New Year, Ancient Praise

Àwá yìn ọ́, Ọlọ́run (Te Deum Laudamus)

Crossover Services

There is an Anglican tradition in Nigeria that I miss: the celebration of the advent of the New Year, where we go to church to worship God, praising and thanking Him for the past year and ushering in the New Year in prayer and the worship of the Almighty God.

Nowadays, this is called a crossover service, sometimes with a kind of pompous religiosity that suggests we have decided to spend time in church rather than in drunken revelry at a bar. Though where I have not been able to attend church, I would rather stay at home and celebrate with my partner or with friends whilst watching the world ring in the New Year.

A Multicultural Feast

However, recently, I have found that some multinational evangelical or Pentecostal churches do celebrate this crossover phenomenon. I did find one nearby that had a feast of multicultural cuisine before we settled down to a sermon, then praise and worship. I am quite comfortable in those settings.

For this New Year's celebration, I decided to attend the !Audacious Church ticketed event, for which one has to move promptly before the tickets are sold out. It was going to be a standing-only event, but seats were provided for those who needed that kind of respite.

!Audacious has a very youthful attendance; I could easily be in the cohort of the elderly with grandchildren rather than just being a parent, but I do love the energy in small amounts.

A Foretaste of Heaven

As we sang praises, many with the word 'Holy', I was caught up in the awesomeness of how this could be playing in heaven: angels, archangels, and all creation worshipping the Father, the Lord God Almighty; the Lamb upon the throne, Jesus Christ; and the Holy Spirit.

I imagined the language in heaven would probably not be English but one which, to our hearing, would fill us with indescribable wonder and awe beyond anything a human mind could ever fathom. Just for that alone, I'll rather go to heaven than anywhere else.

Even in a heavenly crowd of a thousand generations, lost somewhere in the mix of the glory that is beyond the realm of comprehension, it can only be the best place to be. I am thankful for the foretaste we have been given on earth.

Te Deum Laudamus

Then, back to the Anglican traditions I referred to earlier, modernity has changed many of the things we used to do, like chanting or singing the canticles. As the clock strikes midnight at church, we sing the Te Deum Laudamus (We praise thee, O God) in Yoruba.

Maybe it is my engineering brain or something, but the Yoruba language is a tonal language with pitches of acute, grave, and mid tones, mostly represented on the vowels.

I cannot elucidate on the mechanics of representation to the extent of a linguist, but I did learn and master the application of diacritical marks (accents, tone marks, and under dots). As far as I am concerned, they are critical to the understanding and comprehension of Yoruba when written and read.

AI and Linguistic Precision

However, all the versions I found online did not have this essential distinction, so in the age of AI, I asked three different AI bots (Google's Gemini-3-Pro, then Anthropic's Claude-Opus-4.1) to attempt to annotate the text. The last one (OpenAI's GPT-5.2) even engaged me fully in Yoruba, and that was impressive.

The result was good enough, but I had to review the full text against the English version to ensure everything was correct to the best of my knowledge of Yoruba. Then, usually, accents are not put on the consonant N, but the reality is that in speech, for certain words, when N is followed by another consonant, it is prudent to get the right tone.

Finally, the last line of the Yoruba version in the prayer section of the canticles can take many translations and interpretations, but it is the most effective in Yoruba: "Láí, má jẹ́ kí n dààmú." To me, it reads, in context, as: O Lord, I trust in You; let me never be bothered by anything, because You are with me.

I wish you all a Happy New Year!

