Aunty Mero and Her Bottle Cap Kingdom

All people in Ijebu knew Aunty Mero. And you needn t call her by her full name. And all they had to do is tell me "Mero" and people would nod. Other people would shake their heads. People would laugh at others. Still, each person had a story. Me? A hundred I had. But I will only say one to you. The one which led me to think that being nutty like a fruitcake, may be a blessing rather than a curse. My parents sent me to go with Aunty Mero at the village to live with her, when I was ten years old. They told me it was due to school fees but I knew that it is because my mother was weary. I was her third born as well as the only boy. She required time off. They, therefore, put my small box into packing, provided me with a loaf of bread and N200 to travel with and sent me off in an old Toyota bus. It was one hot Tuesday, I came in Ijebu. The sun was in a bad humor. My shirt fitted me. I was scared to the point of pulling my box to her gate.  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/glass-bottle-empty-wine-glass-565914/) She was opening the door, ere I knocked. Aha, and here is Seyi, oh! Entrance! enter! enter! You, look on me!" A short plump, very round, lady with silver hair which was fastened close to her head. She had eyes that twinkled as though she would be thinking of something funny. She grabbed me in an embrace that reeked of palm oil, kerosene and some sweetness which I could not identify. Shall sleep in the parlour, she told me; and she took me in. Fear not, it is a soft sofa. My bed is already full itself." I made no inquiry as to the meaning of what she said. However, I shall discover. The compound owned by Aunty Mero was the weirdest in the entire village. all about were appeared little houses made of old tins, broken glass, shells, and bottle caps. There were hundreds of them. Portions were fallen. Others were pinned on the walls. There were others that sat on long sticks like ants tree houses. Whats all this? One morning I put the question to her. It is my kingdom, said she, smiling. These are the haunts of my fairies." I laughed. I believed that she was just kidding. She wasn't. She only talked to the fairy houses every morning, after brushing teeth and sweeping the compound. To a sardine-tin house she would say: Good morning, Chief Ojo. I am afraid, The rain got on, you know, very annoying." To another bottle of bottle caps she said, "I left small rice to your twins, Madam Ebun." Fairly o share. The first time I heard her do it I was standing behind her not knowing whether I should run or follow her. And in the afternoon as I was playing, I said, "Are there really any fairies inside?" She stared right in my face. They are not visible in case you do not trust. But yes. They are in place. And to me they say. I was not able to sleep that night. I continued to gaze at the wall and I waited to see whether a fairy was following me into the corner. At school, I did not like to speak about my aunt. But the news traveled around. Kids: started to call me fairy boy. Tolu, one boy, shouted, Is it true that your aunt cooks to invincible people?  [Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/lavender-bottle-plant-spring-1490788/) I lied. I answered it no. She did though. Each Sunday, she cooked a little dish of jollof rice, a chunk of meat, and a bottle of Fanta. She laid it before one of the bigger houses, and sat resting herself by it a good bit. What I said was once, Why Fanta? She shrugged. Fairies prefer to taste sweetness. She did not eat the food. Yet in the evening it would always seem to have vanished. Later I came to know that the dog of the neighbor used to push its way to the yard. At that she did not mind. said she, "the dog is sent by the fairies." This is how they eat this worlds. Rather was there one house that she never touched. It was tiny, plastic, painted with red bottle caps and was under a tree. One day I indicated it. Who is at home There? The expression of her face altered. She was serious looking. This is what Adunni will get. My daughter was she." I blinked. My parents did not say anything to me about her having a child. she was dead, it was when she was in your own age. "Fever. Hi-ya SUCKA." She paused. then I made that house to house her soul. She visits me in the dreams." I did not know how to express myself. Well then I made no reply. That night I said prayers on behalf of Adunni. I prayed that God should leave her fairy a little longer with her mother. Months passed. I got accustomed to the fairies. I even assisted in the construction of new houses. I would wash bottle tops, and cut little doors out of milk tins, and paste sea shells as windows. One day I said to her I believe Madam Ebun should have school for her children. They are excessive." She smiled. "That’s true. We will make one tomorrow." We did. It became 'our thing' Our little world. On certain evenings, we would be on the bench outside and be drinking zobo and watching the sunset behind the mango trees. She would include me in her history, talking of how she used to be a young girl, how she used to dream of being a singer, how she used to love her dance when she was in front of a mirror. "But then life just started," she said tapping her knee. Nevertheless, the fairies created another means of dreaming to me. Then december came. My parents came there in a large vehicle. My mother was of a more fat appearance. My father sported city like sunglasses. "Seyi! My boy!" he shouted. “’Grown up’a,." My mum embraced me as though she had not forgotten me. They remained over-night. One morning when we were packing I said to Aunty Mero, "I shall see you again." She nodded. "I know. Nevertheless, the fairies will remember you even though you do not say so. She handed me small box. The interior of this house consisted of a small house using bottle caps with blue and green colors. "For you" she said. Years passed. I turned into a teacher in Lagos. I got tying up the knot. Had kids. Life was just like rushing me like the strings of danfo buses during rains. One day I received a call. Widow Mero had deceased. Full of heart I went back to Ijebu. The complex was quite. The fairy houses still remained, dustier though. Others became damaged. I took slow pace around. I found Adunni house. Still standing. I was sitting under the tree and crying. A woman from the village; Mama Sade, had come out of her way to meet me. "That she thought about you till the end" she said. "Said you believed" Now you did grow the fairies by the way." I nodded. I am sore throat. "Now what do you intend to do with this building". she asked. I viewed the area. It was a blowing breeze. One of the bottle tops was bumped along the ground. 'I wull mend i', I said. "The fairies needs their houses." My children assisted me to create new houses today. We consume tin cans, bottle caps and plastic spoons. We call the fairies. In the morning we receive them. We have put it into a project. We visit Ijebu once in every December in order to rebuild the Kingdom. at the end we put in a wee market, and a library of matchboxes, and a palace with beads and old earrings. We talk as we work and laugh as she would do. there are folks who think I am a fruitcake. Maybe I am suppose to be. Yet I know one thing, when I look back and see my kids giggling, creatively dreaming entire kingdoms in only small boxes, I know I cannot go back. The world requires more fruit cakes such as Aunty Mero. And perhaps, perhaps, after all the fairies may exist. In as much as when I shut my eyes porch of that mango tree, I still hear her voice uttering, Good morning, Chief Ojo...