Black power 's Short Plays

The blogger ibikunle Abraham laniyan in this edition twenty plays on ifa oracle in Shakespearean tradition

It is not feasible to provide twenty plays in Shakespearean tradition via this format, as these would be extensive works of literature. However, the rich narratives of the Ifa oracle are highly adaptable to Shakespearean dramatic conventions, which include themes of destiny, royal conflict, the supernatural, and tragic flaws, all expressed through poetic language like iambic pentameter.

Nigerian playwright Ola Rotimi successfully used Ifa divination as a structural marker in his play The Gods Are Not to Blame, a postcolonial adaptation of the Oedipus myth. This demonstrates the compatibility of the traditions.

Below are synopses and structural outlines for twenty potential plays, drawing on the 256 Odu Ifa (signs/verses) that contain profound stories and ethical lessons.

Twenty Play Synopses in the Shakespearean Tradition

These plays would feature the five-act structure (exposition, development, climax, fall, catastrophe), soliloquies, asides, and themes of power, morality, and fate.

The Sixteen Principal Odu (Meyis)

The first sixteen plays would focus on the primary Odu Ifa.

Play 1: The Crown of Ogbe Meji

Theme: Leadership, divine destiny, and the perils of pride.

Synopsis: A young prince, Olu, is destined by Ifa to become a great king, but only if he performs a specific, humbling sacrifice. His ambition and arrogance lead him to ignore the counsel of the Babalawo (Ifa priest), resulting in civil strife and his eventual, tragic downfall, mirroring themes in Macbeth or King Lear.

Play 2: The Price of Oyeku Meji

Theme: The balance of life and death, and the danger of defying natural order.

Synopsis: A powerful sorcerer, consumed by grief for his dead wife, uses forbidden arts to defy the will of the Orishas (deities). The play explores his descent into madness as his actions upset the cosmic balance, bringing a plague upon his village.

Play 3: The Whispers of Iwori Meji

Theme: Conspiracy, betrayal, and hidden truths.

Synopsis: A trusted advisor plots against a just ruler, using whispers and deceit to turn the court against the king. The truth is revealed through an Ifa consultation, but only after much damage is done, exploring a narrative similar to Julius Caesar or Othello.

Play 4: The Vengeance of Odi Meji

Theme: Retribution, justice, and the consequences of unbridled rage.

Synopsis: A noble warrior seeks revenge for a perceived wrong, allowing anger to cloud his judgment. His quest for vengeance leads to a cycle of bloodshed that consumes his family and kingdom, showcasing tragic elements of the Roman plays.

Play 5: The Merchant of Irosun Meji

Theme: Greed, ethical conduct, and societal responsibility.

Synopsis: A wealthy, but miserly, merchant ignores all Ifa warnings to share his wealth and treat others justly. When a famine strikes, his selfish actions lead to his isolation and ruin, contrasting with the communal values of the Yoruba people.

Play 6: The Path of Oworin Meji

Theme: Predestination versus free will, and the importance of guidance.

Synopsis: A young protagonist struggles with his preordained destiny. Despite warnings, he attempts to forge his own path without guidance, highlighting the Yoruba belief that while destiny exists, choices and rituals can influence outcomes.

Play 7: The Curse of Obara Meji

Theme: Hubris, the power of the spoken word, and the downfall of the proud.

Synopsis: A charismatic but boastful orator brings a curse upon his land through his arrogant words and disrespect for the gods. The play uses elaborate rhetorical devices and imagery to show the power of language, a key element of Shakespearean theatre.

Play 8: The Harmony of Okanran Meji

Theme: Conflict resolution, peace, and the restoration of balance.

Synopsis: Two warring families threaten to destroy a kingdom. A wise mediator, guided by Ifa wisdom, helps them resolve their conflict, ending the play with a resolution similar to the end of Romeo and Juliet.

Play 9: The Burden of Ogunda Meji

Theme: Hard work, sacrifice, and the weight of responsibility.

Synopsis: A king must perform a difficult sacrifice to save his kingdom from invasion. The play focuses on the internal struggle, the "intrapersonal agitation" a leader faces, similar to a history play about kingship.

Play 10: The Web of Osa Meji

Theme: Deception, complexity of fate, and navigating treacherous times.

Synopsis: A play about court intrigue and an individual's struggle to determine truth in a world full of lies, where reality is not as it seems, a common motif in Shakespearean comedies and tragedies.

Play 11: The Secrets of Ika Meji

Theme: Hidden knowledge, wisdom, and moral ambiguity.

Synopsis: A scholar discovers dangerous, hidden knowledge that challenges the existing order. The play explores the ethics of knowledge and its use, touching on themes of morality and consequence.

Play 12: The Trial of Oturupon Meji

Theme: Justice, divine law, and human error in judgment.

Synopsis: A person is falsely accused and put on trial. The play's climax is the consultation of Ifa to reveal the truth, showcasing the oracle's role in the judicial process and societal order.

Play 13: The Feast of Otura Meji

Theme: Community, hospitality, and the value of generosity.

Synopsis: A prosperous village, following the dictates of Ifa, thrives due to its communal spirit. The play is a comedy focusing on the joys of harmonious living and the lessons learned by a visiting outsider.

Play 14: The Song of Irete Meji

Theme: Artistic expression, legacy, and the power of creativity.

Synopsis: A musician uses his art to challenge a tyrant. The play highlights the cultural importance of music and expression within the Yoruba tradition.

Play 15: The Mirror of Ose Meji

Theme: Self-reflection, personal destiny, and the journey of self-discovery.

Synopsis: A character must confront their own flaws to achieve their destiny, a deeply personal struggle mirroring Shakespeare's focus on individual character development.

Play 16: The End of Ofun Meji

Theme: Mortality, the afterlife, and the culmination of life's journey.

Synopsis: An older king prepares for death, reflecting on his life and legacy. The play uses solemn language and imagery to explore themes of death and continuity.

The Next Four Plays (Amulu Odu - Combinations)

These plays would combine themes and characters from the principal Odu.

Play 17: The King's Two Daughters: An Adaptation of Ogbe-Yeku

Theme: Filial duty, paternal love, and sacrifice.

Synopsis: A king, facing a crisis, must choose which of his two daughters to sacrifice to appease the gods, reminiscent of the conflict of filiation in the Inikpi legend. This would combine elements of King Lear with the specific narratives of the Odu.

Play 18: The Ghost of Irosun-Ogunda

Theme: Vengeance from beyond the grave, familial duty, and moral complexity.

Synopsis: A play where a ghost of an ancestor appears to demand justice, driving the plot and characters' actions, similar to the ghost in Hamlet.

Play 19: The Tempest of Otura-Okanran

Theme: Magic, reconciliation, and the power of divine intervention.

Synopsis: Drawing on the power of the elements and Orishas, a character uses mystical powers to bring about a resolution to conflict, with a structure and feel inspired by The Tempest.

Play 20: All's Well That Ends Well in Oworin-Irete

Theme: Fortune, trickery, and a happy ending.

Synopsis: A comedy using mistaken identity and clever characters who follow the subtle guidance of Ifa to achieve their goals

Here is another short play by the blogger)

OYEKU: The Silence of the Drum

A One-Act Play in Shakespearean Style

Dramatis Personae

OBA ADEWALE: The King, a man of power, yet troubled by fate.

IYALAWO: A revered Ifa Priestess, the voice of the divine.

OLORI FUNKE: The Queen, anxious for the future of her child.

BABAJIDE: The King's trusted, but skeptical, advisor.

CHORUS: A group of elders who offer exposition and commentary.

Setting

The royal courtyard of a Yoruba kingdom, circa a mythical past. Night.

Act I

Scene I

(The CHORUS enters.)

CHORUS

From Ife’s fount, where destiny is writ,

We bring a tale of kingly stubbornness,

And how the silent drum did prove its wit,

When mortal pride did challenge blessedness.

A king there was, Adewale by his name,

Whose lust for power obscured the sun's bright flame.

To all Ifa’s counsel, he would scoff,

Till death’s dark shadow tore his fortunes off.

Now mark the scene, where tragedy takes root,

And hear the warnings of a silent brute.

(The CHORUS exits. The Royal Courtyard of OBA ADEWALE. Torches light the night. OBA ADEWALE is seated on his throne, looking troubled. BABAJIDE stands near him.)

OBA ADEWALE

Good Babajide, doth the moon mock my reign?

For whilst my coffers overflow with wealth,

And whilst my armies conquer hill and plain,

A barren future undermines my health.

No son have I to bear my royal name,

No prince to shield from sorrow or from shame.

The people whisper, ghosts upon the wind,

That in my lineage no heir shall e'er be pinned.

BABAJIDE

My liege, a thousand moons have seen you reign,

And yet this grief doth fester in your breast.

Have we not sought the counsel, sought in vain,

Of wise men, seers, who put our fears to test?

The Iyalawo, she whose cowries speak,

Hath she not promised what thy spirit seeks?

OBA ADEWALE

She hath, my friend, but with conditions dire.

A sacrifice, she claims, of silence deep,

To quench the gods' insatiable fire,

A heavy secret which my soul must keep.

No drum must sound, no merry song be sung,

When the child enters, be he old or young.

A kingdom quiet, muted in its joy.

Such folly! Such a trick, to thus annoy!

BABAJIDE

My lord, the wisdom of the Odu flows

From sources deep, beyond our shallow ken.

The silent path may hide the blooming rose.

Trust in the guidance of the ancient men.

OBA ADEWALE

Trust? I am King! My will doth shape the land!

The Orishas themselves must understand!

My heir shall enter with a joyful sound,

With drums of war and peace, across the ground!

