Abstract
Moments narrates the changes that have taken place over a span of four years, nine months, and four days in the life of a woman known as Mummy Ayesha who lives in Challenge, a neighborhood in Ibadan SouthWest Local Government Area. The experiences of Mummy Ayesha are drawn from Genurb (Urbanization, Gender & the Global South) Ibadan City Research Team data. Moments showcases the danger of a single story about poverty, illustrates the temporal and spatial dimensions of socio-economic inequalities, and offers insight on the city’s role in providing opportunities as well as bearing witness to one’s despair. Most especially, Mummy Ayesha’s story illuminates the intricate relationship between future orientations, relationality, care and well-being.
Chinese
《Moments》讲述了在四年零九个月零四天的时间里, 一位名叫Mummy Ayesha女性的生活变化。她居住在尼日利亚的伊巴丹西南地方政府区的Challenge社区。Mummy Ayesha的经历来自于Genurb(城市化、性别和全球南方)伊巴丹城市研究团队的数据。《Moments》展示了一个贫困故事的危险, 阐述了社会经济不平等的时空维度, 深入理解了城市在提供机遇、见证绝望中的作用。特别的, Mummy Ayesha的故事揭示了未来取向、关系性、关怀和幸福之间的复杂关系。
Spanish
Momentos narra los cambios que han ocurrido en un lapso de cuatro años, nueve meses y cuatro días en la vida de una mujer conocida como Mummy Ayesha, quien vive en Challenge, una barriada del Área de Gobierno Local del Sudoeste, en Ibadan. Las experiencias de Mummy Ayesha se reconstruyen a partir de datos del equipo investigativo de Genurb (Urbanización, Género y el Sur Global) de la ciudad de Ibadan. Momentos saca a la luz el peligro de una historia genérica acerca de la pobreza, ilustra las dimensiones temporales y espaciales de las desigualdades socioeconómicas, y ofrece una visión del papel de la ciudad en la provisión de oportunidades, lo mismo que de atestiguar de la desesperación propia. Más todavía, en particular, la historia de Mummy Ayesha ilumina la intrincada relación entre las orientaciones futuras, la relacionalidad, el cuidado y el bienestar.
The story, “Moments,” was written on 16 October 2022, shortly after I had returned from field work in Ibadan, Oyo State, Nigeria, and spent some time reflecting on the changes in the lives of research participants since 2018. Moments specifically narrates the changes that have taken place over a span of four years, nine months, and four days in the life of a woman known as Mummy AyeshaFootnote1 who lives in Challenge, a neighborhood in Ibadan SouthWest Local Government Area. The experiences of Mummy Ayesha are drawn from Genurb (Urbanization, Gender and the Global South) Ibadan City Research Team data—it is partially fictionalized because the events and details in the story suture together narratives from the lives of three women rather than just Mummy Ayesha as represented in the story; thus, I used creative license to blend these stories.
This creative license is similar to that highlighted in Sophie’s story by Parr and Stevenson (Citation2014), who wrote that they produced ten stories from “a mixture of a creative re-construction of a single narrative interview script and ‘composite stories’ that are compiled from” forty-five in-depth interviews (570). Parr and Stevenson (Citation2014) argued that combining the single and composite stories enables them to “speak to the specificity of cases and individual experience, but also across experience, in order to gather consensual points of meaning but protect individual identity” (570). In the case of “Moments,” I drew more heavily from the data of one research participant (A) and where I saw similarities with another participant (B) in terms of their experiences with gender-based violence, I melded their narratives (as can be seen in the first half of the story). In the case where I saw similarities between participant A and another participant (C) whose housing and financial conditions had also improved, and both of their first-born daughters have become more socially mobile, I merged their narratives (as can be seen in the second half of the story).
Overall, “Moments” showcases the danger of a single story about poverty, illustrates the temporal and spatial dimensions of socioeconomic inequalities, and offers insight on the city’s role in providing opportunities as well as bearing witness to one’s despair. Most especially, Mummy Ayesha’s story illuminates the intricate relationship between future orientations, relationality, care and well-being.
