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Fulani/fulbe Traditional Beliefs And Mythology / Lucifer As The Olósí (not Esu)of Yorùbá Mythology / Fulani/ Hausa Myths, Mythology And Legends (2) (3) (4)
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Re: Yoruba Mythology by exotik: 4:29am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Katsumoto: lol, u are still asking my obj on this thread? havent u been following the thread? ok lemme tell u if u havent been following. my obj here is that akpata is the correct spelling of akpata. as for every other mythology on here, i dont care. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Nobody: 4:43am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Jeez! It's okay whatever spelling. What's important is the referent. The god of thunder is Sango. What's the story behind it? |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Nobody: 4:56am On Oct 15, 2011 |
exotik: Who cares about how you spell Akpata? But, if you are going to call yourself Tayo Akpata, I reserve the right to ask you; Kia ni k nse ninu Apata. Anyway, this is not the right thread to lecture us on how to spell your name. Could it be you are trying to derail the thread? 1 Like |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by exotik: 5:02am On Oct 15, 2011 |
and if MY name is Tayo Akpata, I reserve the right to tell you Akpata is the correct selling of my name. so? |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by richjohn1(m): 5:06am On Oct 15, 2011 |
I've not heard much about Ifa? This thread is really interesting I have a friend from trinidad and Tobago so keen about the yoruba language/history and culture and always talks to me about trying to beat the talking drum and I have little or no answer for her I guess thus thread helps a lot I guess creole is also a variation of yoruba no thanks to Trans-Atlantic slvery!!!! |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Nobody: 5:07am On Oct 15, 2011 |
exotik: Then where is the conflict? As long as you are not spelling a Yoruba word. But, you have to admit Tayo sounds a litttle bit Yoruba. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by exotik: 5:12am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Aigbofa: i dunno, cant see any from my end, how about ur end? As long as you are not spelling a Yoruba word. i can dig that But, you have to admit Tayo sounds a litttle bit Yoruba. so does chikafumi |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Nobody: 5:16am On Oct 15, 2011 |
exotik: Yes, especially if you've had too much to drink. 2 Likes |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by exotik: 5:19am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Aigbofa: and i drank it at one of those beer parlours @ lekki-ekpe |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Nobody: 5:38am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Some people won't just go away! |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by divinereal: 5:59am On Oct 15, 2011 |
I Like, I like! |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Kilode1: 6:15am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Katsumoto: Haha. I owe your people a visit really. They make me proud everytime for staying through to the essence. Even Catholics got their religion remixed in the hands if your people. Irunmole a gbe won! I keep telling people the next pope will come from Latin America and he will be a secret Sango Worshipper, maybe open sef |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Kilode1: 6:29am On Oct 15, 2011 |
rich_john: If you want more NL stuff on Ifa --> https://www.nairaland.com/nigeria/topic-48078.0.html For your Friend, google can help, there are thousands of resources online. For a deeper knowledge, this man is one of the leading authorities on Ifa ---> http://www.wandeabimbola.com/ 1 Like 1 Share |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Tunsbobo(m): 6:55am On Oct 15, 2011 |
Nothing beats yoruba mythology |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Oba234: 7:06am On Oct 15, 2011 |
okay, so I just saw a video on youtube showing an Egungun festival in Trinidad and Brazil and I was so shocked because I remembered that as a 7 yr old girl living in Akoko Ondo state back in the early 90s there was an egungun festival or something like that and I remembered being scared of it and my parents making sure me and my siblings didn't go outside. I also remembered watching outside my window as the Egugun who was usually dress in a costume made of grass goes around whipping people and people starts running from them like it's a fun activity. This used to scared the crap out of me. It's kinda cool to see that yoruba traditions have spread to other areas of the world. Below are the video [flash=400,380] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FfLNy8EOAYs&feature/related[/flash] |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Oba234: 7:10am On Oct 15, 2011 |
here is the other one [flash=400,380] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGqCDExp4IM&feature/related[/flash] |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 12:57pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
ill continue from where i stopped yesterday. [size=20pt]II. THE DESCENT[/size] Arába speaks: I am the voice of Ífa, messenger Of all the Gods: to me the histories Are known, and I will tell you of the days Of the Descent. How Old Arámfè sent The Gods from Heaven, and Odudúwa stole The bag—my king has told you. . . For many a day Across unwatered plains the Great Ones journeyed, And sandy deserts—for such is the stern bar Set by Arámfè 'twixt his smiling vales The Gods arrive at the edge of Heaven. And the stark cliff's edge which his sons approached Tremblingly, till from the sandy brink they peered Down the sheer precipice. Behind them lay The parched, forbidding leagues; but yet the Sun Was there, and breezes soft, and yet the mountains— A faded line beyond the shimmering waste— Called back to mind their ancient home. Beneath Hung chaos—dank blackness and the threatening roar Of untamed waters. Then Odudúwa spoke: "Orísha, what did we? And what fault was ours? Outcasts to-day; to-morrow we must seek Our destiny in dungeons, and beneath p. 21 That yawning blackness we must found a city For unborn men. Better a homeless life In desert places: dare we turn and flee To some lost valley of the hills? Orísha, What think you?" Then spoke Orísha whom men call The Great: "Is this Odúwa that I hear— My mother's son who stole Arámfè's gift, And thought to filch away the hearts of men With blessings which were mine to give? For me, The