The Song of the Evening Harvest

The music starts very slowly

The dance grows gradually

With it, known palms caress

The drums, hides on their faces

Dance gentle dance, the air takes

Cue, the waves flow,

Fine feminine flow of flawless furry

Human skins and drum hides rhythm

Together in concerted animal gaiety

Àdàmò

Bàtá

Àgèrè

Dùndún

Sèkèrè

The spirit of dance just descended upon us

We brought neither sadness nor mourning.

Àdàmò… Sèkèrè: Yoruba drums

DEFENCE

Tade nearly fell at the entrance, his heartbeat increased multiple folds his lungs were about popping out of his mouth and his cheeks kept on fighting a hard battle to keep his tongue and teeth in check. His nerves suddenly became numb unwanted chill ran through his being and at the same time, sweat cascaded the gully of his cheeks.

They were to his left as he entered the office, all seated; the sharp-beak birds -- males and females -- more females than males he thought but he was too preoccupied with the presentation to make proper mental note. The seating arrangement, he presumed, was from the biggest combed cock to the smallest beaked chick. This too though he was not completely sure but he noticed the biggest cock for sure.

The biggest cock, he claimed the biggest seat at the other end of a long table, balanced himself delicately in it and pushed up his shoulders. Air of importance around him and flanked by his leautenants.

Tade's forehead was now a mess of sweat his armpits were dams of damp and his back had about it wetness that he would have loved to do without. He stole a quick glance sideway -- leftward -- and saw one small-beaked chick at the end of a flank her beak, and other's beaks alike no doubt, were freshly honed; ready to tear into fleshes and smeared blood.
But this was not what frightened, unsettled, and unnerved him; he was used to there vices, he was used to hard stone-cold faces, sharp thorn-like tongues, and tell-tale, tale-telling that could render hearts into shreds.

He had just in a wag of tongue been taken to Cornell and back, he had worked, with no small imagination, with an autoclave as giant as the Iroko tree. Tade was a lone cob surrounded by ten's of beaks and in all sincerity, he had had thick skin to their vicious jabs his eyes had been accustomed to the blinding intensity of these suns.

No! They did not frighten him. What frightened him was the woman's face and her welcoming, moon-like radiant smile as she flashed benevolence -- egg-shell white teeth -- upon his being. He did not expect it. He was so much accustomed to being frowned at, shouted at, and manipulated around like a pawn that anything short of these ill-treatments elicited suspicion from him.

She did not desist. He was in for it, seemed she noticed his fright and was intent on frightening him the more for the more frightened Tade was, the more deepening the woman's smile.

He held on tightly to his report to keep his hands from falling off his shoulders.
''Have your seat'', the woman's voice lacked all venom, it was too soft on Tade's skin that it again set his nerves racing. He was used to nerve wrecking thunderous barks.
He felt the seat shaking under his weight.

Acclamatization, few words from the woman and Tade started mellowing down, it seemed she was real afterall! The seat had since stayed put. Oh then! It dawned on him, it was not the seat that had been shaking it was his shivering self that had been shaking the seat. For the first time in about seven minutes Tade felt the cool gentle breeze issuing from the air conditioner caressing his skin.

He felt at home! Was this not how lecturers should be dealing with the students? With the right set-up put in place, there exists a conducive ambience creating the right state of mind needed for studying.

Soon Tade's tongue was setting ossicles oscillating he almost did not believe himself as he all of a sudden turned professional orator, he just went on and on talking about amylase and all as the woman's --the external supervisor -- smile beckoned him on.

A kid who had not before enjoyed the magnificent sight of another man's farm would think his father the best father ever; better farmers resided elsewhere. 'Teacher pass teacher', that is.

One need be sorry for the sharp-beaks now, they were completely sidelined and were afforded no say in the issue at all. Tade developed the right mood to steal another quick glance at them and what he saw held his attention far more than what quick glance should take.

The sharp-beaks, their faces were taut; they all frowned and held him in a long hostile look, their sharpened beaks would be wasted afterall! Little shrieks arose from within the middle of the ranks but as long as his external supervisor did not mind he too would not mind.

Back to the woman, the external supervisor, a mother to the core, Tade thought; she caught him 'glanced' at them but she did not mind. She threw few questions at him about his work and he answered the questions confidently.

When at last she dismissed Tade he was reluctant to leave, he thought it would last forever but then, other students needed to defend also so he rose and, now, he had the audacity to beam a smile upon the countenances of the sharp-beaks.

