#i am exhausted and i just wole up

[catinasink]

oh good lird. good morning for the second time caatswayd

[julies-butterflies]

“One of us is starting to fall asleep.”-jukebox?

cuddle dialogue prompts  ( no longer accepting )                         ( read on ao3 )

By now, Julie knows that  Luke  and  sleep  don’t exactly get along.

Like... peanut butter and coleslaw. Studying and roller coasters. Alex and high school athletics. Luke and sleep are polar opposites, and flat-out don’t have time for each other. Whatever fundamental sequence of Luke’s DNA, whatever weird criss-cross firing of neurons in his head looks at a good night’s sleep, and decides, “nope, not for me...”

Well, Julie doesn’t  get it, but that’s how Luke’s made. Apparently, it’s how he’s always been, even when he was alive. Everyone else just has to deal with it.

“You’re keeping me up,” she announces, drawing her fuzzy blanket tighter around her shoulders.

Luke’s head shoots up, surprised — and sure, he’s got a right to be, considering it’s almost two in the morning. No sane person would be up this late. Not by choice, anyways... and Julie isn’t  choosing  to be awake herself. Something inside of her — one of those lightbulbs in her chest that blaze bright whenever the boys are near, that can feel them like a low, humming frequency even when they’re out of sight — is still awake, and buzzing. Late nights are like this. Whenever Luke can’t put himself to sleep — whether his brain is too loud, or his body too charged with energy — Julie feels it. She doesn’t want to, and definitely doesn’t enjoy it... but this is what her life has become. Being kept awake half the night by cute, insomniac ghosts.

He lowers his pencil slowly, and pulls his notebook against his chest. Luke sucks his cheeks, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry. I, uhh, I was just —“ He gestures vaguely around the darkened studio. A few faint snores echo from the loft, where Alex has set up a private space for himself. Reggie is face down on the sofa in a pile of blankets, hugging them to his chest like a kangaroo protecting its baby. (Julie’s going to have to get him a stuffed animal to snuggle one of these days; half the reason Luke doesn’t sleep, she suspects, is because Reggie’s such a blanket hog.)

The studio is dark except for a single light, glowing in the corner of the room. Luke is curled up there, with his notebook against his knees… but he wasn’t writing when Julie slipped in. He was glaring down at the page like it personally offended him. Now, he sets the notebook aside without a second glance, turning his full attention on her.

“Just felt like there was a song in my head, and I had to get it out. But it’s, uhh…” He gives his shaggy head a shake. “Not coming.”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re exhausted.” Julie crosses her arms. “It’s way past bedtime, Luke.”

“I’m a ghost, though.” He spreads his arms wide and leans back in his seat, like that’s something to be proud of. “Ghosts don’t  have  bedtimes.”

Without blinking, Julie crosses over to the couch and gives it a firm kick.

“Reggie? When’s your bedtime?”

Reggie snorts, popping his head up. “Ten-thirty,” he mutters… before faceplanting in the blankets again.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Reggie can have a bedtime if he wants to. I’m a free agent.”

“You’re an insomniac, and should probably talk to someone.”

“You know any good ghost doctors?”

Julie’s eye twitches. “We’ll  find  one.”

Tipping his head back towards the ceiling, Luke clicks his tongue. “I dunno, Jules, it’s been a while since my last checkup… I don’t got time for all the bells and whistles, you know? They’re gonna take that little hammer to my knee, and it’s gonna go right through me… they're gonna look for my heartbeat and be real confused... probably try to give me some spooky X-rays…” He gasps, and bolts upright. “Julie, they’re gonna find out I don’t have a skeleton!”

Okay, thinks Julie, the late hour is definitely getting to his head.

“Is that your excuse?”

The unexpected voice from the darkness sends them both jumping out of their skin. Luke flails, nearly falling out of his chair; blinking up at the loft, Julie’s eyes widen as a  phenomenal  mess of bedhead peeks out over the railing.

“We all know you’re afraid of needles. You haven’t had a booster shot in thirty years, Luke.” Alex glares down at them both. “Now, either shut up or go away, some of us are trying to sleep!”

Reggie holds up a hand, and mumbles something like “agreed,” into his pillow.

Clapping her palm over her mouth, Julie exchanges a sheepish glance with Luke. It takes every ounce of her self-control not to burst out laughing — Alex might actually start throwing things at them — but from the way Luke’s shoulders shake, she doesn’t trust him to hold out.

“Okay, sorry, we’re leaving,” she says in an hushed rush… and, before Luke can say another word, she snags him by the arm and pulls him with her.

They slip out the doors of the studio, and break into the humid night air. May in Los Angeles is just beginning to get hot -hot; warm enough to justify tank tops instead of sweatshirts, flip-flops instead of monster slippers. Julie’s pajamas aren’t anything interesting — Luke’s seen her in worse — but under the cool moonlight, his eyes still drink her in as if seeing her for the first time.

“You sleep with all those necklaces on?” he asks.

Okay, maybe he is seeing her for the first time, because Julie’s slept with her jewelry on since, like… sixth grade.

“You’re just noticing?”

“They’re pretty in the moonlight,” he replies, like it’s a foregone conclusion; then his brows furrow. “What if they choke you?”

“That’s not how it works, Luke.”

“Sure it is! All they need to do is get a little tangled up —“ He mimes, presumably, Julie doing acrobatics in her sleep. “And  wham,  you end up all strangled to death! I know we’ve got a gimmick, Julie, but we don’t gotta make it a full-phantom band so soon.”

“You say that like you’ve got plans for my death.”

“I mean…” He shrugs, the picture of innocence. “Not in the near future, but, y’know, we can't have you out-aging us…”

“Oh,” she says, beginning the long trek up the pathway to the house. “So I’ve got… two years before you guys decide to kill me. That’s reassuring.”