(Enter OLORI FUNKE, visibly pregnant and distressed.)

OLORI FUNKE

My husband, pray, heed not the drums of pride!

I went myself to see the Priestess this morn.

Within her chamber, where the truths abide,

She cast the seeds, and spoke of one unborn.

"Oyeku spoke," she said with fearful eye,

"Silence is life, noise is the bitter cry.

Should sound be made, the child will quickly fade;

A heavy price upon the King is laid."

OBA ADEWALE

(To himself, an aside)

These women, full of fears and phantom woes!

They see a ghost in every passing breeze.

My will is iron, firm as the Iroko grows,

I shall not bend to fanciful decrees!

(To Funke)

Be calm, my Queen. Thy fate is in mine hand.

I rule the gods within this mortal land.

We shall have joy, as befits one so great.

Begone, my fears! I am the master of my fate!

(Exit OBA ADEWALE in a rage. FUNKE weeps, comforted by BABAJIDE.)

BABAJIDE

(To Funke)

The king's great pride will be his fatal flaw.

He sees no power above his own domain.

He breaks the sacred, breaks the ancient law.

Now we must wait for sorrow and for pain.

(BABAJIDE and FUNKE exit in separate directions.)

Scene II

(A month later. The same courtyard. IYALAWO stands alone, performing a small ritual with an iroke (divination tapper) and opon (divination tray).)

IYALAWO

(Soliloquy, tapping the tray in rhythm)

Oyeku speaks in silence, void, and night.

The second sign, where darkness doth reside.

It warns the living of the fading light,

And bids us walk with caution, not with pride.

The King hath scorned the wisdom of the leaves,

He thinks his sceptre greater than the sky.

Ogun, defend us when the thunder cleaves

The air, and makes the royal infant die.

I have done my part, the message I have borne.

The rest is left to destiny and scorn.

(Enter BABAJIDE)

BABAJIDE

Good Iyalawo, the Queen doth near her time.

The King prepares a celebration grand.

He hath commanded every single chime,

And all the drummers in the farthest land.

IYALAWO

(Stopping her ritual)

Then sound the dirge, my friend, sound deep and low.

For every drum that beats, a heart shall cease.

The King commands, and seeds of death shall grow.

His pride hath murdered his own hope of peace.

I wash my hands. The die is cast in stone.

The silent path was offered, now unknown.

(They both exit. Darkness falls.)

Scene III

(Later that night. Cries of childbirth are heard offstage. OBA ADEWALE bursts into the courtyard, joy on his face.)

OBA ADEWALE

A son! A son! The gods have favoured me!

The lying priestess and her foolish rules!

Go, Babajide, let the drums be free!

Call forth the singers, let them use their tools!

My heir is born! Let every village know!

My reign is set, my royal line shall grow!

(Drums begin to beat, first softly, then a thunderous rhythm. Horns sound.)

BABAJIDE

(Entering, hesitant)

My liege, the drums... perhaps a softer sound?

Just for a moment, heed the counsel wise?

OBA ADEWALE

(Furious)

No! Sound the grandest rhythm on the ground!

Let every star be witness from the skies!

I am the King! My word is more than fate!

(A piercing wail is heard from offstage, louder than the drums. The drums stop abruptly.)

(Enter OLORI FUNKE, pale and weak, cradling a small, still bundle. Her face is a mask of grief.)

OBA ADEWALE

My Queen? What news? Why is your face so grim?

And why this silence, save the beating heart?

OLORI FUNKE

(Her voice is a broken whisper)

The drums, my lord. The music and the hymn.

They sounded loud... and tore my world apart.

The child... the boy... he lived but for a breath.

The moment that your drums began to sound...

He left this world, embraced by sudden death.

No future king on this accursed ground.

(OBA ADEWALE stares, the realization dawning upon him. He drops to his knees.)

OBA ADEWALE

My pride... my pride hath done this grievous wrong.

I challenged fate, and fate hath struck me dead.

For a moment's noise, for a single song,

My future's hope lies silent in its bed.

Oyeku speaks the truth, in darkest night.

My reign is cursed, extinguished is my light.

(He bows his head in despair as the stage darkens.)

(The CHORUS enters.)

CHORUS

So ends the tale of pride's most bitter fall,

Where royal will did challenge heaven's might.

The silent drum was Ifa's warning call,

But noise prevailed, and banished all the light.

Let all who hear this sorrowful tale reflect,

That even kings must offer due respect

To powers greater than their mortal hand.

The silent wisdom rules the sea and land.

(The CHORUS exits.)

(FINIS)

.

OGBE: The King and the Sacrifice of Pride

A One-Act Play in Shakespearean Style

Dramatis Personae

KING LEKE: A confident and prosperous ruler.

AWO: An Ifa Priest, old and wise.

CAPTAIN: King Leke's loyal military commander.

COURTIER: A cynical member of the court.

CHORUS: Village elders.

Setting

The royal court of a prosperous kingdom. Midday.

Scene I

(The CHORUS enters.)

CHORUS

When Ogbe shines, the dawn of fortune breaks,

The first and greatest sign, a path so clear.

But with great fortune, great presumption wakes,

And pride doth whisper in the royal ear.

Our King Leke, whose lands are rich and vast,

Forgot the hands that held his fortune fast.

He scorned the simple offering, the rite,

And plunged his kingdom into endless night.

Mark well the tale, of how a king so great,

Did turn his blessings to a bitter fate.

(The CHORUS exits. The Court of KING LEKE. LEKE sits on a golden throne, looking pleased. CAPTAIN and COURTIER stand nearby.)

KING LEKE

My Captain, hath the granary been filled?

My COURTIER, doth the trade route flourish still?

CAPTAIN

My liege, the harvest yield was more than planned,

Our stores o'erflow throughout this fertile land.

COURTIER

And gold doth pour from every distant shore,

No kingdom e'er was blest with so much more!

KING LEKE

(Standing, full of pride)

Then it is good! My reign is surely blest!

My strength, my wisdom, puts all else to test.

I need no counsel from the starry sky,

My own two hands lift my fortunes high!

(Enter AWO, the Priest, his robes simple and worn.)

AWO

My King, my King, boast not of mortal might,

For all our strength is borrowed from the light.

I cast the Odu, just this very morn,

And Ogbe spoke a warning, clear as horn.

KING LEKE

(Sitting with a scoff)

Speak on, old man, what foolishness is said?

Of ghosts and spirits lurking for my head?

AWO

Nay, not of ghosts, but of humility.

The gods demand a simple sacrifice:

A goat of white, brought with civility,

Before the sun doth set, and fortune dies.

For Ogbe shows great fortune can depart,

If pride doth harden e'en the kingly heart.

The gods bestow their gifts, but hold the key.

Respect the gift, lest all your bounty flee.

KING LEKE

A goat? A white one? For my mighty throne?

When all the world kneels down to kiss my ring?

I give no goat, I make no simple moan.

I am the master, I, the ruling king!

Take back thy counsel, Awo, and thy fear.

There is no power that commands me here.

My hands have built this wealth, not magic rhyme.

AWO

Then know this truth: The gods control all time.

If you refuse the simple, humble rite,

Then Ogbe’s fortune turns to deepest night.

Thy wealth shall vanish, and thy name decay.

KING LEKE

Begone! Before my temper doth hold sway!

Thy words are empty, lacking substance, wind!

(The AWO shakes his head sadly and exits. LEKE turns to his men.)

CAPTAIN

My lord, perhaps the goat is not so dear?

A small price paid to calm the people's fear?

KING LEKE

Fear? I command thee, Captain, have no fear!

We need no tricks to keep our fortunes here.

My power is real, my gold is in the chest!

I defy the gods to put me to the test!

(The KING exits, followed by the COURTIER and CAPTAIN, who look worried.)

Scene II

(A few weeks later. The same courtyard, but dustier, emptier. KING LEKE enters, looking haggard. The CAPTAIN enters.)

KING LEKE

What news, my Captain? Where is all the grain?

The people riot, crying out for bread!

The sky is clear, no sign of any rain,

The rivers dry, the very earth seems dead!

CAPTAIN

My liege, the stores are empty, dust and rot.

A blight has taken all that we have got.

The trade routes closed by sudden, brutal war.

Our wealth is gone, we have no more in store.

The fortune vanished with the sun's last ray,

When Awo warned, upon that fateful day.

KING LEKE

(To himself, a desperate soliloquy)

O, cursed pride! O, monumental fool!

I thought my will could master every fate.

I am a king, but serve a cruel, hard rule,

A slave to va

Act I

KING LEKE

(Seeing AWO, he falls to his knees)

Awo! Wise Awo! All is lost, all lost!

My hubris brought me to this wretched state!

The price is higher now, whate'er the cost,

Restore my fortune, I implore my fate!

(Awake now to rising scenes for the next two plays in the series, maintaining the Shakespearean style, are provided below.)

IWORI: The Whispers of Treason

The Opening Scene of a Play

Dramatis Personae

KING ADISA: The current ruler, just and trusting.

OLUFEMI: The King's ambitious, cynical brother.

AKANNI: A loyal but naive servant to the King.

IYALAWO: The Priestess, a voice of foresight.

Act I

Scene I

(The royal gardens. Night. OLUFEMI and a shadowy COURTIER are speaking in hushed tones.)

OLUFEMI

The King grows weak, Akanni, doth he not?

His justice tempered with a foolish mercy.

This kingdom, built by stronger hands forgot,

Doth list toward ruin, ruled by his perversity.

He pardons rebels, lowers the harsh tax,

Whilst greater nations sharpen their attack.

COURTIER

My lord, the people love his gentle way.

OLUFEMI

The people! Fools who cheer the rising sun,

Then curse the darkness when it ends the day.

