04
Script from short documentary film, Owambe, shown at Venice Biennale’s Personal Structures.
Narration begins:
May this day be filled with everlasting joy.
Let us gather, let us gather, I hear there is a party,
Ahhhh, ta lo n shey owambe (who is doing a party)
Oya, oya e ja a ma lo (come let us go there) hm owambe,
It is the progression and a prayer,
E ja ka gbadura (let us pray),
from the beginning of our breaths,
in abundance under the music,
with grace and hearty cheers, with sorrow we sit in communion today,
we will feast and share our sorrows and our joy.
After all, we are blessed by our inclinations in this nation,
an owambe is a homing beacon to all,
because no performance is in vain,
it is made up of ingredients down to that last one detail,
the guests, invited and uninvited alike to give it meaning.
Have you ever seen a celebration without people?
even at funerals, ah it is the very measure of success,
we know how to dress beautifully,
how to hold off hunger with impatient and unwavering glances at the waiters and mc’s alike
the sounds of snap me, snap me echoing in the air at photographers.
We do not bite our tongues,
A pę ko to jęun, ki ję ibaję (the person that eats late, will not eat spoiled food)
in fact, our tongues become machines of consumption
food and overflowing drinks to quench our thirst,
bowls filled with meat, often to be tackled heartily.
For we are given so much length of our tongue with shoulders high
then we fold and vanish back into ourselves.
We say ‘may this house be forever blessed as we feast’, under gossiped breaths
draped in fabric of layered colors to match and overlay.
Our joy is here existing loudly,
E ja ka jeun (come and eat), E ja ka jo (come and dance)
there is joy in doing this together
the spirit of owambe lives through us all in our bones, in the natural rhythm
in whispers, jubilations, coordinated dance steps, and watchful eyes
Geles filled with heat and pain, a celebration of our shapeshifting textile,
crafted by fists that could carve a tornado at will if they had to.
Here we commune in spirit,
in death, in blessings, in birth,
where conversation as a puzzle,
wax print containing secrets in between the fabric.
With the music, steps follow and you belong in an instant,
without haste or effort to the tunes of the drums, the band, and even a ringtone
the tunes of the live bands filling the room
changing the energy from oya komole, oya dide x 2.
A talking drum speaks your name rhythmically in praises
as money leaves your pocket gleefully,
a sign of gratitude for the blessings and the recognition of your lineage.
The alagas flexing their knees and lyrical ability
reminding the audience, they are not new to this,
Praises sung to uplift and bless the family through all seasons,
it is a legacy act, a tradition passed on,
it is not just a feeling of fleeting joy
takeaway containers filled up in secret as a reward for showing up
souvenirs for memory to commiserate the celebration in abundance.
What makes our history so rich?
it's a symphony of culture,
the sheer beauty of our talent,
the effortlessness of our existence, our languages
the combination of delicacies served from our soil.
Where I am from, a party is not just a party,
again, it is a homing signal
We know ourselves through the art of celebration
even in death, we reward them with an orchestra.
We may understand the language spoken,
by the act of celebration and in that moment,
a celebration of our heritage in all 371 ethnic groups,
the community of love and the home we carry within us,
etched into the foot bed of our nails and down to the bones that hold us steady.
hm listen and listen well
odò tó bá gbàgbé orísun rẹ̀, gbígbẹ ló máa gbẹ
(a river that forgets its source will dry up)
Narration ends. (film will be available online from March 2025)