Te Deum Laudamus
Yoruba	English
Iyín Mẹ́talọ̀kan	Praise to the Trinity
Àwá yìn ọ́, Ọlọ́run, Àwá ń jẹ́wọ́ Rẹ pé ìwọ ni Oluwa, Gbogbo aiyé fi orí balẹ̀ fún ọ, Bàbá aiyé títí láí. Ìwọ ni ẹni tí gbogbo àwọn Angẹ́lì, ń kí gbé pè, Ọ̀run àti gbogbo agbára, tí ń bẹ nínú wọn. Ìwọ ni ẹni tí àwọn Kérúbù àti àwọn Séráfù, Kígbe pé ní gbà gbogbo pé: Mímọ́ Mímọ́ Mímọ́, Olúwa Ọlọ́run àwọn ọmọ ogun, Ọ̀run òun ayé, Kún fún ògo ńlá tí ò gọ Rẹ. Ẹgbẹ́ àwọn Apóstélì, Tí ó lógo yìn ọ́, Ọgbà àwọn Wòlíì, Tí ó dára, yìn ọ́, Ogun àwọn Mátírì, tí ó dára yìn Ọ́., Ìjọ Mímọ́ ènìyàn Ọlọ́run Ní gbogbo ayé ńjẹ́wọ́ Rẹ: Baba ẹni ọlá ńlá, tí kò ní pẹ̀kun; Àti Ọmọ Rẹ nìkan ṣoṣo, Olólá, Olótìítọ́. Ẹ̀mí Mímọ́ pẹ̀lú, Olùtùnú ni.	We praise thee, O God: We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord. All the earth doth worship Thee, the Father everlasting. To Thee all Angels cry aloud: the Heavens and all the powers therein. To Thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, Holy, Holy, Holy: Lord God of Sabaoth; Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty of Thy Glory. The glorious company of the Apostles praise Thee. The godly fellowship of the Prophets praise Thee. The noble army of Martyrs praise Thee. The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge Thee; The Father of an infinite Majesty; Thine honourable, true, and only Son; Also the Holy Ghost: the Comforter.
Iyín Kírístì	Praise of Christ
Kírístì, Ìwọ ni Ọba Ògo, Ìwọ ni Ọmọ láílái ti Baba. Nígbà tí Ìwọ tẹ́wọ́gbà fún ara Rẹ láti gba ènìyàn là, O kò kórìíra inú Wúndíá. Nígbà tí O ṣẹ́gun oró ikú tán, O ṣí ìjọba ọ̀run sílẹ̀ fún gbogbo Àwọn onígbàgbọ́. O jókòó ní ọwọ́ ọ̀tún Ọlọ́run, Nínú ògo ti Baba. Àwa gbàgbọ́ pé O ńbọ̀ wá Láti ṣe Onídàájọ́ wa. Nítorí náà ni àwa ṣe ńgbàdúrà, Sí ọ̀dọ̀ Rẹ: Ran àwọn ọmọ ọ̀dọ̀ Rẹ lọ́wọ́, Tí Ìwọ ti fi ẹ̀jẹ̀ Rẹ, iyebíye rà padà. Ṣe wọ́n kí a lè kà wọ́n kún àwọn ènìyàn Mímọ́ Rẹ Nínú ògo tí kò ní pẹ̀kun.	Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ. Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father. When Thou tookest upon Thee to deliver man: Thou didst not abhor the Virgin's womb. When Thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, Thou didst open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers. Thou sittest at the right hand of God in the glory of the Father. We believe that Thou shalt come to be our Judge. We therefore pray Thee, help Thy servants whom Thou hast redeemed with Thy precious blood. Make them to be numbered with Thy Saints in glory everlasting.
Àwọn àdúrà	Prayers
Olúwa, gba àwọn ènìyàn Rẹ là, Kí Ìwọ kí ó sì fi ìbùkún fún àwọn ènìyàn ìní Rẹ. Jọba wọn, Kí O sì máa gbé wọn lékè láíláí. Àwa ńgbé Ọ ga, ní ojojúmọ́; Àwa sì ńfi orí balẹ̀ ní, Orúkọ Rẹ Títí ayé tí kò ní pẹ̀kun. Fìyèsíni, Olúwa, Láti pa wá mọ́ lónìí ní àìlẹ́ṣẹ̀. Olúwa, ṣàánú fún wa, ṣàánú fún wa. Olúwa, jẹ́ kí àánú Rẹ kí ó máa bà lé wa,  Gẹ́gẹ́ bí àwa ti ńgbẹ́kẹ̀ wa lé Ọ. Olúwa, Ìwọ ni mo gbẹ́kẹ̀lé, Láí, má jẹ́ kí n dààmú.	O Lord, save Thy people: And bless Thine heritage. Govern them and lift them up for ever. Day by day we magnify Thee; And we worship Thy Name, ever world without end. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin. O Lord, have mercy upon us. O Lord, let Thy mercy lighten upon us: as our trust is in Thee. O Lord, in Thee have I trusted: Let me never be confounded.

References

Te Deum Laudamus - Awa Yin O, Olorun | Yoruba Chant with Lyrics – Source text

Andrews University: English Text of the Te Deum

Wikipedia: Te Deum

Church of England: Te Deum Laudamus – Modern

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

To be bedecked in Yoruba attire

The Chinese are coming too

Yesterday, it occurred to me that it might be a clever idea to make an appearance on my birthday dressed in something different and traditional. So, I went online, searching for “Nigerian clothes shops near me.” You can buy many things online, but this requires visiting a clothing store.