He knew their gamma sight were tearing at him from behind as he majestically strolled towards the exit but did he care?

ajil:
THE KOLA-NUT TREE
Ifelodun comprised of Erimo, Araka, Ilobi, Ilase and Arimu. These five small villages were in the time past put together under the name Ifelodun by the Christian Society. Ifelodun herself was part of another league of towns—each comprising of small villages. The bigger towns—Ifelodun, Irepodun, Ifesowapo and Ire-akari—were administered under the name IyaOyewa by IyaOyewa Christian Society so Ifelodun Development Union (IDU) was formed as a vanguard to argue and defend Ifelodun’s interest at the top and also to see to issues of development. When the idea of building a maternity home was brought up by the union, it was allocated to either Ilobi or Araka
******************************
The chiefs gathered very early in the morning to deliberate on the land where the maternity home would be built. They had before chose a land near the entrance of the town via Arimu but it was rejected by the union, they wanted the land on which the sacred Goro tree stood. Onilobi was reluctant to release this land but urgent and decisive decision need be taken for hand must not stay too long in a scorpion’s hole else it gets stung so in the end in consideration for the prospective civilization and benefit that the maternity home would bring and in desperation to outwit Araka, the land was released to the union.
“Anybody who had ever taken his wife to Ekikun in Ire-akari before would know how good it is to have a maternity home close to him’’, oloye Osorun was telling another chief.
‘’Yes’’, began the other chief, “the experience is something to be scared of”.
The sacred tree was cut and work began in earnest on the land. The villagers could not believe at first when they heard the story that the tree would be cut.
‘’That is madness’’, said one villager. ‘’ If they have no consideration for their heads they should at least consider that of their families”.
This was meant for the potential cutters of the tree but in the end the tree was cut. Work was going on at a rapid rate on the building and it was getting very close to completion. Few months, the maternity home was commissioned by the president of IDU to the glory of God and benefit of mankind, and benefit of mankind it was for soon, the home began gaining popularity both at Ilobi and in the villages around.
‘’The whiteman is a witch”, said Ola following his wife been delivered of a baby at the maternity home after spending five dreadful days at the traditional delivery home without making any headway. She was wasting away on a mat, beholding her physical remnant carried neither conviction that all would proceed well nor pretence of hope. She was near moribund when taken to the maternity home and few hours thereafter she gave birth to a baby girl. The home did not handle child delivery alone it, among other things, offered first aid in case of injury and emergency, and health counselling. The trouble, indeed—in the words of the villagers—worths the end.
******************************
Olu-Obi festival was approaching quite fast. It appeared to just dawned on the villagers from nowhere (perhaps from somewhere) that the Goro with which the festival was celebrated had had its tree felled and in its place a maternity home was planted. It was then that their eyes opened to the folly of substituting the tree: a supposed old, backward and civilization-retarding entity for a civilizing edifice. The buzz became louder and louder with each passing day bringing closer and closer the month of Olu-Obi festival. When the festival was few weeks away the chief priest of Olu-Obi visited the palace...
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THE KOLA-NUT TREE
Ifelodun comprised of Erimo, Araka, Ilobi, Ilase and Arimu. These five small villages were in the time past put together under the name Ifelodun by the Christian Society. Ifelodun herself was part of another league of towns—each comprising of small villages. The bigger towns—Ifelodun, Irepodun, Ifesowapo and Ire-akari—were administered under the name IyaOyewa by IyaOyewa Christian Society so Ifelodun Development Union (IDU) was formed as a vanguard to argue and defend Ifelodun’s interest at the top and also to see to issues of development. When the idea of building a maternity home was brought up by the union, it was allocated to either Ilobi or Araka
******************************
The chiefs gathered very early in the morning to deliberate on the land where the maternity home would be built. They had before chose a land near the entrance of the town via Arimu but it was rejected by the union, they wanted the land on which the sacred Goro tree stood. Onilobi was reluctant to release this land but urgent and decisive decision need be taken for hand must not stay too long in a scorpion’s hole else it gets stung so in the end in consideration for the prospective civilization and benefit that the maternity home would bring and in desperation to outwit Araka, the land was released to the union.
“Anybody who had ever taken his wife to Ekikun in Ire-akari before would know how good it is to have a maternity home close to him’’, oloye Osorun was telling another chief.
‘’Yes’’, began the other chief, “the experience is something to be scared of”.
The sacred tree was cut and work began in earnest on the land. The villagers could not believe at first when they heard the story that the tree would be cut.
‘’That is madness’’, said one villager. ‘’ If they have no consideration for their heads they should at least consider that of their families”.
This was meant for the potential cutters of the tree but in the end the tree was cut. Work was going on at a rapid rate on the building and it was getting very close to completion. Few months, the maternity home was commissioned by the president of IDU to the glory of God and benefit of mankind, and benefit of mankind it was for soon, the home began gaining popularity both at Ilobi and in the villages around.
‘’The whiteman is a witch”, said Ola following his wife been delivered of a baby at the maternity home after spending five dreadful days at the traditional delivery home without making any headway. She was wasting away on a mat, beholding her physical remnant carried neither conviction that all would proceed well nor pretence of hope. She was near moribund when taken to the maternity home and few hours thereafter she gave birth to a baby girl. The home did not handle child delivery alone it, among other things, offered first aid in case of injury and emergency, and health counselling. The trouble, indeed—in the words of the villagers—worths the end.
******************************
Olu-Obi festival was approaching quite fast. It appeared to just dawned on the villagers from nowhere (perhaps from somewhere) that the Goro with which the festival was celebrated had had its tree felled and in its place a maternity home was planted. It was then that their eyes opened to the folly of substituting the tree: a supposed old, backward and civilization-retarding entity for a civilizing edifice. The buzz became louder and louder with each passing day bringing closer and closer the month of Olu-Obi festival. When the festival was few weeks away the chief priest of Olu-Obi visited the palace...
More loading...

