Oracles of the Motherland

© 2022 Wole Daramola & Tolu Odunlami. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/01/2022

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7482-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7480-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-7481-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022920469

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1Reborn in the Forest

Chapter 2Festival

Chapter 3Successor

Chapter 4Conspiracy

Chapter 5Betrayal

Chapter 6Unofficial Assignment

Chapter 7Lúlù’s Background

Chapter 8The Journey

Chapter 9Flood

Chapter 10The Queen’s Dream

Chapter 11Dahomey

Chapter 12A New Beginning

Chapter 13Fate of a Stranger

Chapter 14Glow

Chapter 15Assimilation

Chapter 16Into the Deep

Chapter 17Valley of Shadows

Chapter 18Knowledge and Realms

Chapter 19Princes Are Born

Chapter 20Fear and Guilt

Chapter 21A Ray of Hope

Chapter 22An Enemy Within

Chapter 23The Swamp

Chapter 24The Cave

Chapter 25The Forest

Chapter 26Bravery and Death

Chapter 27The Sacrifice

Chapter 28Farewell

Chapter 29Deliberating Fate

Chapter 30The Message

Chapter 31A Bad Omen

Chapter 32A True Warrior

Chapter 33Prelude to the Inferno

Chapter 34Love and War

Chapter 35Negotiations

Chapter 36The Golden Stool I

Chapter 37The Golden Stool II

Chapter 38Suspicions

Chapter 39Salvation

Chapter 40Message to Ashanti

Chapter 41Vespera Da Destruicao

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

First and foremost, I am most grateful to God for giving me the vision; and the opportunity, strength and guidance to achieving this goal of mine.

My deepest appreciation to my lovely wife, Eniola, who has been supportive throughout the entire process of making this book a reality; and to my two delightful children, Analise and Jeremiah, thank you for being my source of motivation to accomplish this book. I hope I have made you proud.

To my mother, thank you for creating the road-map that led me where I am.

To my siblings, thank you for your unwavering supports through my entire journey.

To my parents-in-law, thank you for your love and support.

To my co-author, Tolu, thank you for your brilliant and creative ideas on this book.

Wole Daramola

I’d like to thank God for the ability and foresight to write this book, and as someone with several near-death experiences, including during the development of the book, He alone takes all the glory.

I’d also like to thank my wife, Kim, who has been with me in the toughest of times, an ever present and reliable pillar on my journey through life.

Lastly, I’d like to thank friends and family who provided encouragement and served as sound boards, and Wole my co-author who broached the idea of writing a book.

Tolu Odunlami

DEDICATION

I dedicate this book to my father, late John Afolabi Daramola, who supported and encouraged my love for art and storytelling since I was a little lad.

Wole Daramola

I dedicate this book to my mum, who was my first English teacher (she actually was an English teacher), she provided the foundation of reading and writing which carries me to this day.

Tolu Odunlami

CHAPTER 1

Reborn in the Forest

In the days of old, nestled inside the three-quarter circle formed by the Omíshàn Mountains, lay the Odùduwà kingdom, located along the western part of the Guinea Coast. It consisted of villages and towns like Sàbȩ, Ìlóbù, Etí-Òsà, Olókìtì, Lánipèkun, Ìjèbú, and Èjìgbò, and tributary kingdoms such as Dahomey, Hawani, and Ashanti. The mountains reached into the heavens, and clouds danced on their peaks. The rain traced paths down the sides, etching a unique signature on each incline. The winds slapped the outer slopes of the majestic mountains, periodically rushing into the crevices and creating a singsong whistle.

The seven streams that converged at the center of the kingdom rushed out to catch the fishermen on their way out to sea. They could not have cared less about the wind and its playful ways.

In the Odùduwà kingdom, every person was accountable to the next; there was little difference between commoner and nobility. Strangers greeted each other with the familiarity of brotherhood, and sisters took care of one another’s kids. It was a beautiful oasis, preserved by a cultural utopia that was little known to the rest of the world. But just like the regal mountains that Odùduwà was built on, the kingdom had a crack; it was almost imperceivable, but nonetheless, it was there.

The time of the yearly cocoa festival had arrived. The young men would go into the outer forest and gather the choicest cocoas to bring back for the women to make musu, a sweet chocolate pie that was intoxicating. It was so sweet that many babies would enter this utopia nine months later. The young men bristled with excitement, waiting to commence their annual competition.

The young men would spend a day deep in the forest with the guidance of elders and warriors and seven days camping in the open terrain, learning the rules of manhood and proving themselves worthy to be called one.

The young women giggled as they huddled in groups. They would compete to see who could make the best musu. The better it was, the higher one’s chances of getting a husband. It was also shameful for the family of any young woman who made terrible musu; she and her mother would be to blame, and suitors would be wary.

Adélolá, the queen of Odùduwà, hurried into the royal courts, her dress sweeping the floor elegantly. Her beauty and sense of style were a thing of legend. She wore a tasteful yellow, blue, and green ànkará dress, with blue beads adorning her neatly braided hair and white beads around her long neck, wrists, and ankles.

