Afrosays to me

…random excerpts from my communions with the AfroMuse

Charming Town March 23, 2012

Filed under: Abstract,Scenic — afrosays @ 11:50 am
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Buckle up bonnie lassies and fellas, tis’ good that we share a tale in the hall today with meat between our jaws and ale in our bellies, aye.


Kiss yer pardners as AfroSays




art for art's sake, yer know?


I am Toodulo and it’s nice to meet you. I am dah tallest lad in all Charming, as tall as a cow. I’ve got pretty long ears and dah largest blue eyes, but I’m not dah only one with these last two – tis’ dah way we all are.


Charming, she’s a small town and we all know we, to think it well, we’re all one big familee.


In Charming, we mostly make our living from beauty, them travel catalogues say we are quaint art village hidden in dah purple hills, lapping lazily on dah sea water. ‘though, dah catalogue is right about dah town itself, it says nothing about dah people. Of kerrs, yer can imagine all dah very strange people that would call an art village thurr burrough – dah gypsy, dah lover, dah effeminate, dah old painter with dah suffering marriage, dah penniless string plucker, dah fat singun’ lady, dah happy-go-lucky dancing couple, dah little genius fella, dah cantankerous fire-eater, dah black clown, dah collector plus obsessor with a plucking purse of gold coins, plus plus. We at Charming are nothing like so, nothing at all.


From cottage to cottage, on every cobblestone street, in every back alley where a thieving orphan or two might make bed and especially in dah Town Hall where you’d see us all gathered on days we make tah be merry, yer’ll notice something strange and unsettling, I tell yah. There is only one face in Charming and that is dah face we all share.


My fadahr and my modahr are brodahr and sistahr and so were dah parents of them. On dah occasion where this is cannot be, dah would be a cousin available to build a home with. No outsiders can settle in Charming, i tell yah, and no member of dah family ever leaves. All our cottages are built exactically likewise – green mud walls and sun-yellow thatched roof with two windows out front and out back. All our clothes are dah same too: dirty wooly sweaters, brown and green checkered long johns and bunny slippers. Although, we all are artists of different kinna sorts, we’re all dah same person. You can’t live in Charming if it ain’t yer surname.


Dah travellers-through are used to dah way we live. They never stay more than a night at Molly’s inn for potatoes and nightsack; they as well are wanting to leave inna quickin’. They never stop coming though, for we paintings, we stone work, we wood work, we jewellery, we fashion, we books, we food, we music bottles, we shows and anything else they could be hoping to make a fortune from in dah big world.


Them travellers-through, they pay us in inspiration, for we have nothing of needing save that. They tell us stories of how things are, about thurr families, about thurr villages, about cities as big as ten towns put togedahr, about othahr ways of life, othahr creatures, othahr fashions, othahr songs, othahr shows and we are usually satisfied. Them tales helps us to create what we are not needing but they are mighty liking. On dah next trade day, yer can be looking to find statues of winged men as tall as houses or clothes that are too small for our little ‘uns. Yer would be finding paintings of men with hair on thurr faces and cows with six legs. Tis’ what makes living in Charming so wonderful – discovering othahr parts of dah big world in every home.


I make music bottles, I trap me merry voice in a green flask and yah can listen to it if yah put yerr ears close’nugh. One bottle, one song. Once you let dah song out, yer can’t put it back in. Me wife, who is also me sister, she makes fashions. And though we all wearing similar johnnies, dah travellers-through, they love Binnie’s fashions. Mah Sonny, he can make a painting of running cows, aye, and he can make yah hear them footsteps thumping on the field, fast and strong that yer gonna be looking around for a stampede. I love it here with my lassy, Binnie and my sonny but sometimes I’m thinking if I want to travel the big world for myself and see all these wonderful things fer meself.


If I journey outta Charming, I’d be the first lad to do so, aye!


But if I journey outta Charming, the familee’ll never let me back.




Dancing in the dark December 21, 2010

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 6:37 pm
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So, the goddess is warming up to me again and I’m also willing to be as cozy as possible; It’s been a while since I would randomly start the memo app on my BB and my thoughts would flow into it almost seamlessly. It’s good to be back.