I could have gone to Bolton, about 18 km away, but you needed a booking, and what was displayed on their website seemed like it might be a wasted journey. Other websites or online presences suggest many still have not fully appreciated the need for a useful online presence.

Strangely, the Chinese are also involved, mass-producing African clothes in China, but none of the shipping would arrive until after Christmas. That is as widespread as you could get on Amazon. Besides, heaven forfend you get something and find it so ill-fitting that the only person you can call is a ghostbuster.

Ethnic Moston Lane appears

Refining my search a few times did not lead to better guidance, but one area kept coming up: Moston Lane, Moston, just about 5 km from Manchester city centre. Everything African, or specifically Nigerian, seemed to be dotted along the lane like an ethnic suburb, with the sounds, smells, and sights of a faraway land.

Having never been that way before, even after almost 12 years of living in Manchester, getting a bus there seemed a bit adventurous. I was not going to count 22 stops to my destination. It was more sensible to take a taxi. The driver was a chatterbox and on his way to the mosque in Moston. What a coincidence.

When I got off, I headed to the address of the shop I had found from my Google search. The address was a barber's shop; I couldn’t see any clothes on display. One disappointment, but I felt I was on the right street for what I needed.

Dressed without distress

About six doors down, there was a shop full of dresses, shoes, and fashion accessories. It was also a tailor's shop. I stepped in, and the proprietor, sitting at her sewing machine, asked what I was looking for. There was plenty of material on the shelves, but asking a tailor to create something bespoke this close to Christmas would likely lead to disappointment.

She said she had ready-to-wear costumes: bùbá (top tunic), ṣòkòto (drawstring trousers), agbádá (billowing top gown), and fìlà (cap). That set makes a complete outfit, called Yoruba attire.

I was shown three complete, ready-to-wear sets. I chose one and asked for the price, which at first seemed steep, but I don’t think I had much choice. With a matching cap, I scored a good find.

We started speaking in English, then switched to Yoruba. Certain inflexions from me betrayed a foreign accent, but I held my own enough to be praised for my Yoruba fluency.

She was inquisitive to the point of interrogation: my interests, women, sex life, children, and much more. But what can you reveal to a prophetess of a white garment church before you’re seen as on the road to perdition?

Proposed friendship from here on

Her persuasive manner left you unprepared, and next, she showed me a restaurant. I paid for something to take away while I settled on pounded yams and ẹ̀gúsí stew. I returned to her shop to find her trying to fix a gaudy sequined dress so flashy it was an eyesore.

The woman who needed the dress came in, and I could have suggested she find something better than trying to squeeze into this corset that belonged to a burlesque troupe. I even helped attach the clips at the back of the blouse-cum-corset. Some jobs you should avoid, even on a slow day.

She gave me directions to a bakery where I bought two loaves straight from the oven. However, the traffic into town, which was gridlocked that evening, meant the loaves were cool by the time I reached home. We exchanged numbers, and she called. I might return to Moston Lane, but it cannot become a regular haunt.

Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXXVI

Getting some perspective

You may wonder why I am writing about the Coronavirus, having written the last in my series of Coronavirus streets in Manchester way back in June 2024. Obviously, there was also the minor distraction of dealing with Men’s things, my prostate taking on an unregulated growth spurt that was trammelled with blasts of radiotherapy.

Then you consider I was out grocery shopping today and one of the passengers on a bus I boarded had a facemask on, you do not see that about quite often, though a lady who attends my church whose full face I have never seen dons a facemask almost as a fashion accessory, a shade of brown, but quite distinct from her South Asian skin tone.

Saying his prayers

The bus out of the city centre towards Salford, where I planned to board another to my intended destination, presented nothing of great significance apart from wheezing and many with coughs that might indicate something more serious than portends. On that sampling alone, we are easily a nation of the unfit, the infirm, the unwell, and qualitatively unhealthy.

However, it was the bus ride within Salford towards Cheetham Hill that offered much to amuse or intrigue. It was first an unkempt man sitting on one of the priority seats. In what seemed like a headbanging the bar in front of him, I soon realised it was an unconventional approach to Muslim prayer as he was muttering, clasping hands, and then bowing in obeisance to the Sallah edict.

The bus was driving eastward but I could not suggest his heading was facing Mecca, but who am I to intrude on the religiosity of an adherent faithfully saying his prayers before Goosey Goosey Gander takes umbrage?

The fiery Ijebu wars

At Ade’s Cash & Carry, of the many designations it has, at the checkout till, there were conversations going on in Yoruba, the tiller with facial scarification I would have mistaken for an Ogbomoso indigene, but with the brutal nose strike, so that might default to Ibadan.

