Last week’s ascension to the Alaafin of Oyo throne by then Prince Abimbola Akeem Owoade courted tremendous ruckus in Yorubaland. Why would an unseen Ifa deity and its cloudy, ancient system of divination choose an Alaafin? Implicated in the back-and-forth that followed was 92-year old Ògúnwán̄dé Abím̄bọ́lá, professor of Yoruba language and literature and one-time vice chancellor of the University of Ife, now Obafemi Awolowo University. In 1981, a conclave of Ifa priests in Yorubaland anointed Abimbola as the Àwísẹ Awo Àgbàyé (World Ifa Priest). He was then investured by the late Ooni of Ife, Oba Okunade Sijuwade. It was to this man I headed on Sunday, January 12. Àwísẹ had given a 1pm appointment for an interview session to which me and two newspaper editor friends of mine – Lasisi Olagunju and Saheed Salawu – responded.
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In one week or so, the fierce war between tradition and modernity became manifest. Where else could the war be waged other than Oyo Alaafin, a place which prides itself as the locus of traditional Yoruba society? Oyo was the centrifugal point where traditional power, culture, language, history collaged. When those powers were collapsed by British forces, Oyo manifested how the vapour of the powers drifted away. It was home to traditional heritage, political authority, power and influence. The power of its monarchy was awesome. Today, Oyo is a fragile carcass of the awesome and imposing Oyo Empire founded in the late 14th or early 15th century. That empire grew, in the words of historians, to become “the largest and most powerful of the forest states of West Africa.” From its Old Oyo, located somewhere in the Savannah below the bend of the River Niger in the Bussa-Jebba area which was abandoned in 1835, Oyo showcased an extremely impressive internal organization, imposing military strength with the Alaafin as an Emperor. Alaafin, who was the sole king in Yoruba land, reigned over a vast empire. He was the sole king to bear the appellation, ‘His Imperial Majesty’, had governors called Ajele in all the regions. These governors ruled as suzerains from areas that extended as far as to the Popos, Dahomey, and parts of Ashanti, with portions of the Tapas and Baribas. Dahomey is in the present Benin Republic. The Alaafin also had Ilari, messengers who kept the Ajele in check from excessive wielding of power.
This Sunday morning, I was interested in a brand new worship at the feet of the Àwísẹ Awo Àgbàyé. I was ready to abandon everything else for a momentary worship by the Ifa priest’s feet.
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Àwísẹ himself affirmed the traditional truism which says that, one major way to ascertain the potency of one’s Ogun deity is to hit its metal insignia on the head. Unbeknown to Abimbola, that was what he literally did. On arriving at the ancient city of Oyo, how could his home be located? The Ifa priest merely told the journalist, “just tell anyone in Oyo town that you’re heading to my house.” The priest was dead right. “Follow me” was the simple retort from an Okada rider when asked for the description of the Ifa priest’s abode. In few minutes, we were inside an expansive compound which, from its outside, you needed not being told you were in the home of a quintessential traditional worship czar.
Oyo had been very cool this Sunday. It was oblivious to the social media uprising over its new king. As you drove past Ibadan, the state capital city, you felt the flavour of driving northwards in the air. The mangrove receded, giving way to an arid temperature and weather. A few kilometers from Oyo, a heap of dirt by the roadside confronted you, shattering the sanity of the beautiful forest zone. In this particular place, you could feel the texture of an absent environmental enforcement and a people sworn to a life of filth. Then, a long file of articulated vehicles lined the highway, with northern traders surrounding this particular roadside. These telltale signs announced that our northern brothers hibernated there. They were dead to the stench of the heaps of filth and the diseases they harbour. They were almost indistinguishable from their dirty heaps.
Drummers welcome guests into what looked like Abím̄bọ́lá’s own palace. And a black statue, presumably of the Ifa priest, sat regally in the expansive compound, dead to the curious stares onlookers give it. The compound itself was home to a number of houses. It was built like a typical African family compound – agbo ile – with houses within it. The only difference is that this compound comprises semi-modern apartments.
