*Sacred Connections: Yoruba Our Continental and Diaspora Cultural
*Sacred Connections: Yoruba—Our Continental and Diaspora Cultural
‘Umbilical Chord’ (Link)…
…Are we not in all things, Yoruba? Such is the essence of our “Sacred Connections,” that have preserved our identity from the callous, inhumane act of the “slave trade,” the “middle passage,” and events thereafter in the so-called “New World.” We brought with us our deities (Orisha), spirituality, divinity, divination (Ifa), religion, worship, Ogboni, culture, tradition, heritage, language, oratory, proverbs, idioms, , logic, songs, poetry, comedy, drama, opera, riddles, jokes, plays, theatres, literature, politics, government, justice, jurisprudence, law, system of “checks-and-balances” (“Oyo-Mesi”), music, festivals, fashion, stories (folk-lore/tales), dance, fashion, food, colors, names, ceremonies, rituals, incantations, spells, chants, magic, science, meta-physics, medicine, herbs, ethics, mores, morals, determination, perseverance, endurance, survival, labor, occupation, and hope. We are Nation Builders—we are Yoruba, our language is Yoruba, and in all things, we are Yoruba, by “The Grace of Olorun- Olodumare”:
“Emi ba l’egberun ahon fun ‘yin Olugbala…
Ogo Olorun Oba mi, Isegun OreRe…
Baba mi, At’Olorun mi,
Fun mi ni’ranwo Re…
Ki nle ro ka gbogbo aiye…
Ife, Oruko Re…
In the English speaking world, people usually look for the literary meaning of a word in a dictionary. But in the Yoruba Kingdom, the Yoruba people usually search for the meaning of a word by the use of expressive proverbs and idioms.
There is a particular Yoruba proverb: “Owe l’esin oro, bi oro ba sonu, owe la fi nwa,” which, if both literally and metaphorically interpreted into English, would appear something like: “Proverbs and idioms are the search-horse for a word, which, if lost, could necessarily be found by means of proverbs and idioms.”
In essence, the Yoruba people use proverbs and idioms to add more meaning to their stories of adventures, failures, successes, and life in general. Parodies and satires are nothing new to the Yoruba people. They are fond of using animal characters, comparable to those of the comic-strip cartoons in the western world, to represent the heroes and villains in their stories. In most cases, a tortoise is the villain, and any other animal is a hero.
A Yoruba man and/or woman would explain a subject with a blend of riddles and jokes, euphemism and pessimism, optimism and sarcasm, wonderment and hope, and with some other reservations and non-reservations. As a Yoruba man, myself, my style of writing may reflect the above break-down of attitude, which permeates the examples and illustrations in the hereto narratives. These narratives should, therefore, serve both as enlightenment and an entertainment, which brings me simultaneously to the following point of view.
There is a variety of entertainment forms of the Yoruba that comprise of songs and chants whose wordings are not minced, and somewhat ‘ungagable’ (uncensored) in the pronouncement of the entertainers and entertained. These forms of entertainment are, undoubtedly, the fore-runners of the “rap” culture of today’s African-American youth. The Yoruba fore-runners of rap music are the Gelede’s Oro Efe; Egungun festival songs, rhythm and dance; , Oke’badan songs; Abe/Fanti songs: Eka-Aro Eyo; Apala; Sakara; Were; Juju; Ewi; and the 60’s to the present Fela Anikulapo’s brand of High-life African (“Afro”) beat. There is a sprinkling of wordings in them, which are comparable to the wordings in the entertainment form of “rap” music where the use of vulgar and non-vulgar parodies address the many problems of the young and old alike, vintage “Obisere” (Yoruba) and “Lil’ Wayne” (African-American) in contemporary music entertainment.
It would be an understatement to say that the Yoruba people, like their African-American cousins, “tell (say) it as it is” (popular slogan in the African-American community in Buffalo, New York).