After the ritual of salutation and greeting and obeissance the chief priest went straight to the point.
“Olu-Obi festival is coming my lord, you know it is the thing that brings the people together to rejoice and do homage to their ancestors. The town’s people are beginning to say how it will be celebrated. Last year they did not say so if they should suddenly turn round now and begin to ask among themselves how will it be celebrated I will not blame them, you and I know why it is so. The year that came before the last one nobody asked such question, year before, before last year nobody did too and I believe it had been so even before the father that gave birth to my father’s father was given birth to.
‘I was told that then things were not as they are today. Our elders say it is the cloth which fits the time best that one makes for it when you are being beaten by the rain passing urine on your body is not an offence, may be the rain has come on us so we should all be prepared to start letting our urine flow freely down our thighs that is why I come here to take words from you for the head is not shaven without the owner’s consent”.
The king sat amused and confused, albeit seemingly unpertubed.
“I quite understood what you have said but one thing confused me. What role do you want me to play? You are the chief priest so I do not need to remind you how Olu-Obi is celebrated. When you are made the kite you should be competent to snatch a child-fowl from its mother’s back”.
The chief priest waited patiently and let him finished. His eyes seemed to recede even more into their sockets, he frowned with menace written all over his face. Some time passed before he spoke this time, his face had brightened up a bit he stroked the portion of his head that had hairs and let off a grin. Onilobi sat even more puzzled.
“You asked me where you come in and I will tell you. You see, everything that breathes, even those that do not breathe, knows that Goro is used to celebrate Olu-Obi in this town now that you have replaced the tree with something more interesting, I come to ask you what you want us to use to celebrate this year’s festival”.
The king’s face clouded immediately. He did not talk for some time when he finally spoke it was not to the chief priest. He called one of the palace messengers and instructed him to summon the town’s people immediately.
******************************
“So that is it?” Alagba Kusoro asked his eldest son.
“Yes father”.
Alagba Kusoro was the oldest person in the whole IyaOyewa he had the history of not one but nearly all the towns that made up IyaOyewa at the tip of his fingers. No single hair was left on his head and his eyes appeared to peep at things from a very narrow broomstick-girth-sized hole that was his eye sockets. His skin was wrinkled in tens places.
“So people have now gone into the forest to search for Goro tree?”
“That is so father and I am going to join them”
“That is good but before you go sit down and let me tell you few things about Ilobi”. ...
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The young man sat down. He listened only with his ears, his mind had gone very far.
“Before houses were as many as they are now in Ilobi, when my father was not yet born; then, when people were free to move as they liked without fear of being kidnapped, as we have today; when you could be rest assured that your tubers were safe in the heaps and barns and as it was the last time you visited your farm; then, when one could be sure to be the first and the only one to pluck the fruit from between the thighs of one’s bride, when such virtue had not yet been thrown to the dog; when peace was still peace and only little, very little crime was known, some group of people came and changed the way of our people. Many of the people were not different from our people few of them were different in that they were afin or something close. Then, Olu-Obi was celebrated with Obi¬¬—the real kola-nut, not Goro—its slave and that was where the name of the festival came from Olu-Obi means the owner of Obi. The way it was done was different from what we have today. There was a groove called igbo Olu-Obi it was there that seven virgins—three girls and four boys—were sacrificed to the gods of the land. When those people came, they told us it was bad to sacrifice people to things that neither talk nor eat, they said our ways were bad so they changed everything and our people complied because they had nothing to fight these intruders.
‘The killing of virgins to celebrate Olu-Obi was stopped, they cleared the groove and in its place they built their own shrine where they converged on every eighth days to sing and dance. Singing and dancing, that’s what sacrificed meant to them.
‘Our people have their own dances and songs too and the strangers did not mind these so they allowed them to sing and dance the rest, we were told, were bad. They cut the only obi tree that was in the town and in its place set up a building where they taught our people their own way of doing things. Soon, the white man’s ways began gaining ground.
‘The Onilobi of that time, so that our own way did not die out completely declared the Goro tree, the only one in Ilobi, sacred for celebrating Olu-Obi festival which had been reduced to dancing, singing and rejoicing.
‘When houses began to increase and iron-roofed houses started appearing, our people had become familiar with the white man’s way so much that they were bringing and mingling our ways with the white man’s. It is said that when a leaf stays too long in contact with soap it becomes soapy. Olu-Obi survived all these times and today it stood side-by-side with the white man’s way.
‘The Whiteman’s delivery home is a good thing I have nothing against it but it is equally good that our people do not discard the tradition their fathers passed down to them’’.
Akinkunmi’s face clouded and he appeared to be deep in thought. He shook his head.
‘’I am not stopping you’’, kusoro continued, ‘’no. It is a good thing that we do not forget our root. The river that forgets its root dries up, a ritual performance that children must not attend will sooner or later dies out. I am closer to my ancestors, grey hair will not permit me to go with you. It will be great if you can find the real tree—the kola-nut itself—and not its slave. The little thing which I am capable to offer I have offered. I don’t have much days to live but I am happy I gave you something which my father gave me, which his father gave him and which his father’s fathers gave his fathers before him.
‘I told you that a leaf that contacts soap for long becomes soapy but that does not make the leaf a soap. If it is thoroughly washed with water it looses the soapiness and becomes a leaf again.
‘I am not telling you to go back to the olden, olden days of doing things altogether, no, but again do not forget where you are coming from. I have known good days and I have seen bad days, both the old ways and the Whiteman’s ways of doing things have their good sides, and bad sides too. Go now!...” There was a violent shriek to his voice and fire seemed to shine through his deep-set eyes. “...Go now and rediscover your root!”.
Akinkunmi appeared to discover himself suddenly and jerked to life. He picked his machete from the ground and with steps laddened with urgency and determination exit the house to join his people in the forest.