MOMENTS (MUMMY AYESHA’S STORY)
Four years, nine months, and four days ago you never would have imagined yourself here.
Then, you mostly despaired about the future, even though there were moments when you were hopeful. In those moments, you imagined a better life for your children, and most importantly you believed that you would finally get a good night’s sleep.
But mostly, especially back then, you dwelled more in the realm of despair. Not once, not twice, but on at least ten occasions, you contemplated drinking rat poison. Tears would stream down your face whenever you were engulfed by the darkness that shadowed over your life more than the bright rays of sunshine you wished for. Once. Only once—did you actually come close to drinking it. Your ancestors must have begged God to intervene because your daughter walked in as the glass touched your cracked lips. Lips that you hadn’t bothered to care for in two weeks. Your daughter’s presence jolted you back to reality. To your senses. Of course, they, that is, your children, are your life. And if they are your life, then your life must be worth living.
“My husband is a wicked person.” You had repeated over and over to yourself. He’d taken almost everything from you. Your dignity, which he bruised, dished with a side of broken heart. Don’t forget the ribs. He broke those, too. He burned down your shop. The billowing smoke symbolized the new heavy cloud over your life, and your rage grew with each rising flame. Everything got burnt. There was soot everywhere. The machine and fabrics got burnt. The hot tears that streamed down your face, in the aftermath, also burnt. That time, things were hard. For at least one month, two weeks, and four days, you just wandered around the city. Aimless. Disheveled. Seemingly Lost. But you ended up knowing the neighborhoods close to Challenge—Felele, Molete, Idi Arere, Oke-Ado, Dugbe, Jericho, and Sabo—intimately by the end of your mournful state. That time you didn’t even think you were alive. Well, you barely were. Just hanging by a thread. Inhabiting a liminal space—where you swung like a pendulum between life and death. Iya Bose would travel from the other side of the city via okadaFootnote2 and try to console you—always to no avail. Matron, who lived next door, came by every day, willing you to drink the agboFootnote3 that she mixed and promised would help cure your ailment. You refused.
When your daughter walked in during your latest moment of despondency, you realized that just because you never imagined that your life could get so bad because of the things he stole from you didn’t mean he needed to steal your life and steal you away from your children through your death.
“When there’s life, there’s hope” were the words that soothed your soul after your near experiment with death. Words your pastor had shouted from the pulpit on Sunday as he took his blue and white checkered handkerchief from the pocket of his flashy purple trousers to wipe the sweat that had pooled on his face. Those words carried you throughout that year.
Now, here you are. You no longer hide whenever you see someone you know passing by in front of your house. The way you would quickly duck out of sight or scurry into your room, like one of the mice you constantly battled with, was quite comical and sad. You live in a self-contained flat now. No more shared kitchen. No more shared toilet. But still no water. You’re in a decent area of Ibadan now. Even though when you first moved in three years ago, you didn’t eat for an entire day and barely had enough to eat for three days because you had spent your last naira paying the one-year rent and the agent’s ridiculously yeyeFootnote4 fees. You loathe the fact that one could no longer rent in Ibadan without an agent. Ibadan was becoming like Lagos.Footnote5 In over three decades of renting in Ibadan, you have never paid an agency fee. While you were busy simmering, you wondered if the construction of the new Lagos-Ibadan railwayFootnote6 and the increase you’ve seen in private businesses had anything to do with this audacious extortion. Your theory was confirmed a few days later when you were in the marwa,Footnote7 on your way to Ashi-Bodija to borrow money from a friend. You heard fellow passengers complaining about renting in Ibadan. Some blamed the total packageFootnote8 costs on the influx of people to Ibadan and the corresponding increase in demand for housing.
Despite the yeyeness of the total package, you finally got the flat you always wanted. Imagine that. Ope oFootnote9! But with no food to eat. O ma se o.Footnote10 Your daughters eventually texted their friends for “urgent 2K,”Footnote11 and they managed to secure ten thousand naira in total. It was enough to eat something beyond garri.Footnote12 You made okra soup and ebaFootnote13 and ate it with fish that night. And one thousand naira remained. One of your daughters had the idea to use the remaining funds to print posters to advertise your business in the neighborhood.