There is a style which is commonly being referred to by some Yoruba people as Yoruba-English. This is an entrenched style, which is quite inescapable by even the most careful translator of Yoruba into English. In spoken or written form, Yoruba-
English approximates African-American English (“Ebonics”), which equals “Gee-Chee,” which equals “Patois,” which equals “Creole,” and which equals “Pidgin-English.” The ideas inherent in these modes of communication are somewhat traceable to the Yoruba language and some other African languages.
When a Yoruba man or woman says “Mo ma pe e, or “I go call you;” and an African-American man or woman says “I’m-o (Ahmo) call you, each one, interpretedly in the English language, is saying “I am going to call you.” The similarity between the speech pattern of “Mo ma” (Yoruba) and “I’m-o” (African-American English language) is interesting enough to warrant my suggestion that it should be a cause for research by any interested scholar.
In the Yoruba language, “wa” is used in every sentence where “Is,” “are,” “was,” and “were” are used in the standardized English language. That is to say, for any of these words in English, one has only to say “wa” in the Yoruba language. I have heard African-Americans use “was” in all these forms—singular and plural; present and past tenses, as “wa” is applied in the Yoruba language.
For example, an African-American who makes such a statement as “You was there” is saying it exactly in the Yoruba sense and form of “O wa ni’be.” Neither verb changes in form to a past tense as demonstrated by “You were there” in the standardized English language. “Wa” (Yoruba); and “was” (African-American English language) are both used as past-tense verbs. “O” (Yoruba); “you” (African-American, or Black-English), are correspondingly understood to be exclusively singular. In contrast, speakers of standardized English use “you” to represent a singular, second person or persons numbering in the hundreds, thousands, millions, billions, trillions, and zillions.
The mispronunciation of some English—even some Yoruba words—is noticeable, phonetically, in some Yoruba people as a seeming pattern of speech defect. I have observed a comparable pattern of seeming speech defect in some African-Americans. Larry Holmes, a former World Heavy Weight Champion, comes to mind here. As an example here, S as pronounced by someone who is being teasingly referred to as “a son of the soil” (“home boy”). He, just like Larry Holmes, no matter how hard he tries, would say something like: I’m a shon of the shoil” in an effort to declare himself as “a son of the soil.”
The speech pattern, described above, I s quite evident most areas of the Yoruba Kingdom, such as Ife, Ibadan, Abeokuta, Ijebu, Oyo, Ogbomosho, Oshogbo,, Awe, Iwo, Ede, , Isonyi, Ofa,, Ondo, Arigidi-Akoko, Ilesha, Ekiti, akure, Agbadarigi, Ketu, and others. Larry Holmes,and if I may add, “Mr. T.,” are “shonsh of the shoil whose linguistic “roots” could be traced to one of these places in the Yoruba Kingdom.
“Mr.T.”, by virtue of his fashion and hair-style, looks like a royal worshipper of Shango, the Yoruba deity of thunder and lightning. Thus, we can see a distinct Yoruba influence carried over into some popular African-American heroes.
I cannot remember exactly the first time I heard the Reverend Jesse Jackson speak. But one thing I can say about him is, whether as a fiery orator or as a cool, level-headed panelist, and/or talk-show host, he has always sounded to me like a Yoruba man communicating in English, with a slight polish to his own pattern of speech; as opposed to someone with a full-mouthed Yoruba-English accent. I have even observed the Reverend Jesse Jackson on several occasions, when though he might have been speaking in English, whatever it was that he said, would fall on my ears like one Yoruba dialect or the other.
It would not be to my disbelief if I should be greeted by an African-American cousin with “S’alafia ni?” or “Se dada ni?” Either one mean “How are you?” To greet me in Yoruba by asking “Kini nkan?” would be acknowledged by me in the same spirit as that of an African-American asking me, “What’s happening?” in a greeting form of acknowledgement.
It would be very gratifying to embark on a project whereby an African-American who wanted to, could participate as a student in learning how to speak, read, and write in Yoruba.
At this juncture, I would like to imagine Judge Glenda Hatchett as a student under my tutelage. I would introduce her to her first Yoruba lesson, with the Yoruba alphabets, as follows:
- “A B D E E F G GB I H J K L M N O O P R S S T U W Y.”