Luke follows after her, their footsteps echoing together. “Eh, we could stretch it to five. Six, tops. You’re tiny, you’ve still got a few good years left in you. Not like you’re gonna go all grandma on us  too  soon.”

Julie gasps, and swats at him. Luke accepts the hit to the chest with dignity, biting back a grin. He looks unfairly handsome in the moonlight… and Julie refuses to think about that, because it opens up a wole Pandora’s Box of issues, ranging from the obvious  (he’s a ghost eternally trapped at seventeen and, unless he somehow comes back to life through the power of music, I  am  going to get older than him someday)  to the serious  (he’s keeping me up at two in the morning).

Luke isn’t handsome. He’s a sleepless menace, and Julie shouldn’t entertain him a second longer.

They reach her door. Somehow, they come to a stop at exactly the same time, turning towards each other. Julie tugs her blanket tighter around her bare shoulders. Luke reaches out, and pulls the door open for her.

“I guess —“ he says.

“Yeah,” Julie agrees quickly. “Sounds good.”

“Great.”

“Great.”

“Goodnight, then?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

They smile at each other for a second, close-lipped and quiet… before something in Julie breaks, and she lays a hand on his arm. Somehow, he’s always so warm under her touch, so solid. He feels like a promise always kept… a steadiness, a certainty. A comfort.

“Come on,” she says softly, taking them both by surprise. “My bed has room for two.”

---------

He’s still so very warm, in bed next to her, with their legs tangled and bodies brushing whenever they move. It’s too humid for covers, so Julie’s got her favorite sheet, instead. As soon as Luke sees it, he billows it up into the air, and lets it fall down on top of them both like a parachute. Julie claps a hand over her mouth to hide her giggles. Even in the darkness of her bedroom — lit by the dimly glowing fairylights she only put on to keep Luke from tripping over her carpet — his grin is blinding. As the sheet flutters down over them both, she stretches her arms up to welcome it; he laughs so loudly, it’s a good thing her dad and brother can’t hear.

“This,” she huffs, once they’re both hiding under the covers, “this isn’t what we should be doing. It’s two in the morning.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Totally right.” Luke’s quiet for a moment — before shaking the covers again, causing a wave of air to roll over them. He makes a ridiculous whoosh! noise, and Julie snorts.

“Stop!” She swats at his shoulder again; the sound is harsher than the impact. Luke yelps and curls in on himself, feigning a mortal injury. Over his groans and moans and  “Julie, how could you”s,  Julie can’t restrain another fit of giggles.

Oh god, she’s gone for this boy. She really is.

It’s two in the morning, and she’s in hysterics in her bedroom over a boy no one else in the world can see… and he’s smiling at her like she’s the brightest star blazing in the sky, and his legs are brushing hers, and she can feel the pulse of his heartbeat, the warmth of his breath… which shouldn’t be possible, because he’s  dead.

Luke reaches up. Gently, he brushes a stray curl from Julie’s temple. His hand lingers, and Julie feels dizzy.

“This feels like heaven,” he says softly.

Julie’s breath catches.

“I… thought you said you’d never get there.”

“Yeah, well…” When he chuckles, his breath ruffles her hair. “I’m not much of a believer in the ‘all rockstars go to heaven’ kinda thing… I don’t even know if I buy into that stuff, period.” He shrugs, and glances down, at the bare inches of space in between them. “But this… is what it’d feel like, I think. Right here, with you. This kind of forever.”

“With...” She swallows past a throat that is suddenly too dry, forcing words together in a head that reverberates with  heaven  and  you. Forever. God, can they make this last forever?

Instead of speaking, her hand finds Luke’s in the darkness. Their palms press; their fingers intertwine. He is restless beneath her touch, all calluses and carelessness and nervous energy… but Julie holds him until she feels him relax, then slowly raises their hands up between them.

“I’d like that,” she whispers. “To stay here forever.”

His eyes shine bright. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She swallows. “As long as it’s with you.”

These are exactly the sort of confessions that could not be made any time other than late in the night, or early in the morning — that funny liminal space of existence, the hours where nothing is really real, and everything feels like it matters too much. Julie is floating, and Luke is right here with her. He’s smiling inches away from her face… and if she wanted to lean over, to close the distance between them, it would be as easy as breathing.

She doesn’t, though, because this moment feels sacred. She won’t claim it selfishly for herself — won’t turn it into something it’s not. This moment is shared, between her and Luke... secrets whispered in the dark for their ears alone. It should stay that way.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes softly, like it’s all he knows for sure.

“You’re amazing,” she replies, in the same voice.

“You’re a star.”

“You’re inspiring.”

“You make me feel alive again.”

“So do you.”

They exhale in the silence, the words floating through the air around them. Julie imagines she can see them glowing in the darkness. If she wanted, she could pluck them out of thin air, tuck them away in her dream box and save them forever. This feels like the sort of moment that belongs there — halfway between dream and waking, almost too good to be true.

For a while, they don’t talk at all. Luke plays with her hair, and Julie twines their fingers. Their breaths match each other’s in the silence. It feels like floating down a lazy river, and slowly, Julie can feel herself being carried away.

She’s only aware of her eyes getting heavier when Luke’s fingers graze her brow, and she can’t force her lids open to look at him.

“Looks like one of us is starting to fall asleep,” Luke teases, his voice soft.

Julie humms, and feels herself smile. “You.”

“Not me.” His voice is smiling, too. “You.”

“You need t’ sleep.” She exhales, and sees it ruffle his hair like leaves on a tree. His nose scrunches up. He doesn’t look drowsy — not like he’s drowning in it, like she is — but he’s not wide awake, either. His head is quiet, his soul is calm; the hive of bees buzzing in Julie’s chest has given up the ghost for tonight. (Little Luke-shaped bees, with beanies and guitars, who keep flying into everything because they’ve got too much energy…)

She bursts into giggles again at the thought. They spill from her lips like honey; she’s too tired to silence them, nevermind hide her grin. Instead, she slumps against Luke, muffling herself against his shoulder. He smells like pine needles and sunshine. His arms wrap around her back to steady her, and she can feel him smiling against her, and Julie thinks…

Julie thinks…

Forever.