Two tubers of water yam, quite different from Puna yam, were being weighed on the tiller scales, but they did not have the hairy fibres one would expect on that species I was accustomed to. As I voiced my misgivings, an engagement began about where I was from.

Answering Ijesha-Ijebu, the man interjected, Ijebu-Ijesha, a different place some 197 kilometres away. That confusion between my village and the other town, in entirely separate states and they do not remotely speak the same dialect. It so happened that the customer being served was also an Ijebu-man, he knew where Ijesha-Ijebu was and began to converse in Ijebu that I have never deigned to master.

My excuse is that I was born abroad, and I pleaded innocence by volunteering. One of my names is Adetokunbo, and the crown was brought from overseas. That was the beginning of our schism, he is from Ilishan-Remo and has been advocating the creation of an Ijebu State with Sagamu as the state capital. Let’s just say as the boundary between the real Ijebu-land headquartered at Ijebu-Ode and Ijebu-Remo, which is a few kilometres west of my village, the idea falls on its face with infeasibility.

It is totally unlikely that the Ijebus aligned to Ijebu-Ode and the expanse of the 16 Agemo masquerades of Ijebu-land would subsume themselves to the leadership of Ijebu-Remo that gained prominence out of the colonial chicanery of divide-and-rule. We would seethe with disdain and disparage any such advocacy to chop Ogun State into hamlet fiefdoms.

While I would rarely feel challenged with Yoruba expression, I was clearly found wanting facing a son of Ijebu soil. Other interesting banter ensued, and we shook hands, and I left.

The Yorubas have occupied

On the bus back to Salford City Centre from Cheetham Hill, I must have been transported to some place in Yorubaland, I half expected the only Caucasian on the bus to burst out in Yoruba song as literally every else on the bus was speaking in Yoruba.

One even had a playback of some Yoruba-speaking event on the speaker of his phone and some of the narrative did cause stifled giggles without anyone wanting to reveal they knew what was going on. I could see from my vantage point that everyone was straining to listen even as one or two mobile phone conversations cared nothing for the public space they were in.

I sometimes forget some parts of north Manchester have been colonised by Yorubas; I could be one of the exceptions that lives in the city centre. Now, that Ade’s Cash & Carry has stiff competition in Salford on range, quality, and price, apart from ready-made stews, it won’t be long before these interesting Yoruba engagements happen closer to home.

The Coronavirus is still out there, and I had my 7^th booster in November before jetting out to Cape Town. Nine vaccinations and boosters altogether mean we all must be careful, five years on.

A review of language tutoring in my experience

Speaking Yorùbá with pride

Watching a video clip on Facebook and later shared on WhatsApp from the BBC Yorùbá website of the Portuguese-born Tiago Isola speaking Yorùbá had me thinking of my experience language teaching through the years. [BBC Yoruba: Tiago Isola, akẹ́kọ̀ọ́ Fásitì Ibadan]

Tiago Isola arrived in Nigeria with his mother who was part of a cultural exchange programme with the Oyo kingdom at the age of 10 and has immersed himself in the Yorùbá culture, language, foods, and practices, he appears quite somewhat integrated, and his command of the language is quite well above average. He speaks with pride of his knowledge of Yorùbá and I am sure from his international travel would be a good Portuguese and English speaker too.

I was a foreigner too

I was born an Englishman with a Brummie accent from the West Midlands, my first language and mother tongue is English, and whilst there was some Yorùbá spoken at home, it was never part of our regular conversation, My parents conversed more with me in English, though less so with my siblings. My mother is a polyglot with an ear for languages, my father, much less so, struggled with even Pidgin English, it just did not sound right when he tried.

On returning to Nigeria, we lived in the north for just over 6 years, in that time, between Kaduna and Jos, I picked up some Hausa, read a bit of it, even attended the ECWA church where Hausa was the spoken language of instruction. I still get by on what I learnt in the 1970s, with the occasional opportunity to practice when I meet Hausa speakers.

Getting serious with Yorùbá

It was when I was 10 years old that my mother acquired Yorùbá primer Aláwiyé (To speak to comprehend) books to practice the fundamentals of the language. However, it did not get immersive until I had a psycho-paranormal encounter for which the apparent remedy was reading the Psalms multiple times to cups, bottles, or buckets of water from which I drank or bathed to ward off evil spirits. She compelled me to read the Psalms in Yorùbá, it cultivated my proficiency in the language.

