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We Serve the Same Eledumare

Dear Oyagbemi,

Unlike what Baba Osundare would say about the ancestral precision, before men from the West truncated it: westlife didn’t make southerns miserable. But from coast to coast, westlife taught us how to break a heart, and lay our love on the queens of our hearts that never were.

When I say the west, I mean the cardinal point southerns worship, like the missionary journeys we had, with our future spreading like the gospel to regions where footprints never meet.
Like the summer lightning of Sango appeases winter men, every step we took was a limp of faith… and a step away from what made us.

The compass that made our direction directed us to the light, and the darkness which was and still is the definition of our originality, was made a priceless pebble, which men of zero eloquence now use to foresee the future of unborn legends. No wonder most of our divinations are made on white wrappers, to atone for the sins we didn’t commit.

Though they made us believe our gods are gods of the lower region, and in legions we closed our eyes to the open facts of our very existence. They made us believe Eesu is the custodian of darkness and the man on the cross is the way, the truth, and the only light that can illuminate one’s path. And like stray sheeps, we joined his herd of flocks.

Unlike umbilical cord, we were disconnected from the source of our indisputable origin, and discountinued the practices of our ancestral fathers. We spoke ill of the dead, and blamed their ignorance for leading us astray, and silently we created a new image of Eledumare in the base of our hearts.

Oyagbemi, this is my 20th year in their way of the Lord, and truly truly I say unto you, I have seen more than Methuselah saw in this world of theirs. Here they breath deception instead of dust, and sisters are indeed their brothers’ keepers. Extortion like a chameleon takes different forms. The only time they clean their hearts is in his presence, and wear their old garments outside the alter. But what can I do? Like them my feet are rooted to the spot, and like a leopard skin, my body is an embodiment of scars from time past.

I beseech you to keep practicing the practices of Oya our ancestor, and that of Sango. Dine with Eesu (but don’t forget your long spoon), and dwell amongst the gods. That way I can assure you’ll make it to the greater beyond faster than the dawn of the day. There no life here, only shambles and reflections of over rational men. It’s safe to say we serve the same God… in fact our Eledumare is safer than theirs.

Why not share?
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