“What’s so funny?” he murmurs into the crown of her head.

“Bees,” she replies, and giggles again.

“Oh yeah?” He hums, like this makes perfect sense. “I mean, yeah, they’re pretty hilarious.”

“Mmm.” She presses her face against his shoulder, and decides to stay there. “Mmm.”

For a long moment, he’s completely still — like the world’s most realistic stuffed animal, the coziest pillow ever made — before his hand tentatively begins to massage between her shoulder blades, running up and down her spine.

“You good, Julie?” he murmurs softly, and Julie humms again.

“Stay with me,” she manages to say.  Forever. “Sleep here… with me.”

Luke’s caress feels like a lullaby. The lips that graze her temple are a promise.

“Don’t worry, Julie,” he murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Somehow,  forever feels good enough for tonight.

[thisdaynews]

Song of a goat pepper-soup (for JP Clark) - Wole Soyinka

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/song-of-a-goat-pepper-soup-for-jp-clark-wole-soyinka/

Song of a goat pepper-soup (for JP Clark) - Wole Soyinka

Blustery, peevish, touchy, erratic… .yet I’ve additionally heard him called ẹja àrọ̀, that fish which consistently whips back to its turbid profundities –, etc and on. All these may hold in parts obviously, there is that contributory side of JP Clark that is shut to many: an uncertain blend of a profound graceful reasonableness with an extraordinary political discontent, disappointments from a country that continually scams itself. Such partner disquiet will in general show itself in internal choppiness that gets revenge on fairly confounded heads, even without obvious incitement. The individuals who wish to dig further into, or contest this, ought to just help themselves to remember his part in the adventure of the principal military overthrow in Nigeria, his personal relationship with Christopher Okigbo – one of our pioneer ‘artistic group of four’ who died on the war front – continually accentuated by scattered verses of a habitual witness. JP never surrendered – mind the arrangement of sonnets he distributed in The Guardian during his last years!

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It showed itself in numerous manners – trifling to significant, immediate and backhanded. For example, JP would not let me rest until I appeared for one of our snacks in an Amotekun coat. Really at that time would he acknowledge that we were “not kidding” in Ogun State and were not simply “talkers” with respect to the most recent danger to Nigerian presence, the unchecked, pillaging herders, about which he seethed ceaselessly. Not failing to remember his starting the visit to the military – Chinua Achebe and myself close behind – in a destined exertion to spare the lives of Mamman Vatsa and other denounced overthrow plotters. Or then again his fanatical quest for the suggestions of the Nobel appearance to the Delta during the episode of threats by MEND and different aggressors… .scarcely any know about this seething responsibility of the artist as resident.

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I needed to move all that – this isn’t proposed as a grave piece, of which there has been in excess of a befitting storm. My turn is close to home, suggestive, and I realize JP would savor the concise oar through memory rivers. The direction of my relationship with our griot of Ozidi, initiating in the sixties, is the thing that sparkles most iridescently in the brain, touching off lights along the weird byways of conclusion in human bursts. That cycle shut on recovered bubbly accents on which it had started sixty years sooner, an unconstrained patching of adamant dispositions, presently bound with self-joke, agreeable in self-satisfaction, warm, communing, factious, absolutely without misrepresentation or covers. It even formed into a casual ‘Cafes’ Club’ of three, with Sesan Dipeolu, the ex Librarian of Ife college as the third leg of the ‘pepper-soup carriage’. Dipeolu was the first to go AWOL. From that point we put a glass for him at the table, and a vacant seat. Once in a while we allowed the odd youngster to join – for the most part when either expected to execute more than one winged animal with one stone. Subsequent to spreading our support round different eateries thusly – from Victoria Island to Ikeja – JP by one way or another controlled us to acknowledge his The Boat Club as lasting setting, consequently introducing himself undisputed host, since the club loathed installment by non-individuals. The feeling of The Boat Club was obviously generally suitable, and we turned out to be essential for the perceived furnishings.

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Unbeknownst to each of the three, this would assume a critical function in the coming tide of Covid-19 pandemic – by which time, Dipeolu had withdrawn, leaving simply the pair. During lockdowns, the Spirit of the Sixties re-championed itself. The Boat Club was under conclusion yet its café was open for the typical conveyance and takeaway administrations. There was no requirement for any conversation – it took close to a gesture of comprehension and the spring period of dissident youth was resuscitated. JP was secured down Lagos, coaxing out his last beautiful estate, I in Abeokuta, suffering tortures from another work – writing fiction. For a little while, there was no contact be that as it may, at last, the call came through. My solitary interferences during those months, I now manfully ‘fess up’, appeared as a periodic drive to Lagos, the streets euphorically vacant. (I am a grouped, persistent ‘fundamental administrations’ exclusion – on the off chance that anybody attempts to consider me a crook – proceed to check where it is important!) And along these lines, our meeting continued. I showed up, obediently covered – with my shoulder pack of chosen wines. We gathered our takeaway packs, at that point – sneaked through a side way to the overhang higher up. The huge space more than coordinated conventions of ‘social separating’. There, calmed by the vacancy of that quiet, yet clamoring space, we devoured our barbecued fish and calamari, seared sweet potato with lukewarm pepper sauce, in absolute quietness, swallowed our brew and wine, touched by quiet and the liberal, tidal pond breeze, unpolluted by oil exhaust, while we discussed and tackled all the issues of the world. Did the skeleton staff recognize our quality? I won’t bargain the honest. Regardless, how is it possible that they would neglect to relate to the delinquency of two geriatrics, acknowledge that specific ‘bowing of rules’ occasionally makes the standard average, even interesting. This, all things considered, was their club artist, moved from the Delta streams of the Ijaw to their own Five-Cowrie Creek of the Lagos estuary.

