“A beautiful narrative of our world and the connections
with the finer world. In my opinion, this work is a depiction of the imagery of
events that shall(will) NOW usher in the New Age of all our cultures. Consciously
we will welcome New leaders and kings amongst us. I raise my ancient spear in
salute to the author - Biola Olatunde. We all need to read it, fiction or
nonfiction - the imagery that makes the new must flow!!" -
Odjegberen Oghenechovwen 'Keyan Ugen. Prince-Priest of the Ancient
Ughievwen Kingdom.
These words gave
me a sense of doing something worthwhile. Rose of Numen which is book two of the Numen
series started something in me. It was meant as fiction but I had based quite a
lot of what I wrote on the people around me. My village and her customs played
a significant role in making me conscious of my roots. I had listened to my
grandmother talk to me about gods and goddesses and they were not evil blood
sucking leeches as my civilization had portrayed to me. Do I believe in this
traditional form of worship? I am not sure but I find I was not willing to push
things under the carpet as my friends and colleagues tend to do. I am Nigerian,
specifically a Yoruba woman and was not prepared to call everything black
magic. I am not into dark arts. Most of the practices puzzle me but I gradually
learnt that by whatever name we call religion or even the lack of it, humanity
needs to understand it. When we have an urgent need to feel that there is a
purpose to our existence.
When I was writing the television series for the United
Nations Population fund, I remember wanting to talk to traditional chiefs what
they thought of female genital mutilation. I did not want to just dismiss it as
evil but I wanted to learn why we started the practice in the first place and I
asked myself where we missed the point even as I tried to rationalize the
reasons for it. When I finally wrote against it, it was because I finally had a
conviction of why it was wrong.
Couple of my friends are wondering if I had become a
traditionalist after they had read Rose Of Numen. I sensed their restraint and
was at first puzzled then as recognition dawned that they wondered about me, I
felt pity for them. Our civilization has not done much for us. A large portion
of our convictions is dependent on miracles, prosperity and the ability to weed
out witches and wizards. We sometimes pay lip service to a religion because it
is expected of us. I hate talking or writing about religion because it is
divisive so don’t run away to another blog just yet will you?
My question has always been, if we recognize that Man
lives at three levels of consciousness, what makes us accept that there were
only particular races that had evolved on all three levels? Man acts, speaks
and thinks on a very gross material level. In finer consciousness he is evolved
enough to wonder about the cosmos, things beyond his ethereal consciousness and
he wonders about a Creator.
My conversation is kind of heavy right? I guess it is,
because the world right now is a puzzling place to be in. We are faced with the
imminent realization to accept that humanity is at war with itself. An
ideological war that brooks no compromises from the protagonists and
antagonists whichever side you seem to find yourself. It is a question about a
right to existence based on an idea, that goes to the very root of man’s
concept of existence and the rationale for it.
Is there a meeting point? I remember Nostradamus warned
that if humanity fails to resolve this, the next war will be fought with sticks
and stones. A lot of things don’t make sense to me anymore so you could say I
am a very confused old woman these days. I have tried to put all the killings
into a perspective and I have failed to understand. There is a heavy sadness in
me . I know I am not Atlas and it is a road that leads nowhere wondering how we
have suddenly become a murderous bunch that kill without reason.
Where did we miss the point I ask myself. In my
tradition, we would have gone to the gods and asked to know who had committed an
abomination on the land and then we would look for ways to expiate it. Sadly we
stopped listening to the cries of the gods that there is silence now in the
market place just the rattle of the old bones is echoed by the eerie silence.
There is a dance in the forest of masquerades, who are
afraid to come to the market because the drums they hear are the drums of war.
We could fly a flag but only one flag will do, the flag of humanity and we do
not even know what colour that should be.