The AfroMuse, she was at my place yesterday evening. I got to asking about how the year had panned out and what the next year would look like. She shut me up almost immediately. She got to bragging about how she’d been travelling the world and trying out new experiences. I was forcefully treated to hedonistic pictures of Monte Negro, Las Vegas, Brazil and Croatia.

I think what’s she’s trying to tell me is to loosen up. I’m all about my work and my future billions, #NoKidding, but I’m also learning a more important lesson, that life isn’t staged in destinations, it’s the experience of a most beautifully turbulent journey.

I’m learning to indulge in the moments before they become memories and do more than I usually would and I’m hoping you’d care to join me in this explorer state-of-mind.

Totally unrelated to the above is an issue that’s been on my mind or some time. I usually want everyone who reads AfroSays and is somewhat intelligent to understand my stories very easily but it appears that I’m mistaken and only a subset of those intelligent people actually do. They also happen to think a different kind of way from the general set. I don’t think it’s a good thing and I’m not happy that I’m not communicating well. According to the sneak-peek comments i usually get before i publish, this story is one of those stories that might be in that esoteric classification. Please let me know if it was easy to understand or not, I want to be better!

I’m doubtfully hitting my gong, alternating between loud bangs and softer beatings, carefully reciting my duty, trying my hardest to let you know that AfroSays:


Merging Spirits

The Geneses – Elewe’s Rebirth
Please read Olu-aye and the Seventh Sorceress if you haven’t.

