The Eyo Masquerade is a sight to behold. Men covered in white cloth down to their feet with wide-brimmed hats atop their veiled heads walk and dance down streets taking a specific route before being allowed to go anywhere of their choosing. They can walk as far and long as permitted by their feet. Music can be heard everywhere, and art can be seen on every sidewalk.

There was a boy born on the day of this festival that once honored the passing of kings and chiefs. Not that he knew it. His parents passed away when he was but a baby, and his older sisters with whom he lived with wouldn’t bother to tell him. They were always so busy bickering and trying to find love around Lagos that they hardly paid any mind to him at all. Even though he didn’t know the story of his birth, he was fascinated by the masquerade and dreamt of it often. One day he wished to be a part of the procession.

At the age of six, the boy was tasked with washing bed sheets. It was then that he discovered his small white bed sheet made a perfect agbada (long robe) because it was an agbada and veil in one. He used his sister’s blue sun hat to complete the look. He would move around the city as if he was a ghost, periodically alternating between skipping and dancing, all the while peering through two discrete holes he cut, so small that his sisters wouldn’t notice them if they ever stopped to look.

One day the boy ventured to a part of the city he’d never been to before. It was a particularly hot day and the agbada became too much. Before he could get it off, he became lightheaded and passed out.

When he came to, he was laying on a strange sofa with a cool cloth on his forehead. Sitting near the boy was an elderly woman. She was knitting, which was queer to the boy as he’d never seen this before. The woman could tell her guest was awake, but she kept her focus on the project in her lap.

The boy stared and stared as the rectangle grew in the woman’s lap. Still without looking, she nodded to the end table next to her where a cold glass of water sat beside a plate of candy. The boy cautiously rose, went to the table, and waited for the woman to say something. She was content the way she was, so he took several gulps of water and three pieces of candy. His sisters’ voices came to mind and told him he was greedy. Two pieces of candy were placed back on the dish. The woman clucked her tongue and gave the boy the whole plate and nudged him back to the sofa.

Once his strength had returned, the boy motioned to leave. The woman stopped him and asked for his name.

“Abiodun.”

“That was my grandfather’s name,” smiled the old woman. “He was Eyo, too.”

Hearing the “too” made Abiodun swell with pride.

“My name is Funanya,” continued the woman. “Please come back tomorrow. I will require your help.”

Abiodun nodded, redressed in his agbada and hat, and made his way home.

The next day, he danced down every street to the woman’s house, again wearing his Eyo outfit. Funanya left the door open, so he made his way inside. The small living room smelled of cinnamon. One window and a backdoor were the only sources of light. Dark brown walls were sparsely covered with picture frames that alternated between gold and wood. There was a cozy feel to the only room Abiodun had been in. The rich smell and dark room made the boy feel sleepy. He wanted to lay down on the sofa and take an afternoon nap, but if Funanya needed his help, he’d have to tend to her first.

Venturing out the back door, the boy found Funanya toiling in her modest garden. She gestured for Abiodun to come near, then explained she was getting too old to be kneeling down for so long. The weeds had to be pulled from the garden and the small boy was just right for the job. The boy didn’t say a word, but nodded his acceptance of the chore.

Funanya went inside with Abiodun’s agbada. The sun wasn’t beating down quite so hard like the previous day. In fact, with the breeze, it actually felt nice. A short while later, Funanya was back by the garden telling Abiodun tales of past Eyo masquerades and what her grandfather had done during his time as an Eyo.

The boy had enjoyed the work and especially enjoyed the stories. He was pleased when the woman asked him to return the next day to help with more chores that were becoming too difficult in her advanced age. She explained the wearer of an agbada had to pay a fee to the ruling house. To be allowed to return in his costume, he’d have to bring something to her as payment.

A week passed and the boy had gone to the old woman’s house every day to do chores, always arriving in his agbada. He paid the old woman in stones picked up on his walk that she used to line the garden, right where the edge of the grass touched the soil. Each day, the woman told new, exciting stories of her life, the lives of those she knew, Lagos history, and answered all questions thrown her way. At the end of each day, the two would sit together, eat, and sometimes even knit while snuggled warmly under a previously crafted blanket. Funanya taught Abiodun many things in that short span of time, things his sisters wouldn’t care to share and things he would never hear from his father and mother. In fact, in that short time, Abiodun began to feel like Funanya was his family, not just a woman who saved him from the sun.

After a month of daily visits, Funanya had a surprise for her little helper. To Abiodun’s great astonishment, he was gifted the Eyo opambata (staff) that belonged to Funanya’s grandfather! Now the boy felt like a true Eyo. He handled the opambata carefully, like it was made of glass. After a few dance maneuvers, he placed the staff against the wall and gave Funanya the biggest hug. He held tightly, in his mind praising heaven and earth for his true gift – that of a mother.