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From various perspectives the temperament was suggestive of the sixties, far less rumbustious truly, however regardless a repeat of that stage when we were consistent props and last withdrawing supporters of the unrecorded music night clubs of Ibadan and Lagos. Toward the finish of every night meeting, JP, to whom anything mechanical was hostile area at any rate, was normally in no condition to drive. Indeed, even without trying to hide, JP had a propensity for endeavoring to jump across expansive drains or explore streets where none existed. Thus, I would frequently get him in his loft at Oke Bola, at that point drive him home a short time later. Such was his connection to that vehicle notwithstanding, maybe the sole Kharman Ghia – a now dead model – in the entirety of Nigeria, that he would demand I leave my beat-up Land Rover in his place while we attacked the night in that German games vehicle. I had no protest – it was an extraordinary vehicle to drive – quick quickening and a left-hand drive while the country was all the while working the British traffic code of driving on the correct roadside. That plan worked until , not a long way from my own chalet nearby, the games vehicle chose to act simply like its proprietor and endeavor to scale a palm tree – I particularly review that it was after late practices of Song of a Goat at Mbari – I probably napped off in the driver’s seat.

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It took a long time to get that spirited vehicle back on its wheels in any case, during that break, I turned into JP’s driver night and day in my Land Rover. That came about in much closer connection, obviously this had its own troubles. When his Karman was again functional, I left him to do his own destruction, which he did with zeal, sozzled or calm. I butchered a few goats in front of an audience during exhibitions explicitly to pacify the devils that seemed to make JP – even external his Karman Ghia – so famously inclined to mishaps. Nothing worked. At last, I accept he just abandoned any type of driving inside and out and drew in a driver. JP was essentially not implied for a time more mechanical than the period of the kayak with detachable engine!

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At the point when I started to coordinate his plays – Song of a Goat was moment shot obviously – JP gave them over to me totally. He would not meddle in the coordinating. He would come into practices, watch, some of the time remarking on how words became movement in front of an audience. He delighted in sitting in, failing to offer even one recommendation that I review – ‘it’s your cerebral pain’ he would shrug, ‘I don’t have a clue how you do it’ – and off he went to have a ball with companions at the closest bar. JP’s interest with theater drove him – definitely – to establish PEC Repertory Theater at Onikan, with an active association with the executives and inventive creation – on a supported level that I didn’t accomplish with my own 1960 MASKS or ORISUN Theater. Psyche you, what the artistes and different teammates suffered under his routine was most likely another story, yet at that point, he likewise had Ebun, his better half, as full sidekick. I unequivocally presume that it was the confided in equation of ‘strategic shift’ – Good Cop, Bad Cop’. Ebun will most likely open up on this all the more legitimately. What makes a difference is that is worked, endured years, introduced the membership custom, appreciated an independent achievement. JP was noticeably vexed when the property was obtained by the Lagos government and destroyed for an arising multi-reason complex. No, he didn’t contradict advancement, JP basically felt – and in solid, unforgiving language – that PEC ought to have been left standing, coordinated into whatever happened to that noteworthy site. I completely sympathized with him!

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We made arrangements – twice – to restore one of his plays during the versions of the Lagos Black Heritage Festival. Such exertion imploded from the standard calculated issues and obviously – financial plan. Notwithstanding, one of the strong results of the Heritage arrangement would come from the unique release labeled – The Black in the Mediterranean Blue where the verse area agreed to the subject of Migration. Italy was the primary landfall on the ‘Blue Mediterranean’ shores, and a volume rose up out of a coordinated effort among Italian and Nigerian artists, a bi-lingual item. JP was my first port of call, and I will end this demonstration of liberal memory with his commitment to that volume.

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Presently, that sonnet! I figure all the previous disclosures would stay deficient on the off chance that I didn’t remark on its commitment. It demonstrated a back-and-forth! A minor scene, yet I thought that it was off-kilter, by and by, since this was my venture. I was the Chief Editor of the treasury, so I eliminated it. JP end up being at his generally difficult. He had conveyed it manually written –

[asegbolu]

