Ìjẹ́ Abiyamọ Ní Àríwá/ Being a mother in the north

Ìjẹ́ abiyamọ ni àríwá

Mo máa ń lo ìgbà mi láti há
Orúkọ àwọn ọmọdékùnrin tí wọn kò ní jẹ́
Ọmọdékùnrin mọ lẹ́yìn ìdúngbàmù,
Wọn kò ní tọ́ka pé ọmọdékùnrin ni wọn,
wọn kò ní pè wọn ni ọmọdé tó ń fẹ́ fi nkàn-ìseré ṣeré mọ́,
àbí ti wọn fẹ gun kẹ̀kẹ́ ní òpópónà, àbí tí wọ́n ń lọ sí pápá
Nírọ̀lẹ́ láti lọ wo òréré ayé.

Mo gbèrò nípa Ọmọ mi nínú èéfín àádó-olóró,
Tí ẹkún rẹ sì jẹ́ ẹ̀dùn tó fa ọkàn mí ya
nígbà tí mò ń súré láti dóòla rẹ nínú
Iná tó gba ilẹ̀ wa kan.

Mo gbèrò ogun báyìí;
Obìnrin tó ń dárò ọmọ rẹ̀ tó d'ólògbé
Bí obìnrin mìíràn ṣe ń wá ọmọ rẹ tó sọnù
Lẹ́yìn ìdúngbàmù.

Mò ń retí ọjọ́ tí ìlú yìí
Kò ní sí nínú ìparun, ọjọ́ ti ọmọ mi
Máa dúró níwájú opó-ìdánimọ ìlú yìí láti
Ké orin-orílẹ̀-èdè rẹ̀, ọjọ́ ti ọkàn mi máa ni
Àlàáfíà, pẹ̀lú ìgbàlà àwọn aláàánú ènìyàn
Tí wọ́n ti mọ̀ wípé ilé ayé yìí, ibùgbé àlàáfíà ni ó yẹ kó jẹ.

Being a mother in the north

I spend my days memorizing
the names of boys who, after a blast, will no longer be boys
addressed as boys, called as children
About to play with a toy,
Or ride a bicycle down the road,
Or to a field where every evening,
they chart the world.

I imagine my child in the smoke of bombs,
His cry the ache that shreds my heart as i hurry
to rescue him from the fire that ravages our land.

I imagine war like this:
A woman grieving her dead child
as another woman searches
For her child after a blast.

I long for the day this country
Will not be in ruins, the day my child
Will stand before the flag of this country and recite the anthem
Of the land, the day my heart will be
at peace, saved by the kindness of people
Who have come to know the world as
Sanctuary.

- Rasaq Malik Gbolahan (The Other Names of Grief)

Ìyá / Mother

Ìyá

Bàbá kọ́ ilé sí ìgbéríko
Kò fẹ́ papòdà si igboro;
O lérò pe ẹ̀mí òun kò nì ní ìsinmi
Ní irú àyè bẹ́ẹ̀ tí kò tòrò.
O kúrò láti fi ilé yìí ṣe ibùgbé.
Mo wà ní ilé ìwé alákọ̀ọ́bẹ̀rẹ̀.

Ọdún tí o pọ ti ré kọjá.
O kò wá ní ìfọkànbalẹ̀ pé ó kúrò nílé
Léèyí tí ó yẹ kí o dúró.
Àjòjì ni ìbásepọ̀ wá jẹ́;
Fún oṣù tí kò ní òùnkà, awá ń ṣe àfẹ́rí ara wa
Nígbà tí ara rẹ kò gbàá mọ́,
O pe ìpè tí ó ṣe bí ẹní fi'ni lọ́kàn balẹ̀.
Ọkàn mí wúwo púpọ̀
Lẹ́yìn oṣù tó pọ̀
Tí o pè mí láti bèrè bóyá mo sì nífẹ̀ẹ́ rẹ.
Mother

Dad built a house in a rural area.
He didn't want to die in the township;
He thought his soul wouldn't find peace
In such an unsettled place.
You left to stay in this house.
I was in primary school.

Now many years have passed.
You're worried that you left
even where you should have stayed.
We have a strange relationship;
We starve of each other for months,
and when you can no longer bear it,
You call for what seems like reassurance.
My heart feels heavy inside my chest
When after months
You call to ask if I still love you.


- musawenkosi khanyile(The internal saboteur)

Nípa Olùtúmọ̀

Ayọ̀bámi Káyọ̀dé jẹ ọmọ bíbí ìlú Ibadan. Ó jẹ́ akẹ́kọ̀ọ́ lítírésọ̀ èdè Gẹ̀ẹ́sì ní ifáfitì dánfodio ní ìlú Sókótó. Ó nífẹ̀ẹ́ sí ẹ̀kọ́ ati lítírésọ̀.

Àwòrán ojú ìwé jẹ́ ti Fine Art America.

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