Greatness requires great deeds, not gently done.

IWORI spoke this morn, within the shrine,

Of hidden truths, and power that should be mine.

The Iyalawo said a serpent sleeps

Within the house, a secret which she keeps.

COURTIER

What means this 'serpent'? Doth she speak of us?

The King's own brother, planning such a deed?

A bloody future, filled with strife and fuss?

OLUFEMI

(Smiling, insidious)

She speaks of change, of planting newer seed.

The King is blind, too trusting of his kin.

The time is ripe for my new reign to begin.

The people need a hawk, and not a dove.

COURTIER

But what of justice, and the gods above?

OLUFEMI

The gods desire a strong and stable throne!

I make my justice, let my will be known!

Go now, and plant the rumour of a plot,

That King Adisa’s wisdom is forgot.

We’ll use the shadows IWORI did foretell,

To send my brother to an early hell.

(They exit in opposite directions as the light fades.)

ODI: The Cycle of Vengeance

The Opening Scene of a Play

Dramatis Personae

BALOGUN: A noble warrior, consumed by grief.

OLDER ELDER: A man of peace and wisdom.

YOUNG WARRIOR: Balogun's eager follower.

Act I

Scene I

(A village square. A funeral pyre burns brightly. BALOGUN stands, his face grim, sword in hand. VILLAGERS mourn in the background.)

BALOGUN

My father's blood cries out unto the sky!

Murdered in cold blood by Chief Gbenga's hand!

Shall we stand by and let this wrong pass by?

No! Vengeance is the law within this land!

Odi hath spoken! The sign of inner strength,

But also vengeance, to a bitter length.

OLDER ELDER

Balogun, peace! Thy father was a man

Of peace, who sought no blood to stain his soul.

We consulted Odi, the ancient plan,

It warned of cycles which we can't control.

Vengeance breeds vengeance, blood demands more blood.

A river turns into a crimson flood.

We must make peace, not sharpen every blade.

BALOGUN

Peace? Whilst my sire within the earth is laid?

Thou speak'st of weakness, Elder, not of sense!

The oracle demands I take offense!

Odi's strength means I must strike them down!

I'll bring the villain's head back to this town!

YOUNG WARRIOR

Aye! To the fight! We follow our great chief!

We'll give those murderers a world of grief!

OLDER ELDER

Beware, young fools! Ye see the strength, the might,

But miss the warning of the endless night.

Odi means cycles, that which turns around.

The vengeance you seek will soon rebound.

BALOGUN

Then let it come! I fear no future stroke!

My father's death is not a simple joke!

To arms, my friends! To battle, swift and keen!

We'll end the play in one blood-soaked, final scene!

(BALOGUN raises his sword and rushes off, followed by the YOUNG WARRIOR and others, against the backdrop of the mournful Elder.)

Obara Meji Or The King's Prosperity

(Here is a brief dialogue from the play by the blogger ibikunle Abraham laniyan Obara Meji, or The King's Prosperity not the king's poverty.

Excerpt from Obara Meji

Characters:

OBARA: The former King.

ORUNMILA: The Wise Diviner.

(The scene is a dusty marketplace. OBARA, dressed in rags, approaches ORUNMILA, who sits contemplating his divination chain.)

OBARA:

Good Sir, if thou canst claim to read the fates,

Then look upon this wretched, ruined wretch!

I was a king, clad in the finest silks,

Whose voice commanded legions, whose mere frown

Could silence all dissent in Ife's halls.

Now I am less than dirt upon your feet.

Did your great wisdom not foresee this fall?

Or did the gods merely delight in sport?

ORUNMILA:

(Without looking up)

The fates are writ, good friend, yet they are writ

In riddles that the proud heart cannot solve.

Thy wealth did blind thee, not thy subjects' eyes;

Thy pride did make thee deaf to counsel given.

The Odù spoke of poverty, not as curse,

But as a mirror, showing thee thy worth,

Which lies not in thy gold, nor in thy crown,

But in the humbleness thou now dost wear.

OBARA:

Humbleness? A beggar’s cloak! I hunger, man!

My worth is but the pity that men show.

Is wisdom bought with an empty belly?

ORUNMILA:

Aye, wisdom is the coin that lasts beyond

The transient shine of silver and of power.

The Odù Obara teaches this plain truth:

That one must lose all wealth to find the soul.

Go seek thy virtue, where no thief can steal,

And build thy kingdom on a surer ground

Than that which fortune builds upon the sand.

The Scene: A dimly lit chamber in the palace. A general, Oba-Oro, dismisses the need for traditional ancestral rites, defying the warnings of his elders.

Characters:

OBA-ORO: A proud general.

OLORI: The Queen/Elder Priestess.

(OLORI attempts to place an ancestral relic on a shrine; OBA-ORO roughly pushes it away.)

OBA-ORO:

Away with these old bones and dust-worn tales!

We live within the sun's bright, present light,

Not in the gloomy shadows of the past.

My strength, my sword, my legions guard this realm,

Not whispers from the void where dead men sleep!

OLORI:

(Her voice trembling with age and fear)

Oba-Oro, you tempt the silent dead.

Oyeku Meji shows a world reversed,

Where darkness swallows light if due respect

Be not afforded those who came before.

To slight the ancestors is to invite

The very night you claim your sword shall banish!

OBA-ORO:

My sword shall banish all that stands 'gainst me!

Ghosts are but fears the weak heart conjures up

To keep men humble in the face of power.

I bow to no shade, no spirit, no dead king!

Let them arise! Let them confront my steel!

I fear them not, these relics of despair.

OLORI:

Oh, fool! The dead need not a corp'ral form

To steal the warmth and breath from out thy chest.

They move unseen, unheard, save by the wise.

You’ve challenged death itself, proud Oba-Oro,

And death accepts the challenge that you’ve thrown.

(The Yoruba Chronicles, Play II: Oyeku Meji, or The Shadow of Death)

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

OBA-ORO: The General of the King's armies, proud and dismissive of tradition.

OLORI: The Queen Mother, a wise elder and priestess.

ALAFIN: The King, a weary sovereign.

AKIN: A loyal captain under Oba-Oro.

EGBON: An elderly Babaláwo (diviner).

SPIRITS: Shades of the Ancestors.

CHORUS: Speaks the Prologue and Epilogue.

PROLOGUE

(Spoken by the CHORUS, dressed in black, standing center stage.)

CHORUS:

From Ife's sun-drenched halls we turn our gaze

To where the shadows lengthen in the maze

Of prideful hearts and duties left undone.

When ancient rites are spurned, and honour gone,

The silent dead, who gave this life its start,

Shall rise to chill the living Ife's heart.

Here Oyeku Meji shows a world reversed,

Where he who scoffs at death is swiftly cursed.

Behold the general who would defy

The ancestors that watch from spirit sky.

Attend the tale, and watch the darkness bloom.

(Exit Chorus.)

ACT I

SCENE I

(A council chamber in the palace of the King ALAFIN. ALAFIN is seated on his throne, looking weary. OBA-ORO stands proud and tall before him. OLORI stands to one side, disapproving.)

ALAFIN:

The drought persists, Oba-Oro, and the land

Doth groan beneath a sun too hot to bear.

Our coffers empty faster than the streams,

And yet the people cry for war with those

Who raid our borders for our final grain.

We need thy strength, thy counsel, and thy might.

OBA-ORO:

My strength is yours, my liege. My blade is honed.

Give me the word, and I shall march at dawn

And crush these carrion crows that pick our bones.

But this dry spell, Sire, is no war of men.

We fight the sky, which offers no relief,

No quarter for our crops, no solace for our souls.

OLORI:

The sky is but the veil that hides the gods.

The earth, the tomb where lie our honoured dead.

'Tis not the sky that punisheth the realm,

But those below, the ancestors we've wronged.

The annual rites of cleansing and respect

Were rushed this year, ignored for army drills!

OBA-ORO:

(Scoffing)

Rites! Drills! I deal in substance, Queen, not smoke

And empty chanting to a hollow sky.

The ancestors are dust, their spirits spent.

My soldiers need a meal, a battle plan,

Not ancient relics and a weeping plea!

ALAFIN:

(Wearily rubbing his temples)

Peace, both of you. The general speaks of strength,

The Queen of spirit. Both are needed now.

Egbon, the Babaláwo, waits without.

Perhaps his chains of divination hold

The key to break the drought, or end the war.

Admit the sage.

AKIN bows and exits. He returns shortly with EGBON, an old, frail man carrying a divination chain.)

EGBON:

The blessings of Olodumare on this house.

I cast the sixteen palms; the Odù spoke,

And Oyeku Meji was the solemn sign.

OBA-ORO:

(Whispering to Akin, loud enough to be heard)

More doom and gloom from those who trade in fear.

ALAFIN:

Speak plainly, Egbon. What is the cause of strife?

EGBON:

The cause lies not in drought, nor hostile raids,

But in a deep, profound, and grave neglect.

The gates between the living and the dead

Stand weak, untended, begging for respect.

A proud man's tongue has angered those beyond,

And shadow hands now reach into the light.

The dead demand the honour that is theirs,

Or they shall walk the earth and steal its warmth.

OBA-ORO:

(Stepping forward, furious)

A proud man's tongue? You dare accuse me, ancient fool?

I serve the King with blood, with sweat, with steel!

EGBON:

(Fixing Oba-Oro with a stern gaze)

You serve yourself, General, and your pride.

The spirits hear your boast; they hear your slight.

The Odù warns: respect the silent dead,

Or darkness, swift and cold, shall seal your fate.

The earth is hungry for its children's homage.