However, before that, I had no serious language teaching apart from standard English reading, spelling, comprehension, and composition lessons. In the fifth class in primary school, I found a basic French-language book in the cupboards and began to teach myself French, not in the pronunciation as I had no guidance, but in knowing the words and the meanings, I did not get very far.

Remembering sadistic language tutors

At secondary school, apart from the English teachers, the other language teachers were basically sadists, quick to punish but slow to impart or enthuse us in their subjects. Mrs Odutuyo could well have been high up in the ranks of the Spanish Inquisition, she conjured up such inhumane punishments, the thought of what she got some of us to do still makes me quiver. She taught Yorùbá and it was a chore. I never passed a Yorùbá test in school, but I mastered the use of accents and diacritical marks, which has served me well until today.

In Form 2, Mr Okonji was the French teacher on secondment from the National Youth Corp Service, French could have been a joy to learn, but he had no wherewithal to make it accessible. What he mastered to the level of genius or ogre, if you prefer was the wielding of the birching cane, going through the classes urging ‘Study-Study’ telling us to lie forward onto our desks whilst he carved welts on our backs.

I always got a language waiver

When we came to Form 3 and we had a better French teacher in class, we were nowhere useful enough for her to lift to any standard, we just trundled through the year expectant of the moment to drop the subject, which I did in Form 4, apart from the compulsory English language that I usually scraped a pass on, as I did not exert myself academically to achieve distinctions, and did the bare minimum that was asked for, I have never had to prove my standard of English as I am a native speaker.

After secondary school, we had some formal English lectures as part of our engineering courses, I always thought a good command of language was essential to being able to take projects from idea, through conception and implementation, to a conclusion and full successful commissioning. I have always priced the need for quality communication, and it has helped me through my career. As for the lecturers, they were poor bordering on abysmal, one took to sesquipedalianism for no other purpose than to impress than educate, I was far from taken by the superfluity of vacuity.

Contrasting language tutors

It was not until 1999 that I took another formal language class and that was German, the lady teaching us in a further education school carried us along and of all my language teachers, she was the very best. Every waking hour, I was playing back German language tapes, brushing up my German and looking for opportunities to use it. At that point, I was also looking to emigrate to live and work in Germany, I ended up in the Netherlands instead.

I enrolled on a Dutch learning programme organised by my employer, and it probably was the worst decision many of us made. The teacher whose business was predicated on providing language classes to blue-chip companies got comfortable with those who had a better grasp of the language and left the rest of us behind, we became disillusioned and dropped out of the class. To my shame, I ended up living in the Netherlands as an Englishman abroad, barely able to get by in Dutch, though not a complete novice.

I am for more language learning

It is likely, I would find myself learning Afrikaans and Ndebele, it would be down to first my enthusiasm and then the quality and ability of the teacher to impart the knowledge in a beneficial way. When I reflect on my use of language, I am quite proud of my mastery of the Yorùbá language, it is challenging at times, but it is one of the richest modes of expression.

I can also be quite purist in speaking Yorùbá, preferring to speak entirely in one language rather than mixing languages. I converse more with my parents in Yorùbá now, however, especially when it comes to my father, English presents the essential mode of address when the power distance index requires the delivery of some hard and difficult things that genuflection in Yorùbá tradition would frown upon.

As Tiago Isola has suggested, we need to give our children a good grounding in the mastery of all languages spoken, giving just as many resources to Yorùbá as we do the command of the English language. On this, I would say, we need to speak Yoruba beyond the rudimentary street talk, with the deployment of fables, poetry, proverbs, and sayings, finding innovative and expressive ways to promote the language before it falls into disuse out of negligence.

Tiago Isola’s Instagram page

Dreamscape: Where learning requires example

As you dream of it

It was eerily like real life, but then what are dreams but multidimensional realities played out in the vast mines of the mind where treasures are found and fortunes are created in ways that the imagination is tested of its limits if there are any?

I found myself attending a function at a girls’ school, probably a Founder’s Day and some girls were lined up in two columns as if to give a sword arch parade to their honoured guest, their worldly famous and most successful alumna.

The field was down below and access to it seemed almost impassable at first sight, just as you have in dreams, the easy becomes immediately impossible and the impossible suddenly possible, like you have waved a magic wand.

I was there unawares

I eventually found myself at a vantage point to view the proceedings as a guest of sorts and too prominent to be overlooked after chatting to some of the girls. I had a feeling of déjà vu like I had been at rehearsals for this event somewhere and nothing happened after I was first called to participate and so nothing was learnt about what to do.

