Ówàmbẹ̀ & Portrait of the Yuletide

Ówàmbẹ̀

I was at the receiving end of all demands from thirsty tongues,

On my brother's christening of his second child—

Where's our food? I want water. Please, get me that drink.

Speakers blaring out Fújì, Afrobeats, Àpàlà and Jùjú.

Voices and dance steps overlapping one another

For the common good.

My restless father overseeing the fullness of kit and kin,

Before reclining in his chair for a minute. My aging mother

Sitting abreast her sisters and old-time friends on their white

Plastic chairs. My sweaty brother ensuring his wife's guests

Do not miss out on this joyous feast, on the eighth day

Of her delivery. My sister-in-law and mother of this

Bundle of joy radiating the atmosphere with her maternal glow.

The aroma and taste of fish and meat; àmàlà and jollof;

Stew and vegetables hypnotised the seated guests to stupor,

While I walked about tending to my portion of hospitality.

At the end of the event, I basked in my childhood memories

Of moments like this. I reminisced the faces I used to see,

Now taken away by travels and death.

I pondered on how occasions like this remind the neighbourhood

Who we are, from the matching colours of Ànkárá or Lace,

Caps and Gèlè's. Ceremonies like this tell the bystanders

And passers-by who we are, from the shared celebration

Of the life of a new born, to the shared celebration of a life

Long lived, to the shared celebration of two hearts

Coming together before a priest, an MC, and a cake tower.

Portrait of the Yuletide

Like the twelve nights of Christmas dressed

With the whites of the winter snow in the West,

The reds of the wraps around the gift boxes,

And the greens of artificial trees, ribbons,

And bourbons, the night has a bubbly personality

That keeps the eyes open and makes people believe

In the mornings that come after. The same way,

I believe in the starry night of the New Year's Eve,

Of elaborate rainbow fireworks, scary firecrackers,

And the edgy memories we make under

The spell of the RGB strobe lights in the ballroom.

In colourful moments like this, I let the

Ultraviolet and infrared rays of the lights

Seep into my bloodstream through my

Hypnotised eyes and skin, while the world

Counts down to a brand new beginning

Of the same old ways of surviving the year

Of veering through the sun and the moon,

Of missing what’s gone and yearning for

What may never come, of counting down

To another twelve nights of Christmas,

Dressed with the whites of the winter snow

In the West, the reds of the wraps around

The gift boxes, and the greens of artificial trees,

Ribbons, and bourbons, and the promising colours

Of the starry nights of another New Year’s Eve,

Of elaborate rainbow fireworks, scary firecrackers…