arts I know I long to use, and yearn To see the first of toiling, living men That I shall make. Forbidding is our task, You say—but think, ere we return to peace And Heaven's calm, how boundless is the fate You flinch from! Besides, is Godhead blind? You think Arámfè would not know? Has Might no bodes With eyes and ears? . . Dumb spirits hungering Odúwa sends Ojúmu with the Bird, For life await us: let us go." So spoke Orísha; and Odúwa hung a chain Over the cliff to the dark water's face, And sent Ojúmu, the wise priest, to pour The magic sand upon the sea and loose p. 22 The five-clawed Bird to scatter far and wide Triumphant land.1 But, as Earth's ramparts grew, Ever in the darkness came the waves and sucked Away the crumbling shore, while foot by foot Lagoons crept up, and turned to reedy swamps The soil of hope. So Odudúwa called and Olókun and Olóssa. Olókun2 and Olóssa3 to the cliff And thus he spoke: "Beneath, the waters wrestle With the new-rising World, and would destroy Our kingdom and undo Arámfè's will. Go to the fields of men to be, the homes That they shall make. Olókun! to the sea! For there your rule and your dominion shall be: To curb the hungry waves upon the coastlands For ever. And thus, in our first queen of cities And secret sanctuaries on lonely shores Through every æon as the season comes, Shall men bring gifts in homage to Olókun. And you, Olóssa, where your ripple laps The fruitful bank, shan see continually The offerings of thankful men." p. 23 The months Of Heaven passed by, while in the moonless night The Bird makes the Earth, Beneath the Bird toiled on until the bounds, The corners of the World were steadfast. And then Odúwa called Orísha and the Gods To the cliff's edge, and spoke these words of sorrow: "We go to our sad kingdom. Such is the will Of Old Arámfè: so let it be. But ere The hour the wilderness which gapes for us Engulf us utterly, ere the lingering sight Of those loved hills can gladden us no more— May we not dream awhile of smiling days Gone by? . . Fair was drenched morning in the Sun When dark the hill-tops rose o'er misty hollows; Fair were the leafy trees of night beneath The silvering Moon, and beautiful the wind Upon the grasslands. Good-bye, ye plains we roamed. The Gods descend. Good-bye to sunlight and the shifting shadows Cast on the crags of Heaven's blue hills. Ah! wine Of Heaven, farewell" . . . So came the Gods to Ífè. Then of an age of passing months untold By wanings of the Moon our lore repeats A sunless World. p. 24 The dirge of wasting hopes and the lament Of a people in a strange World shuddering Beneath the thunder of the unseen waves On crumbling shores around. Always the marsh Pressed eagerly on Ífè; but ever the Bird Returned with the unconquerable sand Ojúmu poured from his enchanted shell, And the marsh yielded. Then young Ógun bade The Forest grow her whispering trees—but she Budded the pallid shoots of hopeless night, And all was sorrow round the sodden town Where Odudúwa reigned. Yet for live men Orísha creates man. Orísha, the Creator, yearned, and called To him the longing shades from other glooms; He threw their images1 into the wombs Of Night, Olókun and Olóssa, and all The wives of the great Gods bore babes with eyes Of those born blind—unknowing of their want— And limbs to feel the heartless wind which blew From outer nowhere to the murk beyond. . . But as the unconscious years wore by, Orísha, The Creator, watched the unlit Dawn of Man Wistfully—as one who follows the set flight p. 25 Of a lone sea-bird when the sunset fades Beyond a marshy wilderness—and spoke To Odudúwa: "Our day is endless night, And deep, wan woods enclose our weeping children. The Ocean menaces, chill winds moan through Our mouldering homes. Our guardian Night, who spoke To us with her strange sounds in the still hours Of Heaven is here; yet she can but bewail Her restless task. And where is Evening? Oh! where Is Dawn?" He ceased, and Odudúwa sent Ífa, the Messenger, to his old sire To crave the Sun and the warm flame that lit The torch of Heaven's Evening and the dance. . . Arámfè sends fire, the Sun and the Moon. A deep compassion moved thundrous Arámfè, The Father of the Gods, and he sent down The vulture with red fire upon his head For men; and, by the Gods' command, the bird Still wears no plumage where those embers burned him— A mark of honour for remembrance. Again The Father spoke the word, and the pale Moon Sought out the precincts of calm Night's retreat p. 26 To share her watch on Darkness; and Day took wings, And flew to the broad spaces of the sky— To roam benignant from the floating mists Which cling to hillsides of the Dawn—to Eve Who calls the happy toilers home. And all The Age of Mirth. Was changed: for when the terror of bright Day Had lifted from the unused eyes of men, Sparks flew from Ládi's anvil, while Ógun taught The use of iron, and wise Obálufon1 Made brazen vessels and showed how wine streams out From the slim palms.2 And in the night the Gods Set torches in their thronging courts to light The dance, and Heaven's music touched the drum Once more as in its ancient home. And mirth With Odudúwa reigned. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Nobody: 12:58pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
There are lots to say about Yoruba culture. The most intriguing part of it are disciplinary trainings within a well organized family hierarchy. In this circle is full of elders who are good folklore passed through ages to them, usually in the form of myths. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:04pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]III. THE WAR OF THE GODS.