
The firewood of this world is not for the weak.
It takes a strong person to successfully prosecute a search for fuel during an occurrence of fuel scarcity in Nigeria, an oil rich nation in the paradoxical position of suffering recurrent fuel shortages for generations.
Only a wise man can successfully keep a woman.
My brothers, Ogun, Sango and I, once coveted the same woman.
We decided that we should try our luck, beginning with the eldest, Sango.
Whoever the woman accepted, would keep her.
Sango went first to visit her at her home in Iwo.
As their relationship progressed, she asked him “Darling, let me know what you don't like, so I will not unknowingly offend you”.
Sango is a stone cutter, so he told her he does everything to make sure his cutting implements are kept in the best condition.
Shortly after this, she spent the night at his house.
On waking up Sango went to start work, saw his cutting instruments smashed and the lady leaving the shed where he kept them.
He challenge her but she took flight back to her house.
He chased her there in anger but was stopped by her father, who, using a word of power, ofo ase, turned him into a double headed axe and a double headed axe Sango remains till today.
Ogun and I deliberated.
Should we give up on what was now clearly a treacherous task?
The woman’s magnificent curvature and matchless face, the promise of infinite delight her buxom form offered, however, made it difficult for us to reason in terms of self preservation.
Without the delights of women, would the world not be emptied of a core of meaning?
Ogun choose to proceed as earlier agreed, he being the next eldest.
The lady and Ogun got on well.
In the third week of their courtship, when Ogun had gone deep into the allure of her exquisite self, she implored him “Dear, what happened with your elder brother was most unfortunate. He did not even give me a chance to explain things and he immediately assumed I was guilty. I admire you and want to be with you. Please let me know what you don't like so I don't offend you. You are truly my kind of man”.
Ogun was ecstatic.
“At last”, he beamed inwardly.
“I preserve my smithing instruments with the utmost care. A sacred vocation it is, one in which the ritual implements must ever be kept pure. Nothing dirty should come near them”.
“Wonderful, my love”, she replied. “A dedicated man like yourself is an ornament to any woman”.
A week after this exchange between lovers, she spent the night in Ogun’s house.
On rising to start work, he got to his smithy to find the lady’s menstrual clothes, soiled with blood, on his hammer and anvil, his smithing instruments.
He charged into the bedroom to challenge her but she raced to her own house, with Ogun in hot pursuit.
My own brother Ogun, champion of the historic battle of Ire, the one of whom it is said that twenty men are required to restrain him when overwhelmed by battle lust and the enemy has been decimated yet the lust is unabating, was stopped at the entrance to the lady’s house by her father, who, using ofo ase, a word of power, transformed him into a block of metal, and a block of metal Ogun remains till today.
I alone was left.
Do I quit what was now clearly a mad dream?
How would I honour the memory of the brave ones who had gone ahead?
Was retreat not the wiser option?
I certainly did not want to end up transformed into an object at the hands of the demon the dreadful woman had as a father.
But...but...
The more demanding the effort to collect the ingredients for cooking the soup, the sweeter it is.
I chose to try my luck and went to the lady’s house at Iwo to initiate my own courtship.
Everything went well.
She was both erotically exquisite and maternal, tender in all things and fiery in the bedroom.
Truly, I now knew why men have lost so much because of women.
Four weeks into our relationship, she expressed remorse at the fate of my dear brothers and admiration at my courage in spite of the attitudes of Sango and Ogun who had assumed she was guilty and had to be restrained by her father who saw himself as needing to protect her.
“But you, my dear Orunmila”, she declared, “you are a perfect man. What more would a woman want after having you? I must not lose you. Do confide in me your taboos. I must serve you with my love”.
“ I am a writer. Therefore, my sanctum where I write is a holy place where inspiration visits. So, I keep it neat always, free from noise and dirt. Nothing would hurt me more than seeing it desecrated by such elements”.
A week after this tender exchange, she spent the night at my house.
I woke up to resume work only to find the floor of my study covered in mud as she scraped dirt from her boots, having been out in the soil made wet after yesterday’s rain.
What did I do?
I helped her scrape the boots completely free of dirt, and assuring her there was no problem, I carefully cleaned the study, an entire day’s job.
When the hunter learns to shoot without missing, the bird learns to fly without perching.
Our courtship continued amicably and she invited me to spend some time with her in her father’s mansion, which I agreed to.
A week after living in the mansion, I tried to enter the room we shared, only to find it locked and sounds coming from inside indicating she was enjoying herself with another man in what had been our love nest.
What did I do?
I slept on a couch in the living room and the next day I washed the clothes of her lover and herself and hung them to dry.
After this incident, she declared:
“You are a man among men. I will go home with you. Only a lion can hold a lioness. You are more than a lion”.
That was how she became my wife.
I named her Iyawo- The Suffering I went through in Iwo.
On the way from Iwo with her, I did one last thing.
I instructed my dear friend and lieutenant Esu to do what needed to be done with her lover who chose to do what he did.
I leave his fate to your imagination.
Story retold from a volume in Cromwell Usamaro Ibie’s multi volume
Ifism, a collection of ese ifa, Ifa literature, the Yoruba origin Ifa system of knowledge, perhaps as encountered by Ibie in its diffusion into his native Benin-City.
Retelling inspired by reading the first chapter of Tom Griffith’s translation, edited by G. R. F. Ferrari, of
The Republic by the Greek philosopher Plato, a delightful literary work which can be read up to page 30 at
this link and up to page 10 at the
Cambridge University Press link.
The translation depicts beautifully the social setting and conversational flow of what is described as the greatest work of the greatest Western philosopher.
What is philosophy and in what ways is it related to literature?
Cover image
Opon ifa, Ifa divination tray, central functional and symbolic form of Ifa, with a double headed axe of Sango with the handle as the form of a buxom woman.
Image source : Donna Gibson on
FlickrAccessed 7th February 2016
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