By
Obododimma Oha
I love the songs of Harcourt Whyte & Choir, especially carried with the golden pad of the poetry of Nnamdi Olebara. Oral poetry carrying oral poetry, supporting oral poetry, complementing oral poetry. I love those great songs that touch the soul and call one back to oneself, to be attentive to creation and one’s place in it. Ihe ju akpa, a machie ya onu. So, one carries on with shivering but directed feet in a world seeking to become. Ihe ju akpa.
Biko, then, chebe m ooo, chebe m nna. Here comes the tempest rolling over and rising high to pounce and howling and growling. Are you asleep on the boat? Are you waiting for the climax then before you say, “Peace, be still!”? Chebe m, nna.
Listen, tikuonu Jehovah, na mma na njo, in bliss and in grief. In filtered voices issuing from these bodies outside these bodies. Voices made of the pleasures of that grief. There is a pleasant city in that valley of tears.
Can’t you see how Job has started enjoying his misfortune and his creator has become his ally? Ihe oma anaghi ekwe jide ya aka! How do you cling to that piece of laughter that becomes another cry? Job, you are a poem! You confront me with meanings. The stations of cross are only fourteen; yours, innumerable. You have become for me the travail of creation.
How I envy that vulture sitting on the roof in the marketplace! The butchers don’t bother about it. The women that jostle to buy chicken and turkey in the shopping mall don’t bother about it. It is not meat. Its relative the turkey chose a different destiny. So sorry for Maazi Turkey. So sorry, too, for that hen. She gives birth but hardly enjoys the consolation of motherhood. So sorry for the hen who plays favourite for the medicine man and even the priest. Somebody goes to Hell for another to go to Heaven.
Yes, I love Harcourt Whyte in a morning of an uncertain day. I love Harcourt Whyte. Nwa agadi laba nka, o di ka e jighi ego lua ya. Have I not travelled with you, from LP to CD? Have I not travelled with you from emotion to philosophy, from religion to science? Have I not searched for you in that galaxy and that star? In my father’s universe, there are many galaxies.
I am still following that heavily laden voice of Nnamdi Olebara. Following, still. Hoping it would still be able to carry me to that faraway star. Away from Ala Ekwensu! Away from those for whom I am fighting this battle that do not love me. Onwu m agaghi ewute ha; mba; it won’t. Agwo buru eririolu, agaghi m anya ya! Yes; I refuse to wear that pendant of evil poking out its forked tongue!
Those for whom I am waging this war are on the other side. Hostages on the other side thinking they are better off there. Grinning. Taunting. Scorning. They do not understand. They don’t. For how would anyone keep preaching when nobody is listening? Keep preaching still, Harcourt Whyte; my soul is listening. That tree and that bird are listening. That swiftly flowing stream can understand you. That silent moment is also listening and meditating and becoming.
Ekele nna. Ekele na nsopuru. You are great and are doing great things in creation. Initiating this and that form. Transforming this and that form. Artist and scientist! Artistic scientist. Scientific artist. And no book can fully document your overwhelming action. It is immense. We can only catch a glimpse of it in our world.
I can see you in that other Adam and that Adam and that other Eve. I can listen to you in that Harcourt Whyte song and that Nnamdi Olebara poem. Have you not become for me an enigma; yet a source of joy and strength? In that drop of life? In that breeze that touches my sweating brow?
I love the songs of Harcourt Whyte & Choir. They have become inspired chapters of a holy book.
Obododimma Oha
I love the songs of Harcourt Whyte & Choir, especially carried with the golden pad of the poetry of Nnamdi Olebara. Oral poetry carrying oral poetry, supporting oral poetry, complementing oral poetry. I love those great songs that touch the soul and call one back to oneself, to be attentive to creation and one’s place in it. Ihe ju akpa, a machie ya onu. So, one carries on with shivering but directed feet in a world seeking to become. Ihe ju akpa.
Biko, then, chebe m ooo, chebe m nna. Here comes the tempest rolling over and rising high to pounce and howling and growling. Are you asleep on the boat? Are you waiting for the climax then before you say, “Peace, be still!”? Chebe m, nna.
Listen, tikuonu Jehovah, na mma na njo, in bliss and in grief. In filtered voices issuing from these bodies outside these bodies. Voices made of the pleasures of that grief. There is a pleasant city in that valley of tears.
Can’t you see how Job has started enjoying his misfortune and his creator has become his ally? Ihe oma anaghi ekwe jide ya aka! How do you cling to that piece of laughter that becomes another cry? Job, you are a poem! You confront me with meanings. The stations of cross are only fourteen; yours, innumerable. You have become for me the travail of creation.
How I envy that vulture sitting on the roof in the marketplace! The butchers don’t bother about it. The women that jostle to buy chicken and turkey in the shopping mall don’t bother about it. It is not meat. Its relative the turkey chose a different destiny. So sorry for Maazi Turkey. So sorry, too, for that hen. She gives birth but hardly enjoys the consolation of motherhood. So sorry for the hen who plays favourite for the medicine man and even the priest. Somebody goes to Hell for another to go to Heaven.
Yes, I love Harcourt Whyte in a morning of an uncertain day. I love Harcourt Whyte. Nwa agadi laba nka, o di ka e jighi ego lua ya. Have I not travelled with you, from LP to CD? Have I not travelled with you from emotion to philosophy, from religion to science? Have I not searched for you in that galaxy and that star? In my father’s universe, there are many galaxies.
I am still following that heavily laden voice of Nnamdi Olebara. Following, still. Hoping it would still be able to carry me to that faraway star. Away from Ala Ekwensu! Away from those for whom I am fighting this battle that do not love me. Onwu m agaghi ewute ha; mba; it won’t. Agwo buru eririolu, agaghi m anya ya! Yes; I refuse to wear that pendant of evil poking out its forked tongue!
Those for whom I am waging this war are on the other side. Hostages on the other side thinking they are better off there. Grinning. Taunting. Scorning. They do not understand. They don’t. For how would anyone keep preaching when nobody is listening? Keep preaching still, Harcourt Whyte; my soul is listening. That tree and that bird are listening. That swiftly flowing stream can understand you. That silent moment is also listening and meditating and becoming.
Ekele nna. Ekele na nsopuru. You are great and are doing great things in creation. Initiating this and that form. Transforming this and that form. Artist and scientist! Artistic scientist. Scientific artist. And no book can fully document your overwhelming action. It is immense. We can only catch a glimpse of it in our world.
I can see you in that other Adam and that Adam and that other Eve. I can listen to you in that Harcourt Whyte song and that Nnamdi Olebara poem. Have you not become for me an enigma; yet a source of joy and strength? In that drop of life? In that breeze that touches my sweating brow?
I love the songs of Harcourt Whyte & Choir. They have become inspired chapters of a holy book.
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