END.

RACE
Earth runs after earth
It cannot catch up with it
Hurrying dashing horse tries
Ages between earth maintains
Dog’s run, tongue a growing flap, futile
Snail, Two horns shutting out
Race-ready.
Horned-animal shall par with earth?
Snail! Is it?
Perseverance, patience
And stone is cooked
As it is, the race
Green mamba on the track
Speed urges it to death
But trudges on the snail
With perseverance and patience.

17. POIKILO
Only yesterday
I saw an agama
Struggling in the jaws
Of a snake
Their commoness: poikilo
Granted it its release
By the snake

Today in the ice-cold morning breeze
It is desperately after a gecko
On a fallen cold wall
Not knowing
The serpent is watching from the trees.

MOTHERHOOD



Thoughtful mind

Stormful night

Blinded the earth with a shroud

Raven black



Konwe on a visit to

Mortal earth in its

Haste to escape

The darkened fury

Hooted and forgot

To shriek



Akalamagbo in its

Astonishment stiffled

A laugh, ceased

To laugh



Wary of the night

Shivering was Igunungun

On its eggs



Daring the

Dark veiled night

To the dump-site

Went the Hen

Hastening her

Child's safety

Past her flew

The Owl -- messenger

Of doom

Incessant warning

Of the impenetrable

Night it was hooting



Neither right nor left

Turned the Hen

Thoughtless stormless formless

Death in ambush

Silently speedily struck

As child mother

Re-unite



In her present

Dying state

With her present

Dying strenght

Even in the

Dreadful deadly densely

Dark night the

Soil she scratched

Finding food for

Her child, her last

Very last

Mothe'ly rite.

PALMWINE DRINKER
His steps, toddler inclined
Carried his gaitly mass
Towards me
Not with minimal fuss
Like the tall nucifera
Dancing in the windy air.

His mouth, an aroma
of palmtree sap,
The skin-tormenting
evening breeze
It's conveyor,
Wafted persistently,
Even at that python-long distance,
Down my olfactory canal.

His tongue, of ruby
Shivering unconsciously
Slurred a declaration of hope
No! Of hopelessness
Yes, palmwine is never shy.