Promptly, we were ushered into the Àwísẹ Awo Àgbàyé’s own section of the compound. He sat regally on a black-coloured elevated chair that mimics a king’s stool. He was dressed in an all-white attire, a brown native cap clinging to his low-cut grey-haired head. He had a dangling ring of coloured beads on his neck, with an elephant tusk-like traditional Ifa priest whisk, an insignia of office called Iroke, which he held in his hand. He flung this momentarily as the whisk makes whooshing noise. Three white-headed effigies surrounded his seat, sitting regally on the terrazzoed sound. Once in a while, Awise dashed out to attend to the milling crowd of Ifa devotees who needed his attention, like the Oluwo of Oke and Isale Oyo. His brisk sprint, which belied his 92-year age, was an awesome spectacle to behold. His wife, a Causasian Ifa priestess, Iyanifa Ajisebo (one vast in daily spiritual offering and sacrifices) Mcllwaine, sat on the next black chair to him, pounding glibly on a Mic laptop. She occasionally lent her voice to conversations, especially when her husband demanded affirmation of a particular anecdote.
At a time, some Ifa priests divining within the premises came to ask Àwísẹ about a divination process and Iyanifa Ajisebo offered to go bring her own divination ring (opele) and Àwísẹ’s to the priests so as to aid their divination process. The living room was over-decorated with photographs hung on its walls. Abimbola’s parents’, as well as ones he took with Alaafin Lamidi Adeyemi, Oba Okunade Sijuwade, late Ooni of Ife, Pope Benedict, Deoscóredes Maximiliano dos Santos, alias Mestre Didi of Brazil and many more photographs majestically flaunted the fact that we were in the home of an iconic man of history.
Even at 92 years of age, a scholar of reputable intellectual prowess and achievements, who was vice chancellor and senator, Abimbola still mirrored the humility that his Yoruba race was known for. When he returned from his occasional dashing out which punctuated our interview session, at each of his returns, Abimbola bowed to his audience, all of whom his children were older than, mouthing the deep Yoruba greeting, “e ku ikale o”.
Professor Abimbola told us how he began divination and how he was taught by a Baba Lejoogun in Akeetan, Oyo, as well as how he was almost beaten by his colleague senators one day at the federal parliament. “It was God that prevented them from beating me. They could have beaten me but for who I am. O si ye, o bo, eegun o gbodo na babalawo” (It is beyond them; a masquerade must not beat a Babalawo).” he said. When asked what if they had beaten him, he said so little but so much, “Beat me? Parara l’ewe koko o ya. Parara (cocoyam leaf gets torn terribly; terribly is cocoyam leaf torn)” he replied.
On his role in the choice of the Alaafin, Baba Abimbola said, “I did not insist on the choice of the candidate, the kingmakers approved him. It turned out that the candidate is a good man when his file was presented. We did the divination a long time ago and as an academic, I wrote a 21-page report on the divination process. When they called me four or five days ago, I asked for the report. They said maybe it was with the governor, and things like that. They asked if I remembered the name of number one (the first candidate). ‘But I wrote a 21-page report! Then I sent for my wife, with whom I carried out the divination process…She fished out a copy of the report. I did not choose the Alaafin, the kingmakers did. Ifa chose the person and they approved him. They expressed satisfaction with the choice. Maybe they had been scrutinizing him all this while to find out if he had done something wrong in a previous workplace or committed any kind of wrong before.”
We were then interjected by a group of Ifa worshipers who came to pay obeisance to the Awise. They laid prostrate on their bellies while the Awise prayed for them, flinging his Iroke intermittently, “Ifa will fight for us… We will not fall into calamity. I pay respect to you. As we live to see this year, all of us and our families will celebrate more on earth”, which he said in Yoruba as “Ifa o se’gbe fun wa o… Aa ni si se. Mo gba fun yin o. As’odun yi, a o se’min t’omo t’omo, t’aya t’aya,” he prayed. Then he punctuated the prayers with the poetry that accompanies Ifa divination. Its alliteration, rhyme and onomatopoeia were fascinating and the rhythm enchanting to listen to. Awise, with a mellifluous voice, then began to chant the poetry of Ifa, which to a non-initiate sounded like gibberish:
“Kekenke l’awo kekenke, gegenge l’awo gegenge,
A d’ifa fun Orimonike omo atorunke waye.
