The Eyo Festival by Pelu Awofeso

You may have journied to the former Nigerian capital of Lagos a hundred times over, but can’t have seen the Adamu Orisha play or Eyo Festival (pronounced err-your) - the soul of the city’s traditional life - that many times. The truth is no one person has. In fact, from its original appearance in 1750, spectators have seen it a simple 80 times previously. And since it happens so infrequently, sometimes four or eight years apart, each occasion it does it is a must-see ‘exhibition’ for several thousands; and to observe one is enough to leave the culture tourist reminiscing for a lifetime.

One came along last August. Only this time around, it would be the paramount activity that marks the final rights of passage for the deceased immediate past king of Lagos, Oba Adeyinka Oyekan 2, who passed on early in March. “If this is not done the chosen successor can’t be crowned king,” says a member of the royal family inside the palace premises to. When it isn’t to royal ends, though, the honorary version is exclusively done for visiting VIPs (international or indigenous) to the city or any late individual who had improved the lot of Lagos while he lived.

News of this year’s go round and the citizens of Central Lagos prepare for another time of their lives. What Samba is to Brazil the Eyo is to Lagos; it is one of the very few popular local customs not yet effaced by religions introduced from outside the African continent. If that has not happened already then it may never do, as the participants are practicing Christians and Muslims. Besides, “It is so intrinsically synonymous with Lagos that it can never fade out.” Importantly, the natives take the festival and their faiths as one would two opposite pages of a book. One leads to the next, and no one book—life in this case—can be complete without both.

So when indigenous Lagosians speak of the Eyo tradition, they do so with affecting pride and relish. Everyone—from the most elderly to the five-year-olds—spend quality time preparing for the big day; and when the day does finally come a major milestone is achieved.

“This is about the only tradition we still cherish as natives,” a blue blood and deputy secretary to one of the core eyo groups, the Laba Ekun, tells me. “Our people believe that each time the festival holds the barren will conceive and a variety of private problems get solved.” Little wonder then that others resident overseas return to join in the festivities. And then spend: The obligatory appeasements alone may run into six-digit figures. “Though it is just a day’s programme, it costs so much in Naira and Kobo to be practically involved”

A full week before the festival (always a Sunday), the ‘senior’ eyo group, the Adimu (identified by a black broad-rimmed hat), goes public with a staff (“when this happens nothing on earth can stop the festival from taking place the coming Saturday”). Each of the four other ‘important’ ones—Laba (Red), Oniko (yellow), Ologede (Green), Agere (Purple)— in this very order takes their turns from Monday to Thursday without fail. This strictness with cadre and other old established rules before, during and after the celebration is what perhaps appeals the most about the eyo heritage.

That leaves Friday, the eve, free for tourists seeking the true thrill of the fanfare to come. On this night, the Iga Iduganran, the permanent residence of the Monarch as well as whole areas surrounding it, become an open-sky party: heavy-duty speakers boom with every kind of music—traditional (adults) and western (youths). Both sides of every street, by now chocked with expectant peoples, throb with tireless traders and meticulous merchandising. Beer, bread (toast), wooden fences and lots more compete for space with hordes of shuffling feet.

Fifty meters from the palace, workmen carry on with spirited renovation on a bungalow in brown colours; a few feet from them a young man adds a final touch of oil to the painting on the walls of Ojubo Yewa, a single-room memorial of sorts, within the all-important Onimole Court. The place must look good for the occasion. The painting is of a pair of drummers and five eyos. Rarely opened, this particular room is key to the entire festival, because come the little hours of Saturday, the superior five (note the constancy of the figure) of the eyo groups (starting with the Adimu), plus some ten more MUST come into the premises to pay homage. This particular rite is considered with committed adherence.

An experienced hand tells me “none of the eyos (they number several thousands individually) dare stroll the streets [on the set date] until after this ritual is done.” He has been involved with these ceremonies for more than half a Century. And what are the consequences, if it happens otherwise? Someone else described an incident that took place in a previous year. The Adimu traditionally ends the day’s procession with a symbolic performance: It dismantles at dusk a temporary construction called Agodo, inside which every eyo must come, dance and depart two times in the day. But this particular year the Laba Ekun (next in hierarchy) went ahead to do it! “There was chaos.” Not since has that been repeated.

Popular history has it that the eyo is not original to Lagos. Two persons who had come down from a locale called Ibefun (northern wards from Lagos) introduced it as interment rites for the king of the time Oba Ado, married to their cousin Olugbani. “Inhabitants of the time loved the spectacle of the first appearance and have modified it over time; and whereas the early ‘masquerades’ wore a print cloth called Ankara (local name), varieties of [three-piece] white garment are the vogue now.”

Meanwhile, aiming to make the most of it’s unique tourist product, the State governor Bola Tinubu has said his government “will review the festival’s cultural and commercial aspects,” and in due course tailor it to attract a lot more international tourists than witness this year’s edition.

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