Iya Oyo

Iya Oyo took a slow and long drag on her pipe, and released the smoke in short puffing sounds.The moon was orange bright, a perfect golden disk floating on the clouds.Some insects, hiding behind the darkness, sang in harmony with the frogs serenading the stars from the pond next to the Orisa house.It was the perfect time for me to ask my question: nobody was saying anything.

They gave us an assignment when I was an undergraduate taking a Yoruba class.

We were asked to find five proverbs on mental illness.

I was in luck because Iya Oyo and Baba Oyo were visiting us in Ile Ife at that time and I found her at the back of the house, lounging.

That was easy, I thought.