“MAMA Idowu, you’re the most evil and ungrateful person I’ve ever seen in my life! Your children and you shall be stricken with calamity and a maiming disease because of the evil things you always think about me!”

Those were the words of the eldest wife of Chief Banjoko Olubunmi that eventful Friday afternoon.  The chief himself was getting highly irritated with the ceaseless fights of his five wives every day.  He was fed up with the whole painful embarrassment.  As she was about standing up, Mama Idowu replied: “I’ll show you pepper today, you crazy old witch! You think you can hurt my children and I with your witchcraft, heh? Thunder will strike you dead one day, you harlot, wicked, good-for-nothing woman! You think you’re the apple of our husband’s eye?  Let me tell you, I always hear what you say behind me, and I am ready for you today! I’m ready to kill you and your stupid children with this cutlass in my hand!” she spurted angrily.

When Mama Idowu brandished the shining cutlass, the chief knew that blood would flow in a matter of seconds. He sighed, turned and moved towards her.

“You can’t do that Risi,” the chief begged, “put down your cutlass…give it to me.  You’re all fond of fighting each other.  One day, I’ll run away and leave you all to do your worst.  Please, give me the cutlass, I don’t want bloodshed.”

Just then, one of the children of the first wife appeared, brandishing a knife.  “Leave her alone, Baba,” the young man by name Victor, said to his dad. “If she wants to join her maker today, let her insult my mum again.  I’ll stab her in the neck!”

The uproar and confusion was really getting out of hand. The three other wives were around and they soon joined in the altercation. All available objects were freely used – bottles, planks, iron, and even buckets. Their neighbours was terrified.  They were petrified as the chief’s whole children and wives engaged themselves in a dangerous free-for-all fight.

An onlooker, a woman in her late 70s, was aghast at the sight of blood that she collapsed and went into coma.  Some concerned neighbours rushed to the nearby police station to make a report about the apocalyptic situation in Chief Banjoko’s household.  At the mention of the chief’s house, the police officer on duty shrugged his shoulder and said: “If it’s the chief’s house, we can do nothing about it.  It’s a family affair.  That’s how they always fight each other on daily basis.  The Nigeria Police doesn’t dabble into family problems, thank you.”

After the fight that day, the chief was always pensive and moody, thinking what life would be like when he finally joins his ancestors.  He wondered why his wives and children always fight one another over some flimsy reasons.  Chief Banjoko was in his early 50s when this unhappy development began in his family.  His children were becoming wayward and unruly.  His wives too were getting more rude and disrespectful.  At a stage the chief broke down and cried, wondering what would become of his 25 children and wives when he dies.

He had about three houses in Lagos. He wondered if his wives and children would not kill one another after his exit over his properties.  Truly, the chief was ageing very fast.  The cantankerous nature of his wives and children was gradually damaging his physique and taking a toll on his health.  He that was once full of life, vibrant and lively now looked wrinkled and worn.

In those good old days, he used to be tall, handsome, fresh and chubby. Now, he looked like someone who was in his late 90s, whose shoulder bore the troubles and problems of the whole world!

The rancour and bitterness in his household got so much that he became sad and withdrawn.  At times, he would start gesticulating and talking to himself when he was alone.  The soliloquy was getting too much; but his wives felt unconcerned and never worried about his state of health.  It didn’t bother them that chief was gradually losing his mind.

The chief regretted marrying many wives. Before very long, his blood pressure began rising at an alarming rate.  As if that was not enough, he suffered stroke two months later and was always indoors for most part of the day. But his condition didn’t stop his wives from fighting and screaming at each another every day at the slightest provocation and over flimsy reasons.

The chief always adjusted and changed his will every month.  He became a confused and unhappy man.  His romantic life way back in the 70s that started on a happy note , was now as sour and bitter as a month-old grape. His health was getting worse every passing day.

Sadly, he died one Sunday morning.  Surprisingly, his wives and children were not worried about his death.  Immediately he was confirmed dead, his wives rushed inside his room and started ransacking it in order to get his will and cash in his wardrobe.  The speed with which all of them scurried into his bedroom, ransacking it to seize his personal properties was amazing. After searching painstakingly for close to one hour, the first wife discovered the sum of N500,000 under the rug.

A fight ensued over the discovered money.  The violence was just indescribable.  It was a matter of life and death – nay, more of death.

“Haaa! We will all die today if anybody tries to take this money from me!” roared the first wife.

“That’s a lie, you can’t take that money away,” objected another wife, a tall and heavily built woman.

“I won’t depend on this will alone.  My own children do not benefit much from it, we’re going to court,” cursed another wife, a mother of four children.  The shouts, the screams, uproar and hullabaloo that heralded the chief’s death could only be imagined.   It was like Armageddon.

A year after his passing, the usual fight in his household degenerated.  Voodoo and juju were the order of the day.  It didn’t take long for the family to record the first casualty.  The first wife had five children for the late chief.  Her first son suddenly lost his mind and started behaving funny, chanting strange languages and stripped himself naked on the streets.

The following week, the last born of the third wife developed a terrible typhoid fever.  The three-year-old died before he could be rushed to hospital. Charms, magical amulets and concoctions were seen at every corner of the spacious house of the Banjokos.  The third wife swore that her enemies would know no peace and that she would avenge the death of her child.

Something spectacular and strange also occurred in the family house of the Banjokos one Saturday afternoon.  One of his wives, fondly called Mama Rachael, went to a nearby market to buy foodstuff only to come back only to meet her room in flames.  The mysterious fire consumed everything inside.   Mama Rachael was terrified and aghast and she swore that she would unravel the mystery, vowing that the culprits wouldn’t go unpunished.

Three years after chief’s death, the problems, troubles and calamities increased at an alarming rate.  Ibrahim, the first child of the second wife, had been down with a strange illness for the past one year.  He later became blind.  Ibrahim’s mum took him to various spiritual homes and hospitals all to no avail.  Five months after, Ibrahim died, leaving behind a wife and three children.

The problems and calamities that befell the entire family of the late chief were too much to bear for some of his children.  Some who couldn’t withstand the juju and voodoo attacks ran away. Some of them who had good jobs while he was alive, lost them.  A lot of his children became beggars on the streets and would pilfer anything they saw.  Some of his female children took to prostitution to make ends meet.

A bespectacled, rotund man of God living very close to the Banjokos and who had been following the events in the family, wondered if the chief would have a peaceful rest in his grave with all the tragedies.

“I can see the spirit of Chief Banjoko moving restlessly, unsettled and angry at what is happening,” he said.  “Chief was a man who struggled day and night to free himself from the shackles of poverty and lack  only to end up in the hands of evil and strange women.”