Your new flat also houses your shop. You decided to use the parlor and the first bedroom for your shop. Though you were hungry, you were hopeful. You’d never had so much space to conduct your business in the twenty-three years since you started. Soon word spread that there was a new fashion designer in the adugbo.Footnote14 Your daughter also posted your work on Instagram. She would go to Shoprite mall on Ringroad and Ventura Mall on Sango-UI RoadFootnote15 and get a friend to take pictures of her in the sample designs you made. One of her other friends did her makeup. She looked beautiful and like a babe who had leveled up because of the setting she was able to use. You thought that despite the upheaval of urban renewal in Ibadan, there were at least some new consumption spaces one could enter without spending too much money.
Within nine months, three weeks, and five days of being in the new space, you were able to get a bigger generator, two new sewing machines, and Ankara fabric from Gbagi market.
You had worked up the nerve to call one of your rich customers, who had somehow become a semi-friend, to ask if she could loan you money for a generator. You explained that you barely had light and without a generator, your business would suffer. She gave you the three hundred thousand naira you requested. You were surprised when she later told you that you didn’t need to pay her back. Needless to say, you do not plan to charge her in the future whenever she wants you to sew something for her. You were thus able to use the money you had saved to pay her back to buy two new machines; you also went to Gbagi market and bought Ankara to sell to customers and others in the neighborhood. Gbagi was at least a one hour and a half trip to and fro. So, you were saving people time and transport fare and that was the markup (and some) that you put on the fabric. Which paid you because you could buy a lot of fabric in one trip.
And now, here you are. Fashionable enough. You can walk around the city, and go anywhere in Ibadan with your head held up high and know that you belong. Not out of place. No one can look down on you again like the corporate banker lady you met almost five years ago. You were referred to her by her friend, one of your customers. When you went to her office, she had looked you up and down with disdain and said, “se iwo le ran aso bayii? Wo bi o ṣe mura.”Footnote16 That day, you wept. Bitterly. She used the position you were in, and by extension, the position she was in, to insult you. Till today, you’ve refused to set eyes on her again.
You now own one wig. Not bone straight.Footnote17 But that’s okay. You own a wig. You also now use eyeliner and lipstick. Your shoes don’t look like they may disintegrate without advance notice. When a friend saw you recently at Challenge Bus Terminal and said, “ah mummy Ayesha, e ma ti di omoge o,”Footnote18 you had laughed and said, “mo fe gbadun aye small small.”Footnote19
Your housing is better. Your clothing is better. Your business is better. You have fewer moments of despair. But you still have insomnia. Your eldest daughter is finally done her first degree. Married. But you have been busy worrying about how you will finance your second daughter’s education. Things are better, but you aren’t as financially buoyant as you’d like to be. You’re occasionally tempted to borrow money—microfinance banks now litter the landscapes of Ibadan and not a week goes by that you don’t get some kind of text or WhatsApp message about mobile loan apps. But debt is not your portion. Never again. You are certain about the uncertainties. These uncertainties keep you up. Unfailingly.
You still have insomnia even though your eldest is leaving to join her new husband in the UK tomorrow. He’s a graduate student. She will be allowed to work. But it’s uncertain whether there will be enough in remittances especially given how expensive things are there—and she’d likely only secure a minimum-wage job. If she’s fortunate enough.
But. This situation you’re in now is better than four years, nine months, and four days ago.