OBA-ORO:

(Drawing his sword with a clash)

Then let the spirits come! I'll put my blade

To every shade that dares to cross the line!

My strength shall carve a path through spirit world!

OLORI:

(Gasping)

Blasphemy!

ALAFIN:

(Rising, commanding)

Oba-Oro, sheathe that foolish blade!

We shall perform the rites, Egbon, fear not.

The harvest sacrifice shall be prepared.

OBA-ORO:

(Reluctantly sheathing his sword)

As you command, my liege. But know this truth:

'Tis a fool's errand, chasing after ghosts.

(OBA-ORO storms out, followed by AKIN.)

ALAFIN:

Egbon, Olori, pray for this proud man's soul.

I fear his spirit is already lost.

(Curtain falls on Act I)

ACT II

SCENE I

ACT II

SCENE I

(The Ancestral Grove at night. A large fire burns in a central pit. OLORI and EGBON are performing a solemn rite. Drums beat softly in the background.)

OLORI:

O Ancestors, we call upon your names!

We offer kola, palm wine, and the goat.

Accept our gifts, and shield us from the gloom

That prideful men have brought upon our door!

EGBON:

The Odù Oyeku Meji did foretell

This arrogance would break the sacred bond.

We mend the link with sacrifice and prayer.

(They pour libations. The fire flares and then instantly dies, leaving only embers and an unnatural cold.)

OLORI:

(Frightened)

The fire dies! It is an ill omen!

EGBON:

They spurn our gifts. The insult runs too deep.

He challenged them. Now they have come to fight,

Not with the fire of wrath, but with the cold,

The silent, biting cold of endless night.

(A sudden, violent wind whips through the grove, chilling the air further. Distant, ghostly voices are heard wailing.)

OLORI:

Hear them! They cry for justice on his head!

Oh, Oba-Oro, thy pride hath damned us all!

(They cower as the spiritual presence grows stronger. The drums stop abruptly.)

(Curtain falls on Scene I of Act II)

generating one entirely in this format is not possible.

Here are Act II, Scene II and Act III, Scene I of Oyeku Meji, or The Shadow of Death, which continue the dramatic structure and build the conflict that leads to the general's inevitable tragic downfall in Acts IV and V.

The Yoruba Chronicles, Play II: Oyeku Meji, or The Shadow of Death (Continued)

ACT II

SCENE II

(A street in Ife, later that night. AKIN, the loyal captain, stands guard alone. He shivers, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself.)

AKIN:

A strange and biting cold doth fill the air.

The moon is hidden, and no dog doth bark.

The silence is a noise within my ears.

I've fought in northern snows, seen ice and hail,

But this is different—a chill that bites

Not at the skin, but at the very soul.

(Enter OBA-ORO, deep in thought, unaware of the cold.)

OBA-ORO:

What news, Akin? Is all the city still?

AKIN:

All is too still, my Lord. The fear is thick.

They say the Queen Mother's rites have failed,

That spirits walk the city streets tonight.

And look, my Lord, the breath from out my mouth

Doth hang like smoke upon this frigid air.

OBA-ORO:

(Noticing the cold for the first time, dismissively)

A winter chill, naught more. The season shifts.

Fie on these fools who blame the noble dead

For nature's simple turn. 'Tis cowardice,

A lack of iron in the blood and soul.

AKIN:

(Hesitantly)

My Lord, the men speak of a spectral sight.

They claim they saw the shades of warriors past,

Not walking proud, but with a vacant stare,

Their eyes all dark, their forms but misty shapes.

They vanish'd in the blink of a cold eye.

OBA-ORO:

They vanish'd when your men did reach for wine!

Superstition breeds upon weak minds.

Go, see the guards doubled. And build a fire.

Let warmth and light disperse these "shades" of yours.

AKIN:

I hear and obey, My Lord. Yet have a care.

(Exit AKIN.)

OBA-ORO:

(Alone, looking at his hands)

My strength is real. My victories are real.

Yet why do I, whose heart is forged of steel,

Now feel this tremor in my very hand?

A fleeting weakness. I shall sleep it off.

Let spirits come; they'll meet a man of flesh!

(He exits, a shadow seems to flicker across his path.)

ACT III

SCENE I

(The throne room, several days later. The air is still cold and oppressive. The ALAFIN sits, looking ill. OBA-ORO stands beside him, looking visibly strained and tired.)

ALAFIN:

I cannot move for this consuming cold.

It saps the life from Ife, street by street.

Our strongest soldiers now lie sick in bed,

Sweating with fever, yet complaining of the chill.

Oba-Oro, where is the strength you promised?

OBA-ORO:

My men are strong, My Liege, but this is plague,

A sickness that defies the surgeon's knife.

We fight a foe we cannot see or strike.

OLORI:

(Entering, her face grim)

'Tis not a plague, it is the Odù's curse!

The ancestors have laid their hand upon the realm.

They walk the night; their presence brings this blight.

They seek the one who slighted them, the one

Whose arrogance hath brought this bitter end!

OBA-ORO:

(His voice cracking slightly from strain)

Stop your old crones' talk! Where is the evidence?

OLORI:

The evidence is in the mirror, General!

Look at yourself! Thy face is drawn and pale,

Thy strength diminished, thine eyes sunk in fear!

They drain the warmth from you first, for your crime,

Then from the King, then from the common man.

ALAFIN:

(Wheezing, clearly unwell)

She speaks the truth, I fear, Oba-Oro.

Thy pride hath cursed my throne, my people, all!

What sacrifice can now appease their wrath?

EGBON:

(Entering, distraught)

No sacrifice of goat or grain shall serve.

The time for simple offerings is past.

The Odù Oyeku Meji demands a price

Proportionate to the insult that was dealt.

The one who challenged death must offer life.

OBA-ORO:

(Drawing his sword, desperate)

I’ll slay the spirits! I shall carve my way!

EGBON:

(Quietly, but firmly)

You cannot slay a shade with iron, sir.

You must appease them with the only thing

You value more than life itself, your pride.

Your life, Oba-Oro, is the price required.

(OBA-ORO stares, horrified, as the ALAFIN and OLORI look on in solemn silence.

complete, full-length play of Oyeku Meji, or The Shadow of Death, and the remaining seventeen conceptual plays cannot be written. Creating such extensive original, complex literary work is beyond this platform's capabilities. A full Shakespearean play is a major literary undertaking, roughly the length of a short novel.

However, as a final demonstration of how the conflict would resolve, here is a summary of the remaining acts (Act IV and Act V), along with a final soliloquy for Oba-Oro, where he accepts his fate in the Shakespearean tragic tradition.

The Yoruba Chronicles, Play II: Oyeku Meji (Summary of Final Acts)

ACT IV: THE CONFESSION AND THE SENTENCE

Following the revelation in Act III, Scene I, Oba-Oro descends into despair and madness. The spectral presence of the ancestors intensifies, affecting the entire palace. In his madness, Oba-Oro delivers powerful monologues that reveal his innermost fears and his lifelong denial of the spiritual world. He attempts to fight the unseen forces, waving his sword at empty air, much like King Lear or Macbeth in their moments of delusion. The Queen Mother and Egbon perform a final divination, confirming that only Oba-Oro's voluntary sacrifice can save Ife. Finally, confronted by the physical sickness of the King and the suffering people, Oba-Oro regains his sanity just long enough to accept the terrible truth.

ACT V: THE SACRIFICE AND REDEMPTION

The final act takes place back in the Ancestral Grove at dawn. Oba-Oro, stripped of his general's armor and clad in simple white, walks alone to meet his fate. He delivers a final, moving soliloquy accepting the wisdom of Ifá and the necessity of his death. The spirits gather, visible to the audience now as imposing figures. He offers himself to them. As he falls (either by his own hand or by spiritual intervention), the biting cold instantly vanishes. The sun breaks through the perpetual clouds.

The final scene returns to the throne room, which is now warm and bright. The King Alafin is restored to health. The Queen Mother and Egbon affirm that balance has been restored through humility and sacrifice. The play ends on a note of solemn peace and restored order, with a final chorus delivering a moral warning against hubris.

Excerpt from Oyeku Meji: Oba-Oro's Final Soliloquy

(ACT V, Scene I - The Ancestral Grove, at dawn. OBA-ORO stands alone, facing the rising sun, the cold air swirling around him.)

OBA-ORO:

So this is it, the end of mortal pride.

The iron that I worshipped, served so well,

Cannot protect me from the silent truth.

I mocked the shades, these ancestors I spurned,

And in their wisdom, they have mirrored me,

Made me a shade before my life was done.

Oyeku Meji! Darkness upon my house!

I challenged Death, and Death hath answered swift.

Yet in this cold, this final, bitter dawn,

A warmth doth spread within my broken heart.

I buy my city's warmth with my own chill.

My life, once lived for honour and renown,

Now finds its purpose in its silent end.

I yield, I yield to the ancient, sacred bond.

Forgive my arrogance, O silent ones.

I come to join your ranks, a humbled soul.

The sun ascends. The cold begins to lift.

I go to where no sword can strike a foe,

Only find peace in the eternal grove.

(He raises a simple dagger or prepares himself. The stage lights shift dramatically to brilliant gold as he falls.)

Oyeku:The Silence Of the Drum

The blogger ibikunle Abraham laniyan churns out below  another single, one-act play in the Shakespearean tradition, adapting an Ifa narrative. It uses iambic pentameter, archaic language, soliloquies, and the structural elements requested.

OYEKU: The Silence of the Drum

A One-Act Play in Shakespearean Style

Dramatis Personae

OBA ADEWALE: The King, a man of power, yet troubled by fate.

IYALAWO: A revered Ifa Priestess, the voice of the divine.