Accordingly, after she might have mastered the correct pronunciation of each and every letter in the Yoruba alphabets, I would continue with the lesson by treating the variations of vowel and consonant sounds therein.
I would continue with the lesson by pointing out to her that even though some of the letters in the Yoruba alphabets look like some of the letters in the English alphabets, only “B D O and T,” can be construed to have the same pronunciation as the identical letters in the English alphabets. It might then be necessary to go over the alphabets, again and again.
The next lesson after this would deal with the pitch and word patterns in Yoruba. The easiest technique one might employ to teach how to pronounce any Yoruba word correctly uses d/r/m (do/re/mi), as in a music lesson for beginners. One would have to position tactfully the accent signs (\, -, /) atop the vowel sounds in any Yoruba word, sounding them correspondingly in succeeding order with each with each respective musical pitch \ (do), - (re), / (mi). For example, the word, “gogogongo” (meaning esophagus or Adam’s apple in English) should be pronounced “gogogongo” (“d:d:m:d”). The word, “Abomomajeun,” should be pronounced “Abimomajeun” (“r:m:r:m:r:r”). An explanation of the meaning of the Yoruba word, “Abimomajeun,” would appear later on in our studies.
I have thus far aimed at reacquainting my African-American cousins with the Yoruba language, which was one of the African languages that slavery had so forcefully attempted to make them forget. The aim of the ’slave masters,’ hitherto, was an attempt to displace a “’slave’s’” mother tongue with the English language.
Unwittingly or wittingly, the “’slaves’” had adopted an evolving language form, the African-American (Black) English mode of communication. Its evolvement was a consequence of their efforts to diminish the mental anguish they had suffered in their attempt to assimilate and acculturate themselves in a “’New World’” that might have seemed to them worse than the “twilight zone.” The various “Black-English” dialects that have evolved from the period of “’slavery’’’ to this day, are due to the praise-worthy ingenuity of those “’enslaved’” African heroes and heroines. They survived “the test of time” in body; and their “souls keep marching on” in spirit centuries after their death.
In comparison, in an effort to speak the English language in the Yoruba Kingdom there had evolved a mode of communication called “Yoruba-English,” or “Pidgin-English, beside the proper Queen’s English parley by an elitist group—the so-called educated class.
“Yoruba-English” or “Pidgin-English” has been a romantic and idealistic mode of communication by all and sundry within the Yoruba Kingdom. For example “Who born monkey?” is a metaphorical pidgin question that literally means “Who is he, or she?” with a sarcastic overtone.
It is an historical fact that a vast majority of Africa-American ancestors were Yoruba people forced into captivity during the era of slavery and extracted away from their motherland, the Yoruba Kingdom. According to the historian, Basil Davidson, “Some of these were brought into the country not under their own names; but under those their captors knew them by. It was by such names that they were delivered by the traders to the markets of the New World. The Yoruba, enslaved by the Fon people of Dahomey to the west of them, were known as Nagos, and entered America under that name.”
This historical fact has been equally attested to by Dr. Ulysses Duke Jenkins, who explained that: “The achievement(s) of the Yoruba(s) in other parts of the world are also credible. Some of the slaves imported into America were Yoruba(s). It cannot be regarded otherwise than just and fair that the Yoruba(s) at home should have a share in the credit due to their kith and kin: the black man (and woman) in America.”
Dr Ulysses Jenkins continues, “Two instances may be cited here. The late Booker T. Washington, the distinguished black man who founded Tuskegee Institute in the United States of America, was a man of real fiber and brilliant achievement. His career was one which would bring credit to any nation which could claim him as a member. There is no doubt that he was of Yoruba extraction, as his middle name ”Taniafeni” is unquestionably a Yoruba name which is still in use in Yorubaland, especially among the Egba(s). Again, the Negro spirituals, which have thrilled the western world and which show the delicate pathos of the black man/woman are a development of “negro” music as used by the Yoruba(s).”
