Many models would give an arm and a leg to look as fit as these artists at the Àkòdì Òrìṣà, Ile Ife, Nigeria!
Now, look carefully at this picture.
You will see the Àkòdì Òrìṣà artists pounding clay with pestles in a mortar. Do you notice that the mortar is upside-down, as these orisa artists are pounding the clay?
After preparing the clay, they will use it to make sculptural images for our cultural enjoyment.
I was 19 years old in 1975 and an undergraduate studying painting at the University of Ife when my friend, Augusta Akusu-Ossai, took this picture of me.
The attire I’m wearing in the picture is typical of what I always wore in those days: a long adire (batik) top that I designed and sewed myself, and the baggy pants of that era.
How could I have missed Obaseki’s car as he followed us from the campus? I prided myself in being careful on the road, paying attention to the vehicles around me, and particularly in making sure that I was aware of my environment.
But as a Yoruba proverb says, one cannot be as clever as the sneak who is observing one’s activities.
The situation was critical. Obaseki was in attack mode and was no longer in full control.
Any careless statement from Gina or me could escalate the delicate matter into a full-blown crisis.
“Obaseki,” I said, “there is a misunderstanding. You are not reading things correctly.”
It’s mango season in Nigeria.
The markets are flooded—
Big mangoes, small mangoes, orange mangoes, magenta mangoes
Purple mangoes, olive mangoes, slim mangoes, fat mangoes—mangoes so sweet, you forgot your plans to visit your boyfriend today
Once upon a time, the Ará Ọ̀run known as the Egúngún visited Ayé for the first time and saw Ará Ayé, known as Ènìyàn or human being, for the first time.Ará Ayé also saw Ara Ọ̀run for the first time that day.Intrigued by the appearance of Ará Ayé, the Ará Ọ̀run the Egúngún wanted to take Ará Ayé back to Ọ̀run.But scared of the colorful attires and striking sculptures of the Egúngún, Ará Ayé began to run when the Ará Ọ̀run approached.
At the airport and, incredibly, within this period, I gave birth to the ÀKÒDÌ ÒRÌṢÀ, the building in the background of this picture.
Food for Thought
My mates at the secondary school called me a foodie.
They served us starvation grade food in the hostels where we were warehoused, and we were always hungry.
The only grace was that there were lots of ill-fated weevils (kòkòrò) cooked with our beans providing us enough animal protein to supplement the plant protein in the beans.