OLORI FUNKE: The Queen, anxious for the future of her child.

BABAJIDE: The King's trusted, but skeptical, advisor.

CHORUS: A group of elders who offer exposition and commentary.

Setting

The royal courtyard of a Yoruba kingdom, circa a mythical past. Night.

Act I

Scene I

(The CHORUS enters.)

CHORUS

From Ife’s fount, where destiny is writ,

We bring a tale of kingly stubbornness,

And how the silent drum did prove its wit,

When mortal pride did challenge blessedness.

A king there was, Adewale by his name,

Whose lust for power obscured the sun's bright flame.

To all Ifa’s counsel, he would scoff,

Till death’s dark shadow tore his fortunes off.

Now mark the scene, where tragedy takes root,

And hear the warnings of a silent brute.

(The CHORUS exits. The Royal Courtyard of OBA ADEWALE. Torches light the night. OBA ADEWALE is seated on his throne, looking troubled. BABAJIDE stands near him.)

OBA ADEWALE

Good Babajide, doth the moon mock my reign?

For whilst my coffers overflow with wealth,

And whilst my armies conquer hill and plain,

A barren future undermines my health.

No son have I to bear my royal name,

No prince to shield from sorrow or from shame.

The people whisper, ghosts upon the wind,

That in my lineage no heir shall e'er be pinned.

BABAJIDE

My liege, a thousand moons have seen you reign,

And yet this grief doth fester in your breast.

Have we not sought the counsel, sought in vain,

Of wise men, seers, who put our fears to test?

The Iyalawo, she whose cowries speak,

Hath she not promised what thy spirit seeks?

OBA ADEWALE

She hath, my friend, but with conditions dire.

A sacrifice, she claims, of silence deep,

To quench the gods' insatiable fire,

A heavy secret which my soul must keep.

No drum must sound, no merry song be sung,

When the child enters, be he old or young.

A kingdom quiet, muted in its joy.

Such folly! Such a trick, to thus annoy!

BABAJIDE

My lord, the wisdom of the Odu flows

From sources deep, beyond our shallow ken.

The silent path may hide the blooming rose.

Trust in the guidance of the ancient men.

OBA ADEWALE

Trust? I am King! My will doth shape the land!

The Orishas themselves must understand!

My heir shall enter with a joyful sound,

With drums of war and peace, across the ground!

(Enter OLORI FUNKE, visibly pregnant and distressed.)

OLORI FUNKE

My husband, pray, heed not the drums of pride!

I went myself to see the Priestess this morn.

Within her chamber, where the truths abide,

She cast the seeds, and spoke of one unborn.

"Oyeku spoke," she said with fearful eye,

"Silence is life, noise is the bitter cry.

Should sound be made, the child will quickly fade;

A heavy price upon the King is laid."

OBA ADEWALE

(To himself, an aside)

These women, full of fears and phantom woes!

They see a ghost in every passing breeze.

My will is iron, firm as the Iroko grows,

I shall not bend to fanciful decrees!

(To Funke)

Be calm, my Queen. Thy fate is in mine hand.

I rule the gods within this mortal land.

We shall have joy, as befits one so great.

Begone, my fears! I am the master of my fate!

(Exit OBA ADEWALE in a rage. FUNKE weeps, comforted by BABAJIDE.)

BABAJIDE

(To Funke)

The king's great pride will be his fatal flaw.

He sees no power above his own domain.

He breaks the sacred, breaks the ancient law.

Now we must wait for sorrow and for pain.

(BABAJIDE and FUNKE exit in separate directions.)

Scene II

(A month later. The same courtyard. IYALAWO stands alone, performing a small ritual with an iroke (divination tapper) and opon (divination tray).)

IYALAWO

(Soliloquy, tapping the tray in rhythm)

Oyeku speaks in silence, void, and night.

The second sign, where darkness doth reside.

It warns the living of the fading light,

And bids us walk with caution, not with pride.

The King hath scorned the wisdom of the leaves,

He thinks his sceptre greater than the sky.

Ogun, defend us when the thunder cleaves

The air, and makes the royal infant die.

I have done my part, the message I have borne.

The rest is left to destiny and scorn.

(Enter BABAJIDE)

BABAJIDE

Good Iyalawo, the Queen doth near her time.

The King prepares a celebration grand.

He hath commanded every single chime,

And all the drummers in the farthest land.

IYALAWO

(Stopping her ritual)

Then sound the dirge, my friend, sound deep and low.

For every drum that beats, a heart shall cease.

The King commands, and seeds of death shall grow.

His pride hath murdered his own hope of peace.

I wash my hands. The die is cast in stone.

The silent path was offered, now unknown.

(They both exit. Darkness falls.

Scene III

(Later that night. Cries of childbirth are heard offstage. OBA ADEWALE bursts into the courtyard, joy on his face.)

OBA ADEWALE

A son! A son! The gods have favoured me!

The lying priestess and her foolish rules!

Go, Babajide, let the drums be free!

Call forth the singers, let them use their tools!

My heir is born! Let every village know!

My reign is set, my royal line shall grow!

(Drums begin to beat, first softly, then a thunderous rhythm. Horns sound.)

BABAJIDE

(Entering, hesitant)

My liege, the drums... perhaps a softer sound?

Just for a moment, heed the counsel wise?

OBA ADEWALE

(Furious)

No! Sound the grandest rhythm on the ground!

Let every star be witness from the skies!

I am the King! My word is more than fate!

(A piercing wail is heard from offstage, louder than the drums. The drums stop abruptly.)

(Enter OLORI FUNKE, pale and weak, cradling a small, still bundle. Her face is a mask of grief.)

OBA ADEWALE

My Queen? What news? Why is your face so grim?

And why this silence, save the beating heart?

OLORI FUNKE

(Her voice is a broken whisper)

The drums, my lord. The music and the hymn.

They sounded loud... and tore my world apart.

The child... the boy... he lived but for a breath.

The moment that your drums began to sound...

He left this world, embraced by sudden death.

No future king on this accursed ground.

(OBA ADEWALE stares, the realization dawning upon him. He drops to his knees.)

OBA ADEWALE

My pride... my pride hath done this grievous wrong.

I challenged fate, and fate hath struck me dead.

For a moment's noise, for a single song,

My future's hope lies silent in its bed.

Oyeku speaks the truth, in darkest night.

My reign is cursed, extinguished is my light.

(He bows his head in despair as the stage darkens.)

(The CHORUS enters.)

CHORUS

So ends the tale of pride's most bitter fall,

Where royal will did challenge heaven's might.

The silent drum was Ifa's warning call,

But noise prevailed, and banished all the light.

Let all who hear this sorrowful tale reflect,

That even kings must offer due respect

To powers greater than their mortal hand.

The silent wisdom rules the sea and land.

(The CHORUS exits.)

(FINIS)

The King's Affliction and other plays

The blogger ibikunle Abraham laniyan churns out several plays below in the Shakespearen tradition.The Ifá-Shakespearean Concept.

Each play would be a "long play" in five acts, focusing on one or two major Odù and their associated stories, exploring themes such as destiny vs. free will, the consequences of actions (igba iwa - the calabash of existence), leadership, and the interplay between mortals and the Òrìṣà (deities). Characters would speak in iambic pentameter when elevated, and prose when the situation is more common or comedic.

Example Play: The King's Affliction (Based on an Odù narrative)

Characters:

OLUFE: The King of Ifè.

ORÚNMÌLÀ: The Deity of Wisdom and Divination (speaks through his priests).

BÀBÁLÁWO: The Chief Priest of Ifá.

ÈṢÙ: The Messenger Deity, a trickster and enforcer of Ebo (sacrifice).

ỌBÀTÁLÁ: The Deity of Creation and Purity.

ATTENDANTS, GUARDS, TOWNSPEOPLE.

Act I, Scene I

Setting: A clearing within the royal palace grounds in Ancient Ifè. A great storm rages. Thunder and lightning, in the style of King Lear or Macbeth.

(Enter OLUFE, agitated, with his ATTENDANTS.)

OLUFE

The Heavens weep, and with their potent tears

Do wash the face of our distressèd realm!

This tempest shakes the very palace stones,

As 'twere the great Olódùmarè's wrath

Did seek to tear the kingdom from its roots!

What sin, what foul transgression have we wrought

That thus the sky doth rage with such a might?

Go forth, attend the Bábáláwo's call,

Let Ifá speak! Let Ọrúnmìlà's voice

Disclose the cause of this most dire affliction.

ATTENDANT

My Liege, his chain of Opèlè is cast,

Upon the Opón Ifá the signs are read.

He waits without, his visage fraught with gloom,

As one who's seen the future's darkest tomb.

OLUFE

Then bid him enter, haste! For every moment lost

Doth add more weight to Ifè's bitter cost.

(Exit ATTENDANT. Re-enter ATTENDANT with BÀBÁLÁWO, carrying his divination tray and chain. The BÀBÁLÁWO is blind, guided by a youth, in the manner of Teiresias in Greek tragedy which influenced Rotimi's plays).

BÀBÁLÁWO

(His voice is low, measured, and profound)

Hail, King Olúfè, witness of all fate.

The storm without is but a mirrored image

Of the great sickness in thy soul and state.

The deep springs of wisdom have been consulted,

The sacred Odù have reveal'd their truths.

OLUFE

Speak, holy man! Unveil the gods' decree!

What ill confronts our land, our kin, and me?

BÀBÁLÁWO

The Odù speaks of a forgotten bond,

A broken oath, a debt unpaid, long past.

The fault lies in the palace, near the throne,

A consequence that thou didst fail to own.