I was apprehensive and the more I asked about what was expected, the less I was informed of protocol or practice, it was like everyone assumed I knew and thought my inquiries were unserious and silly. I did not even know what the guest of honour was going to do, I thought I would observe and maybe learn something.

I did not know

To the strains of music, the guest arrived and passed through the parade to the end singing an apparent folk song that was a traditional game at the school on that day. She had done this many times before and part of it was a call-and-response activity between her as the lead and the guests or girls she selected to ask to attend a function and what food they would prefer.

You were not to take the enquiry literally but provide an excuse for not attending and a back-and-forth of teasing and questioning in order to persuade you ensued until someone made the mistake of mentioning food. Guess what happened, I was the first she called out to and I mentioned food.

Hear the derisive laughter and astonishment that I should have known not to have answered as such and it was when she moved to the next guest and her answer was the typical excuse that I realised my faux pas, but I was never in that situation apart from the other time when no one offered to explain the rules of the game.

The assumptions that ridicule us

It transpired as I made conversation and enquiry that this was a core Yoruba tradition that I could have learnt and enjoyed in childhood. Though, when they learnt I was not born in Yorubaland, they somewhat accepted why I made the error. It left me thinking of the gaps in my learning of Yoruba cultural activities, my knowledge of the language was not enough, there was more to culture than that.

On reflection too, we agreed that phrasing an appropriate enquiry to get the kind of information to prepare me for that situation would have been nigh on impossible. If only the guest of honour had selected someone else first, as matters acculturation are best bequeathed through example. Just because my apparent oddness makes me prominent enough to be selected first does not imply, I would be ready or in the know of what is expected.

Do not assume if you have expectations, at least discreetly try to elicit enough information to be sure the game is not ruined by those called to participate who are totally unaware of the rules.

The malign state of cultural programming

The random in Uber rides

I was not going to walk back home with my shopping after visiting the hospital yesterday, so, I called Uber cab to take me home. The name of the driver appeared to be a Christian forename and a Muslim surname; it would have been an interesting conversation point.

When he arrived, the phonetical sounds I heard as he was conversing with someone on his mobile phone was unmistakably Yoruba, so, I engaged him with greetings and a sense of familiarity almost to my regret. The first I have had of a Yoruba person, probably the last I would want if this situation is repeated.

Patriarchy is the default

We seem to have this cultural programming to be first intrusive and probably judgemental. His first inquiry was whether my wife was too busy to do the shopping. There is no accounting for how long our people have lived in the west, some patriarchal views die hard. Even if I were married, nothing regardless of my status stops me from shopping.

So, I answered, I was just returning from the hospital nearby and that presented an opportunity to do some shopping. However, he would not let go, he wanted to know about my wife and my kids. An apparently essential demonstration of my whatever it might be. Wisely, this was not the time to introduce a radically implausible issue as sexuality, but some matters needed addressing all the same.

Moving on to other things

No, I do not have my own children, I cannot have children by reason of many issues including the consequences of chemotherapy. Then indeed I do have children in my nieces and nephews. Knowing I cannot have children I am pragmatic enough not to involve a woman in my complicated situation leaving her attached and yet bereft of issue.

Then, the matter of issue is one of contentment in terms of whether you do require them or not and whether you have made peace with your circumstances. Whether with issue or not, someone would take up that responsibility for interment when you are gone, the more important thing is to have impacted lives enough to be relevant in life and the hereafter.

That being said, we got to the matter of how frequently I visit home. Home to him is different from home to me, but I humoured him, I have not been to Nigeria in over 30 years. There began another inquisition. I volunteered I am English, though it did not tweak that my grasp of the Yoruba language and completed sentences without interspersing with English was probably commendable. I had committed infractions I should be answerable for.

Coming up for air

Obviously, whereupon that kind of situation within the Yoruba construct might well be considered unfortunate, on wife, on children, and on visits, the fact is to be consumed by circumstances over which you have little control or are not persuaded of will distract you from fulfilling other aspects of life and purpose. I reckon my message was clear from our interaction, I neither castigated nor excoriated him, I just provided another perspective to things.

That he was taking me into the centre of town elicited another comment about me being quite wealthy, to which I responded in Yoruba, the blessing is there to be shared to all. Yet, that cultural programming impervious to review does grate. I bet he has never done any domestic shopping before, but that is none of my business, I just want to get home.

The Vulture died of a ripe old age

Boys being boys

Gúnugún kìí kú léwe, in Yorubaland, there are sayings put to song and then played out with the talking drum. The tonal percussion of the talking drum with its musicality immediately registers with us and we engage by singing out the lyrics being played.

