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THE ROAD TO IFE

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JOY SUN


DEDICATION

The four way test.


The road to Ife is not far but it takes some people 2 years, some fifty years to arrive. Ile-Ife: i.e, he lies naked... Is it fair? And shongo could kill you if you tried. Why not 'dig deeper still into the foot of the gods?' The swollen feet of the gods. The swollen chin gods whose chin spangle like a mirror; whose brightness the chief priests had enhanced by polishing with groundnut oil: poor, wretched, helpless, silly, lay gods. The way is invisible, the art, loveable, the practice, achievable, but the method, unbearable. All the fishes had gone far deep into the water, none was worthy of a catch. So, the fisherman's hook could rest. 'But I am!', you could hear him scream! Then, prepare: prepare for the worst on that way. The road has never been opened easily; there must be a fight; army against army, horse against horse, sword against sword, and rattle against rattle. For this, Horseley died. Well. It's always on the point at which two footpaths meet. And remember, the gods are damned. So, dark is the way to Ife. Ife? Ile-Ife? So, if you need a PhD, it is not a white woman; go to ibadan the town of rust, spread like "broken China in the sun". If you're not content with a PhD, a professorship won't still fetch you one. One boy was lucky to get to Europe and stumbled on a white lady classmate who loved him. But, oh for shongo in etigi land! The flight tickets and visas were processed for Homeland. When they arrove, the girl smelt a rat: flies, nylons, mud, dirts, oozing off dreadsomely displeasurable acrid smell. And behold a woman! She simply looked at him, said, 'sorry, go kill your mother, or you are not fit for the kingdom", and walked away. The fly lessons.

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