Profound Meaning of Yoruba Names By Daniel Ayodele Adeniran

#copied Profound Meaning Of Yoruba Surnames (Learn Yours Now!) There are many Yoruba names whose meanings are now lost due to the facts that the words forming the roots of those words are no longer in use. For instance ask the young Master Olopade the meaning of his name and he will probably tell you that his name means " policeman has come". Ask Mr Olopade, his father, and he would probably tell you it means "the owner of the staff has come". The two of them would be wrong as Olopade actually means " the Opa devotee has come". The same goes for all other Opa names like Opatola, Opadotun etc. Those names show that the ancestors of the bearers of the names were worshippers or devotees of the Opa Cult otherwise called Awo Opa, one of the religion cults or secret societies proscribed by the British in colonial days. Or imagine another scenario: Pastor Obafemi, the pastor of a Pentecostal church, is asking Deacon Ogunyemi to change his name because he believes that the name of the deacon is associated with Ogun, an idol, without realizing that his own name is also idolatrous in its origin. Even Professor Wole Soyinka in his book "The Man Died" gave the meaning of his surname Soyinka to be "surrounded by wizards". This is far from being the case. Names like Soyinka, Sonekan, Sonuga etc do not derive from "Oso" wizard but rather they derive from Orisaoko, the Yoruba god of Agriculture. The name Soyinka in full is Orisaokoyinka which became shortened by a gradual declension to Sookoyinka, Sooyinka and finally to Soyinka. It is the same for all the other "Soo..." names. If a whole Professor Soyinka, a master of literature and language can be thus mistaken on the derivation and meaning of his own name, what about we lesser mortals. It is in order to put these various misconceptions right that I am publishing this little work via this medium. This list is by no means exhaustive and other's inputs are welcome so it can be in writing for generations yet unborn so that the knowledge of the meaning of our names will not die out. Also if you want to know the meaning of your Yoruba name, you are welcome to ask. Agba o ni i tan lorile. The "Oku" names like Okusanya, Okusehinde, Okusaga etc are not derived from "Oku" do-mi, a dead person. They are derived from "Okù" the Ijebu god of wealth which corresponds to " Ajé" the Oyo Yoruba god of wealth. Thus Okusanya means the god of wealth has rewarded me for my sufferings and not dead person has rewarded me for my sufferings. Ore Names like Oresanya, Oredipe etc. They do not derive from Ore, do-mi (friend) but from Ore, re-do ( a deity). Ope Names like Opeseyi, Opetola etc do not derive from Ope, do-re, palm tree but rather from Ope, do-do, an Ifa divining chain. Igbin Names like Onigbinde, Igbintade etc do not derive from Igbin, do-mi, (snail) but rather from Igbin, re-re ( a drum beaten for the Orisaala worship). The ancestors of people bearing these names were drummers for Orisaala worshippers. Onasanya, Onabajo these names are not derived from ona (road) but they derive from ona (craft). The name bearers of these names would be people who were craftsmen like sculptors etc in their origin Alalade does not derive from ala do-mi (dream) but derives from Ala do-do (white, the insignia of the Orisala or Obatala deity and it means the owner of ala has come, the Orisala devotee has come and not the dreamer has come as many have supposed it means. Elegbede does not derive from egbe, re-mi (the supposed magical means of teleporting) and is not supposed to be pronounced as Elegbede re-mi-mi as Sunny Ade sang it in one of the records he made for the Erelu of Lagos when he sang "Aya Dehinde mi kaabo, Elegbede, Abiola Fernandez ku eto". The name is derived from egbe do-do meaning support. Thus the name is more properly pronounced as Elegbede re-mi-do-mi-mi (the defender, the one who will fight or support my cause) has come Onipede does not derive from ipe do-mi (fish scales) but derives from ipe do-do (consolation). So it should not be pronounced as Onipede re-mi-vi-mi the owner of scales has come but rather as Onipede re-mi-do-mi-mi (the consoler has come) Baba re-re and Oba re-re names such as Babasanya, Babafemi, Obadare, Obafemi, Obasanjo do not derive from father or king. They both derive their roots from Sonponna, the god of small-pox, which used to be referred to in reverent tone in olden days as Baba so that he would not kill them. If you will recall, In olden times, the marks left on the faces of anyone who recovered from small-pox attack used to be referred to as Ila-Baba, that is father's marks. Chief Olusegun Obasanjo at page Page 45 of his latest book My Watch gave us an insight into the origin of the names starting with Oba when he stated the origin of his name Obasanjo as follows: "The change of fortune in my father's life was, to me inexplicable. Apart from being hardworking, he was a stickler to everything correct - correct behavior and mannerism; correct attitude in almost all things; respect for all, both younger and older. He was a good family man, wise and confident--most people in the village and many from neighboring villages sought his advice- and he was always sober and caring. My father's social drink was fresh palmwine, which contains little or no alcohol before it ferments. But suddenly, my father started taking ogogoro, the locally brewed gin. The drink is reputed to be harsh and intoxicating. As my father indulged in this drink, things started going downhill for him. He became alcoholic. People wondered and were concerned. "My mother took to enquiring from the gods and seeking a solution from diviners. The answer they came up with was that my father was an abiku (children that are regarded as dying and coming back, reborn through the same parents). They said also that when my grand mother came to her wits' end, desperate to have a surviving child, she sought a child through the deity of smallpox, Obaluaiye. It was assumed that the neglect of Obaluaiye in our family has caused the change in my father's lifestyle. The deity had to be appeased by my sister, Wola, being made a worshiper and being inducted into all the rituals of Obaluaiye. I was then made to understand that my father's name, Obasanjo, was given to appreciate the kindness of Obaluaiye in granting my grandmother a surviving child. I later saw all this as superstition, anyway. And, in any case, my father's gradual but steady downturn of fortune was neither stopped nor reversed until he died early in 1960. My sister married a Muslim and forgot about worshipping Obaluaiye and practising its rituals" From this one can see that the Oba in Obasanjo, Obafemi, derived from Obaluwaye otherwise called Sonponna, the god of small pox and does not derive from king. So Pastor Obafemi in the hypothetical case mentioned above would do well to remove the log in his own eyes first by changing his own name first before insisting that Deacon Ogunyemi should change his name. Oloko re-mi-do