Then some boys probably took one of those sayings in songs and made a catcall out of it, whistling to the tune of the song. It became their call sign through adulthood into old age. Whenever one arrived at the other’s house, you heard the visitor whistle and the host responded. We soon learnt what it meant to great amusement.

Every kind of old

The first part, as written above translates to, ‘The vulture never dies in youth.’ The full saying itself speaks to growing old and growing old well.

Gúnugún kìí kú léwe, kí ẹ dàgbà kì ẹ dogbó, kí ẹ fi gbogbo ara hewú bíi ti Ṣẹ́ṣẹ́ Ẹfun. The vulture never dies in youth, may you grow old and wizened, growing grey hairs all over your body like the beaded crown of the Alaafin of Oyo.

The monarch of the Oyo kingdom in Yorubaland is known as the Aláàfin, meaning the owner of the palace. He wears the rare Ṣẹ́ṣẹ́ Ẹfun crown which according to tradition is first worn at least 10 years after coronation. It was made centuries ago. The colourfully decorated white crown has a veil of white strings looking like braids of hair, hence, the simile of grey hairs and the Ṣẹ́ṣẹ́ Ẹfun. Click on the link for the pronunciation of Ṣẹ́ṣẹ́ Ẹfun.

The Ṣẹ́ṣẹ́ Ẹfun crown courtesy of NairaLand.

The whole saying reads like a prayerful incantation for long life and between these boys and lifelong friends, it seems to have been fulfilled.

Back to their story

Their lives more or less ran in parallel similarities, both went into the same profession of accountancy, whilst debatable, they were lotharios and Casanovas at one, they took second wives and started second families, built homestead houses literally opposite each other in our village. The comings and goings of one were always known by the other. The children are good and tight friends even if we live in far-flung places.

He was a jovial, affable, humorous man who anytime he saw me called me by the nickname Akinse, Akinse, and the last time we chatted on the phone he wondered why I hadn’t visited after all this while. That is another story. I do recall that my stepmother also pressed me about visiting Nigeria for years, it was left an unfulfilled promise that the vicissitudes of the times has put out of reach. She passed on just over two weeks ago.

He was my father’s best friend from childhood, and I know he will be sorely missed by many, including his children. Adieu! Otunba Ogunjimi Taiwo, may your gentle soul rest in peace. The vulture did die at a great number of years in his 80s. A life to be remembered, celebrated, and honoured.

In gratitude, I acknowledge the help of @KolaTubosun & @Bishopade who on Twitter helped me find the meaning and use of Ṣẹ́ṣẹ́ Ẹfun.

The changing texts of religious meditation

Seeking calm for the soul

Meditating on Psalm 23, because I was inspired and directed to look at the context of the first part of verse 3, ‘He restoreth my soul:’, my quest for calmness and peace brought me to a newer understanding of this Psalm along with a much needed peace. [Psalm 23 – BibleHub – KJV]

I would normally start my Bible study with the King James Version (KJV) and then access other translations as the Amplified Bible (AMP), The Message (MSG), New Living Translation (NLT) and the New King James Version (NKJV). I addressed the differences in the Bible translations in a blog I wrote in 2013.

Blog - Good Samaritan Values - The Renewing Of Your Mind

Tongues are changing

Then, much as English is my mother tongue, Yorùbá, spoken in southwestern Nigeria is my mother’s tongue. I learnt Yorùbá under duress because my mother insisted on my reading the Psalms in Yorùbá rather than in English, though I did my Anglican confirmation study in English.

I then happened upon the Yoruba Contemporary Bible Copyright © 2009, 2017 by Biblica, Inc.® - BÍBÉLÌ MÍMỌ́ YORÙBÁ ÒDE ÒNÍ (BYO) on the Bible Gateway website, which jumped directly to my reference text of Psalm 23.

I did not realise it was a different Yorùbá translation until I read the beginning of the first verse, "The Lord is my shepherd..." which now, had a literal translation of "The Lord is the shepherd and I am His sheep."

"Olúwa ni Olùṣọ́ èmi àgùntàn rẹ̀"(BYO)

For I remember my traditional Yorùbá Bible writing that as, "Olúwa li Olùṣọ́-àgùntàn mi."

I was in for a treat, a revelatory one at that.

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=psalms+23&version=BYO

It was like the Amplified Yorùbá version, and read quite differently, even more expository, somewhat abandoning the classic Yorùbá grammar for an easily accessible vernacular.

Old Bible

I just found an old Yorùbá Bible by the Bible Society of Nigeria © 1960 and the differences in the text are starker than I realised. The accent diacritical marks are only applied for context and not on every word. ‘Li’ is used rather than ‘Ni’ for the English ‘Is’. My observations are not exhaustive, just a point of interest.