(It’s unrelated to this story but you get to know Elewe in present day context).
I instinctively clutched my satchel tighter as a shadow began to form out of the darkness before me. This night, it was my turn to dance. My soul-inspector would be watching.
I swallowed hard and waited for the shadow to take shape out of the dark cloud that overwhelmed everything else behind it. I could not see the tall raffia fence that ran round the town square or the mango trees that shadowed it. Such was the manifestation of an important supernatural, requiring enormous amounts of energy from the stage of its announcement.
The chief diviner had explained while preparing us, that the soul was the sacrifice and the dance was the invitation. A perfect sacrifice would result in a merger between the one who offers himself and the spirit who comes, granting him mystic abilities beyond his human capacity. Anything less than perfect usually resulted in a curse, depending on the visiting spirit. Insanity and death were not strangers to this domain.
I bowed low, head touching feet, welcoming the sleuth. I straightened sharply like a whip in recoil, launching myself several feet into the air and landing in another bow, arms spread eagle. I shifted on my bare feet as the shadow spread out into the air like a mist of water from a boiling lake. The formations had begun.
I had watched every three of my colleagues dance this dance, this examination from the spirit world, only nights ago. I had watched them employ their impressive talents in welcoming the spirit sleuths.
Areke, a wet fox had taken Ibi, it was the signature sleuth of her bloodline. She had always been the most spectacular of us all. Her talents had transformed her dance into the most wonderfully impressive vision; she had painted the stage by juxtaposing elements of weather and greenery in a beautiful chaotic fashion. Her sacrifice was perfect and so was her merger.
Watching Iranse, the shapeshifter had put me in a further state of defeat. He had performed a very poignant, violent dance, summoning ancestral heroes and reliving epic battles. Naturally, Aramada, the chameleon accepted his offering. So did Jegi, the termite, accept Apa, the fire-breather’s less-than-poetic but yet overwhelming sacrifice.
The flashback brought my inadequacies to surface once again. I had no talents. I had made it so far under the Chief diviner’s tutelage only because of my sharp intellect and my skill with herbs, but here, real magic was required and I fell short.
I was still in my bow when I heard a bang. My end was before me. Only a sleuth of liege status would be introduced by a thunder drum beat from the other world.
I prayed in my heart that this spirit would be merciful. Everyone else in the village square was bowed prostrate as I raised my head to meet my examiner. Such was the honour due a soul inspector of liege rank, no mortal could look at the spirit except the chosen. I was introduced to Amoye, the keen; a female white feathered owl.
She lifted her wings and they revealed the deepest black interior. I understood the paradox immediately, righteous wisdom must not be without dark cunning. She was perfect.
She turned towards me. “Alagbara ma mero”, she randomly quoted. I knew what that meant. She was hinting at the superiority of cleverness over strength. I answered her rhetoric to myself, “baba ole”. She turned to face the moon, her back to me.
I knew that I was surely to perish but the prospect didn’t seem a garish thought anymore. I would die happily under the curse of a liege sleuth. I was about to start my futile dance when she talked once more.
“Sit. Elewe, a king sits down to conquer”
I sat.
“You already know there is nothing you can do to impress me.”
I acknowledged the truth.
“There is one thing though, one thing you can do to save yourself.”
The new information did ignite the faintest spark of hope in me for I knew that there really wasn’t any salvation outside this opportunity. I closed my eyes and recited a few words of incantation to focus my mind and numb out my senses. I would impress Amoye, but from within my soul.
“I once asked a man to give himself to me, he failed, how so?”
I pondered the riddle for a moment and thought it easy to evade. The chief diviner had told us of such a man, he had been the cause of many debates. No one could really fathom the wrong doing in his obedience to the sleuth that examined him. Was it she who had plagued him with insanity? I replied.
“He refused you, enlightened one”
She replied in negation, “That would be right under certain circumstances, but he didn’t”
I was in trouble but I refused to give up. How does one obey a liege sleuth and still offend? I tried another evasion.
“It wasn’t under the circumstances of a soul inspection”. According to the story, it was, but I couldn’t find any logical reason why a merger would go wrong after the sleuth had decided to go on with it. I however remembered that a merger done under the wrong circumstances could be problematic if the diviner wasn’t one with immense talents, talents impressive enough to summon a sleuth without appointment and still be forgiven. No diviner in over two hundred years had been able to succeed at such a daunting feat. It was an inadequate answer nonetheless.
She wasn’t impressed. “This is your last chance, I shall not be kind this time”
“Elewe, give yourself to me.”
Now, I saw what my real test was. I was to be the man in the riddle. I was being commanded to accept a merger that would be the end of me. Something was wrong and I hoped that I had figured it out.
“Wise one, my courage might be the end of me, yet, I shall speak”
“Speak Elewe, and speak well, lest it be your last”
I took a deep breath and I started.
“Amoye, I shall not give myself to you because you have not given yourself to me as required by the customs of merger. A merger should be a union, not a dictation. In inspection, you are my superior, but if you accept my sacrifice, we shall be one. If you will have me come to you, I humbly ask that you give yourself to me as well, but if not, devour me as you will.”
“I refuse you, Amoye, more so, I shall rather die than lose my wits”
I opened my eyes ready for what may come, standing face to face with the mighty owl, my hair blowing in the wind as she spread her great wings.
“You do not plead for your life?”
“I do not plead”
Amoye laughed.
“I give myself to you for I cannot give myself to a coward. Will you give yourself to me?”
“I give myself to you”
Nothing else mattered as the most beautiful magic happened. Our essences merged in a myriad of mystic lights and unnamed colours. The wisdom of a thousand ages, the strategy of kings and the superior cunning of those who defeat them, the brilliance of youthful intellect, the discernment of the grey-haired, the sovereign, circumspect judgement of the spirit world all became mine as a dark ring formed round my left eye and my hair withered to a soft grey.
The merger was complete.

If you think it’s good, invite someone to read as well, if not, tell me how to make it better. #ThankYou


Olu-Aye And The Seventh Sorceress November 25, 2010

Filed under: Scenic — afrosays @ 1:19 pm
Tags: , , ,

Beloved villagers, this is the reason for my prolonged silence.

I shall not speak much, the crazy goddess is with us.

Let us gather in one ritual spirit, keeping our thoughts in distance, as I, the TownCrier beat a spiritual ‘Konko-below’ tune in honour of her majesty. Our souls shall listen with a single ear as AfroSays:


She's calling you...