does not derive from the word oko re-do lorry or canoe and it does not mean the owner of a lorry or the owner of canoe, but it derives from the word oko do-do (spear) and it means the owner, master or lord of the spear. It is a war title which has become a name. It is the title borne by the group of warriors whose chosen weapons of warfare is the spare. Adekogbe re-mi-do-mi does not mean the crown rejects excreta as the word igbe do-mi in the name does not mean excreta; rather it means a bush or a light forest. The name means the crown rejects the bush, that is to say a prince shouldn't be involved in manual labour or farming activities. Adekogbe is a name much favoured by the Ijebus, as they are of all Yoruba tribes a tribe that is more averse to farm work or manual labour than any of the other Yoruba tribes. They prefer to trade instead. Ade re-mi names like Adeboye Adebayo Adebola are not derived from Ade (crown) but rather they are derived from the verb de which means to come. Adeboye means he who came at a time when chieftaincy has just entered into the family. Adebayo means he who comes to meet when a thing of joy has just come into the family and Adebola means he who comes to meet when wealth has just come into the family. Apart from the misconstrued names, there are other names whose meanings are now recondite as many people no longer knows what the names mean. Shadare Sadeko, Sadela etc, these names derive from the Orisala otherwise called Obatala deity. Shadare is an hyphenated form of Orishadare. The word Orisha whenever used alone invariably refers to Obatala otherwise called Orisala. So those names are names of people named after the Orishala deity. Shadare or Sadare then would mean Obatala has vindicated (me). Sadeko would mean that an Obatala worshipper has arrived at Eko (Lagos) Sadela would mean Obatala has arrived into wealth Akeredolu re-mi-mi-re-mi means he who reduces himself in order to become a king. He who humbles himself to become a king like the title of that play She Stoops To Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith. Adewuyi re-mi-re-do means the crown grows honour, that is the crown produces honour. Olofa re-mi-do means the owner of arrows or the master or lord of arrows. It is another war title that has become a name and it is the title given to those whose weapons of war in battle is the bow and arrow, that is archers. Alokolaro re-mi-re-mi-do-mi-mi means he who has a large farm and also has a cooperative society to assist him to do the farm work. Aaro is a cooperative system among the Yorubas whereby the members agree to work jointly in the farm of each member of the group in turn until they have finished the farm-work of all the members. Olowe re-mi-do means he who has an owe do-do cooperative group. Owe is another type of cooperative society whereby the members assist each other to work in the farm of each other. Olowe is thus somebody who has a large number of people at his beck and call whom he can call upon to assist him anytime in his farm or other work Apara re-re-re is short for Aparaogunbienipale re-re-re-re-re-mi-re-mi-re-mi. implies he who sets war at naught. It means literally somebody who gets ready for war as easily as other people get ready for home affairs. Okoya re-mi-re-mi means the hoe has torn into pieces. It is an Abiku name. It implies an imploration to the Abiku not to die again as the hoe for burial has torn into pieces. Okose means the hoe has broken, same as Okoya Popoola means the avenue of Honour or nobility. Popo means a broad street or avenue, Ola means honour or nobility Adesiyan means the crown is good Adelabu means the crown has passed through the deep (the sea) Banmeke means hold or sustain the rafter of the house with me. Eke is the underlying structure upon which the leaves used to roof the house was be placed. It served the purpose now served by the rafter as forming the superstructure of the roof. It thus a very important part of the house or family. Falade means the god of divination has intermingled with royalty, probably a name given to a child who was born of an Ifa priesthood parent and a royal parent, like the mother of the 1st Olowu who being a princess married his father's priest. Olaniyan means nobility has swagger, that is to say noble people have a special way in which they carry themselves, Adedeke or Dedeke re-mi-re-mi means he who comes to become a very important part of the house. Eke (the rafter) being the superstructure of the roof. The Ade there is not crown but is from the verb de meaning to come or arrive. Oluwusi means kingship has increased Adebosin means he that came to meet kingship Osinbajo means the king has returned from a journey. Osin re-do means king. Bo means to come back from ajo do-do which means a journey. Asaju re-re-mi-mi means the leader of the van. It is the war title of the chief of the unit that fights at the head of the army. Seriki derived from the Hausa word for king sarkin. He is the head of all the junior war chiefs Sarumi do-do-mi is another war title given to the head of the Cavalry, that is the unit of the army that fight with horses or on horseback Alasa re-mi-mi-do is a war title that has now become a name. It does not refer to aasa tobacco, but to asa the shield. Alasa means the owner or lord of the shield, that is the shield bearer, perhaps of the king. Asa means shield. Oshadipe. Orishadipe. The god (Obatala) has used this one (the newly born baby) to console by using him to replace a loss recently suffered by the family. Sonibare means be careful in choosing whom you allow to get close to you. Eesuola means the pool that is the reservoir of honour or nobility Bamgbegbin mi-re-mi-do means assist me to carry the Igbin. It is a name borne by drummers for Orisala worship. (Igbin is the drum beaten in the worship of Orisaala/Obatala deity) Tella do-do is a name borne only by Oyo princes and it means bend or bow to become in order to become wealthy. Oladoyibo re-mi-do-do-mi means Honour surrounds him Olasope re-mi-re-mi means honour has emerged completely. Kotoye do-mi-mi is short for Kotoyesi do-mi-mi-mi-mi, which means not worthy of being honoured, a name given to a child believed to be an Abiku because the Yorubas believe that such a child if shown any love or regard by being given sweet and affectionate names would go back to his group of bad children but if shown he is despised and of scant regard and is expected by his parents to die anytime, he would stay; because Abikus have a perverse tendency to do just the opposite of what you expect them to do. For that reason, they are given derogatory names like Kotoyesi, Aja (dog) etc Bamgbose mi-re-mi-mi means assist me in carrying the ose, that is Sango's wand. It is a name given to children born by Sango worshippers. Sorry I could not write the names in Yoruba character as I don't have a Yoruba keyboard and all the virtual ones I downloaded and the one sent to me by the Proudly Yoruba Administrator did not seem to work. By: Daniel Ayodele Adeniran

