By Oreva Godwin
As a child fascinated by literary work, I was also the best student in literature in my class. I once dreamt of being a dramatist. I guess that was a secondary school girl’s dream. Life has a certain way of switching dreams and perspectives.
Often the dramatic setting of the West caught my fancy. Their rich history, culture, and the pride derived from showcasing their heritage, their deities, and spirituality were of particular interest. History will always remember those literary greats who made it happen because they never let their history die; rather, they gave it life.
I wished that those of us from this part of the world could showcase our culture and history like the West. Of course, Edo has a very rich culture and history that the world needs to see. The people of Edo need to do more.
Documenting it is not enough; it needs to live in theatres. Masterpieces of movies need to be produced to explore the Great Benin Kingdom.
It is high time Deltans wake up. We are losing our history, especially the Isoko people. We are losing our history and our language. We need to showcase our rich culture: our cultural dances, our deities, traditions, our pride, how we greet royals, our marital rites, and so on. It is high time we awaken our culture, because it is dying.
The good old days when elders shared stories, fictional and sometimes non-fictional are gone. Even though they were made-up stories, they brought culture closer to us. Irrespective of our location, we felt our culture; our history.
Today, I want to share a fictional story to remind us of the good old days, the days NTA played folktales to remind us of life back home in the villages. Days when we sat under the moonlight and shared stories, and even formed storylines so as not to be seen as being boring in the circle. Here is mine.
Once upon a time, there lived a king. Oba Adeyeye had four wives. He was a great king who ruled the mighty kingdom of Ilè Jagunjagun. He ruled with wisdom, power, and strength. When he spoke, people trembled. Some said he spoke like a god. When he was angry, the entire kingdom felt the tension in the air. Fear took over the land.
His anger was so fierce that it was said that he carried the aura of the great Sango. Only Akigbe the king’s enchanter could calm him. His wives dared not get close to him when he was in rage. Akigbe would sing, chant, and praise the king until he was calm; only then would the tension and fear lift from the air. Neighbouring villages never dared to invade his kingdom.
Yet Oba Adeyeye was not blessed with a son. He had only daughters. This troubled him deeply. His people demanded an heir. He consulted the deities to know why the gods had punished him with only daughters. But the gods remained silent. Pressure was on his wives.
One day, on his journey to consult an oracle deep inside the forbidden forest, he saw a woman dancing. She looked like a spirit. Oba Adeyeye was intrigued, captivated by her beauty. He asked her name; she only smiled. There was something mysterious about this woman. He was intrigued. Soon, he made love to her.
Afterward, he fell into a deep sleep. When he woke up, he was alone. He searched for her but could not find her. He never knew her name. Still, he proceeded to consult the oracle.
The oracle told him he was already blessed with a son, and that in nine months he would have a successor. He returned to his kingdom filled with joy.
Months passed. He checked his four wives; none was pregnant. Eight months passed, still nothing. He felt deceived. Fury rose within him. The air shifted. Panic spread across the kingdom. Who had dared to offend the king? Akigbe intervened and soothed the king once again.
Nine months later, Oba Adeyeye had a dream. He found himself deep in the forbidden forest. The woman appeared again, dancing. She turned, holding a son. The king saw the royal birthmark, the same mark he bore himself. He woke up abruptly and pondered: What kind of dream is this?
Suddenly, noise erupted in the palace. He rushed out and saw his guards surrounding a basket containing a baby. They said a woman dropped the child at the palace entrance, and before they could question her, she disappeared into thin air. The king knew instantly, that it was his son. The child bore the royal birthmark.
He summoned the council of chiefs and revealed the mystery surrounding the boy. Celebration filled the kingdom. The crown prince was named Aremo.
Aremo grew into a strikingly handsome young man. He carried an aura said to be more intimidating than his father’s. He rarely smiled, and his gaze was fierce.
Then the Oba fell into a sleep of death. No one knew he would never wake up again.
Suddenly, drums began to play. No one heard them except Aremo. He woke at midnight. The moon shone brightly in its full glory. He rose and followed the sound. It led him straight to the palace shrine. What he saw shocked him.
All the sculptures had come alive. A mysterious hand beat the sacred drum that always hung on the wall. The lion-head carpet transformed into a living lion seated beside the throne. Akala, the sacred bird, flew around the throne. Osumare, the rainbow serpent, stood tall in all its glory. All the mystical beings bowed before him. A cold breeze swept through him, and he began to dance to the drums. He danced until he fell asleep.
When he woke up, he found himself back in his chamber. He thought it was a dream, but it wasn’t. Hours later, it was announced that the king was dead.
Aremo summoned the council of chiefs and told them about his dream. They immediately rose and bowed before him, declaring him Oba. The gods had confirmed him as his father’s successor, the true son of Oba Adeyeye. It was then revealed that when an Oba died, whoever heard the sacred drum was the chosen king.
All doubts about the mysterious child vanished. Yet one mystery remained: no one knew his mother. Many believed he was the child of Aja, the forest spirit. They consulted Ifa to reveal the truth, but Ifa was silent. It felt like his mouth was chained by forces greater than life itself. The mother remained a mystery.
Oba Aremo was afraid. His father had just been buried, the echoes of mourning still heavy in the air. The elders whispered of the white men crossing lands, already drawing close to the West. Doubts gnawed at him. Could he rule like his father? Could he protect his people, or would fear find him first?
When the white men arrived at the palace, they spoke through an interpreter. As their words were translated, Aremo’s spirit resisted. Something felt wrong, twisted. His instincts warned him that the meaning had been turned upside down. He did not trust them. With a calm he barely possessed, he asked them to return after his coronation. The crown had not yet touched his head, but the king was already rising.
At the coronation, the moment the crown touched his head, a loud roar erupted from the forest. Wind surged forward. A whirlwind surrounded the Oba. The people could not see him, only the wind. Within it, a female voice spoke: “Ọmọ igbó, ìyá rẹ̀ ti dé láti Ìbùkún fún ọ. Ẹnikẹ́ni tí yóò bá ọ jà, igbó yóò dáhùn fún un. Mo wà pẹ̀lú rẹ.”
(Forest child, your mother has come to bless you. Whoever fights you, the forest will answer. I am with you.)
The whirlwind vanished.
The Oba reappeared, but changed. More intimidating. The air around him shifted. His eyes turned blood-red. He laughed a mysterious laugh. “From that day, he walked as a man, but the earth knew him as thunder.”
He ruled when the white men invaded Africa. The Oba resisted them. He refused to be used, especially by the colonizers. The day the white men attacked his kingdom, he was scared that his mother will not support him. He cried out, “Mother, what if you do not come?” But the forest heard. He summoned the powers of the forest to fight them. Voices sang from the forest like sirens, calling on the white men. They all went into the forest, never to be seen again.
They say malaria killed many white men during colonisation, but elders whispered that it was the forest that sent mosquitoes, to weaken their power and drove them to madness.
The Oba was fearless. His kingdom stood strong. Like King Jaja of Opobo, who made history. But every greatness comes with a price. The price from being a forest child was never to have a family. So he chose to be a great king over family. But deep down, he wished for a successor and often feared if he made the right choice. He ruled alone and his reign brought wealth and fear. No one dared the child of the forest.
And even today, when the wind moves strangely through ancient trees, elders lower their voices , and remember him. The end.
Let us not lose our stories. May time not wipe us out. “A people who forget their gods, their stories, and their ancestors do not disappear quietly, they are erased.”
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