Making sense of from whence we came

Who are they who bore us?

I have always been fascinated by the BBC TV series, ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ which in its 20^th series still intrigues me with plot twists and revelations in genealogy, history, identity, identification, and context of the lives of the participants.

In fact, it was interesting to learn that not every apparently famous person today qualifies for insightful research of their pasts, whilst others might be able to dig back almost a millennium to their auspicious or notorious roots.

It has left me wondering what entertaining piece of knowledge I would acquire if I decided to research my own genealogy, though my father has quite studiously researched much going back up to 6 or so generations, I have not been able to review his work to any detail.

In the grand scheme of things

In terms of encounter, I had a paternal great-grandmother on his maternal side into my twenties with whom I had many a conversation and repartee, my paternal grandparents were literally not that engaging, beyond greetings, not much else transpired. My maternal grandmother was a stalwart, a widow from an early age, my maternal grandfather had passed on over 4 years before my birth.

In meeting and greeting her, she would laud each one of us with our individual Oríkì, affirmative poetic praise of our progeny and destiny with the kind of fluency that it stuck in memory, at least the first two lines do, the rest, I need to determine. Spoken in a dialect that even with my knowledge of Yoruba I am yet to unravel meaning or import, but its rousing cadence suggests a meaningfulness that gave me a relationship I did not have with my other grandparents.

Of knowledge and memory

Yet, I write this to reflect on attachment and detachment that exhibits between my current familial ties, for which the forming of identity and how I identify remains a work in progress. For some things, there is a simple explanation, and for others, I might just be clutching at straws to make sense of how I belong.

If not for Facebook and the advancements in technology, many of the people with whom I share consanguinity, I would never have known or met. Quite a good few of those I have met, I can barely remember by face or by name. They belong in the deep recesses of memory sometimes irretrievable when brought to my notice that I either feign acknowledgement or admit a failure in recollection.

Having written all this, the purpose for which I commenced this blog has not been fulfilled, it would seem the right form of words to address attachment and detachment are yet to be realised. I have had this on my mind for a while, it might yet find expression in the next blog. Who knows?

Good Old Pa Cole

Of history living

My Grandpa Cole of whom I know little, but I am learning of in snippets would by terms have been an interesting man. He was tall, affable and quite generous, I am told.

Even though I only learnt of his real names recently, Cole was a moniker by which he was known and called, by reason of his apparent predilection to English ways in mannerism, conduct and apparel. His names were Joel Adebambo.

For one, I thought there were other ways in which we might have been similar, I could not see any signs of male pattern baldness on the paternal side of my genealogy that I immediately presumed it would have come from the maternal side.

A little Bethlehem

Old Pa Cole died just over 4 years before I was born and there are many stories around how he passed on. That he died well before his time is beyond question and the presumption that he was poisoned is quite likely.

However, the more enduring memory of the great man was his sense of fairness and justice. Our hamlet has some special significance in the Ijebu kingdoms, along with being one of the smallest places to have a proper beaded crown king, taking the title of the Àyányẹlú of Ìjẹ̀ṣà-Ìjẹ̀bú.

Blog - Making sense of the people to people of (Odo Ayanyelu) Ijesha-Ijebu

There was an interregnum of tolerance of around 40 years from the end of the 1950s where a pretender to the throne took out all his rivals and some prominent kingmakers, which he succeeded in doing through animist practices, but he was denied the crown; he ruled as a chief (baálẹ̀) and the crown did not return to our hamlet until after his death.

A stand for justice

Not long after the tussle for the crown, an emissary was received in the hamlet just when rituals were demanded by the animist gods by appeasement through human sacrifice. The shamanists were intent on using the emissary as a stranger was required. Good Pa Cole withstood the council that a guest and emissary could not be the victim and they should seek an alternative. For that audacious move, there were consequences, and he consequently paid for it with his life.

One such story was that his chewing stick was laced with poison that on using it, he had a coughing fit that resulted in his demise. At his death, a dirge was sung that stuck in the memory of the children of that time who are well into later adulthood now. Like many things in Yorubaland, much is said for which the meaning is somewhat obfuscated, yet, the truth stands as a witness of those responsible for diabolical acts.

Though I knew my other grandparents and even had a paternal great-grandmother on the maternal side, there is an affinity I have with Old Pa Cole that none in their living times with the names they gave me and how they might have doted over me have with me. I hope to learn more of him and bring to life the memory of an extraordinarily amazing man whose sense of right and integrity is an example for our humanity.

Making sense of the people to people of (Odo Ayanyelu) Ijesha-Ijebu

Roots, trunks, branches, and leaves

I do not know if I am ready to take on this onerous task, an activity my father has been working on plotting the genealogies of the people of Odo Ayanyelu of Ijebuland, not Epe, more commonly known as Ijesha-Ijebu in Ogun State and quite different from Ijebu Ijesha in Osun State.

One cannot help the fascination with names and nicknames along with the legends and stories that explain the relationships between the people, the families, the age-grades and animist institutions that represent the cultural identities of the people of Ijesha-Ijebu.

The document needs extensive formatting, probably the use of genealogy software with it being put online for others to fill in the gaps, for there are many. I learnt new names, especially of my maternal grandfather who died over 4 years before I was born.

Building the links

The task if I should extricate myself from this Garden of Gethsemane travail of wondering if this cup might pass from me to another, for this is no task to take lightly. The impression I have is to have this transferred to an online genealogy application with unlimited generational relationship and point-click referencing that would allow visitors to the page to research individuals, add notes, extend scopes and grow the trees.

The deeper work would be contacting descendants, families, relations, and friends to put flesh on the bones, the incomplete and missing parts that could become a tapestry of communal significance.

It needs to be done and refined, all credit goes to my father, Otunba J. O. Akintayo, who has through his life and still now continues to serve the community of Ijesha-Ijebu in formidable and exemplary ways. I would think about this in due course.

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