and the other for spiritual purposes”
“I’ve heard that this might have been a trap…to keep out Elephants”
“That’s on angle but I don’t think they would have dug 1 million cubic feet of sand just because of elephants…it had to have a spiritual or military significant for there to have been so much investment in time and effort…and money.”
“What’s the estimate of how long did it take?”
“There is no definitive statement on that…one thing is for certain…one million cubic feet…that would have taken a least a couple of centuries…..and hundreds….thousands of men…..the Benin moat took five hundred years and it was stop and start…..Benin’s is different it is 6400 km there is no way this work could have been done in the life of one person.”
Decades of rain had created strata over the Eredo’s floor.
Following Ed we move up a ledge. The air is more alive and feels less moist. “There is a clay pot down here that was used for collecting cowrie shells, cowrie shells were the gate fee for entry…..the last time I checked there was one inside.” Our guides escorted us with less trepidation then a man with a white shirt who looked very very Monday morning. He had popped out of the shades of jungle, and claimed to be custodian of the Eredo. He now looked very very anxious and uninitiated. We spotted the Calabash. It was half full with very still waters.
“The water has been like that for xx years it never reduces or increases” Two cowrie shells floated inside like yachts for a Queen bee. A net dangled from a branch and floated next to the clay container. A second cowrie shell meant possibly two queen bees. It was time for me to retreat. We are a scattered legion of explorers, armed only with smart phones. Many children have come over from Chief Sanni’s home, our next stop.
Meeting Chief Sani
From the groove it took roughly 10 minutes to arrive at the home of Chief Sani; Chief Sani a kind hearted and convivial man now in his seventies. He had with Patrick Darling uncovered Epe’s great secret. Now the defacto gatekeeper to the Eredo, we had to pay our respects to him. Respect well earned. He lived in a simple yellow bungalow in front of the bush path leading down to the Eredo. Beer crates stacked with hospitality covered the grounds and the front porch which led to a corridor……with more beer crates. At the “reception” there were house maids warped in chores and an old book with worn edges….the visitor’s book. A blacken shed to the left of the main door served as a kitchen. We saluted the staff and Ed first we headed indoors in a single file. The narrowed corridor takes us to see Chief Sanni. Seated on a wood chair his family surrounded him like loyal Mafiosi, my sight falls on an old face. His hand cradles his left arm. We greet him in African style. Squatting. Then we turn back to the exit-entrance. On my last visit we met Chief Sanni outdoors. Back outside we are accosted by book peddlers….the original article broadcasting Patrick Darling’s discovery is covered in thick sello-tape and lying on the corridor. “He’s suffered a stroke,” Ed spoke almost tearfully. “He is a shadow of the man he once was.”
The Road back to Lekki
Once again the spirit of silence returns. My face is swelling from the bee sting; my smart phone becomes a mirror to my metamorphosis. “Oh.” Ed caught sight of my plight. “I came with some anti histamines…..they’ll help.” Our arms reach across the aisle. The road is uncongested but my mind is full of thoughts. John is seated behind me.
“Do you think I should see a doctor when we get back?”
“Nah, you’ll get better.”
The sun had begun to decline. Lekki advances. Our bus now reached the wall of the Lagos Business School. Two walls (the Eredo and the LBS’s) as different in function and opposed in form as a human face and a bee barb had collided. Though they did seem to resonate with a similar ethos and worship the same god. Legacy. One wall was a powerful testament to the past and the other wall guarded the captains of tomorrow.
It was no clash of titans though. There was a clear but slowly decaying winner.
A plague flashes past. “Augustine University.”
Maybe it should be renamed?
