I am Èjídé,
From the land of masquerades and spirits,
Where there is abundance of yams and love.
I was born in the land of Ọ̀kín,
Where beauty lives in abundance,
And so I was called Èjídé Ọ̀kín.

From the day I was born,
I was swaddled in yarns of Òfì,
And held at my mother's back with a thousand Òjá.
My first footsteps brought laughter to the eyes of many,
As I trudged along the cement floor —
Unsure of my footing, with a toothy grin and dripping saliva.
I was the apple of Bàámi's eyes;
The first daughter from his loins.

In my oversized moccasins that Màámi gave me,
I could take on the world.
I clapped joyously as I pulled at the weeds in Bàámi's farm.
It was a moment of conquering;
As loved ones cheered me on for my hard work,
And rewarded me with a thousand cooked beans.
Oh, how sweet life was!

Màámi should have told me of life's bitterness,
And Bàámi should have warned me of the fingers adorned with claws:
That pierces the skin,
And feasts on the blood of the young and innocent.
But they did not,
And so I was unprepared when the owner of the clawed fingers slipped into my bed.
Hungry for my blood,
He feasted every night,
Clawing at the growing buds on my chest,
But the cockcrow brought relief.

Oh, what a world of hurt!
How do I tell Bàámi of the clawed fingers? 
When its owner eats from the same plate that I do,
Sleeps under the same thatched roof.

Families have been ruined for less.
So I mounted on my lips a giant padlock,
And threw its keys into an ocean of pain.
The clawed fingers came back for more blood,
Until its owner had to bid farewell to our humble abode.
I rented Ìyá Ìlù and Òmèlè,
As I danced for my freedom.
Unbeknownst to me, another set of clawed fingers awaited me in the next compound.

Robust and sunburnt, Iya Shakiru toiled to feed her children.
But her aching bones did not stop her running mouth.
From them spewed stories of my promiscuity,
She had a list of men my palms never touched, but I welcomed into my body.
Whispers and accusations flew,
Ruining my sanctuary in Bàámi's house.
Bàámi sharpened his now dull tongue against my skin,
Until it bled.
Unable to heal before the next assault,
My skin bled out blood and pus,
And my feeble mind rotted along with my skin.

The rain left,
Only to be replaced by the harmattan.
Until the rain came again, and several harmattans chased it away.
Iya Shakiru's eyes could no longer see
So she rolled in the mud,
And pleaded forgiveness from the Emèrè child.

The truth came to light;
But it was of no essence.
Because Bàámi's slurs remain with me even when he is not,
I can still hear the crowd whispering even when I cross the deserted streets.
I can feel the hands tugging at my tattered blouse,
Demanding a bite of what I was sharing.
And in every man's fingers,
All I see are claws,
Waiting to sink beneath my skin,
And make a feast of my blood.

Even my heart tires of this body,
For it struggles to leave it.
And in vengeance of not been able to,
It pumps poison into my veins,
Until even they drum against each other in a protest against my body.

In all of these, death calls.
It wears a cape made of smile,
And a gown of happiness,
It sings coyly of oblivion,
And urges me into its embrace.

But the rope is heavy,
The knife is too sharp,
The train crushes beyond recognition,
The sea's waves are unworthy of me,
And rat's poison was not meant for humans.
So each day, the sun rises,
I prepare to battle the poisons that course through my veins.

I am Èjídé,
From the land of masquerades and spirits,
Where there is abundance of yams and love.
I was born in the land of Ọ̀kín,
Where beauty lives in abundance,
And so I was called Èjídé Ọ̀kín.

Glossary:
Èjídé: A Yoruba name

Ọ̀kín: This literally means peacock but is synonymous to beauty in Yoruba land.

Màámi: My mother

Bàámi: My father

Òfì: Short form of Aso Ofi also know as Aso Oke, a hand loomed clothe woven and worn by the Yoruba people of western Nigeria.

Òjá: A long traditional clothe used as a swaddle for the Yoruba traditional way of 'backing a baby'

Ìyá Ìlù and Òmèlè: The two drums that make up Gangan, the talking drum.

Emèrè: A possessed child.