After
many years of anticipation, the family and I finally made it to Niagara
Falls.
It
is absolutely breathtaking. I bet that
most Canadians have become jaded when it comes to seeing the “Falls”, but I don’t
believe I ever would. It’s a bit overwhelming
being that close to such a powerful body of water. The effect is very different from being at
say Virginia Beach and the railings that warn of danger to the fools’ stupid enough
to attempt to go over, didn’t seem tall enough. But they were. J The closer we got to the water, the colder it
got. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s
like over there during the dead of winter. SHIVERRR!!! Spring at the “Falls” is
tolerable, but my hands pretty much cramped up when I took pictures of the fam.
Father Winter still rules in Canada.
When
I looked down to where the water fell, I felt like I was in an episode of National
Geographic. Below was one of the biggest
blocks of ice I have EVER seen. I compare
it to a giant glacier at the North Pole.
(No I’ve never been there LOL, but that’s the best I can do.) With
everything that we saw there, one thing that stood out was the thunderous sound
of the “Falls” as they hit the water below. As caught up as I was with god’s spectacle, I
still managed to think of the story I created last week. “Orun”.
As I
mentioned, both tribes (the Ina and awọn dudu) believe that a deity carved steps into the
side of the mountain with his finger but took it away when the tribe members
stopped worshipping him. When you visualize such a scene, what comes to
mind? Here’s my vision:
It has been over
200 years since the destruction of Mount Ase. It is said that the gods were angry
and took back their gift because we were not grateful for all they gave to
us. As a result, they took away our light. The awọn àgba, elders, have shared and
passed on this story with the hope that our people will one day search for the
light once more. I have never believed
in the existence of a colored shape that gives heat. My life, my world, consists of never ending
gloom and a cold, unyielding sky.
These thoughts that I have, take so much energy from
me. Instead of suffering through the
monotony of my life, I could be sleeping, dreaming of a better place. If there is such a thing as day and night, I
have never experienced it. I sleep not
because it is dark, but because my body tells me when to rest.
But when the elders describe what once was, a story that
has been passed down through generations, I can almost visual it. The clouds above us part. Bright beams of
light cut through the gloom and return life back to our frigid land. As I know such a thing will never happen, I
can only see their past through their eyes.
The elders have demanded our appearance and attention. Their word is law. We celebrate (or they celebrate, our past). My
children, who have energy to spare, run ahead of me to get the best seats. My
people gather around a colossal tree that has grown so high that it is the only
thing that has ever reached beyond the clouds. Its limbs are as bare as my skin and yet it
stubbornly holds on to life.
My children want to be as close to the elders as
possible. It is said that they are of
magic. The children swear that they can
see pictures each time the elders share their story. My little one said that “the shape was a color
called yellow and the ground was a color called green.” She said that, “there
were trees that bared a thing called fruit and if you tilted your head up
towards the sky, you could feel warmth on your face.”
It vexed me to hear my daughter talk in such away. In my heart, I felt that the elders were
wrong to tell such stories to our children. To give them hope where there was
none. When I look up, all I see is where
the mountain ends and the sky begins. My
eldest daughter is disappointed in me. “She
asks, “How can you see what we see, when you do not believe?”
***
Fam, I’m looking forward to hearing from you. If you were an elder of a
tribe of people, how would you keep the history of your people alive? How would you tell your story? I would love
to hear it! Come on by next week as I continue. J
Mari
e laipe!
See you soon!
See you soon!
S-
*****
Thanks for visiting ‘Amachi is Hope.’ If you were
inspired or felt a connection with today’s blog (or any of my previous
entries) please leave a comment. J
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