The aroma of roasted chicken, goat meat and peppered jollof rice
boiling over huge earthen pots over stacks of lighted firewood meanders
Drifting from the backyard of the main house, the duplex,
coursing its way through the dry foggy harmattan morning
into the nostrils of the late risers still curled in beds
Drumming and intense gyration can be made out not afar off,
it is coming from the yard; the yard of the main house, the duplex
‘Adamma is here. The village masquerade is here’ praise singers chorus in unison.
Their voices seemingly entwined with the voices of the udu; the talking drums,
Climb up the floors of the main house; the duplex
Circling the walls of the house, seeping into bedrooms
The gyration hits a high note; the tempo is fast, like the pounding of a runner’s heart
beckoning the occupants of the main house, the duplex out of their snoring slumbers.
Adamma is aroused as well, out of her bed
in which she lay seduced by the chilly harmattan morning.
Adamma the village masquerade stands in the middle of the yard;
Statue still, as though in defiance to something.
Praise singers, with belled anklets and bracelets jiggle and jingle
as they jump around her, enjoining her to join the frenzy.
Adamma stands in the middle of it all,
staring intently at the emerging occupants of the house;
at little Adamma, staring right back at her, admiring the frenzy
and yet hating it for disrupting her sleep.
Adamma and Adamma find each other; each enthralled by the other.
Adamma, the village masquerade covered in colourful rag patched clothes;
most of them yellow, green and red
The mask is yellow, of a face, a mildly smiling.
The hair is look and dread-locked; dada.
Little Adamma in her ‘hello Kittie’ pyjamas and her feet covered
with matching pink fluffy flip flops. Her tightly plaited Bob Marley braids
stand high in a knot on her head and the ends
beaded in with yellow, green, red, white and pink plastics.
‘Adamma, come back this very minute’ her father demands
as little Adamma steps off the porch down the stairs, into the yard.
While other children stare frightfully from behind or beneath
their mothers yellow and black kirikiri stars wrapper
Adamma moves; breaking her statute like pose.
Her legs jiggle and jingle loud, louder than that of her praise singers combined.
Little Adamma now assumes the statue like pose,
as Adamma makes a leap in the air, flying miles across the yard,
and in another leap flies back into little Adamma’s face.
Adamma lifts her beaded belled ankles, twisting, turning and weaving through the air.
Her feet assume the lightness of air, and move in rhythm to her arm,
in rhythm to the drums and in rhythm to all the forces of the universe.
Her smiling face mask remains smiling as her head sways,
Encircling little Adamma in swift dizzying movements.
‘Adamma, Adamma, get back here this very minute’ her father demands again,
more forcefully, more frightfully, his voice dwarfed and drowned by
the voices of the loudly speaking drums; and trumpeting opi and ogene.
Little Adamma awakens from her trance; dropping her statue like pose.
Her head moves in swift rounds, as though her eyes are chasing an apparition
Her feet, rise and fall softly on the red clay, raising small red clouds of dust.
The drums stop and only the rattling ichaka can be heard
She continues.
Gliding her hands in slow snake-like patterns, through the air,
her feet assuming a lightness and swiftness of a gazelle,
her head dizzy and her face contorted into a smile; a proud Adamma smile.
Little Adamma makes a leap towards Adamma,
Adamma leaps the opposite way
The drums start again, the opi and ogene accompanying it
All else is quiet watching Adamma and Adamma.
Adamma makes a smaller leap towards Little Adamma, her feet on touching the ground
Jiggle at the speed of a passing train, raising greater clouds of red dust
Encircle her upper body which is moving sensually like a new bride’s
Little Adamma follows.
The crowd is cheers
The praise singers recommence their chants.
The voice of each drum speaking harmoniously over the other
Little Adamma drops to the floor, her knees kissing the red earth
Her fingers are entwined, standing at the same level with her chest,
she moves side to side, her fingers pushing back and forth against her chest,
her back moving in opposite direction to her hands,
her little beaded Bob Marley head shaking intensely, adding new melody to the music.
Adamma too drops to her knees. Replicating Little Adamma’s move.
The two remain in this position, till their movements are synchronised
Each movement pre-empted and executed simultaneously
Even their hearts throbbing at the same rate,
They dance till praise singers can shout no more and
the little ones, thumbs in mouth, crawl out from behind their mother’s wrappers,
till the occupants of the duplex, move off the porch, into the crowd,
their hands clapping in unison with the crowd and praise singers
Little Adamma stands, bending at the hip and wiggling,
slowly, naturally, with the easy grace acquired with womanhood.
Adamma too stands, bends at her hips and wiggles.
Side by side, they wiggle and tantalize the maddened crowd
Till the drum stops! Abrupt!
Faces shiny with sweat clap rhythmically, enjoining the drums to recommence
‘Little Adamma challenged the spirits today and entertained the gods’ the praise singers chant.
The music begins again.
Teacher don't teach me nonsense! 