Shango And His Battleaxe, Oshe - Season 1 - Episode 7

6 years ago

Shango And His Battleaxe, Oshe - Season 1 - Episode 7

“I am Eshu Elegbara; the daemon deity, father of incubi, succubi, windhorls, tree demons and ghommids of the dark forest.’’ I am the hopeless calm after despair, the acceptance of the inevitable, the dreaded one that snatches the infant from its mothers safe arms, I am Eshu Lanroye’s twin for we both own the roads and crossroads, serving out accidents and chances to world travelers, for when a man is content and his cup is filled to the brim, his cattle fat at the moor, his barn filled with bountiful harvest, his household rang with songs and laughter, I will enter into his house, add bitterness into his life, take away his happiness and leave sorrow behind.

I am Eshu Elegbara the terrible, the blood of man is my favorite brew, and his tender fleshes my favorite snack. I bath in his tears and cloth in his despair. Now that you know into whose house you had foolishly ventured, disappear from my sight before they bring news of bereavement to Oranmiyan’s household.’’

On saying this, Elegbara returned to his gory meal.

Insulted and a little stung at his pitying dismissal, I cursed him and called him by rude names, my sharp tongue which had landed me in numerous hassles failed me not, days spent with lawless men and drunkards supplied me with vulgar speeches from which I held nothing back.

“You wool brained hideous bastard of a thousand fathers, you dare to call yourself an Orisha, you mistake of a deity, you dared to open that excrement filled maw you call mouth and compared yourself to Lanroye in all his divinity, perchance if you had ever sat to think why you stayed down here in your gods forsaken groove where no one visits you and you think it was because everyone feared you, then you must be dumber than you look.

No one wants to come near you because you stink to the heavens, your foul stench led me right from the edge of the forest to the hole you call groove, your brother wears robes made with golden linen, you’re here strutting about in skirts made of palm fronds, he dines and wine on a table of silver while you squat on plantain leaves and bones, eating carrion, and you dare to call yourself a god. I am not surprised for as we have beggars and mad men amidst mortals surely you must be the father and deity of beggars and lunatics, ‘‘arise from your rags thou beggar god and set your affairs in order for today, you have eaten your last human flesh, after I have silenced you forever, your dear twin will surely thank me for removing such embarrassment from his life.’’