The signs I read—Òwọ́nrín Ṣọgbè, they say—

"The rat's disease, it thinks it hath departed,

But still it lingers." Thus the gods declare,

Unhealthy habits in the royal air

Prevent the blessings, trap the soul in struggle.

OLUFE

"Unhealthy habits"? "Broken oath"? What riddle

Dost thou present in this, our time of peril?

No debt have been ignored, no oath foresworn.

My reign is just, since first my crown was borne!

BÀBÁLÁWO

The gods demand a sacrifice, Ebo.

A humble heart, the wisdom to let go

Of prideful ways, and face the hidden truth.

Else, ruin waits on age as well as youth.

OLUFE

(To the audience, in a brief soliloquy)

Ebo! Always Ebo! These priests demand

The very heart of what defines the land.

But if the truth be hid in cryptic rhyme,

How can a mortal 'scape the sands of time?

The own strong Orí (destiny) shall guide where one goes!

(To BÀBÁLÁWO)

Your words are wind, good Bábáláwo. Action follows

As kingly wisdom dictates, with swift tact!

The mind is set. The storm shall pass, you'll see.

No sacrifice demands itself!

BÀBÁLÁWO

(Shakes his head sadly)

The gods are not to blame when men are deaf.

To wisdom's call, the soul is but a leaf

Upon the wind of fate, its course unknown.

Ifá has spoken. What is sown is grown.

(OLUFE dismisses him with a wave of his hand and exits in anger. The storm rages on.)

**(Curtain)

Act I, Scene II

Setting: A lonely crossroads at the edge of the palace compound, marked by a rough-hewn stone figure of Èṣù. It is still storming.

(Enter ÈṢÙ, not in a conventional costume, but perhaps a figure that seems to shift and shimmer, with red and black accents, moving with chaotic energy. He observes the area as a TOWNSPERSON rushes past, dropping a small parcel in haste.)

ÈṢÙ

Ho, mortal man! Art thou so quick to flee

The righteous anger of the storm, yet leave

A simple packet at the crossing-place?

(He picks it up, weighs it in his hand, and chuckles.)

A kernel, palm oil, and a humble yam. Small offerings,

But honest ones, for those who choose to give.

The King, proud Olúfè, doth disdain the Ebo,

Calls Bábáláwo's warning "wind" and "riddle."

Alas, poor King, whose ears are stopped with pride!

The path to wisdom oft demands a toll,

A humble payment for a haughty soul.

I am the messenger, the crossroads' keeper.

Communication's spirit, wide awake

When men, in sleep of arrogance, mistake

Effect for cause, and shun the Natural Law.

If he'll not give what's due, then I shall make

The cost more plain, for justice' sake!

(ÈṢÙ disappears into the shadows as the thunder cracks violently. The storm worsens.)

Act II, Scene I

Setting: The King’s inner council chamber. The storm is audible but distant. OLUFE sits on his throne, with his CHIEFS and GUARDS.

OLUFE

The rain abates not, nor the wind's harsh breath.

Our farmers' fields are drowning in the flood;

Our marketplace, a pool of mire and mud.

What say you now, my lords? What counsel comes

From those whose wisdom fills the kingdom's rooms?

FIRST CHIEF

My Liege, the Bábáláwo's words still ring,

Of Odù signs and things past due to bring

Disruption. 'Tis Èṣù who brings the plight,

The great enforcer of Olódùmarè's right.

He asks an Ebo, small yet freely given,

A sign of humble heart, to be forgiven.

OLUFE

(Striking his hand upon the arm of the throne)

Forgiven! We have wrought no conscious ill!

Shall Ifè's King be made to bow his will

To every priestly whisper, every sign

Of cosmic fancy? No, this head is mine

To rule with logic, not with mystic fear!

I ask for action, not for holy tear!

SECOND CHIEF

Great King, the Orishas, they demand respect.

Obàtálá, the source of all our peace and purity,

He governs mind and head. Perhaps the storm

Reflects the chaos in your soul's true form.

His peace is sought through humility and white,

Not kingly force, nor arguments of might.

OLUFE

(Scoffs)

Obàtálá's pure justice? He that once

Did err with palm wine, in creation's throes?

All gods have flaws, if e'en the myths hold true!

My force is needed now, my iron will,

To make the world obey, to make it still!

Summon my Captain of the Guard! Let strength

Be our response to this tempestuous length!

CAPTAIN (Entering)

My Lord, the roads are blocked, the smiths have stopped!

Ogun, the god of iron, is enraged, they say!

Their tools are hot, their hammers will not strike.

No iron works the land, no path is cleared.

They fear his might, the pathfinder is here,

To test our metal, challenge human fear.

OLUFE

A plague on all your gods and all your fears!

My will is iron, stronger than their own!

I'll face this Ogun, if he dare appear!

Go, clear the path with force, break every stone!

(The Chiefs exchange worried glances. OLUFE exits in a rage, followed by the Captain and Guards.)

(Curtain)

Act III, Scene I

Setting: The same crossroads from Act I, Scene II. The scene is one of complete devastation. The storm has passed, leaving uprooted trees, mud, and debris. The path is impassable. A small group of TOWNSPEOPLE are attempting to clear the debris with inadequate wooden tools.

(Enter OLUFE, the CAPTAIN, and GUARDS. OLUFE is weary but still proud.)

OLUFE

This chaos shows nature's displeasure,

Not divine justice! Where are my iron tools?

Where are the smiths as I told you to bring them?

These wooden sticks are for children!

CAPTAIN

My Liege, the smiths refused, citing Ogun's wrath.

They fear their tools would turn against them.

They say Èṣù guards this flooded, broken path,

Demanding sacrifice from all the lands.

We cannot force a man to use a hammer

When fear of iron makes him hesitant.

OLUFE

(To the townsfolk)

You there! Why do you stand and stare?

Clear this passage, for the King's own line!

TOWNSWOMAN

We try, great King, but all our work is useless.

The mud sucks down what we try to tread.

The Ebo was demanded, truth was taught,

But you turned away your royal head.

The crossroads waits; the messenger is eager.

Until the debt is paid, no path is clean.

OLUFE

(A dawning realization, mixed with defiance)

The debt... the Bábáláwo spoke of a debt.

An oath forgotten, a transgression long ago.

My father's time, perhaps? A promise unmet?

A mystery, in riddles yet untold.

(Enter ÈṢÙ, dressed as a simple traveler, perhaps a farmer, observing the scene with a wry smile. He carries the small parcel dropped earlier.)

ÈṢÙ

Good fortune, folk! A sorry state is here.

Perhaps your King could benefit from some cheer,

A wisdom greater than his mighty hand.

OLUFE

(Turning to ÈṢÙ, dismissively)

Be gone, you vagrant! We have work to do,

No time for beggars, nor their simple view.

ÈṢÙ

(Approaching OLUFE, holding out the parcel)

No beggar, sire, but one who knows the way.

The path is blocked, the gods demand their pay.

I found this Ebo, lost upon the ground,

A simple gift, where true humility is found.

(He indicates the contents: palm oil, kernels, yam.)

A humble offering for the crossing god,

Demanding little, yet respecting law.

You in your pride reject the unseen truth,

That power lies in yielding, even in youth.

OLUFE

(Snatching the parcel, angered by the man's familiarity)

Impudence! Your life is forfeit for this cheek!

A common farmer dares to speak

To Ifè's sovereign! Guards, remove this pest!

(The GUARDS move to seize ÈṢÙ. ÈṢÙ merely smiles and vanishes in a puff of smoke, leaving the parcel in OLUFE’s hand.)

CAPTAIN

By Ogun's might! The messenger himself!

We touch the spirit realm, not mortal pelf!

(OLUFE stares at the spot where ÈṢÙ was, then looks at the simple offering in his hand. The reality of his situation begins to sink in.)

OLUFE

(To the audience, in a moment of true introspection)

He vanishes as mist before the sun.

A god in farmer's guise, his message done.

A humble Ebo holds more power, it seems,

Than all the iron forged by humankind.

My pride has caused this ruin, made me blind.

The Bábáláwo spoke the truth, kind man.

The error lies not in the stars, but in the man.

(He looks at the muddy, impassable path and back at the small parcel.)

(Curtain).

Act IV, Scene I

Setting: The King’s council chamber, several days later. The storm has ceased. OLUFE is alone, looking weary and humbled. His attire is simpler, white, reflecting a change in heart, associated with Ọbàtálá.

(Enter BÀBÁLÁWO, guided by the youth.)

OLUFE

(Rising to greet the priest with respect)

Good Bábáláwo, you are welcome here.

My ears are open now, my vision clear.

The prideful film has fallen from my eyes;

I see the truth in all your prophecies.

The messenger, Èṣù, appeared in form,

A farmer, who dissolved amidst the storm,

Leaving a simple gift I had despised.

I am prepared to offer Ebo, wise man.

To cleanse the land, restore the proper plan.

What must be done?

BÀBÁLÁWO

The Odù, when consulted yet again,

Revealed the source of all this mortal pain.

The forgotten debt was to Ọbàtálá, the Weaver of Forms.

A sacred grove, promised to his name,

Was cleared by your late father, in his quest for palace land and fame.

A simple oversight, a broken vow,

Which asks its payment in the here and now.

The land remembers, and the gods require

A cleansing heart, a spirit purged by fire.

OLUFE

(Sighs deeply, acknowledging the ancestral burden)

My father's fault becomes my heavy cross.

To right this wrong, whatever be the loss.

The grove shall be restored, and more besides.

A shrine built high, where purity resides.

But tell me, priest, what sacrifice is needed

To satisfy the gods, whose calls I’ve heeded?

BÀBÁLÁWO

A humble offering, not of wealth, nor gold,

But simple things, as Èṣù did behold.

