By Sola Ajisafe, Esq
Last night, the minstrel’s chant resounds
Mabaja Mababino echoes all around
All souls must comply, they claim
Beret-clad foot soldiers, empty jackets proclaim
Their hollow dirge across the land, a dance of shame
Biripo and Atilogwu, a dusty, doubting game
They raised a storm, now the calm sets in
The Egungun’s entered its grove, leaving pain within
Daddy G.O’s spirit world, Skelewu’s mournful beat
Choristers in heaven’s dirge, “Send down the rain,” they repeat
Biripo and Atilogwu, old melodies fade
Mababino’s and Mabaja’s wait for oil, in vain they’re displayed
No dice, no rainfall, no show; Egungun returns to its place
Ghormid back to Igbo Olodumare, Malokun to Irele’s space
Ayelala prowls Ilaje’s depths, Alagbaka’s gates closed tight
Phones dead, Mabajan’s frozen, Mababino’s in shock tonight!
What’s happening, Oga General Overseer? Nothing! Nothing!! Wetin?
The Copper ring’s won by Olosha; the rest’s just a story to fear
Days of luck are gone; Oran’s time has come
Datiwa’s now Datiwon; what’s befallen us, everyone?
Our Daddy G.O’s AWOL; our voices hoarse from crying
Tears flow endlessly; I pray you’re freed from your denying
I warned you, but I’m no prophet, just conviction’s call
My sword’s forged in truth, armor honed in fact, shield laced in virtue’s hall
To Mabajan’s and Mababino’s, you who hope on hope
Your days of luck approach, but not yet; your visitation’s not in scope
You never sabi wetin dey!
Can Ghormid find peace? Is there space to hide?
Get me my Obele and wooden canoe; the terrain’s laid waste Inside Obenla, the people hope is dashed
Ancestors of the sea beg their son; wise men of Oka seek reward
No road to Ikun Akoko; Ajapada bleeds, Ekimogun sucks, Ogho made hurts, Makanre is dazed, Okarufe stunned
Many words, yet no action’s drawn
Minstrels wipe teary eyes on torn clothes; empty hands and stomachs wait
Daddy G.O’s phone is asleep; this market’s limbo state
From Ilaje to Oka, from Ese-Odo to Ile Oluji, they cry
Silence and rumbles on the streets; three more days and half, hold tight
To the Mabajan’s and Mababino’s your basket of tears will overflow; salty water’s coming, it’s about to flow
E ti ri nkenken; you ain’t seen nothing;
Oju yin a bo!
