The Coronation Of Ezeulu by Chinua Achebe.

Culled from Chinua Achebe’s Arrow of God.

‘At that time when lizards were still in ones and twos, the whole people assembled and chose me to carry their deity’.

‘I said to them: “who am I to carry this fire on my bare head? A man who knows that his anus is small does not swallow an udala seed”

‘They said to me: “Fear not. The man who sends a child to catch a shrew will also give him water to wash his hands.”

‘I said: “so be it”

‘And we set to work. That day was Eke: we worked into Oye and then into Afo. As day broke on Nkwo and the sun carried its sacrifice, I carried my Alusi and with all the people behind me, set out on that journey. A man sang with the flute on my right hand and another replied on my left. From behind me the load of all the people gave me strength. And then all of a sudden something spread itself across my face. On one side it was raining, on the other side it was dry. I looked again and saw that it was Eke.

‘I said to him: “Is it you Eke?”

‘He replied: “It is I, Eke, the one that makes a strong man bite the earth with his teeth”.

‘I took a hen's egg and gave him. He took it and ate and gave way to me. We went on, past streams and forests.

Then a smoking thicket crossed my path, and two men were wrestling on their heads. My followers looked once and took to their heels. I looked again and saw that it was Oye.

‘I said to him: “Is it you Oye across my path?”

‘He said: “It is I, Oye, the one that started cooking before another and so have more broken pots.”

‘I took a white cocks and gave him. He took it and made way for me’.

‘I went on past farmland and wilds and then I saw that my head was too heavy for me. I looked steadily and saw that it was Afo’.

‘I said: “Is it you Afo?”

‘He said: “It is I, Afo, the great river that cannot be salted”

‘I replied: “I am Ezeulu, the hunchback more terrible than a leper.”

‘Afo shrugged and said: “Pass, your own is worse than mine.”

‘I passed and the sun came down and beat me and the rain came down and drenched me. Then I met Nkwo. I looked on his left and saw an old woman, tired, dancing strange steps on the hill. I looked to the right and saw a horse and saw a ram. I slew the horse and with the ram I cleansed my matchet, and so removed that evil.’

Bridges by ObinnaDikeNnamdi

It’s not walls that I build, sitting in solitude in the midst of multitude

It’s not walls that I build with my headphones on using my eyes to listen

Its bridges I build

I'm soul searching

Building a bridge into self

Trying to discern self from the rest

Its bridges I build; connecting mind to soul

Connecting heart to head

Connecting plans to goal

Connecting the past to the present, trying to get ahead

It’s not walls I build going sole towards my destiny

It’s me exhibiting my eagle propensity

We are all unique, each of us, in different ways.

So I build a bridge between inner me and outer self

Between inner self and outer me

Searching for the uniqueness in me

Then I search further to discover this;

There is no uniqueness in me, but there is uniqueness in every other, but therein lies my uniqueness

Everyone is unique but me.

Then I walk with my head high,

Knowing that everyone is unique but me

But me lies deeper than the eyes can see

That is why I had to dig deep.

Then, from the zenith of my discovery, I build bridges from self to the world

Fortifying the bridges with beautiful words, because I know it takes more words to hurt than it takes to heal, it takes more words to break that it takes to build,

I fortify this bridges I build with warm hugs, firm hand shakes, soft kisses

I fortify these bridges I build with kind gestures and soothing smiles

Because through this bridges I will bring me out from self to the world,

And through these bridges, I will take into self, from the world;

Inspiration, appreciation, encouragement, strength, joy, laughter, peace, fulfillment.

So you know that I took in more than I gave out and that's why I will never stop building bridges.

Aveng!ng Our Ancestors by ObinnaDikeNnamdi

Avenging our ancestors, not with spear and hate, but with words and love.

No, not love for their oppressors but love for the resilience with which our ancestors stood tough,

and with words placed side by side we tell these tales of trial and triumph.

Before time began, before numbers started numbering, even before they started writing down our history, the Dafuna canoe had been a wonder of its time, the Tera Cota from Nok had been seen nowhere else and the Igbokwu bronze was a representation of our knowledge and wealth

The Benin artifacts...enough can't be said,

They are still a wonder to behold even to the 21st century curator

And till this day they still line the museums and galleries of the oppressor

Before the 15th century , before the ships that decked our ancestors kissed the shores of the cost of Benin...before the boots that trampled their skulls stepped on the soil of Aguma...we had seen the formidable military technique of the  Kanem Borno empire and the administrative prowess of the Sokoto caliphate

We had seen the mysterious architecture of the Benin kingdom and the boisterous trade of the Oyo empire.

In the years between 18 and 19 and onwards the oppressor raped our lands and looted its fortune, then turned around to tell us that the man who answers the cock’s crow in his Obi and ask for favour from his chi is called a heathen and he is evil

But this heathen was not the owner of the ship that took away 25 million men, women and children to slave in the cotton fields of foreign lands

No, the owner of the ship was the same person who brought in the Bible and Quran and asked us to close our eyes and pray with clasp hands

…and so the mind of the poet will stay captured in the rhythm of the sacred army of the Ekumeku Resistance Movement...their memories will reflect the sun, the memories of those who disturbed the comfortable and comforted the disturbed.

The memories of the indomitable Chief Nana Olomu of Itshekiri

The memories of the great Oba Ovonamwen of Benin

The memories of JaJa King of Opobo;The one whose tomb lies in the west indies and whose name still trembles the queen

Now, in the name and glory of these men and many fallen and forgotten, the poet holds this truth dear to his heart: The creeds of our ancestors are no error to correct and no wrong to undo!

These words...the words of the poet are the compass with which we navigate through time and memories to the moment when we got these scars that we now carry as a masterpiece and as a reminder that we were born free because our ancestors chose to die free!