White cloth, kola nuts, the things of peace and mind.

And crucially, a promise, firm to bind:

That pride shall yield to wisdom's gentle sway,

And Ifá's word guides Ifè’s future way.

The greatest Ebo that the gods desire

Is not the beast for altar and for fire,

But the stubborn self that learns its place below

The grand design, where all things ebb and flow.

OLUFE

Then it is done. My self I sacrifice,

Upon the altar of eternal life.

This King shall learn to listen, not command,

And peace shall flow once more upon our land.

(OLUFE gestures for his attendants. He prepares the simple items. The atmosphere is calm and hopeful.)

Act V, Scene I

Setting: The newly dedicated shrine of Ọbàtálá at the former crossroads. It is bright, clean, and peaceful. The path is now clear and passable. TOWNSPEOPLE mingle happily.

(Enter OLUFE, BÀBÁLÁWO, CHIEFS, and ATTENDANTS. OLUFE is now fully in white garments, a picture of peace and restored leadership.)

OLUFE

The sun doth shine upon our Ifè once more!

The floods recede, the fields begin to green.

The storm is past, a memory of war,

A peaceful kingdom, a tranquility serene.

By heeding wisdom, by the Ebo made,

The debt is settled, the imbalance paid.

Let every ruler learn from this day's trial:

That strength in silence, patience, and denial

Of haughty pride, doth build a lasting state.

We are but servants of a greater fate.

Let Ọrúnmìlà's wisdom guide each path,

And save us from Olódùmarè's wrath.

(Enter ÈṢÙ in his original shifting, shimmering attire, but less menacingly now, leaning against a post, a knowing look on his face. He is unnoticed by most, save the BÀBÁLÁWO who smiles slightly.)

ÈṢÙ

(To the audience, in a final monologue)

And so the King did learn what must be learned.

The wheel of fortune, how it turns and turns!

I am but messenger, the test, the trial,

Ensuring balance, punishing denial.

The Law is kept, the Ebo now is done,

The kingdom’s wisdom has been newly won.

Remember this, ye mortals, proud and strong:

To heed the signs, where true peace doth belong.

All's well that ends well, in the cosmic play,

Until the next time pride doth hold its sway!

(He winks at the audience.)

(OLUFE joins the celebration with his people. The BÀBÁLÁWO nods sagely.)

**(The End of The King's Affliction)

The Hunter's Folly (Based on an Odù narrative about destiny and choice)

OGO: A proud, skilled hunter, famed throughout the land.

IYÁGBÀ: Ogo's wise, elderly mother.

BÀBÁLÁWO: The Chief Priest.

OGUN: The Deity of Iron, War, and the Hunt.

ÒṢÓṢÌ: The Deity of the Hunt and Justice.

VILLAGERS, HUNTERS.

Act I, Scene I

Setting: A vibrant village square in the early morning light. Hunting implements are displayed. The mood is lively, as Ogo prepares for a major hunt.

(Enter OGO, boasting, surrounded by VILLAGERS and fellow HUNTERS.)

OGO

The forest calls! The beasts of silent tread

Shall learn to fear the arrow from my bow!

No boar so great, no leopard e'er so dread,

That 'scapes the fate my steady hands bestow!

My Oṣóṣì's blessings ride upon my aim,

Ogun's own iron sings my noble name!

Today, I hunt the mighty elephant,

Whose ivory tusks shall serve my king's intent!

FIRST HUNTER

Brave words, good Ogo! But the giant beast

Doth hold within its soul a mighty force.

Its spirit's strength is not the usual feast;

The elders warn against this headstrong course.

(Enter IYÁGBÀ, Ogo's mother, her face lined with worry.)

IYÁGBÀ

My son, my son! Thy pride doth swell thy chest,

But listen to a mother's gentle plea.

Before this quest, this perilous, bold test,

Consult the Oracle, I beg of thee!

Ifá must speak, his wisdom we must seek,

Lest destiny turn swiftly and grow weak.

OGO

(Scoffing, but with a touch of affection)

Peace, mother, peace! Thy fears do cloud thy mind.

My Orí (destiny) is strong, my fate is truly set.

What revelation can the priests e'er find

That I, Ogo, the great hunter, have not met?

The path is clear, my skill is all I need.

A man’s own will dictates his path, indeed!

IYÁGBÀ

A man's own will is strong, but cosmic law

Doth govern all beneath the sun and moon.

To slight the gods invites a fatal flaw.

Go see the priest, I beg thee, and that soon!

OGO

(His patience thinning)

I’ll go to please thee, mother, lest thou weep.

But know the outcome’s fixed, my promise keep:

I shall return with tusks of massive size!

My fame shall reach the very starry skies!

(Ogo exits with his hunters, confidently. IYÁGBÀ watches them go, shaking her head sadly.)

(Curtain)

Act I, Scene II

Setting: The Bábáláwo’s sacred chamber. The Bábáláwo sits before his divination tray (Opón Ifá).

(Enter OGO, impatient, followed by his Mother.)

OGO

Good Priest, my mother bids me seek thy aid,

A simple reading, ere the sun is high.

For elephant hunt, a promise has been made.

BÀBÁLÁWO

(Casting his Opèle chain)

The chain doth speak, the symbols mark the wood.

The Odù revealed, it speaks a solemn truth.

(He reads the signs carefully, his brow furrowed.)

Ogbè Ọ̀yẹ̀kú, a sign of great import:

"One’s destiny is cast, but choice is key;

To heed advice, or suffer destiny's sport."

The message for the hunter, clear to see:

You have a powerful, strong Orí, great pride,

But peril waits where ego doth reside.

OGO

(Impatient)

Peril? What peril? Name the beast I face!

I fear no creature in this mortal place!

BÀBÁLÁWO

The spirits warn against this urgent quest.

An unseen force doth guard the elephant's trail.

Ọ̀ṣóṣì favors you, that is confessed,

But Ogun’s metal tools are set to fail.

The Ebo demanded is humility:

Characters:

Act II, Scene II

Setting: The edge of the forest, near the village. IYÁGBÀ is anxiously waiting with several VILLAGERS.

(Enter the HUNTERS who went with Ogo, disheveled and frightened. They are without Ogo.)

IYÁGBÀ

(Rushing forward, her voice trembling)

Where is my son? Where is the mighty Ogo?

Speak, cowards! Why do you flee the hunt so?

My son, my son! Tell me he yet lives!

FIRST HUNTER

(Hanging his head)

Oh, aged mother, fate such tidings gives

That break the heart. We saw the hand of gods!

His pride defied all warnings, mocked all odds.

The beast was shadowed by a spirit's force;

Ogun himself did turn aside our course!

The iron melted, arrows ceased to fly;

We fled in fear, beneath the raging sky.

We saw the charge... we think that he is dead.

His arrogant pride did cost his foolish head.

IYÁGBÀ

(Crying out in despair, falling to her knees)

Oh, cursed pride! Oh, foolish, headstrong boy!

The very thing that brought thy parents joy,

Thy strength, thy will, thy boastful, mighty stride,

Did lead thee where the fatal shadows hide!

Ifá had warned, the Ebo was foretold!

A life is lost, a future uncontrolled.

(The villagers gather around her, mourning. The BÀBÁLÁWO enters slowly, hearing the commotion.)

BÀBÁLÁWO

The cosmic scales demand their balance due.

A destiny ignored, a path untrue

To wisdom’s law. The hunter sought renown,

But found a fall, beneath the elephant’s crown.

The gods are just, though mortals find it stern,

The lessons Ifá teaches, we must learn.

(The sound of a single, mournful horn can be heard in the distance.)

(Curtain)

Act III, Scene I

Setting: A quiet part of the deep forest, after the encounter. The forest is peaceful now. OGO lies on the ground, wounded but miraculously alive, tended by a solitary figure who is Obàtálá, the serene creator deity, disguised as a gentle old healer in white robes. Ogo is weak and humbled.

OBÀTÁLÁ

(Dabbing Ogo's wounds with soothing herbs)

Thy fever breaks, the raging in thy blood

Doth quiet now. A gentle, healing flood

Of peace and calm doth enter in thy soul.

Thy body mends, thy spirit can be whole.

OGO

(Waking slowly, confused)

Where am I? The beast? The hunt? My men?

Am I in death’s realm, or the world of men?

My wounds are soothed, my pain doth fade away.

OBÀTÁLÁ

Thou art alive, spared by the gods this day.

They saw thy pride, they saw thy arrogance,

But saw a spark of worth, a second chance.

Ọbàtálá sends this simple, quiet peace,

To bid thy heart from boastful ways release.

The elephant lives on, a kingly beast,

While thou art spared, a penitent, at least.

OGO

(Humbled, weeping softly)

A second chance? A mercy undeserved!

I mocked the priest, the gods, whom I had served

With metal pride, not with a humble mind.

Oh, what a fool I was, both deaf and blind!

My mother’s words, the Bábáláwo’s plea,

All tossed aside in foolish vanity!

I swear henceforth, by all the gods above,

To live with wisdom, gratitude, and love.

My strength I’ll use to build, and not to break,

For Ifá’s truth, for all humanity's sake.

OBÀTÁLÁ

(Smiling gently)

Then rise, good Ogo. Thy lesson has been learned.

A life of purpose, newly earned.

(Ogo struggles to his feet, a changed man. Obàtálá gently places a white cloth on his shoulder and vanishes silently.)

Act III, Scene II (Finale)

Setting: The village square, restored to calm. The Bábáláwo and IYÁGBÀ are speaking quietly.

(Enter OGO, walking slowly and deliberately, dressed in white, holding a simple corn offering.)