[/size] Arába continues: Oíbo, I will tell and chronicle A second chapter from the histories The fable of Earth, Water and Forest Bequeathed from other times. . . A tale is told How God in the Beginning sent three sons Into the World—Earth, Water and the Forest— With one and twenty gifts for Earth and men That are the sons of Earth; and all save one The Forest and the Rivers stole; and how God promised to his first-born, Earth, that men Should win the twenty gifts again by virtue Of that last one, Good Humour. And this is true: For in those years when Ógun and the Gods Made known their handicrafts men learned to seek Thatch, food and wine in Forest and in River Strife between Odúwa and Orísha Patiently. So Man prevailed; but in those days Came strife and turmoil to the Gods—for still For jealousy and pride Odúwa held The bag Arámfè gave to Great Orísha. Often Orísha made entreaty; oft A suppliant came before his brother—in vain; Till once when Odudúwa sat with Ógun p. 28 In that same palace where the Órní reigns, The sound of drums was heard and Great Orísha Approached with skilled Obálufon, and said: "The time has come to teach Arámfè's arts "To men. Give back the bag (for it is mine!) That I may do our Father's bidding. Else, Have a care, is it not told how caution slept In the still woods when the proud leopard fell, Lured on by silence, 'neath the monster's foot?"1 Then was Odúwa angered exceedingly: "Am I not king? Did not Arámfè make Me lord of Gods and men? Begone! Who speaks Unseemly words before the king has packed His load."2 Orísha and Odúwa called brings war to Ífè. To arms their followings of Gods and men, And on that day the first of wars began In Ífè and the Forest. Such was the fall Of the Gods from paths divine, and such for men The woe that Odudúwa's theft prepared; But little the Gods recked of their deep guilt p. 29 Till darkness fell and all was quiet—for then Returned the memory of Calm, their heritage, Of Heaven born and destined for the World; Gloom, too, with the still night came down: a sense Of impious wrong, ungodly sin, weighed down Warriors aweary, and all was changed. Around, Dead, dead the Forest seemed, its boughs unstirred; Dead too, amidst its strangling, knotted growth The stifled air—while on that hush, the storm's Arámfè tries to stop it; Mute herald, came the distant thundrous voice Of Old Arámfè as he mused: "In vain Into the Waste beneath I sent my sons— The children of my happy vales—to make A World of mirth: for desolation holds The homes of Ífè, and women with their babes Are outcast in the naked woods." But when The whirling clouds were wheeling in the sky And the great trees were smitten by the wind, Thundrous Arámfè in his ire rebuked His erring sons: "At my command you came To darkness, where the Evil of the Void— Insentient Violence—had made its home, To shape in the Abyss a World of joy p. 30 And lead Creation in the ways of Heaven. How, then, this brawling? Did the Void's black soul Outmatch you, or possess your hearts to come Again into its own? For Man's misfortune I grieve; but you have borne them on the tide Of your wrong-doing, and your punishment Is theirs to share. For now my thunderbolts I hurl, with deluges upon the land— To fill the marshes and lagoons, and stay For aye your impious war." but fails. Dawn came; the storm Was gone, and Old Arámfè in his grief Departed on black clouds. But still the wrath, But still the anger of his sons endured, And in the dripping forests and the marshes The rebel Gods fought on—while in the clouds Afar Arámfè reasoned with himself: "I spoke in thunders, and my deluge filled The marshes that Ojúmu dried;—but still They fight. Punish, I may—but what can I Achieve? In Heaven omnipotent: but here—? What means it? I cannot tell. . . In the Unknown, Beyond the sky where I have set the Sun, p. 31 Is He-Who-Speaks-Not: He knows all. Can this Be Truth: Amidst the unnatural strife of brothers The World was weaned: by strife must it endure—?" Oíbo, how the first of wars began, And Old Arámfè sought to stay the flow Of blood—your pen has written; but of the days, The weary days of all that war, what tongue Can tell? 'Tis said the anger of the Gods Endured two hundred years: we know the priest Osányi made strange amulets for all The mortal soldiers of the Gods—one charm Could turn a spear aside, a second robbed The wounding sword of all its sting, another Made one so terrible that a full score Must flee—but not one word of the great deeds, Of hopes and fears, of imminent defeat Or victory snatched away is handed down: No legend has defied, no voice called through The dimness and the baffling years. But when An end was come to the ill days foreknown To Him-Who-Speaks-Not, remembrance of the calm Of Heaven stole upon the sleepless Gods— p. 32 For while the Moon lay soft with all her spell On Ífè of the many battles; while With sorrowful reproach the wise trees stood And gazed upon the Gods who made the soil The voices of the Forest crooned their dreams Of peace: "Sleep, sleep" all weary Nature craved, And "Sleep" the slumbrous reed-folk urged, and 'twixt The shadow and the silver'd leaf, for sleep Ógun asks Odúwa to give back the bag to Orísha. The drowsing breezes yearned. . . . And with the dawn Ógun, the warrior, with his comrades stood Before the king, and thus he spoke: "Odúwa, We weary of the battle, and its agony Weighs heavy on our people. Have you forgot The careless hours of Old Arámfè's realm? What means this war, this empty war between One mother's sons? Orísha willed it so, You say. . . 'Twas said of old 'Who has no house Will buy no broom',1 Why then did Great Orísha Bring plagues on those he made in love? In Heaven Afar Arámfè gave to you the empire, p. 33 And to Orísha knowledge of the ways Of mysteries and hidden things. The bag You seized; but not its clue—the skill, the wisdom Of Great Orísha which alone could wake The sleeping lore. . . The nations of the World Are yours: give back the bag, and Great Orísha Will trouble us no more." But neither Ógun Nor the soft voices of the night could loose Odúwa from the thrall of envy: the rule Of men and empire were of no account When the hot thought of Old Arámfè's lore Roused his black ire anew. The bag he held; But all the faithless years had not revealed Its promised treasures. Bitterly he answered: Odúwa refuses; "These many years my brother has made war Upon his king; while for the crown, its power And greatness, I have wrought unceasing. To-day My son—hope of my cause, my cause itself— Wearies of war, and joins my enemies. Weak son, the sceptre you were born to hold And hand down strengthened to a line of kings Could not uphold your will and be your spur Until the end. Is it not said, "Shall one Priest bury, and anon his mate dig up p. 34 The corpse?"1 No day's brief work have you undone, But all my heart has longed for through a life Of labour. So let it be: God of Soft Iron! Upon your royal brow descends this day The crown of a diminished chieftaincy, With the sweet honours of a king in name— For I go back to Old Arámfè's hills and trans- forms to stone, And the calm realm you prate of." Then Odudúwa Transformed to stone and sank beneath the soil, Bearing away the fateful bag. taking the And thus, bag with him. Beneath, through all the ages of the World A voiceless lore and arts which found no teacher Have lain in bondage. