Eulogy To Mrs Aminat Olaboopo

EULOGY TO MRS (Ph.D) ALIHAJA, AMINAT OLABOOPO I From ‘Asabari’, I stand on the moon Blowing the flute of ‘Okere’ Telling the tale of your heroic arrival. Through the river of Osun – Osogbo I paddle your name, crossing the boundary Of pilgrimage journey. Olaboopo, daughter of Alabi-Amo. They say you are crimson an ember clad in colour of scarlet some say black - a coal coated in colour of darkness But I say no! Your garment is that of green colour. Singing the anthem of liberty and hope Who then say our land has not got a freedom fighter? Fighting the course to victory. Aminah, You are the moving train of lights Your heart is the Canterbury of holy grails You are the sage of season, dove among human creature. You are the griot of Sahara Your rhetoric the mantra of holy apostles Calling drunk mortals away from their shamed Babylon. II Olaboopo. From the womb of your mother you’ve tamed knowledge to your heart tamed the truth to your belly You’ve found fecundity, father of all. You’ve swallowed the sacred egg of wisdom, Now you are goddess whom from the heavy arm Of his lore the sun of new dawn rises. Ayobami, I weave my mind under the ushering of the wind To gather the fire-wood of your wisdom retold, that zinced the wounds of weeded grounds. Your words are like sheds a mystery of words. A wisdom we hold, that have sowed the Beards of many hearts, Drinking from your ‘Igba’ [two hundred] of Noble words. Mama. I will always make my saliva A libation at the shrine of your Beowulf being. So the day of my fame can be long. Olaboopo. My grandmother once fore-told When the rain will cloud Hmm, he who knows not herbs call It bush leaf. My grandfather once, said my son, Ile ni awo ki ato so omo ni oruko. Amina, Don’t say I called you by name Kings are called by name Mama, may you munch kolanut for long. May you rub grey hair with palm, May you live long as ‘Iroko’ in thick forest. III Olaboopo. Ignorant men do not blow the horn It’s griots, men of armpit Made of folklores and history. If I stand on this threshold as your winsome face Do not see me as itinerant bard Singing songs for juggling cowries. I hold the pledge of my song for people Of noble source people like you, Fulcrum setting world on moving path. Ayobami You are the syllables At the tiny eye of my Golden pen.