400 Seasons: The Ties That Bind.

Onikaluku jeje ewure, ewure, ewure

Onikaluku jeje aguntan, aguntan gbolojo
Olurombi jeje omo re, omo re apon bi epo
Olurombi o, join join, Iroko join, join.

Everyone else pledged a goat, but a goat, but a goat

Everyone else pledged a ram, but a ram, but a ram
But Oluronbi pledged her own daughter, beautiful beyond belief
Oh Oluronbi, Ah Iroko

Mama (at Home): Yeye, Papa, Sister, Brother, is anybody there? Can anyone hear me? I
have the words but have lost the music. The words keep playing round and round in my
head searching for the music. Now lost, these 400 seasons.

Yeye (across the oceans): hmmmmmmm

Mama: Oluronbi oooooo!! Still no answers?! Please?!!

Yeye: Who is your Yeye? Who is your brother? After the 400 season sin, who dares refer to
us as family?

Mama: O but I dare, fellow Earth Mother, I dare. I from whose arms you were violently torn,
those 400 seasons ago. Have you forgetten then? If you have forgotten the timbre of my
voice, have you forgotten the words also? Have you forgotten how we fled together, those
400 seasons ago, away from the monsters that were spreading mayhem, away from the
death and destruction they had wrought in our land. They came after us, for their real
purpose was human cargo. We fled through the forest together, but still they came after us,
arrows flying overhead. I caught an arrow in the side and as I fell and you cradled me in your
arms, there they caught you. Wrenched you violently from me, screaming and crying. I
didn’t know this then but I learnt later, they took you far, far away. Over the seven rivers
down to the great Ocean itself. There they passed you onto the barbarian for the horrific
journey over across the Oceans to lands faraway.
The journey was alas for you my fellow Earth Mother only the beginning of the torture. I
need not go on. You know the rest of the story. But I was rescued by the lonely hunter and
deep into the forest I stayed until another wave of monsters came. This time, there was no
escape. I was caught this time and dragged across four of the rivers. Traded from monster to
monster. But I was “saved”, by Pax Britannia so Pax Britannia can reduce us to slaves; on our
own land; monsters and victims, all victims together in this new world. So while you toiled
away on the hell they called plantations, we, left at home toiled away on our own land that
was now no longer our own. Together, across the Ocean, we toiled away unceasingly under
the yoke of the same master. Our spirits crushed, our nakedness out for the world to see.
Seasons passed and we both eventually broke away from our masters, but with spirits
already broken and our memories deleted. 400 seasons later we are at the mercy of the
same monsters. Mobutu selling his country and reducing its citizens to unending poverty to
buy villas in the south of France is no different from Adanzan selling the Queen Mother and
63 of her court to sit on a throne that was not his.

So Yeye, you have to remember. You remember the gods, you remember the drums, you
remember the dances, but do you remember the songs? Did they survive the arduous
journey and the even more arduous sojourn? Did the songs survive? If you hear my song
and remember, please sing back to me the music so we can sing together again and
remember together the times before the horrors, 400 seasons ago. Maybe it will build a
bridge of forgiveness and healing. To heal the open gaping wound that is Africa and her
children, scattered all across the oceans. Violently torn apart. And then maybe our wounds
will heal, the wounds of our children, crying still under some yoke or the other, at home and
across the oceans. Maybe then we can mend the cloth of our souls, rent violently apart, we
can join the two parts back again and finally, finally cover again the nakedness of our
children. And our children can dance again, in lush fields of gold. Just as we did, 400 seasons
ago.

And so we offer the young leaves of Iyeye, to ask for forgiveness and the healing of wounds,
we also offer honey, not for its sweetness but to heal our gaping wound. We offer alligator
pepper for bountiful fruitfulness, we offer orogbo, bitter cola, for the bitterness of truth to
cleanse our wounds and adun, for the sweetness of life, we offer the receptacle too, the
Shèkèrè, for joy and the rhythm of remembrance.

Temi Halim
For the Shekere Crew
March 2013