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:15pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]IV. THE SACRIFICE OF MÓRIMI[/size] Arába continues: Oíbo I have told you of the days When Odudúwa and Orísha fought; But of the times of peace our annals hold Strange legends also. . . Now in the age when mirth And Odudúwa reigned, grief ever-growing Befell Great Mórimi, the wife of skilled Mórimi has no sons, Obálufon—for while his lesser wives Proudly bore many sons unto their lord, A daughter only, young Adétoún, Was granted to his queen. And as the years Lagged by, a strangeness which he always seemed To keep in hiding chequered the fair day With doubtings, and waylaid her in the paths Of her fond nightly dreams. Once with the Spring, She saw the clustered tree-tops breaking into leaf Copper and red and every green, and she Remembered how beneath the new year's buds It was ordained by Peregún ’Gbo, lord Of uninhabitable woods that Life p. 36 Should spring from Forest, and Life from Life,—till all The Woods were gladdened with the voice of beasts And birds—and thus she reasoned: "Is it not told How Peregún ’Gbo1 spoke, and from the womb Of Forest leaped the sloth that laughs by night? How 'mid the boughs the sloth brought forth the ape That bore the leopard? And did not Peregún Watch o'er the birth of young Orúnmila, And ever, when the morrow's sorrowing dawn Must yield up to the leaguing fiends the child's Fair life, did not the watchful God send down His messenger to stay the grasping hand Of Death? Thus do the Gods; and surely one Will give me sons. Ah! whom must I appease?" She consults Ífa: Quick with new hope Great Mórimi sought out A priest of Ífa2 in his court yard dim, Where from each beam and smoke-grimed pillar hung The charms the wise man set to guard his home, His wives and children from the ills contrived p. 37 By the bad spirits. To her gift she whispered, And laid it on Okpéllè; and the priest Seizing the charm of Ífa said: "Okpéllè, To you the woe of Mórimi is known; You only can reveal its secret cause, Its unknown cure!" Then he laid down the charm And Óffun Kánran stood before them. The face Of Ífa's priest was troubled, and he said: Who tells her to sacrifice her daughter. "Mórimi, this is the message of my lord Ífa: a son, nay many sons, you long for. You have a daughter, and your husband's love Was yours. The Gods would give you many sons, But in your path stands Éshu, the Undoer, Whose shrine calls out for blood, for sacrifice: Adétoún." Without hope Mórimi Went forth, and loathing of the ways of the Gods Possessed her—while indignation fed her love Of her one child. . . . The months passed by: Moons came, And in the smiles of happier wives she read A mockery; Moons faded from the sky, And grief and her Adétoún remained Companions of her hours. At last she cried: "But sons l asked for; I will go again p. 38 And pray for sons and my Adétoún. The last word is not yet. Olókun's tide Has ebbed: will it not flow again?" Yet hope She consults Ífa again. Went not with Mórimi to the dark court Of Ífa's priest; and when a torch disclosed The self-same bode of sorrow in the dusk— To her drear home Great Mórimi fled back In terror of the deed which love commanded, And love condemned. . . . Silently in the night Édi advises her to act on Ífa's message. Came Édi, the Perverter, the smooth of tongue, Who with his guileful reasoning compels To conscious sin: "The forms of messengers Reveal the thoughts of Ífa, and the ears Of Ífa, the God-Messenger, have heard The far-off, thundrous voice. Would you hold back? Is not the birth of Nations the first law Arámfè gave? Can any wife withstand His will, or maid stern Ógun's call?1 To-day Is yours, oh, mother of great kings that shall be: The green shoots greet the Spring-rain and forget The barren months, and Mórimi shall know Her grief and her reproach no more." Then doubt p. 39 Seized Mórimi but still she answered; "Will Gods Not give? Is the grim World a morning market Where they drive bargains with the folk they made? Are babes as bangles which Obálufon Fashions to barter?" But Édi answered her: "But once Arámfè spoke to Odudúwa, And with what heavy hearts the Gods went forth From Heaven's valleys to the blackness! Now thrice,1 Thrice to the woman Mórimi the word Has come—with promise of the World's desire: Not every wife is chosen for the mother Of a house of kings. And think!—Obálufon!" Then Édi, the Perverter, hid his form In darkness; and with the dawn a young girl lay The death of Adétoún. On the Undoer Éshu's altar—while The lazy blue of early morning smoke Crept up the pass between the hills. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:20pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]V. THE ÚBO WARS[/size] Arába continues: After the War of the Gods, Ífè returns to the arts of peace. Oíbo, graven on my memory Is the sad legend which my father told me Of the Great Gods' departure. . . The years slid by Unnoted while King Ógun2 reigned. The World Was young: upon the craggy slopes the trees Shot forth red buds, and ancient Ífè, gaunt With suffering, dreamed again her early dreams. Taught by the Gods, the folk began to learn The arts of Heaven's peace anew; the drum Returned to measures of the dance, and Great Orísha saw the joy of life once more In his creatures' eyes. Thus lived mankind among The foundation of Úbo The Gods, and multiplied until the youth Of Ífè sought new homes and wider lands In the vast Forest; and thus was born the first Fair daughter of Odúwa's city. Men called Her Úbo, and the leader took the name Olúbo of Úbo with his chieftaincy. is attended by strife from the first. But to these colonists the Gods, their Fathers, Gave no good gifts: 'midst battles with the Wild, 'Mid struggles with the Forest the town grew- While dull remembrance of unnatural wrongs p. 41 Bred Man's first rebel thought against the Gods; And when the time of festival was near, Word came to Ífè that the folk of Úbo Would bring no gifts, nor worship at the feet Of Ógun. But the King scorned them, laughing: "Who lights His lamp between the leopard's paws?"3 The Chief Years passed of Úbo seeks advice, In grieving while Olúbo sought the homes Of spirits of the Forest springs, laid gifts At crossway shrines where childless women go, Or wandered to drear coasts to share his wrongs With Ocean chafing at his old restraint. But rivers answered not, not brooks, nor Gods Of crossway altars at the light of dawn; And through the unceasing hissing of the foam No voice of counsel came. . . With Autumn's fall Olúbo came with gifts before the shrine Of the grim Forest-God who hedged his land, And prayed him to accept the corn he brought And the fat beasts, nor seize his lands again. And the God saw the oil, and smelled the blood Of birds and cattle; and the longed-for voice which the Forest-God gives him p. 42 Came to Olúbo: "See with the rain I