It happened in 1986. My mum needed to rush home that fateful afternoon from her shop which was located in the popular Orita-mẹ́rin food market right here in the city of Ibadan. She had to look everywhere for us, as we had gone down to the other side of the field which was a little bit far from our house. She was worried obviously, and only God knew what was running in her mind as she was panting like a thirsty lioness in the hot desert ground.

She shouted my name on top of her voice, and it was too obvious that she was indeed worried.
“Where are these children for God sake, Ọlọ́run má mà jẹ́ kin sórí burúkú o” She held her skull with her two hands and talked to her head as if her head could hear her murmurings and naggings.
She came across Kemi as she walked hurriedly towards the square that we children used as a playground just before búọ́dà Mukela’s house beside the bakery. She asked Kemi anxiously if she knew where we were. Kemi nodded and pointed to the bakery.
“I saw them there…, they are there inside the bakery.., they are eating..,” Kemi wanted to say more but mummy didn’t wait to listen anymore, she knew Kemi for her trivial gossips. Kemi wanted to tell her she saw us eating bread and mọ́ín-mọ́ín which búọ́dà Mumuni gave us as rewards for running errands for himself and the other co-bakers. It’s true, most of the time, after running errands for the bakers, we would get a big free hot loaf of bread, and once there was no one at home, then we would always enjoy our liberty to the fullness, we could do anything we wanted unchecked.

“Idowu.., Alaba.., ẹ̀yin méjèèjì ẹ bo si bí fún mi?” Both of you come over here, she ordered.
I was startled and scared seen her at that time of the day, so also Alaba, my junior brother, my partner in crime.🤣
I was worried. It was unusual.
My mum turned back and we ran after her into the house. I didn’t understand what was going on, and neither had nor saw any clue. We just followed her home. My mum was a fast walker; we always ran after her whenever we had to go out together.
We got home and she locked the door, she remained standing while she turned to us and pulled each of our ears,
“Listen and tell me the truth.., haven’t you taken mangoes today?” She asked.
I did not have any idea of what prompted her question. It was a season of bountiful harvest of mangoes and they littered everywhere you could turn to, you could get plenty of them cheap for few kobo.
We nodded and said no simultaneously.
“Ok, good..” she heaved a sigh as she laid her hands on her chest to show she was indeed relieved.
My mum warned us to desist from taking mango and garri together. In fact, no more mango and garri henceforth. She warned us.

In her explanation, four children from same parents had died from eating mangoes and garri at the same time, and the sad news had spread all over the city of Ibadan in a jiffy.
“It has become a taboo in this house…, no mango, no garri or ẹ̀bà, you hear me?” Mum warned us before she went back to her shop that day. She took away the plastic container of garri, and till today it still remains unknown where she kept the plastic container.
That day, just as we came down to the football field to play with other playmates from the neighborhood, the news about dying from eating mango and garri had spread to every nook and cranny of the ancient city of Ibadan. Every parents had warned their wards, every child had heard the news that the fastest road to knock heaven’s door was daring to eat mango and garri together. No one waited to think over the fact and its possibility. Everyone just carried the news without giving a second thought about what could have been really responsible for the deaths of those four children. We just believed it hook line and sinker.
The economic losses counted by the farmers and the food marketers over mangoes and garri that year were immeasurable. Many families banned garri indefinitely in their homes, and several millions of baskets of mangoes were wasted for lack of patronage.

I remember vividly we mimicked one of the King Wasiu Ayinde’s songs titled Talazo Disco:
🎶
To bá fẹ́ kú,
Ra garri kobo,
Àti mango sísì…,
Ìwọ ọ̀rẹ́ mi, ọkọ̀ ọ̀fẹ́ lo ma wọ̀ dá jùlé ọrùn o,
Fùrọ̀ Ìjẹ̀bú kìkì ìgbẹ́,
Fùrọ̀ Ìjẹ̀bú kìkì ìgbẹ́ 😂
🎶
The public hysteria over taking mango and garri together went on like that for up to a decade or more, and I can tell you that till now I dare not take mango and garri together even as old as I am today.
But what actually caused the deaths of those four children from a single family was not a mystery. No one knew how rat poison had had its way into a bowl of garri that the children ate together and they were also seen eating mangoes before the rat poison began to work in their stomachs same hour. They were rushed to the nearest state hospital, and were asked what they ate last, and that was how mango and garri got their names tarnished and rejected by all and sundry.
A popular newspaper at that time ‘unprofessionally’ hyped the news with a dreadful headline: “Ibadan: Four siblings died after eating garri and mangoes.”
It was indeed a bad decade for mango and garri merchants in the history, but funny enough, it was indeed a hoax that shook the entire city and undermined her food economy for no reason.

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