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[asegbolu]

Deeper Meaning of Yoruba Names. Etymology. 😂😍😂👌Thanks to Daniel Ayodele 😁😭😊

#copied Profound Meaning Of Yoruba Surnames (Learn Yours Now!) There are many Yoruba names whose meanings are now lost due to the facts that the words forming the roots of those words are no longer in use. For instance ask the young Master Olopade the meaning of his name and he will probably tell you that his name means " policeman has come". Ask Mr Olopade, his father, and he would probably tell you it means "the owner of the staff has come". The two of them would be wrong as Olopade actually means " the Opa devotee has come". The same goes for all other Opa names like Opatola, Opadotun etc. Those names show that the ancestors of the bearers of the names were worshippers or devotees of the Opa Cult otherwise called Awo Opa, one of the religion cults or secret societies proscribed by the British in colonial days. Or imagine another scenario: Pastor Obafemi, the pastor of a Pentecostal church, is asking Deacon Ogunyemi to change his name because he believes that the name of the deacon is associated with Ogun, an idol, without realizing that his own name is also idolatrous in its origin. Even Professor Wole Soyinka in his book "The Man Died" gave the meaning of his surname Soyinka to be "surrounded by wizards". This is far from being the case. Names like Soyinka, Sonekan, Sonuga etc do not derive from "Oso" wizard but rather they derive from Orisaoko, the Yoruba god of Agriculture. The name Soyinka in full is Orisaokoyinka which became shortened by a gradual declension to Sookoyinka, Sooyinka and finally to Soyinka. It is the same for all the other "Soo..." names. If a whole Professor Soyinka, a master of literature and language can be thus mistaken on the derivation and meaning of his own name, what about we lesser mortals. It is in order to put these various misconceptions right that I am publishing this little work via this medium. This list is by no means exhaustive and other's inputs are welcome so it can be in writing for generations yet unborn so that the knowledge of the meaning of our names will not die out. Also if you want to know the meaning of your Yoruba name, you are welcome to ask. Agba o ni i tan lorile. The "Oku" names like Okusanya, Okusehinde, Okusaga etc are not derived from "Oku" do-mi, a dead person. They are derived from "Okù" the Ijebu god of wealth which corresponds to " Ajé" the Oyo Yoruba god of wealth. Thus Okusanya means the god of wealth has rewarded me for my sufferings and not dead person has rewarded me for my sufferings. Ore Names like Oresanya, Oredipe etc. They do not derive from Ore, do-mi (friend) but from Ore, re-do ( a deity). Ope Names like Opeseyi, Opetola etc do not derive from Ope, do-re, palm tree but rather from Ope, do-do, an Ifa divining chain. Igbin Names like Onigbinde, Igbintade etc do not derive from Igbin, do-mi, (snail) but rather from Igbin, re-re ( a drum beaten for the Orisaala worship). The ancestors of people bearing these names were drummers for Orisaala worshippers. Onasanya, Onabajo these names are not derived from ona (road) but they derive from ona (craft). The name bearers of these names would be people who were craftsmen like sculptors etc in their origin Alalade does not derive from ala do-mi (dream) but derives from Ala do-do (white, the insignia of the Orisala or Obatala deity and it means the owner of ala has come, the Orisala devotee has come and not the dreamer has come as many have supposed it means. Elegbede does not derive from egbe, re-mi (the supposed magical means of teleporting) and is not supposed to be pronounced as Elegbede re-mi-mi as Sunny Ade sang it in one of the records he made for the Erelu of Lagos when he sang "Aya Dehinde mi kaabo, Elegbede, Abiola Fernandez ku eto". The name is derived from egbe do-do meaning support. Thus the name is more properly pronounced as Elegbede re-mi-do-mi-mi (the defender, the one who will fight or support my cause) has come Onipede does not derive from ipe do-mi (fish scales) but derives from ipe do-do (consolation). So it should not be pronounced as Onipede re-mi-vi-mi the owner of scales has come but rather as Onipede re-mi-do-mi-mi (the consoler has come) Baba re-re and Oba re-re names such as Babasanya, Babafemi, Obadare, Obafemi, Obasanjo do not derive from father or king. They both derive their roots from Sonponna, the god of small-pox, which used to be referred to in reverent tone in olden days as Baba so that he would not kill them. If you will recall, In olden times, the marks left on the faces of anyone who recovered from small-pox attack used to be referred to as Ila-Baba, that is father's marks. Chief Olusegun Obasanjo at page Page 45 of his latest book My Watch gave us an insight into the origin of the names starting with Oba when he stated the origin of his name Obasanjo as follows: "The change of fortune in my father's life was, to me inexplicable. Apart from being hardworking, he was a stickler to everything correct - correct behavior and mannerism; correct attitude in almost all things; respect for all, both younger and older. He was a good family man, wise and confident--most people in the village and many from neighboring villages sought his advice- and he was always sober and caring. My father's social drink was fresh palmwine, which contains little or no alcohol before it ferments. But suddenly, my father started taking ogogoro, the locally brewed gin. The drink is reputed to be harsh and intoxicating. As my father indulged in this drink, things started going downhill for him. He became alcoholic. People wondered and were concerned. "My mother took to enquiring from the gods and seeking a solution from diviners. The answer they came up with was that my father was an abiku (children that are regarded as dying and coming back, reborn through the same parents). They said also that when my grand mother came to her wits' end, desperate to have a surviving child, she sought a child through the deity of smallpox, Obaluaiye. It was assumed that the neglect of Obaluaiye in our family has caused the change in my father's lifestyle. The deity had to be appeased by my sister, Wola, being made a worshiper and being inducted into all the rituals of Obaluaiye. I was then made to understand that my father's name, Obasanjo, was given to appreciate the kindness of Obaluaiye in granting my grandmother a surviving child. I later saw all this as superstition, anyway. And, in any case, my father's gradual but steady downturn of fortune was neither stopped nor reversed until he died early in 1960. My sister married a Muslim and forgot about worshipping Obaluaiye and practising its rituals" From this one can see that the Oba in Obasanjo, Obafemi, derived from Obaluwaye otherwise called Sonponna, the god of small pox and does not derive from king. So Pastor Obafemi in the hypothetical case mentioned above would do well to remove the log in his own eyes first by changing his own name first before insisting that Deacon Ogunyemi should