come Each year upon your fields with springing trees, Rank-growing grass and vegetation wild: Your work of yester-year is all undone By my swift desolation. Be this your symbol: Go thus against the Scornful Ones arrayed As I." In Ífè was great joy: the last Black thundercloud has passed; the maids were wed, And all men feasted on the sacred days Olúbo in- vades Ifè, and takes the men away as slaves. Of Ógun and the Lord of Day—when sudden, From the still Forest o'er the walls there broke Portents of moving trees and hurrying grass On Ífè's stone-still revellers. (Hope perishes In the dark hour a mother sees the dance Of white-robed goblins1 of the midnight streets— A glimpse, no more; and her sick child is lost). Despair held rule: the new-wed wives were lone; Their men were slaves of Úbo lords. The drum Was silent, and laughter mute. About dull tasks A listless people wandered; but not so Mórimi consults Ífa, p. 43 Mórimi—for she, assured of triumph, strode To the dim court of Ífa, and laid bare Her gift. A vision flickered and was gone, And the priest prophesied: "The bode is good. As when a sick man lies beset by fiends1 I call not to the Gods for aid, but take The pepper on my tongue and thus invoke Those very fiends in their dread mother's name, And then command the Prince of leaguing Woes (Though hastening to the River's lip) to turn Again—such now is Ífa's counsel, borne Swift in the form of Messengers to me who advises her to go to Úbo. His priest, his voice: 'Evil has come down on Ífè: By Evil only can desire prevail. Take six he-goats to Éshu, the Undoer; Thus crave his aid and go, Great Mórimi, A harlot to the land of Úbo'" . . So sped Mórimi to the rebel town; and when She finds out the secret. A lord of Úbo sought her midst the shades Of night, the Undoer's will possessed his lips, And he betrayed the way of Úbo's downfall. While Éshu's shrine yet ran with blood, the Gods, Meanwhile, the gods transform to stones, rivers, etc., p. 44 Unknowing, sat alone in their abasement, And Ógun said: "We scorned our upstart son; Scorned him and let him be—nor bore in mind The wisdom of the Past, 'A little snake Is yet a snake.'1 See now the end has come: Swift from the sight of mocking men we must Depart. The sage Osányi will lay wide The door of our deliverance: come then— For naked of dominion what are we Gods?" And one by one Osányi gave his charms To the lorn Gods. . Orísha could but moan "Children I made you—who but I?" and sank Beneath the soil he loved. And Óshun2 threw Her body down—but never ceased: a stream Gushed up, the sacred stream that flows for ever. Olókun3 fell; 'neath the wide Earth she flowed To the broad spaces of her troubled realm. . . except Ógun. So went the Gods; but last, as Osányi gave The charm to Ógun, last of all the Gods— Back from the rebel town Great Mórimi Rushed back, and cried: "The fire the vulture brought p. 45 Shall slay the hosts of Úbo!". . . The months crept by Fate-laden, white King Ógun's warrior son, Orányan destroys the Úbo army. Orányan,1 schooled the sireless lads to War; But when the festive season came, he hid Them with red fire prepared within the city, And, as the invading hosts of Úbo scaled The walls, a rush of flaming boughs destroyed Grass garments and rebellious men. Thus fell Úbo before Orányan, and her folk Saw slavery in Ífè. . . Time spared these deeds— But gave to the impenetrable wilds The place where Úbo stood, her rebel Gods, The Édi Festival Her rites. And here in Ífè, by command Of Mórimi, the children of the captives Worship Olúbo, but must flee before Orányan's fire. And on those days of feasting No man may blame his wife for her misdeeds— All-mindful of the guile of Mórimi. 1 Like 1 Share |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:24pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]VI. THE PASSING OF ÓGUN.[/size] Arába continues: After the Úbo Wars, Ógun reigns An age passed by, and Ífè knew no more Of battles; for Ógun, grey and bent, chose out The way of peace beloved of Old Arámfè. in peace. Forgotten lives were lived, and shadowy priests Kept warm the altars of the departed Gods: Old men went softly to the River's lip1 Unsung: 'twixt hope and fear mute colonists Went forth to the strange forests of the World; And unremembered wives sought out the shrines Of the givers of new life. Their names are lost. . . Yet now, Oíbo, let a final tale Be told; for, at the last, that silent age Yields up the legend of its fall. In those Last tranquil years the mothers blessed King Ógun For peaceful days and night's security; And old men used to tell of their brave deeds In battles where Orányan led, applaud The torch-lit dance and pass their last calm days Happily. . . But then came traders from the wilds p. 47 By thorn and tangle of scarce-trodden ways Through the dim woods with wondrous tales they heard At crossway markets1 in far lands of deeds Orányan did on battlefields beyond The region of the forests. These tales, oft-told In house and market, filled the air with rumours And dreams of war which troubled the repose Of ancient Ífè—for, while the fathers feared The coming of the day when the grey God, Aweary of Earth's Kingship, would go back To his first far-off home, the young men's dreams Were always of Orányan, and their pale days Orányan returns from distant Wars to demand the crown. Lagged by. . . Such were the various thoughts of men In Ífè, when on a clay, unheralded, Orányan2 with a host appeared before Her peaceful gates. None could deny his entrance: The hero strode again the streets he saved From the Olúbo's grass-clad men, and came Before his father to demand the crown Of Odudúwa. King Ógun spoke: "My son, p. 48 'Tis long since you were here, and you are welcome. But why with these armed men do you recall Times well-forgotten and the ancient wars? This is a land of peace: beneath the shade Of Ífè's trees the mirth of Heaven's vales Has found a home, the chorus and the dance Their measure. Lay by your arms, and may no hurt Attend your coming or your restful hours!" Harshly Orányan answered his old father: "You speak of peace, Great Ógun, and the calm Arámfè destined for a World to be. Arámfè spoke—and Odudúwa's dream Of wisdom linked to supreme power begat A theft!1 And that same night on Heaven's rim Devised another destiny for men. What Heaven-sent art has Ógun to undo That deed, and bid the still-born live? Besides, Who taught the peaceful peoples of the World Their longing for red War? Who forged their weapons— With steel Arámfè gave for harvesting? Who slew young maids who would not wed to bear p. 49 More sons for ancient wars? Who, pray, but Ógun, The God of War? . . What then? 