Comparing the ancient to the modern

Psalms in the old Yorùbá Bible was Orin Dáfídì which translates to Songs of David, but the BYO has not attempted to translate the name of the book at all but left it as Saamu without the diacritical marks. Taking liberties, one would think, saying an English word with a Yorùbá accent and all its inflexions, as we require a vowel sound ending except for the usually nasalised or gritting 'n'. 

I have nothing against modernising religious instruction for easy consumption and lax grammar rules, it just sometimes makes it quite unfamiliar to those of us brought up on the traditional text. It's the same thing when in the Anglican Church, the Apostle's Creed I was confirmed with does not read like the Nicene Creed of the current liturgy and when saying The Lord's Prayer, 'Thy kingdom come' could attract disapproving looks in church, as I might be reciting an 17^th Century version when the rest of the church is living in the 20^th Century.

In all, it is quite fascinating how so much more insight can be gained from meditating on Psalm 23 that I have probably repetitively recited a million times and yet, it yields new meaning.

The joy of cooking

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A post shared by Akin Akintayo (@instaforakin) on Apr 12, 2020 at 4:18am PDT

The principles of cooking

I guess one of the things I learnt from my mother is not so much how to cook, but the courage to decide when presented with an assortment of ingredients, I can make a good meal, not just for myself, but to share with others too. I do love cooking.

Besides, it is the joy in cooking food from its components, the selection, the preparation and the making of it. No time is too long for making a delicious meal, with practice, you find innovative ways to convert the process from a chore to an art. I choose from a variety of cuisines, sometimes following a recipe, but mostly not.

Then again, I remember when years ago I decided to remove taste enhancers like Maggi Seasoning Cubes from my cooking and I remember there was a time we were cajoled into using the nasty Monosodium Glutamate (MSG) back in Nigeria, now I rely on spices and herbs to bring out the taste and the flavour.

Confidence through practice

I have found I cannot taste my food whilst cooking it and when cooking for others, they would probably taste it first. I cannot suggest it is sheer confidence and skill that informs this, but I have rarely had to seek an emergency recovery of a cooking expedition awry. Yet, I desire exciting the taste buds enough for others to compliment your cooking

Knowing how to cook means that my tolerance for fast food is incredibly low, I would generally not consider it food, simply basic sustenance. You masticate, swallow and it keeps you going until you are hungry again. It informs my choosing a high-quality restaurant when eating out, where I hope the chef has a promising idea of what they are doing. It does give me some insight into being able to assess, review and critique, presentation, taste and quality. You never get a second chance to give a first good impression.

My Easter meal

For today, I decided on Asaro, I stick to the traditional names rather than find an English equivalent for it. Asaro is from southwestern Nigeria, Yoruba cuisine, made from diced pieces of peeled puna yam tuber, garnished with herbs and spices, cutlets of barracuda and catfish that were steamed for an hour, onions, garlic, chopped tomatoes, chillies, olive oil and palm oil. I have seen many recipes and I seem to prepare mine quite differently without any superfluous elements. I should work on writing out recipes.

It's a big pot and as with our West African foods, ensure the pot gets a good heating at least once a day. So, I will have a couple of days eating this. Like the old nursery rhyme, the porridge tastes better 3 days old. Maybe, it is an unintended ferment or some other natural activity, enough of the science, time to assuage the salivating.

Happy Easter! Everyone.

Ìsosíwájú àtẹ̀yínwá

Mo gbésẹ̀ láì jẹ gbèsè,
Mo dájú láì jẹ̣́́ ọ̀dájú,
Mi ò díbọ́ láti dìbò,
Ọ̀rọ̀ kún ó sọ mí dodi.

Ìbáṣe ní abájọ,
Ì̀wádìí ni olórí ìmọ̀,
Àìbíkítà àti àìka ìnkan kún,
Ló da ẹgbẹ́ májè́óbàjé rú.

Fàmílétí kí mo gbọ,
Fi ìganrán lé tìróò,
Ọmọ amúnisúre,
Má fijà tẹ́ mi.

Ẹni ò mọ̀ wẹ̀ ò mòwe,
Ati jáwọ́ nínú àgàbàgebè,
Àti rí fúró adìyẹ,
Ìṣe àná ti di ìṣekúṣe òní.

Gbérè omo,

Bẹ́ẹ̀ni kí o máaṣe,
Mámà yíwà padà,
Kóníkálùkù farapamọ́.