Excavate.
Excavate.
Found anything?
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Excavate.
Found anything?
In 2016, I looked into the middle of the Opon Ifa and what did I see?
I saw women, simple, rural, agrarian women carrying automatic weapons on their way to their farmlands.
Some of them were pregnant, some carrying loads on their heads, some with their children, some walking alone, some hiking in groups, all moving from one point to another.
I sat up abruptly. What was this I was seeing?
When I arrived the United States in 1992 to start a doctorate at UW, Madison, I had only $98 in my pocket.
My professor, Henry Drewal, quickly came to my assistance. He immediately paid my school fees for the first semester, and gave me $1,000 in cash to start me off. Then he provided me with free accommodation in the posh part of town for the first year of my studies, while I found my feet.
This morning, in my African Diaspora Visions class (an art history class that I teach at the University of Texas, Austin), a student from Trinidad and Tobago said, “In a hundred years, everybody in the world will be a Nigerian, or have family ties to Nigerians.”
I went on a walk this morning, and it felt really good.
As I walked, something occurred to me: The world is an incredible garden in which we were meant to simply hang out, enjoy, party, make love and multiply.
But what do we really do?
We bitch, hate, steal, cheat, lie, cry and even kill.
The Corona prophet, therefore, came to warn us.
Akodi Orisa resident artist, Foluso.
Miyetti Allah cattle herders want grazing grounds in the south?
I have not touched beef in more than a decade.
But fair enough.
We the Orisa devotees in Yorubaland have a simple request as well–in the interest of peace, progress and prosperity.
We want to have 100 square miles in each northern state reserved for us as our Igbó Orò. We need the space to break kola and worship our orisas.