The next morning
(Saturday) Ayo assured me that the atmosphere in Ile-Ife would feel
much more safe and comfortable than my first night in Nigeria.
Ayo and Adebisi picked me up about 10:30am and took me to the airport
to exchange some traveler’s checks into Niara. I exchanged $100.00
for N10,000. I should have exchanged them all because the traveler’s
checks would be useless once I left Lagos. But then, everything is
for
a reason.
The 7th World Congress on Orisa Tradition and Culture would attract
Omo Orisa (Children of Orisha) from throughout the African Diaspora.
Brazil, Cuba, Trinidad and Tobago, California, New York, Washington,
D.C., Australia, and elsewhere. From August 5th thru 12th, 2001 I would
be attending the Conference with the encouragement and support of my
employer, Paradise Valley Community College in Phoenix, Arizona. PVCC
is a pioneer and leader in the International Education thrust of the
Maricopa County Community College District. We would visit sites in
the cities of Ile-Ife, Osogbo, Koso, and Oyo. There would be lectures
and receptions, and performances. As we began driving through the streets
of Lagos on our way to Ile-Ife, little did I know exactly what Orisa
had meant in my reading. I was about to be taken on a journey that was
not a part of the Conference agenda. Orisa was about to welcome me home
in their own way. At about 11:30am, on a crowded road in Lagos heading
towards Ibadan, the vortex opened.
Orisa Iku (the Orisa of Death) came for a Nigerian teenager named Yemi.
He stepped out in front of our car and there was no way for Ayo to
avoid
him without turning into a wall and risking killing us and perhaps
a lot of others as well. Orisa slowed time so that I could experience
every detail of Yemi’s meeting with Orisa Iku. The moment of neglect,
the moment of misjudgment, the moment of realization, the moment of
impact as he came head first into my front seat, passenger side window.
And in that moment Orisa had shifted the matrix. There wasn’t time
for me to expect the ‘normal’ set of responses. The police
coming; then the ambulance, and so on. No time! Yemi’s brother
ran over to him screaming in his own pain. I was hearing the language
spoken from the very depths of passion, pain, and hope. Yemi’s
limp body was quickly lifted and pulled into our car and off we went
looking for the nearest clinic. Now don’t think that was to be
easy. Adebisi ran out in front of our smashed up car yelling "emergency!"
and clearing cars to the side to make a path for us to proceed through
the densely populated streets. This was three cars wide traffic moving
desperately on a congested road wide enough for two vehicles. There
were no defined lanes and seemingly no rules except ‘to get the
hell where you were going by whatever path you can create by shear
domination
and driving skill. But Orisa Iku demanded respect and people moved
aside. The traffic police gazed into the window of the car and then
stepped
back urging us on.