'Tis said: 'The field The father sowed his son shall reap!'"1 And Ógun Made answer: "The story of my life has been As the succeeding seasons in the course Where Óshun pours her stream. First, long ago, The sunny months of heaven when I roamed A careless boy upon the mountains; then, As a whole season when the boisterous storms Fill full the crag-strewn bed with racing waters, And the warm Sun is hidden by the clouds, Doom brought me journeys, toils in darkness, wars And yet more wars. Again the barren months Are here: the wagtail lights upon the rock The river hid; a lazy trickle moves And in my age Arámfè's promised peace Gives back her stolen happiness to Ífè. . . . And now, the sage Osányi2 is no more, His charms forgotten: I cannot turn to stone And vanish like Odúwa; I cannot cast p. 50 My worn old body down to rise instead A river of the land, as Óshun did. No, Earth must hold me, glad or desolate, A King or outcast in the vague forest, Till Heaven call me—when the locked pools bask, And Óshun sleeps. . . Till then I ask to be In peace; and, with my tale of days accomplished, My last arts taught, Arámfè's bidding done— I, the lone God on Earth who knows fair Heaven, And the calm life the Father bade us give To men,—I, Ógun, will make way, and go Upon the road I came." But Orányan said: "Let the first Mistress of the World decide. These years the kingly power has passed away From the old sleeping town Odúwa built To me, Orányan, battling in far lands Where no voice spoke of Ífè. Let Ífè choose Her way: obscurity or wide renown!" A silence fell: the black clouds of the storm Were overhanging human destiny; The breathless pause before the loud wind's blast Held all men speechless—though they seemed to heave The old men desire Ógun to remain; p. 51 For utterance. At length, Eléffon, the friend Of Ógun, voiced the fond hopes of the old chiefs Who feared Orányan and his coming day: "Ours is the city of the shrines which guard The spirits of the Gods, and all our ways Are ordered by the Presences which haunt The sacred precincts. The noise of war and tumult Is far from those who dream beneath the trees Of Ífè. There is another way of life: The way of colonists. By God's command, From this first breast the infant nations stray To the utter marches of humanity. Let them press onward, and let Orányan lead them Till the far corners of the World be filled; Let the unruly fall before their sword Until the Law prevail. But let not Ífè Swerve from the cool road of her destiny For dreams of conquest; and let not Ógun leave The roof, the evening firelight and the ways Of men—to go forth to the naked woods." And the old chiefs echoed: "Live with us yet, Oh, Ógun! Reign on your stable throne." But murmurs rose but the young men acclaim Orányan. p. 52 From the young men—suppressed at first, then louder— Until their leader, gaining courage, cried: "Empty our life has been—while from far plains, Vibrant with the romance, the living lustre, Orányan's name bestows, great rumours came To mock our laggard seasons; and each year Mórimi's festival recalls alike The hero's name and Ífè's greatness. Must All Ífè slumber that the old may drowse? No; we will have Orányan, and no other, To be our King." And a loud cry went up From his followers: "Orányan is our King!" And in that cry King Ógun heard the doom A chieftain of our day sees clear in eggs1 Of fateful parrots in his inmost chamber: The walls of his proud city (his old defence) Can never more uphold a rule of iron For victor treachery within. And wearily He spoke his last sad words: "My boyhood scarce Had ended on Arámfè's happy hills p. 53 When I came here with Odudúwa; with him, Lovingly I watched this ancient city growing, And planted the grand forests for a robe For queenly Ífè. I have grown old with Ífè: Sometimes I feel that Ógun did become Ífè, and Ífè Ógun, with the still lapse Ógun goes away. Of years. Yet she rejects me. Ah! my trees Would be more kind, and to my trees I go." Dawn came; and Ógun stood upon a hill To Westward, and turned to take a last farewell Of his old queen of cities—but white and dense. O'er harbouring woods and unremembering Ífè A mist was laid and blotted all. . Beyond, As islands from a morning sea, arose Two lone grey hills; and Ógun dreamed he saw Again those early days, an age gone by, When he and Great Odúwa watched the Bird Found those grand hills with magic sand,—bare slopes, Yet born to smile. . . That vision paled: red-gold Above grey clouds the Sun of yesterday Climbed up—to shine on a new order. . So passed Old Ógun from the land. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:27pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=30pt]NOTES[/size] [size=20pt]I. THE CREATION.[/size] The relationships of the various gods are differently stated by different chiefs and priests of Ífè, and also by the same men at different times. It appears, however, that Arámfè ruled in Heaven, and sent his sons, Odúwa and Orísha, to a dark and watery region below to create the world and to people it. According to the legends told in Ífè, the gods were not sent away as a punishment; but there is some story of wrong-doing mentioned at Ówu in the Jébu country. Arámfè gave a bag full of arts and wisdom to Orísha, and the kingship to Odúwa. On the way from Heaven Odúwa made Orísha drunk, and stole the bag. On reaching the edge of Heaven, Odúwa hung a chain over the cliff and sent down a priest, called Ojúmu, with a snail-shell full of magic sand and a "five-fingered" fowl. Ojúmu threw the sand on the water and the fowl kicked it about. Wherever the fowl kicked the sand, dry land appeared. Thus the whole world was made, with Ífè as its centre. When the land was firm, Odúwa and Orísha let themselves down the chain, and were followed by several other gods. Orísha began making human beings; but all was dark and cold, because Arámfè had not sent the sun with Odúwa. So Odúwa sent up, and Arámfè sent the sun, moon and fire. (Fire was sent p. 55 on a vulture's head, and that is why the vulture has no feathers on its head.) Then the gods began to teach their arts and crafts to men. After many years Orísha made war upon Odúwa to get back his bag. The various gods took sides, but some looked on. The medicine-men provided amulets for the men on both sides. Arámfè was angry with his sons for fighting and threw his thunderbolts impartially—for he was the god of thunder in those days. The war is said to have lasted 201 years, and came to an end only because the gods on Odúwa's side asked him to give back the bag. Odúwa, in a huff, transformed to stone and sank beneath the earth, taking the bag with him. His son, Ógun, the god of iron, then became king. