Wisconsin, Madison, 1994. Naming ceremony.
I was a college student.
One of my Nigerian colleagues had just finished his Ph.D., and he returned to Nigeria.
He had no idea that his girlfriend in Madison was pregnant.
When he was contacted, he decided that he was not returning to the US.
The pregnant girlfriend decided she was not going to Nigeria to join him.
After my Ph.D., I returned to the roots to learn from the source.
These iyas who have no university degrees taught me things none of my professors knew.
When a sheep keeps the company of the dog, it learns to eat feces.
Western Nigeria was not like this when we were growing up.
Oluorogbo–the first scholar.
In Ile Ife is a fellow to whom the invention of writing is ascribed.
His name is Oluorogbo.
(But this fellow is different from Olurorogbo, the son of Moremi).
Over the centuries, Oluorogbo’s scripts have disappeared because his books were buried during a conflict–a failed attempt to preserve the scripts and prevent them from getting into the hands of the enemies.
Evening.
The sun is setting.
The night is falling in Ile Ife.
For many years after I arrived in the United States, whenever I slept, I would dream of Ile Ife.
Nightfall.
Ile Ife.
For many years after arriving in the US, whenever I slept, I would dream of Ile Ife, where I grew up.
I am pleased to announce the publication of an essay that I wrote in 2004–sixteen years later.
The journal is the INTERNATIONAL REVIEW OF AFRICAN AMERICAN ART.
The essay, on the work of Bing Davis, is titled “Flying Back Home.” I describe Mr. Davis as an “Afronaut.”
I did not use the term “Afrofuturism,” because that term was not even in theoretical usage at that time.
FEBRUARY 16, 2020
Africans living in voluntary and compelled exile:
Do we deserve the “comfort” of exile, if we are only concerned about the comfort of our immediate families?
We all realize that a country like Nigeria has become a lion’s den, and many of the citizens feel trapped inside it.
We realize that many of us escaped with nothing in our pockets. I left with only $98 in my pocket in 1992.
Independence Day
Mother, why birth me black
in a white caul
with a white umbilical chord
feeding me off a tube
connected to your navel
from my prosimian body?
The Proposal
(To the colonial master)
Oga, will you marry me,
and take me home?
I can be your second
even third or fourth wife
You look so handsome
and I giggle
Dear Kicking Fetus
For Saidiya Hartman***
Why kick your mother
so hard, so relentless
right in the center
of her tender navel?
Is there something
you know about life,
about the impious ways