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We Never Die
We Never Die
“Òkú is not dead,” said Iya Oyo. “In our [Yoruba] culture, we do not die.”
“How is that possible?” I asked her, astonished.
“We already defeated Ikú (Death),” Iya Oyo announced. “The defeat of Ikú is what the Odù Ifá called Ọ̀yẹ̀kú focuses on. Olójòǹgbòdú, the wife of Ikú is the great woman who accomplished the defeat of Ikú, and since then we no longer die.”
Are Africans “shithole” as President Donald Trump has allegedly pontificated?
I arrived the United States in September 1992. When I stepped on US soil at the JFK airport I had exactly $98 in my pocket. Yet by February 1995, I successfully defended my doctoral dissertation at one of the best universities in the United States. I never enjoyed a penny of scholarship money. I was not entitled to, nor did I receive student loan. I worked my way through college.
The birthday Gift.
This birthday gift came well after my birthday. It has my name emblazoned on it. As I wore it, I recalled the conversation with Iya Oyo and Baba Oyo that evening they explained the meaning of my name, Moyo, which literally means “I rejoice.” It is part of a longer name Moyòsọ́rẹtíolúwápèsèfúnmi.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1982: (Part Thirty-Six)
***Reader’s Note:
I was informed that I should complete the ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY series before moving on to the next series, THE RETURN.
I will therefore return to the ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, and continue with Part Thirty-six. To refresh the memory of our readers, I have placed parts Thirty-five and Thirty-four at the end of Part Thirty-six.
It is five years already when I did this solo.
It is five years already when I did this solo.
The soil is the medium–not a single drop of synthetic paint in my work: I produce every color with carefully collected soils.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1982 (Part 38)
“Wole Soyinka wants to have a word with Rufus. Tell him to come as soon as possible. Kongi travels out of the country next week,” was the simple message that I got back from Kole Omotosho.
Omotosho was the head of the Dramatic Art Department, University of Ife. He sent a driver to me to collect a manuscript, “Marx and Mask,” written by the brilliant Ghanaian writer, Ayi Kwei Armah.
Soyinka regularly received manuscripts from several writers, and after making copies, he would distribute the manuscripts among his circle of intellectuals who met at least once a week to read and discuss the manuscripts.