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:34pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]II. ODÚM ’LA, THE FIRST ÓRNÍ OF ÍFÈ[/size] According to tradition, when the gods transformed, they ordered Odúm’la to speak for them, to be a father to the whole world and to remain on Earth for ever. In the words of an old chief: "It is our ancient law that the spirit of Odúm’la passes from body to body, and will remain for ever on the earth. The spirits of the gods are in their shrines, and Odúm’la speaks for them " I think the Órní claims to be Odúm’la himself. This is a matter of dogma, and I express no opinion. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:36pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]III. ODÚWA.[/size] There is little to add to the story of Odúwa told in Parts I, II & III. Arába told me another version of the end of the War of the Gods: Orísha and Odúwa agreed to stop the fighting on condition that each should have a man for sacrifice every seven months. Fourteen months was then regarded as a year. Another story Arába told me was: "The Moon is a round crystal stone, which is with Odúwa. They take it in front when they go to sacrifice to Odúwa—otherwise the god would injure the man who offers the sacrifice." Odúwa is said to have taken the stone from a Moslem, and to have been in the habit of looking at it. When I went to Odúwa's shrine, there was a great knocking of doors to warn the god of my arrival. I did not see the stone. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:39pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]IV. ORÍSHA AND THE CREATION OF MAN.[/size] The legend of Orísha's creation of Man is mysterious. He is said to have thrown images into wombs. I was once told he put signs into women's hands. I can only account for this story by the suggestion that it may date from a period when men had not discovered the connection between sexual intercourse and the birth of children. p. 57 As to spirit life before birth, the priest of Arámfè said "A child may have been with the spirits, but when he is born he forgets all about it." The sacrifice offered to Orísha consists of eight goats, eight fishes, eight rats and eight kola-nuts. Orísha was a god of great knowledge (apart from the contents of the bag which was stolen from him), and taught his son, Oluorógbo—who, according to tradition, is the ancestor of the white races. The Órní attributes ascendancy of Europeans to the up-bringing of Oluorógbo. Our ancestor has need of eggs, fowls, sheep, kola—and snails. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:44pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]V. OBALUFON.[/size] Little is told of Obálufon, the husband of Mórimi. He was a man sent from Heaven by Arámfè, and was a weaver and a worker in brass. He also showed the people how to tap the palms for palm-wine. Apart from that, "he took care of everybody as a mother of a child, and used to go round the town to drive out sickness and evil spirits." His image represents him as a king. [size=20pt]VI. MÓRIMI.[/size] Mórimi is the great heroine of the Ífè legends. The story of her sacrifice which I have adopted is Arába's version. p. 58 I went also to Mórimi's priest, who showed me her image—of painted wood and no artistic merit—representing a naked negress. His story was much the same as Arába's; but, in his version, Mórimi sacrificed her only son, Yésu, for the whole world and not to any god. It would appear that some early Christian missionary had recognised the Virgin Mary in Mórimi; but it may be doubted whether the missionary had heard of Mórimi's visit to Úbo (See Note VII). |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:51pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
[size=20pt]VII. ÚBO AND THE ÉDI FESTIVAL.[/size] The story of the Úbo Wars is that some colonists went from Ífè to found a new town which they called Úbo; but as the gods had given them nothing, they invaded Ífè. On the first occasion they were driven back; but the next year they came dressed in grass, terrified the people of Ífè and took the men as slaves. (And in those parts of Africa dead kings and gods in need of sacrifice are believed to prefer slaves to free men). Then Mórimi consulted Ífa, and was told to sacrifice six goats and six bags of cowries to Éshu, and go as a harlot to Úbo. Her mission was successful, and she returned with the necessary information—only to find the gods had transformed to rivers, stones, etc. (It seems that Ógun did not transform, as he was afterwards displaced by his son, Orányan). Acting on Mórimi's advice, Orányan set fire to the Úbo soldiers on their next inroad. p. 59 The end of Úbo is commemorated by Édi (the festival of Mórimi, which began on the 21st November in 1913). Men dressed in hay parade the town, but have to run for their lives when others pursue them with fire. Fire is also taken out to the Bush. On the first day of Édi, the Órní appears, but must remain in the Afin (Palace) for the remaining seven. During this period the women do honour to Mórimi's share in the victory by emulating her deed, and their husbands are not allowed to interfere. The meaning of the legend is doubtful. There may have been such a town as Úbo, but it seems likely that the Festival is connected with agriculture. Úbo (or Ígbo) means the Bush, and Mórimi may have advised the customary burning of the Bush to prepare the land for crops. The date of the Festival (early in the dry season), the fire and the men dressed in hay, all suggest this interpretation. On the other hand, the same arguments, combined with the seclusion of the Órní and the license of the women, would favour the view that Édi was the more general Festival of the Saturnalia. Possibly it was so originally; and the demons to be driven out appeared so material in the form of tropical vegetation that Úbo (the Bush to be burned) has obscured the former meaning of the Festival. If this be so, Mórimi's mission to Úbo may be a later fable to account for the license of the women before farming operations begin. 1 Like |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by rgp922: 1:56pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
Úbo (or Ígbo) Seems like Igbo is a Yoruba word. Igbo people umad? [img]http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS2pDYHYhxN91JHxdsvFj7862VpVGpjrWRks1KnvsyDctbQ0ZJ49w[/img] |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by lakal(m): 2:01pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