change his name. Oloko re-mi-do does not derive from the word oko re-do lorry or canoe and it does not mean the owner of a lorry or the owner of canoe, but it derives from the word oko do-do (spear) and it means the owner, master or lord of the spear. It is a war title which has become a name. It is the title borne by the group of warriors whose chosen weapons of warfare is the spare. Adekogbe re-mi-do-mi does not mean the crown rejects excreta as the word igbe do-mi in the name does not mean excreta; rather it means a bush or a light forest. The name means the crown rejects the bush, that is to say a prince shouldn't be involved in manual labour or farming activities. Adekogbe is a name much favoured by the Ijebus, as they are of all Yoruba tribes a tribe that is more averse to farm work or manual labour than any of the other Yoruba tribes. They prefer to trade instead. Ade re-mi names like Adeboye Adebayo Adebola are not derived from Ade (crown) but rather they are derived from the verb de which means to come. Adeboye means he who came at a time when chieftaincy has just entered into the family. Adebayo means he who comes to meet when a thing of joy has just come into the family and Adebola means he who comes to meet when wealth has just come into the family. Apart from the misconstrued names, there are other names whose meanings are now recondite as many people no longer knows what the names mean. Shadare Sadeko, Sadela etc, these names derive from the Orisala otherwise called Obatala deity. Shadare is an hyphenated form of Orishadare. The word Orisha whenever used alone invariably refers to Obatala otherwise called Orisala. So those names are names of people named after the Orishala deity. Shadare or Sadare then would mean Obatala has vindicated (me). Sadeko would mean that an Obatala worshipper has arrived at Eko (Lagos) Sadela would mean Obatala has arrived into wealth Akeredolu re-mi-mi-re-mi means he who reduces himself in order to become a king. He who humbles himself to become a king like the title of that play She Stoops To Conquer by Oliver Goldsmith. Adewuyi re-mi-re-do means the crown grows honour, that is the crown produces honour. Olofa re-mi-do means the owner of arrows or the master or lord of arrows. It is another war title that has become a name and it is the title given to those whose weapons of war in battle is the bow and arrow, that is archers. Alokolaro re-mi-re-mi-do-mi-mi means he who has a large farm and also has a cooperative society to assist him to do the farm work. Aaro is a cooperative system among the Yorubas whereby the members agree to work jointly in the farm of each member of the group in turn until they have finished the farm-work of all the members. Olowe re-mi-do means he who has an owe do-do cooperative group. Owe is another type of cooperative society whereby the members assist each other to work in the farm of each other. Olowe is thus somebody who has a large number of people at his beck and call whom he can call upon to assist him anytime in his farm or other work Apara re-re-re is short for Aparaogunbienipale re-re-re-re-re-mi-re-mi-re-mi. implies he who sets war at naught. It means literally somebody who gets ready for war as easily as other people get ready for home affairs. Okoya re-mi-re-mi means the hoe has torn into pieces. It is an Abiku name. It implies an imploration to the Abiku not to die again as the hoe for burial has torn into pieces. Okose means the hoe has broken, same as Okoya Popoola means the avenue of Honour or nobility. Popo means a broad street or avenue, Ola means honour or nobility Adesiyan means the crown is good Adelabu means the crown has passed through the deep (the sea) Banmeke means hold or sustain the rafter of the house with me. Eke is the underlying structure upon which the leaves used to roof the house was be placed. It served the purpose now served by the rafter as forming the superstructure of the roof. It thus a very important part of the house or family. Falade means the god of divination has intermingled with royalty, probably a name given to a child who was born of an Ifa priesthood parent and a royal parent, like the mother of the 1st Olowu who being a princess married his father's priest. Olaniyan means nobility has swagger, that is to say noble people have a special way in which they carry themselves, Adedeke or Dedeke re-mi-re-mi means he who comes to become a very important part of the house. Eke (the rafter) being the superstructure of the roof. The Ade there is not crown but is from the verb de meaning to come or arrive. Oluwusi means kingship has increased Adebosin means he that came to meet kingship Osinbajo means the king has returned from a journey. Osin re-do means king. Bo means to come back from ajo do-do which means a journey. Asaju re-re-mi-mi means the leader of the van. It is the war title of the chief of the unit that fights at the head of the army. Seriki derived from the Hausa word for king sarkin. He is the head of all the junior war chiefs Sarumi do-do-mi is another war title given to the head of the Cavalry, that is the unit of the army that fight with horses or on horseback Alasa re-mi-mi-do is a war title that has now become a name. It does not refer to aasa tobacco, but to asa the shield. Alasa means the owner or lord of the shield, that is the shield bearer, perhaps of the king. Asa means shield. Oshadipe. Orishadipe. The god (Obatala) has used this one (the newly born baby) to console by using him to replace a loss recently suffered by the family. Sonibare means be careful in choosing whom you allow to get close to you. Eesuola means the pool that is the reservoir of honour or nobility Bamgbegbin mi-re-mi-do means assist me to carry the Igbin. It is a name borne by drummers for Orisala worship. (Igbin is the drum beaten in the worship of Orisaala/Obatala deity) Tella do-do is a name borne only by Oyo princes and it means bend or bow to become in order to become wealthy. Oladoyibo re-mi-do-do-mi means Honour surrounds him Olasope re-mi-re-mi means honour has emerged completely. Kotoye do-mi-mi is short for Kotoyesi do-mi-mi-mi-mi, which means not worthy of being honoured, a name given to a child believed to be an Abiku because the Yorubas believe that such a child if shown any love or regard by being given sweet and affectionate names would go back to his group of bad children but if shown he is despised and of scant regard and is expected by his parents to die anytime, he would stay; because Abikus have a perverse tendency to do just the opposite of what you expect them to do. For that reason, they are given derogatory names like Kotoyesi, Aja (dog) etc Bamgbose mi-re-mi-mi means assist me in carrying the ose, that is Sango's wand. It is a name given to children born by Sango worshippers. Sorry I could not write the names in Yoruba character as I don't have a Yoruba keyboard and all the virtual ones I downloaded and the one sent to me by the Proudly Yoruba Administrator did not seem to work. 😜😭😂By: Daniel Ayodele 😂😊❤

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