Ifa moo ke mi, o ge mi o; gege l’adiye nke’yin…”
The professor then went into explanations: Four things act as existential prods to the life of every human being. One is one’s father; second, one’s mother; one’s head (ori) is the third while the fourth is one’s ‘Ikin’, the deity one worships – either Ogun, Sango, Oya or whatever. Like a pastor, he told the devotees what Ifa had in store for humanity for the year. And the Ifa worshipers departed, happy and thankful to the Awise. While asking each of them their names, those who answered English names, the Ifa priest jocularly added “Ogun” as prefix to them. The person who bore Smart, for instance, he called ‘Ogun-Smart’!
At any point the Awise’s reference came to someone who had departed, a sobriety instantly overwhelmed him and his head dropped on his chest. For instance, when he referenced Dr. Chukwuemeka Ezeife, an SDP governor of Anambra State, he said he heard Ezeife had ‘gone to the Ogun deity shrine’ – “Idi Ogun” – Ifa diviners’ own way of euphemizing death and the dead.
Abimbola, the teacher, spent every minute of this session doing what he knew how to do best. While explaining how the former governor of Ogun State, Olusegun Osoba, attempted to bring sanity into the scramble for the Senate Majority seat of the Third Republic senate, as the Awise mentioned “Osoba” he taught all gathered that the pronunciation we were used to was faulty. “Oso,” he said, was the name of a deity, so the name is Oso-ba, just like Oso-nimore, the name of another deity, he said.
When asked why he doesn’t take alcohol, Abimbola had an Ifa poetry which named alcohol and all its local variants Oguro, emu and oti as “amuwagun eni,” – refiner of character. In other words, said the priest, Ifa does not frown at alcohol but hates over-indulgence in its consumption.
Abimbola said there was no knowledge that is as in-depth as the Ifa corpus in the world. It is a knowledge, he said, that is taught to a youngster for 20 years. Odu Ifa, he said, is 256 and the story in each of the Odu is 800. Thus, to know the stories in Ifa, you will need to multiply 256 by 800. “For example, in a university, if a postgraduate student wants to write a paper on everything Ifa says on cockroach, the student may need to visit about 20 babalawos, because the stories that Ifa tells on cockroach may be about one thousand. Stories on worm may be two thousand, and stories on a particular bird like Opeere may be one thousand. Ifa is a compendium of the experience of Yoruba people throughout the ages; experience about animals, trees and various mountains, about forests, about fish, about seas, about us, humans. It’s a whole library. This is the same Ifa that they are trying to extinguish, but it will not become extinguished in my lifetime. If Ifa becomes extinct, it is we, the Yoruba, that go extinct. There are no other peoples in the world who have the like of it. What they may have is part of what has been written down. I will tell you the reason why our forefathers did not write things down. If one begins to write things down, one’s mind will not be sharp again to remember. Writing things down may is an enemy of memory. People around the world invite me to come and give talks. Pope Benedict XVI invited me three times. He once invited me alongside other religious leaders from Japan, India, Russia, Syria, as well as the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Jewish religious leader,” he said.
By now, we had spent close to four hours of literally worshiping by the feet of Àwísẹ Awo Àgbàyé. We didn’t want to let go of one another. Baba Abimbola thoroughly enjoyed our first-time acquaintance while we relished his. He left a statement that rings in my subconscious as we prostrated in obeisance to him, ready to leave his home, his Iroke flaffing in salute. “Yoruba are standing by as they want to leave us in ruins – Won fe pa wa run l’e nworan!”, he shouted, his voice laced with a genuine agony. “Identity walks on two legs like a human being,” he said again, and continuing, Abimbola told us, “If they take Ifa, our identity, away from us, they have taken Yoruba from the face of the earth”. Awise then recited a traditional Ijala poetry chant of an uncle of his named Adeyemo, who he said, as far back as 1945, lamented that the culture, religion and language of Yoruba people were going extinct. Adeyemo, said Awise, described the potential collapse of Yoruba language, culture, religion and ways of life as “Kungu fo!” It was too dense for me to attempt an interpretation.
As we bade Awise bye, on the verge of leaving the ancient Oyo town, we prayed to Ifa to help us see Awise again so that we could drink, yet again, from the purity of his brooks of ancient knowledge and wisdom.
Festus Adedayo is an Ibadan-based journalist.
