In a galaxy far far away…
An emergency council meeting of the 401 Yoruba gods was in session. A grave situation was being deliberated on and as almost always, the messenger of the gods, Eshu, was at the centre of the problem.
Eshu, the characteristic mischief-maker, who always have a slight grin on his face as if sharing a personal joke with himself, was looking grave as he sat besides Ogun, the god of Iron and War. He eyed the exit beside his seat intermittently, wishing to be anywhere but there and would have sneaked out to join Amadioha and the other Igbo gods in the new yam festival party on their planet, Ulo, if not for Ogun’s magnetic powers that pressed him into his seat.
Ogun’s original seat on the podium of the amphitheatre as one of the big eight gods still remains unfilled after decades of vacating it willingly. A well respected and powerful god, he refused to listen to the pleas of the other gods and insisted on stepping down for another god till he redeemed himself of the two fatal mistakes that have led them into retirement. The gods themselves refused to replace him on the Kajola Council till as such time he decides to take it back, though lately Shango has been said to be cajoling gods to vote Oya into the position, using “women liberation “ as the crux of his argument and his power as the thrust of his persuasion.
The voice of Obatala, the god of whiteness, boomed to every corner of Iledi, the meeting place of the gods. He was the protem head of the gods, pending the time Eledua will return from his decade-long visit to Asgard to consult and visit Odin.
“Does anyone have a good and useful suggestion about how to resolve this issue?” asked Obatala.
Orunmila looked up from his writing and scanned the hall. Not a single hand was raised though there was many side-talk. For the umpteenth time in a meeting, he wanted to speak but decided against it. “Not till towards the end when sense must prevail” he told himself.
“I think we should allow the war to go on” Ogun’s steel-cladded voice rang out from the back where he had stood up and was steadily making his way to the podium in measured steps of a Generalissimo.
The hall fell to a hush as he got to the podium.
“Eshu caused this war, but this war is inevitable. We can postpone this war for as long as we want but we ultimately must fight this war eventually. I’m tired of sitting in this retirement home and I know you are too. It’s time we become powerful again. It is time for us to take back what is rightfully ours. We’ve suffered defeat twice and the taste of it is bitter. However, I have been preparing for a fight for the very soul of Yorubaland and I’m sure you are too. If not now, when? We are not 100% prepared but our enemies are also not prepared. We must fight this war and get accustomed to the taste of victory again. We cannot be cowed for ever. We must not let the fear of defeat hinder us. It is my utmost belief that we can win this war. We will win this war. I move that we go to Igbaradi Level 4 immediately and the Ologun Council meet immediately” he finished with applause and spontaneous shouts of support.
As Obatala was trying to calm the gathering down, Shango moved swiftly to the podium and as usual was shaking with visible anger
“I totally support Ogun. We are now how many decades into this retirement? Eight. And how many since our try to go back? Why should we rot here when we are still young and virile? How can these old gods be more powerful than us? We cannot allow this to continue. But what pains me the most is the reason why we are at this junction. How can they say they will ban ponmo?! How?! HOW?! When a big injury is done to one, small ones follow…”
He grew silent as he felt a tingling feeling run through his body. A great buzz arose from the gathering as everyone felt a surge in their powers. They all exchange glances and whispers as they knew what it meant: Eledua is back!
(May be continued. Image gotten via Google search)