ÌGBÀ-Ǹ-BÁ JÓ, ONÍLÙ DÁGBÉRE AKÉ

Kòkòrò ni mí, n ò mọ ibi a kìí kọjú ijó sí.

Gúdúgúdú ni mí, n ò mọ ibi a kìí fi ẹsẹ̀ ìlù sí 

Bí mo bá ń jó, ológbojò gan-an á kọ́ bí wọn ti ń re gbágá sí’lù.

Mo gbajúmọ̀ l’Èkó akéte

Gbogbo ìlú ló mọ̀ pé ní kété 

tí mo bá ti gbọ́ ìlù ni mo máa ta etí aṣọ sí kété

Tí mo máa ṣe àfàró ètè 

Tí mo máa fàá mọ́ra bí ẹni fẹ́ dá ète.

N ò d’éte o, ìlú ló ń rìn mí ní jàkín òkè!

Tí mo máa f’ara kẹ́dùn sí awọ tí ń ké

Àyàngìdìgbó kan bá wa l’álejò ní Akéte, 

Onílù àjótàkìtì oge ni wọ́n ń pe onílù náà 

mo ti ń  gbáradì láti gé afẹ́fẹ́ ní ègé gẹ́gẹ́ bí ìṣe mi.

Ó ti ń lù’lù l’ókèrè níbi tí ó ti lù gba ewúrẹ́ abèmùrẹ́dẹ́rẹ́dẹ́ 

Ó ti gba àlàárì, gba ṣẹ̀kẹ̀tẹ́ baba ẹmu.

A ṣẹ́wọ́ sii sùgbọ́n kò rínà

A rán’ni sii sùgbọ́n orí ló fi pé òun ń bọ̀

Ní ọ̀rẹ-hìn, àyàngìdìgbò dé!

T’oun tí gọ̀ngọ́ àti ìlù tí ń rọ̀ dio dio ní èjìká tọ̀wọ̀tọ̀wọ̀

Ara mi ti wà lọ́nà!

Kí onílù ó lu dídùn,

Ni ó bá fi wákàtí kan ni gọ̀ngọ́ rẹ̀

Ọgbọ̀n ìṣẹjú ni ó fi yẹ ṣaworo rẹ̀ wò

Àkókò tí ó lò fi yẹ ojú ìlù wò tó jẹ òkèlè irinwó.

Ní ìgbà tí ó máa ki gọ̀ngọ́ mọ́lẹ̀ 

Kí ó tó kan ìlù tí ó ti ń gbáradì láti fọnrere,

Ni onílù bá gbójú sókè tí ó yanu bíi ẹni gbàgbé ọmọ s'ọ́kọ̀,

Ó pé: mo dájọ́ fún wọn L’áké

Kò wulẹ̀ fi gọ̀ngọ́ tí ó gbé s’ókè kàn’lù ti ó fi dágbére.

Ó dùn mí sùgbọ́n ń ò lèe ké

Ó dùn mí sùgbọ́n ẹ̀rẹ̀kẹ́ mi ò lè gba àlejò omijé.

Pé: Ìgbà ń bá jó ni onílù ta kété tí ó dágbére Aké!

My Dance, Her Choice: Aké

I am an ant, supple and unrestrained,

No corner is forbidden when I dance.

I am Gúdúgúdú—

my steps dare every sacred ground of the drum’s command.

When I move, even the ológbojò

must learn how to chase the rhythm’s thunder.

I am famed in Èkó Akéte.

The city knows that once a drumbeat strikes,

I fling my sleeves without delay.

I bite my lip with resolve,

draw it in as though to split a tactic from flesh.

Not of mischief—but because

the drum’s cry provokes my body,

my skin grieving with the wailing leather.

A sage-drummer came to us in Akéte,

they called her the seductress of rhythms.

I had braced myself

to cleave the air in my familiar style.

She had drummed across horizons,

rewarded with the fat goat of celebration,

with Aláàrì, king of cloth,

and Sẹ̀kẹ̀tẹ́, father of palm wine.

We beckoned her—she only nodded,

a promise carried lightly on her head.

At last, the sage-drummer arrived!

With gong and shoulder-dancing drum,

her stride majestic,

and my soul already aflame.

For sweetness,

she spent an hour burnishing her sticks,

half an hour tending to her bells,

a span long enough for four hundred morsels,

scrutinizing the drum skin.

When at last she seized the drumstick,

before it struck the eager hide,

she lifted her gaze—

astonished, like one recalling a child left on a ferry.

Then she confessed:

“I am summoned elsewhere, at Aké.”

Without a touch of the drum,

she bid us farewell.

I was pierced—yet my cheeks bore no tears.

I was torn, yet my face could not host the stranger of grief.

That, when it was my turn to dance,

the drummer forsook me for Aké.