Owo: The Meeting of the Arts
Between the Ife bronze and Bini height,
The city of Owo carved its middle way;
In ivory tusks as pale as winter light,
And terracotta baked in ancient clay.
The Olowo’s palace, vast in timbered grace,
Held courtyards where the forest spirits danced;
A crossroads for the Yoruba’s noble race,
Where every traveler felt his soul enhanced.
The art of wood and earth was woven here,
In patterns that the modern eye still seeks;
A heritage that’s held both deep and dear,
Of which the silent, carved mahogany speaks.
Ngazargamu: The Empire of the Sand
In Borno’s wastes, the brick-built city stood,
A capital of the Mai’s desert reign;
It lacked the forest’s wealth of stone and wood,
But ruled the vastness of the Sahel plain.
A center for the Quran’s holy word,
Where thousand-camel trains would find their rest;
The scholar’s ink was sharper than the sword,
In this, the golden kingdom of the West.
Though dust has buried every palace floor,
The spirit of the Kanuri remains,
A legacy of faith and ancient lore,
That drifts across the dry and northern plains.
Idah: The Igala Throne
Above the Niger’s bank, the Attah’s seat,
Was built where red cliffs meet the river’s spray;
Where Igala warriors, swift and fleet,
Held back the empires on their watery way.
The Inikpi’s sacrifice, a haunting tale,
Of royal blood that saved the city’s heart;
When all the hopes of men began to fail,
She chose to play the martyr’s lonely part.
The masquerades still haunt the palace gate,
In masks of wood and robes of raffia spun;
A kingdom that accepted every fate,
Beneath the burning of the southern sun.
Arochukwu: The Long Juju’s Cave
In deep ravines where ancient waters moan,
The Ibini Ukpabi held its silent court;
A god of darkness on a hidden throne,
Where those in search of justice would resort.
The Aro traders walked the forest track,
With bells and cloth and influence in hand;
They brought the captives and the wisdom back,
To rule the markets of the Igbo land.
The cave is silent now, the oracle is gone,
But in the shadows of the limestone wall,
The echoes of a thousand years live on,
Where ancient spirits still exert their call.
Sokoto: The Caliph’s Hub
From Gobir’s ruins, the Shehu’s vision rose,
To cleanse the land with prayer and with light;
A city where the faith and law repose,
And morning ends the long and troubled night.
The mud-walled mosques were built with simple hands,
To house the scholars of the holy book;
Whose influence spread across the desert sands,
And changed the way the northern nations look.
The Sultan guards the mantle of the past,
In chambers where the desert winds are cool;
A spiritual home that’s built to last,
Beneath the shadow of the Caliph’s rule.
(Sonnets 21-25 complete the ancient cycle with Gwandu, Keffi, Iseyin, The Nok Valleys, and The Lost Walls of Eredo.)
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