This is a throwback!
What do you see?

What do you see?
Here I was, instructing my students at the University of Texas, Austin, on the principles of Ifa computational coding. How I wished I also enjoyed the opportunity to teach young people in universities in Africa this same skill. But I have no such opportunity. And it’s not for a lack of trying, even offering my services for free.
As I think about my new granddaughter, my daughter and what they know about me, about Africa, and about their tradition, a tormenting thought ran through my mind:
We, members of my generation, stand between the light and the void. And we are the last stand holding up the ancestral heritage. We must mine what is available and keep them in a culture bank, or too much will perish.
ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)
Gina did not look glad or relaxed. I could read it in her posture, without even getting close to her.
Rufus said, “Moyo, Gina is back!”
Steve hardly allowed the bus to stop properly before jumping down to run and hug her.
“Is that her?” Adolo asked Felicia rather softly.
“Yes,” Felicia responded. “That’s her.”
I got down slowly, and took my time locking up the door. Then I went to Gina. She looked down and didn’t meet my eyes. I thought, “She must be mad because she didn’t see us at her father’s funeral.”
As Rufus exited the buka, it was clear that Obaseki was disappointed.
With Madam Ngu and Prof. Wangboje present at the dining table, the circumstances for a total mediation of the crisis were perfect.
They would have just instructed Rufus to cut it, and that would have been the end. Obaseki could not have wished for a better opportunity.
But Rufus left to start his audition with his theater students without the discussion of the crisis coming up. One thing was certain: Rufus was mad and did not hide it.
When are we going to have orisa legislations in the southwest Nigeria to prosecute blasphemy against indigenous Orisa and Irunmole, with the imposition of death penalty on anybody who blasphemes against our indigenous holy names?
For example, should there be a death penalty imposed on anyone who calls Esu “Satan,” as believers do in churches and mosques daily in Yorubaland?
His jaw was clenched as Rufus advanced toward Obaseki. I realized that he was shutting off the reasoning valve and pressing on the throttle of turmoil within the engine of his brain. His sense, judgment, calculation and intelligence was at this point on vacation. The agents of automation were now in control of his anatomy. He was more machine than person, and his entire being was on remote control as Rufus began to press forward.