The name, “Taniafeni” (“Tanifeni/Taniferon/Taniferan”) which stood for the middle initial of Booker “T” Washington, means “Who loves someone/you?” and/or “The one who loves, loves you and me.” It was a name given to him, affectionately by his mother, to preserve her Yoruba identity in her beloved son
A story has been told that Booker T. Washington’s mother was “’raped’” by her then “’slave-master’.” According to the story, Booker T. Washington was a product of that “’rape’.” Nevertheless, the essence of “Omu-Igbaya and “Ikunle-Abiyamo,” in the true spirit of a Yoruba woman, spurred her on to instill some Yoruba lessons of morality in him, that of: Ise ni ogun ise… Mu’ra si ise, ore mi…Ise la fi ndi eni giga…Bi a ko ba ri eni fi ehin ti, bi ole la nri…Bi a ko ba ri eni gbekele, a tera mo ise eni…Iya re l’owo; Baba re si le l’esin le kan… Bi o ba gbojule le nwon, o te tan mo so fun o…Apalara, igunpa ni’ye kan…Iya nbo fun omo ti o gbo…Ekun nbe fun omo ti o nsa kiri…Ise agbe ni ise ile wa…Eni ko sise, ama ja’le…Iwe kiko, laisi oko, ati ada; ko yi pe o, ko yi pe o…
Booker T. Washington grew up under the influence of his mother to learn from her some lessons about life’s failure and success; cooperation and non-cooperation, and unshakable confidence as reflected in a Yoruba adage of “Agbajo owo la fi nsoya,” which she must have instilled in him by means of her “Black-English” (“’slave’s’”) parley. The logic here, according to the Yoruba, is that we can accomplish a lot with a fist ( a power-house), the epitome of our separate fingers, becoming equal and more powerful, working together as a unit, when clenched; or when we put our hands together to tackle an arduous task for the general good of our society. It is that air of success and confidence that is demonstrated when we celebrate a victory by hitting our chest with a clenched fist in a moment of euphoria. I think Booker T. Washington should have given his mother the credit of her influence in this wise, as reflected in his “Separate, But Equal” (Fingers of Our Hand) analogy. In trying to apply it to that endemic problem of American society, he was misinterpreted, and misunderstood. Olorun Olodumare, “Please don’t let us be misunderstood”…The analogy became a pun in the hands of his political rivals, most especially those who wanted to say that he was propounding an idea to subjugate the black race (far from the truth)…What, in the Name of Olorun Olodumare, is wrong with us using our hands in farming, carpentry, masonry, mechanics, plumbing, and other areas of vocational education?
OMU-IGBA’YA ati (and) IKUNLE-ABIYAMO
Once, I made my mother, Alhadja Sikatu Esuu-Ade Thompson, so angry to a point of exasperation that she went about whipping me; but she was justified, I deserved it. Bear it in mind that I was a rascal and mischief maker among neighborhood kids of my age.
“You hit and cut another kid on the head with a stone. You must have been five years old then,” she told me years later. “You were equally rough and dangerous with yourself, as a tiny tot,” she continued. “That stitch on the left side of your fore-head came about because you had ridden high up a hand-propelled swing (“jang-rofa”), jumped off it, hit your head on the ground and got injured. We had to rush you to Lagos general Hospital for emergency medical treatment. For the most part, when at your mischief, I went about “’blessing’” you out, rather than curse you out.” Rather than use bad words, she would use goods words to express her annoyance with me.
Could you imagine a woman being careful enough, when angry, not to commit a blunder of the slip of the tongue towards her child, by having a preference for adjectives in asking and wondering—“Why in Olorun Olodumare’s (God’s) Name, are you such a…”’good’” child? Such is the practice with Yoruba women, as exemplified by my mother.
They believe that it is bewitching for a woman, and therefore an invocation of bad omen to curse and shout angrily at a child. In essence, any form of angry words directed at a child is tantamount to a nullification of a mother’s most sacred virtue towards a child, that of love.