A folk-tale. Tortoise, or Ijapa, is a major trickster figure among the Yoruba. IJAPA TIROKO and the rock of yams My alo is about Tortoise. There was a famine, and there was a great scarcity of food all through the country. One day the lizard was in a plantation searching for something to eat, when he found a large rock full of yams. The owner of the plantation was near the rock. He cried "Rock, open," and the rock opened. He went in and took yams, and came out again. Then he said, "Rock, shut," and the rock closed up. The lizard saw all this. He heard also what the man said, and he went home. Next morning, at rooster-crow, he went to the rock. He said, "Rock, open," and the rock opened. He went in and carried out yams to take home and eat. Then he said, "Rock, shut," and the rock shut. Every day the lizard did this. One day Tortoise, the bald-headed elf, met the lizard on the road carrying yams. He said to him, "Where did you get your food from, comrade? The lizard said, "If I were to tell you that, and take you to the place, I should be killed." The baldheaded elf answered, "No, I will not say a word to anyone. Please take me." And the lizard said, "Very well, then; come and call me to-morrow morning at rooster-crow, and we will go together." Next morning, long before rooster-crow, Tortoise came to the house of the lizard. He stood outside the house and cried "Kekere-ke." Again he cried "Kekere-ke." Then he went in and woke the lizard. "The rooster has crowed," he said. "Let me sleep," said the lizard; "it is not yet rooster-crow." "Very well," said Tortoise. And they both went to sleep till rooster-crow. Then the lizard got up, and the two went together. As soon as they arrived at the. place the lizard said, "Rock, open," and the rock opened. The lizard went in, took yams, and came out again. He said to Tortoise, "It is time to go. Take your yams and come." "Wait a minute," said Tortoise. "Very well," said the lizard. "Rock, shut." And he went away without waiting. Tortoise, the bald-headed elf, helped himself to yams. He put yams on his back and yams on his head; he put yams on his arms and yams on his legs. The lizard had already gone home. He lighted a fire. Then he lay on his back, with his feet in the air, as if he were dead; and he remained like that all day. When Tortoise, the bald-headed elf, was ready to go, he wanted to make the rock open. But he could not remember what he ought to say. He said many many words, but not the right words; and the rock remained shut. By-and-bye came the plantation-owner. He opened the rock, and found Tortoise inside. He took him and beat him. He beat him badly. "Who brought you here?" asked the man. "It was the lizard who brought me," replied Tortoise. Then the man tied a string to Tortoise, and took him to the lizard. When the man reached the house of the lizard, he found the lizard lying on his back, with his feet in the air, as if he were dead. He shook him. He said to him, "This bald-headed elf says it was you who took him to my plantation, and showed him my store of yams." "I?" said the lizard. "You call see for yourself that it is impossible. I am not in a state to go out. I have been sick here for three months, lying on my back. I do not even know where your plantation is." Then the man took Tortoise and smashed him. And Tortoise, groaning and moaning, said in a pitiful voice, "Cockroach, come and mend me. Ant, come and mend me." And the cockroach and the ant mended him. And the places where they mended him are those parts of Tortoise which are rough. |
Re: Yoruba Mythology by lakal(m): 2:12pm On Oct 15, 2011 |
As seen in the previous story, a nickname for Ijapa, the tortoise is the "bald-headed elf"or "Ajapa." [size=16pt] Ijapa and the Elephant[/size] My alo is about Tortoise and the elephant. The bald-headed elf one day told the other animals that he would ride the elephant, but all the animals said: "No, you can't ride the elephant." The bald-headed elf said: "Well, I will make a wager that I will ride the elephant into town." And the other animals agreed to the wager. Tortoise went into the forest and met the elephant. He said to him: "My father, all the animals say you are too stout and big to come to town." The elephant was vexed. Ile said: "The animals are fools. If I do not come to town it is because I prefer the forest. Besides, I do not know the way to town." "Oh!" said the bald-headed elf, "then come with me. I will show you the way to the town, and you can put all the animals to shame." So the elephant followed him. When they were near the town the bald-headed elf said: "My father, I am tired. Will you kindly allow me to get, on your back." "All right," said the elephant. He knelt down, and Tortoise climbed -up on his back. Then they went on along the road. The bald-headed elf said: "My father, when I scratch your back you must run, and when I knock my head against your back you must run faster; then you will make a fine display in the town." The elephant said: "Very well." When they came near the town, the bald-headed elf scratched the elephant's back, and he began to run. He knocked his back with his head, and the elephant ran faster. The animals, when they saw this, were frightened. They went into their houses, but they looked out of their windows. And Tortoise called out to them: "Did I not say I would ride my father's slave to town?" "What do you mean by 'your father's slave'?" said the elephant, growing angry. "I am only praising you," said Tortoise. But the elephant saw the other animals laughing, and grew more angry. "I will throw you down on the hard stones here, and break you to pieces," he cried. "Yes, yes, that is right," said the bald-headed elf. "Throw me down here. That will be all right. 'Then I shall not die; then I shall not be hurt. If you really want to kill me, you ought to carry me to a swamp. There I shall die at once, for the mud and water will drown me." The elephant believed the bald-headed elf. He ran to the swamp, and threw Tortoise into the mud. Then he stretched out his foot to kick him, but the bald-headed elf dived in the mire, and came up in another place. The other animals were there, looking on, and Tortoise called out to them, "Did I not say I would ride my father's slave to town?" When the elephant found that he could not catch the bald-headed elf, he ran away at full speed back to the forest. When he reached there he said to the other elephants, "Do you know what that broken-back has done to me?" And he told them the story. The other elephants said, "You were a fool to carry that broken-back to town." Since then the elephant has not come to town any more. |
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