Adélolá’s maid, Lúlù, was the most sought-after among the maids. Eligible bachelors of the land adored her because of her beauty. She was from the village of Sàbȩ. She walked a step behind the queen, carrying her purse. Lúlù was dressed in an equally elegant ànkará dress that was tailored to her curvaceous body and thick backside. She was also adorned from head to toe with white beads that complemented her dark shining skin. They were a sight to see.

Many princes had asked for Adélolá’s hand in marriage when she was a princess of the Etí-Òsà ruling house. A few suitors had dueled, and Prince Àjosè, now the king, had been the lucky one. Some said he had been chosen by the gods.

Lúlù kept pace with the queen. Her round, attractive face was covered in painted patterns, and she scowled at anyone who did not immediately acknowledge the queen. She had raw sexuality about her, familiar to women of the outer forest who ate yams and palm oil and drank coconut water.

King Àjosè, dressed in a royal dàshíkí aso-òfì and loincloth, stood to greet his queen. Lolá, my dearest, how are you this fine morning?

Queen Adélolá sat in her chair and huffed in exasperation. How am I doing? The drums I requested are nowhere to be found, they have not yet gathered the flowers and palm fronds, the decorations are a mess, and where are my dressmakers? I cannot possibly wear the same clothes as last year!

You worry too much, my dear, King Àjosè replied. I have never seen a cocoa festival turn out badly. Besides, there is enough food and palm wine to satisfy the entire kingdom for days.

That is easy for you to say, the queen retorted. Men are so easily satisfied. You are not involved in the planning and—

The king reached down and kissed Adélolá. He was a strikingly handsome Black man, tall and muscular like a horse, with a beard that had a life of its own.

The queen’s anxiety melted away.

Lúlù smiled. That was the end of the conversation.

Kúyè, the chief adviser to the queen, grinned from ear to ear. He was wearing his dàshíkí and shóóró. Adélolá’s father, the Ǫba (king) of Etí-Òsà, had assigned Kúyè to her when she married Àjosè. He was the intermediary between Etí-Òsà and Adélolá in her role as the queen of Odùduwà. Kúyè was like an uncle to Queen Adélolá. The queen’s behests were paramount to him.

Àjàmú! the king bellowed.

Àjàmú was the captain of the king’s guard and the general of the Odùduwà warriors. He was advanced in age but was still good-looking, strong, and an experienced warrior. His full beard made him alluring to women, yet he was a man of strict character. He had refused to take another wife after the loss of his wife during childbirth; instead, he had dedicated himself to serving the kingdom. He believed that everything happened for a reason instead of by chance.

Àjàmú was dressed in an open-front, sleeveless, dark brown dàshíkí, exposing his broad shoulders, large chest, and loincloth. Black warrior laces were tied around his biceps, and his cutlass, dagger, and ax were fastened around his waist. He climbed down from his chestnut horse, rushed forward, and bowed before the king. My king!

Commence the initiation! the king instructed.

Dressed in their dàshíkís and loincloths—and some in dàshíkís and shóórós—the elders of Odùduwà prepared for the annual hunt. They gathered the young men and led them to the opening of the forest near the city. Their strides were proud and authoritative.

Most of the young men were dressed like Àjàmú, but the darker shade to Àjàmú’s dàshíkí showed his superiority as the general.

The young men were to be taught about manhood, the ways of women, and their responsibilities as men. They would play games, wrestle, practice using weapons, hunt wild animals, and gather cocoas. As tradition demanded, Àjàmú oversaw the expedition.

During the expeditions, Àjàmú always gave a speech that inspired young and old alike. The young men sat in a semicircle with the older men standing behind them, some on their horses. Everyone waited for Àjàmú to speak.

You are coming of age and must carry the torch that we have carried for all these years. From generation to generation, we have honored our ancestors and preserved the glory of the Odùduwà kingdom. I have fought and bled with my kinsmen beside me, and I have seen the deaths of many warriors. I also pray for the death of a warrior someday. In those days, it was a thing of pride and honor for a warrior to fall in battle.

Àjàní, the son of Àjàmú, dropped his head at the statement. The last thing he wanted was to lose his father. Death had already robbed him of his mother at birth, but he understood the ways of warriors. Dying a warrior’s death would make his father a legend.

Tonight, you shall transition from boys to men. You shall show your skills as fighters and hunters, and you shall bleed with pride. You shall spit in the face of fear, and you shall renew your strength. You are sons of Odùduwà. You shall stand strong and raise your head high in the face of fear. Make us proud!

Odùduwà! Odùduwà! Odùduwà! The chant of the warriors reverberated in the mountains. Fear dissipated as the young men picked up their weapons and charged into the forest in pairs.

Àjàní glanced back at his father before heading into the forest with his partner.

Àjàmú gave a silent nod. In that quick second, volumes transpired between father and son.

Àjàní had his father’s approval, and he knew he had better come out as one of the best hunters. Otherwise, he would be a disgrace to his family. With a dagger by his side and a spear in his hand, Àjàní and his best friend, Labí, disappeared into the foliage.