POSTSCRIPT
Ironically, the time frame that I used in the story was intended to be around the time of the American Association of Geographers (AAG) 2023 conference—as I was interested in presenting a story when the call for abstracts came out. I would be remiss, however, if I did not acknowledge the passage of time since 16 October 2022. As of the time of the AAG conference (March 2023), in Ibadan, and other parts of Nigeria, there was a cash crisis due to the attempt to replace the old currency with new naira notes. This naira shortage did not bode well in a predominantly cash economy. There was also persistently high inflation and a fuel shortage. All combined, it was not a pretty sight. Fast forward to five months after the AAG: Nigeria’s new president, Bola Ahmed Tinubu, has embraced promarket policies such as exchange rate liberalization and fuel subsidy removal, and concerning the latter, transportation costs have risen significantly. Of course, currency depreciation has not helped with inflation, thus seriously affecting commodity prices, and taking its toll on household spending. Currently, Mummy Ayesha is not traveling to Gbagi market to purchase fabrics.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This account draws on participant observation, numerous conversations, and interview-based data as part of field work for the feminist GenUrb research project. I am truly grateful to the women who have shared their lives and stories with me since we met in 2018. I would also like to thank the editor, Dr. Deborah Dixon, for introducing me to the article, “Sophie’s Story,” by Hester Parr and Olivia Stevenson. Finally, many thanks to the reviewer who also provided valuable feedback for strengthening the story.
Additional information
Funding
Notes on contributors
Grace Adeniyi-Ogunyankin
GRACE ADENIYI-OGUNYANKIN is an Associate Professor in both the Departments of Geography and Planning and Gender Studies at Queen’s University, Kingston, ON K7L 3N6, Canada. E-mail: [email protected]. Her current research examines contemporary urban transformations on youth identity, labor practices, psychosocial well-being, and future orientation in Lagos and Ibadan, Nigeria.
Notes
1 Mummy Ayesha is a pseudonym. This pseudonym has not been assigned to any of the research participants in the project. Rather, this pseudonym is being used specifically for this story.
2 Motorcycle.
3 Medicinal herbal concoction.
4 Nonsense.
5 Although estate agents are not a new phenomenon in Ibadan, my research participants complained that it is only recently that they’ve had to pay agency fees and are no longer able to rent directly from landlords. In their minds, they’ve associated this practice of agency fees with Lagos. Moreover, they are not alone in their criticism of the exorbitant cost of housing: In 2021, a motion challenging the increase in housing costs and exploitation of renters was raised in the Oyo State of Assembly (Oyo Affairs Citation2021).
6 The Lagos-Ibadan railway became operational in June 2021.
7 Commercial tricycle also known as Keke Marwa.
8 The total package refers to the rental fees plus the agency fees; for example, it could cost 300,000 naira to rent a house and the total package could be 450,000 naira.
9 Ope refers to giving thanks.
10 What a shame.
11 Money requested from friends and family. It is sometimes a loan and often a gift (with expectations of reciprocity when it is the giver’s time to borrow). The individuals requesting often ask multiple people, as “2K,” or 2,000 naira, is considered a low amount, with hopes that they can amass a substantial amount of money without having to borrow from a medium that will impose interest and fees.
12 Granulated flour made from processed cassava root. It is usually soaked in water and eaten as a snack or meal.
13 Made from mixing cassava or garri flour with hot water, until it has a doughy texture.
14 Area or neighborhood.
15 These two malls are all “recent” developments in Ibadan. The Shoprite mall (formally known as the Palms Shopping mall) and Ventura mall were both opened in 2014.
16 Can you even sew clothes? Look at how you’re dressed.
17 Bone-straight wigs or extensions, made from perfectly straight, silky, firm human hair, began trending in Nigeria in 2020. They are expensive and seen as a status symbol.
18 Mummy Ayesha, you have become beautiful, or a fashionista.
19 I want to enjoy life a little.
REFERENCES
- Oyo Affairs. 2021. Oyo lawmakers raise motion against exploitation of residents by estate agents, exorbitant house rents | Oyo State News. Oyo Affairs (blog), September 1. https://oyoaffairs.net/oyo-lawmakers-raise-motion-against-exploitation-of-residents-by-estate-agents-exorbitant-house-rents/.
- Parr, H., and O. Stevenson. 2014. Sophie’s story: Writing missing journeys. Cultural Geographies 21 (4):565–82. doi:10.1177/1474474013510111.
![Supercharge Your Next Research Paper: Research and write your next paper with Jenni AI.]({"type":"image" , "src" : "/sda/112447/MPU-L1HU.png"})