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Yoruba Mythology - Culture (4) - Nairaland

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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:

What really is your objective on this thread? Isn't it contradictory for a Yoruba hater (I am guessing due to your obvious intransigence) to be correcting Yoruba spelling in a thread about Yoruba mythology?


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:

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.



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:

and if MY name is Tayo Akpata, I reserve the right to tell you Akpata is the correct selling. so?



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:

Then where is the conflict?  

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:

i dunno, cant see any from my end, how about your end?

i can dig that


so does chikafumi

Yes, especially if you've had too much to drink.

2 Likes

Re: Yoruba Mythology by exotik: 5:19am On Oct 15, 2011
Aigbofa:

Yes, especially if you've had too much to drink.

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:


Correct
Awon Irunmole, mo ju ba o. BTW, can you see how my people rep Yoruba culture despite never setting foot on the African continent?  tongue Please ignore the spelling errors.  grin

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 grin
Re: Yoruba Mythology by Kilode1: 6:29am On Oct 15, 2011
rich_john:

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!!!!


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.

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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) tongue 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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Ogoja, Cross River Where Cameroonian Mothers Iron Their Daughter's Breast / The Kru People Of Liberia And Cote D'ivoire / Oruko Amutorunwa (generic Names In Yoruba Culture)

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