We’d been sailing for ten days with neither food to warm our bellies nor wine to cheer our spirits. We had depleted the water skins two days ago and our throats were parched for many a soul had perished drinking these foul waters we were navigating.
Our redemption was not far off anymore for an island had suddenly appeared before our eyes in the early hours of the night. I encouraged the men to gently urge the battered vessel towards the new found land because although I realized that remdeption was at hand, it would be unwise to let the desperation I saw in their eyes prevail over good judgment. I reckoned that we would not last a minute in these dangerous waters if we lost the ship.
We sailed two more days and lost two more men to the dark sleep, but the island wasn’t getting any closer. I suspected some foul magic at work but hope for land was the only thing left to motivate the men. I could not steal that hope from them lest they burn the vessel for they believed that the foul spirit of the sea would not claim their souls if the fire messenger escorted them to the underworld. I believed different.
I took another look at Elewe, our diviner. He hadn’t said a word to anyone since our escape from the accursed clay country. Elewe had saved us all from the hellion, but he had bent a rule to do so; an action that the spiritual kind undertook and paid for with their lives. He hadn’t escaped himself, the sixth sorceress had discovered his treachery and cast a spell on him before her passing; it was a spell worse than death. She had cursed him with a vision of pain he would always see but can never tell. I saw him break down in bitter tears, experiencing terrible things our typic minds couldn’t fathom. He had only come back to us five days ago and he had been of no use to us since.
I took my place beside him, looking out to the dark waters, wondering why he had offered his life in exchange for ours, stealing peeks at my own inner demons, when he calmly made speech.
“The seventh sorceress has found us. She’s calling you”
Taking in what he said, I knew I was to be alone on this last part of the journey. My destiny was to face Abami-eji, the one with a dual consciousness, the chameleon. Elewe suddenly grabbed my shoulder and I began to see.
“Olu-aye oh!”
I turned around to see the most despicable sight. A effeminate, old pervert catered to by two most handsome, young boys amidst seven thousand others. The man was clothed in a kind of see-through, sequined, flowing red silk material that wasn’t covering much, as were his acolytes. The magnificence of his surroundings exuded the lusty, throaty call of Sodom. His stage was a twisted living puppetry of every unimaginable fetish. This was the seventh sorceress.
“Olu Aye, care to join me?”
If this was Abami-eji, I turned away from her covering my eyes in disgust. Elewe had once told me that it was common belief among the spirituals that one could not look directly at her but no one really knew why. Her prescence stripped one of all sense of decency. Even one inclined in such desires would lose such an inclination in this temple of perversions.
“You know, Olu I like you and I think you deserve a chance…. at immortality.”
“Kiss me Olu, let me take your age away, let me make you young again”
“I know your darkness, I see the sickness in your blood, let me fix you”
He kissed my neck. I cringed. I turned back to see the most beautiful woman. Her ample breasts were soft cushions on my body. Her hands were taking away my evil, my wrinkles, my cares. I could feel every detail of her curves on my body. She was working her magic and I was yielding. I closed my eyes, soaking in the enthralling seduction and my hands betrayed me. They quickly forgot my instructions and went wandering on their own. They had not wandered too far when they found strong evidence of manliness.
I freaked out, pushing her away from me.
I saw the shriveled, old degenerate losing himself in laughter. I was on the floor sobbing. Defeat was near.
“My Olu, my beautiful man. Why wouldn’t you accept my gift?”
His voice was like a beautiful layered sound of a dozen instances of pouring wine. Every part of my being felt an uncontrollable pull.
“You have chosen to duel, Mortal. Immortal”
He became her once again. I stole a look at her as she kept on speaking. She seemed quite unhappy to lose yet another potential man doll. She attempted a pout, pucking her colored lips in mock protest. She became him.
“You would have made a fine princess”
I shook my head, wishing the unwelcome thought away. His acolytes began to laugh, a riotous, animalistic melee.
“This is your challenge!”
His voice became a freakish scream, like a thousand swords scraping on the stone walls of a palace dungeon, like ten thousand demonic birds of prey crying in unison, bringing a vision of slayings and sacrifices, of horrors unimaginable; the sound of the end of the world.
“To seduce him!”
My world began to spin around me as I was transported through a time portal to a different, yet familiar existence. I saw the mountains where I had walked as a child and I had made my home as a man, I saw my wife, beautiful Omoniwa, I saw my young cubs, practicing battle with wooden swords.
My already failing spirit disintegrated as I saw myself become another man, irritatingly beautiful like one of the acolytes.
Abami-eji pointed into the whirring mix of visions and showed me my challenge, my prize, my love-interest. The one to be seduced, he was admiring his family from a distance, smiling with pride at his success as a husband, as a father, as a man.
I trembled in denial as I began to realize the sheer wickedness of this bewitchment. I tried to close my eyes as the one to be seduced turned around and I saw his face.
It was me.

If you think it’s good, invite someone to read as well, if not, tell me how to make it better. #ThankYou


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