Ara: The Town of Mystery Where Dogs Are Forbidden
Most people believe that dogs are man’s best friend, but in the town of Arà, a town within Egbedore Local Government Area of Ọ̀ṣun State, the relationship between humans and dogs took a different turn. Unlike neighbouring towns, where dogs roamed freely as companions and hunters, Arà had a deep-rooted taboo against rearing or consuming dogs. The origins of this unusual tradition trace back to an ancient myth that set Arà apart from its neighbour, a tale of loyalty, sacrifice, and betrayal that shaped the town’s history forever.
Long ago, the reigning king of Arà committed an offense grave enough to warrant a summons from the mighty Aláàfin of Ọ̀yọ́. The Aláàfin, supreme ruler of the vast and powerful Ọ̀yọ́ Empire, demanded that the king of Arà appear before him in his palace to answer for his misdeeds.
The journey to Ọ̀yọ́ was long and arduous, and the Arà king did not travel alone. He was accompanied by his chiefs and warriors, as well as a hunting dog that had faithfully followed them on their expedition. Along the way, the dog caught and killed an Òkété, a large bush rat, a common delicacy in Yorùbá cuisine. The hunters were pleased with the dog’s prowess and decided to take the kill along with them to Ọ̀yọ́, unaware that it would play a crucial role in their fate.
Upon their arrival at the Aláàfin’s palace, they found the great ruler in distress. His beloved daughter lay on her sickbed, her life slipping away with each passing moment. The palace was filled with tension, and the Aláàfin himself was too troubled to attend to Ara’s delegation.
In desperation, the palace diviners consulted Ifá, the sacred oracle, to uncover the cause of the princess’s affliction. The revelation was shocking Ifá declared that only an Òkété could save the ailing princess. Without it, she would surely die.
The entire court fell silent. An Òkété? At such short notice? Where would they find one? Then, a voice rose from the Arà delegation. “We have an Òkété,” they announced.
A collective gasp filled the room. The very creature they had brought along, killed by their loyal dog, was now the key to the princess’s survival. Without hesitation, the Arà envoys presented the bush rat to the royal priests, who prepared it according to the prescribed rituals.
As soon as the remedy was administered, the princess’s breathing steadied. Her fever broke. Life returned to her fragile body, and soon, she sat up, completely healed.
The palace erupted in celebration. The Aláàfin, overwhelmed with gratitude, not only forgave the Arà king’s offense but also showered the entire delegation with gifts and royal favor. They left Ọ̀yọ́ in joy, relieved and victorious, their honor restored.
As they journeyed back to Ara, their spirits were high. They rejoiced all the way, singing praises to the gods and recounting the miracle they had just witnessed. But in their excitement, they overlooked one crucial detail they had forgotten about the dog.
The very creature that had hunted down the Òkété, the silent hero of their story, walked behind them unnoticed. It followed them faithfully, watching as they celebrated their good fortune. When they arrived in Ara, the town gathered to welcome their king and his men. A feast was prepared, and as the merrymaking began, food and drinks flowed freely. And yet, for the dog, there was no acknowledgment, no share in the feast. When the men threw leftover bones to the dog instead of real food, the animal finally broke its silence. With deep sorrow and betrayal in its voice, it spoke: “Ah! Is this my reward?”
The words sent shockwaves through the crowd. The people recoiled in fear. A dog—speaking? It was unheard of. Panic spread, and superstition took hold. The once-celebrated hunting companion was now seen as an abomination. Someone shouted, “Kill it!”
And just like that, the town turned on the dog. They chased it through the streets, hurling stones and sticks, determined to rid themselves of the creature they now feared. The dog ran for its life, but there was no escape.
Finally, a farmer, seeing the desperate animal, grabbed a large woven basket and threw it over the dog, trapping it inside. “Mobòó!” he exclaimed in a mix of relief and finality, meaning, “I have covered it.” When the crowd gathered around and slowly lifted the basket, they gasped in horror and awe. The dog was gone. In its place stood a solid stone, unmoving, unyielding, frozen in time.
From that moment on, the stone was called Òkúta Mobòó, the Stone of Mobòó, a lasting reminder of the event that changed Arà forever.
Shaken by the supernatural occurrence, the people of Arà took a solemn oath. Never again would a dog be kept within their town. Never again would a dog be eaten. The betrayal of the faithful dog, its spoken words, and its transformation into stone became a sacred lesson passed down through generations.
To this day, the town of Arà upholds this tradition. No dog is reared within its borders, and the memory of Òkúta Mobòó serves as a cautionary tale about gratitude, loyalty, and the unseen consequences of our actions.