The Return of ùyàn F'eó R'??mí

Echoes Of Hardship In My Country

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'??mí” 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'??mí”

“ùyàn f'eó r'??mí” 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'??mí.” For a king crowned at that time, he would be remembered as “?ba k'? j?? l'úgbà ùyàn f'eó r'??mí” 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'??mí." It was so bad that every substitute at that time for domestic necessities such as ‘Obu' for ‘iyo-salt’, became a curse. “I'l'?? 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'??mí” 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'??mí” 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.

By: Babafemi Ojudu