Ayomipo®

 Recently I stumbled upon Niyi Akinmolayan’s documentary Rainmakers where, with Ade Obatoyinbo, he explored the phenomenon of “rainmaking” and “rainholding” amongst the Yoruba of Ogun and Oyo, including a guild of indigenous medicine men from Edo State who also moonlight as rainmakers. I was especially struck by the mystical undertones of rainmaking in these places, particularly amongst the Ṣàngó devotees of Oyo town. While they acknowledged some uncertainty regarding the nature of rainmaking—since the outcome of their work is dependent on Ṣàngó’s good pleasure—there remained aspects of the practice shrouded in mystery, something Akinmolayan did not really explore in the documentary. One would have expected some exploration of how rainmaking itself supposedly works. Is it simply the use of locally acquired and transmitted ecological observations? Fortuitous timing of rainmaking rituals? The use of chemicals capable of disrupting aspects of the hydrological cycle? Mythic meaning-mak...

 In 2025, I had gone to Newport for the RCPsych International Congress. I had lodged in my modest hotel accommodation. Thankfully, I had found a Tesco a few yards away. I had gone there to buy a few conference-week staples: bread, milk, bananas. Just before I entered the shop, someone went in, stole a couple of crisps, beers, and a few other items, then ran out. That was my first experience of witnessing shoplifting. What struck me as uncanny was not the shoplifting itself, but the fact that none of the staff or other shoppers seemed to care — no one ran after the thief, tried to accost him, or called the police. I have often returned to that scene in my mind and wondered at what I would have done — or indeed should have done — had I been inside the shop and witnessed the theft directly. What unsettled me was not merely the theft itself, but what the collective indifference revealed about moral ecology: the fragile network of habits, expectations, risks, and reciprocal obligations ...