Àjàní and Labí were inseparable. They knew each other well and had their own sign language. It would serve them well in the forest.

At a small pond, Labí signaled for Àjàní to pause. The pair crouched in the bushes with a bow and arrow.

Àjàní whispered, Let’s wait here a while. I am sure animals will stop here for a drink.

Labí nodded in agreement and climbed a tree. I hope we get something big.

A big buck would be nice. Àjàní traced a track in the mud with his arrow. Whatever made this mark would be a good catch.

Hours went by. It was almost time to return.

Labí signaled to Àjàní with a low birdlike whistle. A deer was approaching.

Àjàní stared at the deer across the pond and quietly nocked an arrow. He moved slowly; the deer had keen hearing, and the slightest sound or abrupt movement would alert it to their presence.

It was getting dark. This was their only opportunity to prove their hunting prowess. If they returned empty-handed, they would be disgraced. Àjàní drew on the bow slowly. Labí looked on from the tree, holding his breath. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. A leopard was stealthily approaching Àjàní. With all his concentration on the deer, Àjàní didn’t notice the leopard. Labí had to make a split-second decision: alert Àjàní and miss the game or wait. Labí kept silent, but he was ready to strike a death blow to Àjàní’s predator if it attacked.

Seconds felt like hours as the leopard got closer. Suddenly, the bowstring let out a sharp whistle as the arrow took flight. In that same instant, the leopard leaped in Àjàní’s direction. Labí sprang from the tree, clutching the dagger with both hands. The arrow hit the deer as Labí’s dagger slammed into the side of the leopard’s neck in midair. The leopard let out a sound halfway between a howl and a growl as they both hit the ground.

Labí repeatedly stabbed its neck, shoulder, and side. The seventh stab put it to rest. Labí, breathing heavily and sweating profusely, closed the eyes of the leopard and kissed it on the forehead. The leopard’s spirit left its body to reunite with the spirit of the motherland. The first natural law of the Odùduwà culture was to show respect to all things—even the dead.

Àjàní stared at the dead animal in disbelief. Why didn’t you warn me a leopard was about to attack?

Labí snorted and wiped the dagger on his cloth. I saved your life.

Saved my life? shouted Àjàní.

If I had told you, we would have lost the deer, Labí stated calmly, still breathing heavily.

I hope I shot that deer despite all that commotion you caused. You’d better hope it’s still there, Àjàní said with a scowl.

Eh! Look at this ungrateful man! You should be grateful I saved your life—again. I should have let it bite a piece of your backside, Labí replied jokingly.

Àjàní hissed and got up, making his way to the other side of the pond. Theirs was a friendship tried and tested. They were closer than brothers and had a love for each other that many admired. Labí followed closely behind as they came upon the carcass of the impala. They both looked at each other and broke out laughing.

Àjàníogun, you are a warrior! Labí said.

Jagunlabì, you are a hunter! Àjàní exclaimed.

You are a true warrior, Labí declared.

"No, you are the true warrior," Àjàní affirmed.

They congratulated each other and laughed into the night. Labí picked up the carcass of the deer, blood dripping down his body and loincloth. Àjàní picked up the leopard. They left a trail of blood on the forest floor as they walked toward the camp, laughing and singing. They had entered the forest as mere boys but would emerge as men, the subject of much envy.

The warriors and elders were worried. Àjàmú stood at the edge of the camp with Sóbógun, his second-in-command, staring anxiously into the darkness. Àjàní and Labí arrived at the camp late that night. Upon seeing his son and Labí, he broke out in a smile. They had killed a large deer and one of the strongest animals in the forest. They had the biggest trophies of all the young men. It took everything in him not to run and hug his son.

As they reached the camp, he shouted, Kneel!

Their bodies and loincloths were dripping with blood from the dead animals still on their necks. They dropped to their knees.

Where have you been? What took you so long? Àjàmú shouted.

Labí glanced at Àjàní. It would be best if you explain to your father, he whispered to Àjàní, willing him to answer.

We had to wait several hours, my lord, Àjàní explained. We did not want to return empty-handed. We were attacked by a leopard but managed to kill the leopard and the deer. We present them both to you, my lord.

They dropped the animals from their necks and looked up cautiously. The general’s anger was legendary. He had once slapped Àjàní during a training camp and had disciplined Àjàní’s squadron leader for allowing him to get out of line.

Àjàmú surveyed the young warriors in the camp. This is what we like to see—bravery in the face of danger. True warriors. As I always say, finish whatever mission you are given. Failure is not an option. He returned his gaze to the two young men and nodded proudly. You have done well. Welcome back to the camp. Rise.

The young warriors roared in excitement.

Àjàní and Labí smiled as they stood up. They had won the competition and the respect of Àjàmú.

The whole village would soon learn of their exploits. Drumming broke out. Warriors young and old began singing the warrior song: We are warriors, forward ever, backward never, we are warriors, you can’t see me coming, I’m light as a feather.

On the last night in the camp, the