Following the untimely death of another aide of a former governor of Ogun State, Senator Ibikunle Amosun, the forum of Special Assistants has appealed earnestly to the current Governor, Prince Dapo Abiodun, to pay their severance gratuity on compassionate grounds.
Mr Temitope Osifade left his job to serve as one of the Special Assistants to former Governor Ibikunle Amosun. He was one of the many diligent political office holders that served Ogun State between 2015 and 2019 but are yet to receive their statutory Severance Allowance.
According to a press statement signed by Fakorede Adesanya, Okoya Babatunde and Musiliu Oladeinde, the forum of Special Assistants (2015 – 2019) mourned the death of Temitope Osifade and wished he were alive to receive the expected kind gesture of Governor Dapo Abiodun.
“Osifade was a loyal party man, a humble man to the core, who served Ogun State with all his might. He will be sorely missed in Ijebu Remo and across the state,” the statement said.
“Some of us are confronted with so many challenges, including health and psychological trauma. We need money to take care of our health and our families. We appeal to Governor Abiodun to allow us to drink from his milk of human kindness by paying us the Severance Allowance. The payment will provide some relief and save some of our members from untimely death,” the statement added.
The forum added that, “Many of us resigned our jobs in order to serve our state. In addition, as the current helmsman, you would have taken cognisance of our plight during the four years of our faithful and selfless service. You empathized with us when you received our representatives in September 2022. We humbly appeal to Your Excellency to kindly offset the SEVERANCE in order to encourage sacrificial service to the good people of Ogun State by public office holders.”
Every day in Ekiti State, the first words I hear are not always greetings like “Good morning” or “Good afternoon.” Instead, what I often hear is “ùyàn i pa’mí.” Translating this phrase accurately is a challenge—it would take the linguistic finesse of a Wole Soyinka to truly capture its depth and urgency. In my struggle to find the right words, the closest I can offer is this: “I am lacking. I can’t find food to eat. I’m sick and can’t afford my medication. My children’s school fees are unpaid. My roof leaks, and I can’t fix it. In short, I am suffering.”
“Ùyàn i pa’mí” captures a deep and multifaceted sense of lack—a lack that touches every aspect of life. And this cry of despair is everywhere: from the markets and farms to the classrooms and homes across Ekiti and beyond. It is a cry across the length. And breath of our country Nigeria. It is a cry that echoes a history of hardship known as “Ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí” a phrase I learned from my grandmother, Rabi Ar’úgbáyenó Ojudu. The term dates back to a time of scarcity shortly after the Second World War—a time when life itself seemed to be held ransom by want and deprivation.
The Meaning of “Ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí”
“Ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí” describes a time of extreme hardship, a famine so severe that not just food, but everything necessary for life, became scarce and unaffordable. Salt, a basic necessity, was so difficult to obtain that people turned to “òbu,” a local parlance, which refers to a state of staleness. If one could find food or other basic needs, it often required spending large sums of money, and even money itself was hard to come by. The phrase essentially means “using money to buy one’s soul,” or more directly, “using money to maintain one’s aliveness.” Those born during this period often had their birth recorded simply as having occurred during “ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí.” For a king crowned at that time, he would be remembered as “Ọba k’ọ jẹ̀ l’úgbà ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí”—a king who same on the throne during the season of extreme want. A woman who got married then is said to have married during the period of “ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí.” It was so bad that every substitute at that time for domestic necessities such as ‘Obu’ for ‘iyo-salt’, became a curse. “I’l’ọ̀ a j’òbu’ became a curse on someone you are wishing evil, literally meaning, “You would consume staleness, banality, tastelessness.”
The phrase “ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí” has now resurfaced in the vocabulary of daily life, marking a return of a period that most hoped would remain only in history books. Decades later, it’s as if we’ve come full circle. And while the specifics may differ—the global supply chains, the impact of inflation, and the complex economic forces at play—the outcome remains the same: unrelenting hardship for ordinary people. It has gotten to a point now that one feels a sense of trepidation picking the calls of friends acquaintances and relations because you never can tell what demands will be made of your own resources that is thinning out.
Marking the Hardship in Our Communities
Throughout Nigeria, communities are marking this period in different ways. In some towns, families gather under the shade of trees, not for the joy of community, but to make decisions on how to ration food. In others, parents sit with their children, explaining why they may need to leave school because fees can no longer be paid. For the elders, memories of post-war scarcity have come flooding back as they watch a new generation struggle with the same hunger and want they once faced.
The struggle to afford basic necessities has changed the way families interact with each other, how they view the government, and even how they worship. Religious centers are now not just places of spiritual solace but also places where the faithful come, hoping for a miracle—often a miracle to simply survive the week. Communities are marking this period through shared suffering, and their stories deserve to be told.
The Current Crisis and Its Toll
The situation in Nigeria today is unique, marked by inflation that drives the prices of basic commodities beyond the reach of ordinary citizens. Inflation is not just a figure on a government report; it is a daily reminder of what has become unaffordable: food, shelter, healthcare, and education. Families face tough choices—whether to buy medication for a sick child or save money for rent, whether to eat today or pay for school fees tomorrow. Even burials, a rite of passage in our culture, have become a luxury some cannot afford.
When you walk through the markets, you see that prices change as frequently as the British weather, and food items become more and more inaccessible to the average household. The most vulnerable—children, the elderly, and those with little means—are the hardest hit. And while there is resilience in the human spirit, there is also a limit to how much it can endure. The stories I hear every day—of families who can’t afford their next meal or farmers whose crops are rotting because they can’t afford transport to the market—are a testament to a society under siege from scarcity.
A Call for Shared Stories and Solutions
We are living through a time that will be remembered for years to come. Just as “ùyàn f’eó r’ẹ̀mí” has its place in our history, the current struggles will be marked as a defining period for this generation. But while history may one day record these events, the immediate reality demands action and empathy. There is a need for stories to be shared, not just for the sake of documenting hardship, but to inspire solutions and foster solidarity.
So, I call on readers to tell me how this season is being marked in their communities. What are the coping mechanisms, the stories of resilience, and the small victories amid the challenges? How are we making sense of a period that has so profoundly altered our way of life? By sharing our experiences, we not only document this time of “ùyàn i pa’mí,” but also, perhaps, find a collective path forward.
In this period of scarcity and runaway inflation, let us not only be witnesses to hardship but also active participants in shaping the narrative of survival, unity, and hope.