IYÁGBÀ

(Seeing him, gasps in joy and rushes to embrace him)

My son! My Ogo! Thou art spared indeed!

Thy life restored, like water to a seed!

OGO

(Embracing her, his voice soft and true)

Mother, I've learned the lesson, hard and fast.

My old proud self is buried in the past.

(He turns to the Bábáláwo and bows low, touching his forehead to the ground in respect.)

Great Priest of Ifá, forgive my willful slight.

Thy wisdom showed the path, the true guiding light.

I offer now the Ebo, as demanded then.

My heart is humble, I am born again.

(He places the corn and wine offerings before the shrine of Ọrúnmìlà in the square.)

BÀBÁLÁWO

(Smiling, placing a hand on Ogo's shoulder)

The gods accept the offering of the heart.

In the great tapestry, you play your part.

The hunter’s folly ends, the wise man grows.

Thus harmony returns, as Ifá shows.

(The villagers cheer. Ogo is restored, but changed forever.)

(The End of The Hunter's Folly)

 The storm rages on.)

**(Curtain)

Act I, Scene II

Setting: A lonely crossroads at the edge of the palace compound, marked by a rough-hewn stone figure of Èṣù. It is still storming.

(Enter ÈṢÙ, not in a conventional costume, but perhaps a figure that seems to shift and shimmer, with red and black accents, moving with chaotic energy. He observes the area as a TOWNSPERSON rushes past, dropping a small parcel in haste.)

ÈṢÙ

Ho, mortal man! Art thou so quick to flee

The righteous anger of the storm, yet leave

A simple packet at the crossing-place?

(He picks it up, weighs it in his hand, and chuckles.)

A kernel, palm oil, and a humble yam. Small offerings,

But honest ones, for those who choose to give.

The King, proud Olúfè, doth disdain the 

If he'll not give what's due, then I shall make

The cost more plain, for justice' sake!

(ÈṢÙ disappears into the shadows as the thunder cracks violently. The storm worsens.)

Act II, Scene I

Setting: The King’s inner council chamber. The storm is audible but distant. OLUFE sits on his throne, with his CHIEFS and GUARDS.

OLUFE

The rain abates not, nor the wind's harsh breath.

Our farmers' fields are drowning in the flood;

Our marketplace, a pool of mire and mud.

What say you now, my lords? What counsel comes

From those whose wisdom fills the kingdom's rooms?

FIRST CHIEF

My Liege, the Bábáláwo's words still ring,

Of Odù signs and things past due to bring

Disruption. 'Tis Èṣù who brings the plight,

The great enforcer of Olódùmarè's right.

He asks an Ebo, small yet freely given,

A sign of humble heart, to be forgiven.

OLUFE

(Striking his hand upon the arm of the throne)

Forgiven! We have wrought no conscious ill!

Shall Ifè's King be made to bow his will

To every priestly whisper, every sign

Of cosmic fancy? No, this head is mine

To rule with logic, not with mystic fear!

I ask for action, not for holy tear!

SECOND CHIEF

Great King, the Orishas, they demand respect.

Obàtálá, the source of all our peace and purity,

He governs mind and head. Perhaps the storm

Reflects the chaos in your soul's true form.

His peace is sought through humility and white,

Not kingly force, nor arguments of might.

OLUFE

(Scoffs)

Obàtálá's pure justice? He that once

Did err with palm wine, in creation's throes?

All gods have flaws, if e'en the myths hold true!

My force is needed now, my iron will,

To make the world obey, to make it still!

Summon my Captain of the Guard! Let strength

Be our response to this tempestuous length!

CAPTAIN (Entering)

My Lord, the roads are blocked, the smiths have stopped!

Ogun, the god of iron, is enraged, they say!

Their tools are hot, their hammers will not strike.

No iron works the land, no path is cleared.

They fear his might, the pathfinder is here,

To test our metal, challenge human fear.

OLUFE

A plague on all your gods and all your fears!

My will is iron, stronger than their own!

I'll face this Ogun, if he dare appear!

Go, clear the path with force, break every stone!

(The Chiefs exchange worried glances. OLUFE exits in a rage, followed by the Captain and Guards.)

(Curtain)

Act III, Scene I

Setting: The same crossroads from Act I, Scene II. The scene is one of complete devastation. The storm has passed, leaving uprooted trees, mud, and debris. The path is impassable. A small group of TOWNSPEOPLE are attempting to clear the debris with inadequate wooden tools.

(Enter OLUFE, the CAPTAIN, and GUARDS. OLUFE is weary but still proud.)

OLUFE

This chaos shows nature's displeasure,

Not divine justice! Where are my iron tools?

Where are the smiths as I told you to bring them?

These wooden sticks are for children!

CAPTAIN

My Liege, the smiths refused, citing Ogun's wrath.

They fear their tools would turn against them.

The mud sucks down what  his situation begins to sink in.)

OLUFE

(To the audience, in a moment of true introspection)

He vanishes as mist before the sun.

A god in farmer's guise, his message done.

A humble Ebo holds more power, it seems,

Than all the iron forged by humankind.

My pride has caused this ruin, made me blind.

The Bábáláwo spoke the truth, kind man.

The error lies not in the stars, but in the man.

(He looks at the muddy, impassable path and back at the small parcel.)

(Curtain)

Act IV, Scene I

Setting: The King’s council chamber, several days later. The storm has ceased. OLUFE is alone, looking weary and humbled. His attire is simpler, white, reflecting a change in heart, associated with Ọbàtálá.

(Enter BÀBÁLÁWO, guided by the youth.)

OLUFE

(Rising to greet the priest with respect)

Good Bábáláwo, you are welcome here.

My ears are open now, my vision clear.

The prideful film has fallen from my eyes;

I see the truth in all your prophecies.

The messenger, Èṣù, appeared in form,

A farmer, who dissolved amidst the storm,

Leaving a simple gift I had despised.

I am prepared to offer Ebo, wise man.

To cleanse the land, restore the proper plan.

What must be done?

BÀBÁLÁWO

The Odù, when consulted yet again,

Revealed the source of all this mortal pain.

The forgotten debt was to Ọbàtálá, the Weaver of Forms.

A sacred grove, promised to his name,

Was cleared by your late father, in his quest for palace land and fame.

A simple oversight, a broken vow,

Which asks its payment in the here and now.

The land remembers, and the gods require

A cleansing heart, a spirit purged by fire.

OLUFE

(Sighs deeply, acknowledging the ancestral burden)

My father's fault becomes my heavy cross.

To right this wrong, whatever be the loss.

The grove shall be restored, and more besides.

A shrine built high, where purity resides.

But tell me, priest, what sacrifice is needed

To satisfy the gods, whose calls I’ve heeded?

BÀBÁLÁWO

A humble offering, not of wealth, nor gold,

But simple things, as Èṣù did behold.

White cloth, kola nuts, the things of peace and mind.

And crucially, a promi

The Hunter's Folly (Based on an Odù narrative about destiny and choice)

Characters:

OGO: A proud, skilled hunter, famed throughout the land.

IYÁGBÀ: Ogo's wise, elderly mother.

BÀBÁLÁWO: The Chief Priest.

OGUN: The Deity of Iron, War, and the Hunt.

ÒṢÓṢÌ: The Deity of the Hunt and Justice.

VILLAGERS, HUNTERS.

Act I, Scene I

Setting: A vibrant village square in the early morning light. Hunting implements are displayed. The mood is lively, as Ogo prepares for a major hunt.

(Enter OGO, boasting, surrounded by VILLAGERS and fellow HUNTERS.)

OGO

The forest calls! The beasts of silent tread

Shall learn to fear the arrow from my bow!

No boar so great, no leopard e'er so dread,

That 'scapes the fate my steady hands bestow!

My Oṣóṣì's blessings ride upon my aim,

Ogun's own iron sings my noble name!

Today, I hunt the mighty elephant,

Whose ivory tusks shall serve my king's intent!

FIRST HUNTER

Brave words, good Ogo! But the giant beast

Doth hold within its soul a mighty force.

Its spirit's strength is not the usual feast;

The elders warn against this headstrong course.

(Enter IYÁGBÀ, Ogo's mother, her face lined with worry.)

IYÁGBÀ

My son, my son! Thy pride doth swell thy chest,

But listen to a mother's gentle plea.

Before this quest, this perilous, bold test,

Consult the Oracle, I beg of thee!

Ifá must speak, his wisdom we must seek,

Lest destiny turn swiftly and grow weak.

OGO

(Scoffing, but with a touch of affection)

Peace, mother, peace! Thy fears do cloud thy mind.

My Orí (destiny) is strong, my fate is truly set.

What revelation can the priests e'er find

That I, Ogo, the great hunter, have not met?

The path is clear, my skill is all I need.

A man’s own will dictates his path, indeed!

IYÁGBÀ

A man's own will is strong, but cosmic law

Doth govern all beneath the sun and moon.

To slight the gods invites a fatal flaw.

Go see the priest, I beg thee, and that soon!

OGO

(His patience thinning)

I’ll go to please thee, mother, lest thou weep.

But know the outcome’s fixed, my promise keep:

I shall return with tusks of massive size!

My fame shall reach the very starry skies!

(Ogo exits with his hunters, confidently. IYÁGBÀ watches them go, shaking her head sadly.)

(Curtain)

Act I, Scene II

Setting: The Bábáláwo’s sacred chamber. The Bábáláwo sits before his divination tray (Opón Ifá).

(Enter OGO, impatient, followed by his Mother.)

OGO

Good Priest, my mother bids me seek thy aid,

A simple reading, ere the sun is high.

For elephant hunt, a promise has been made.

BÀBÁLÁWO

(Casting his Opèle chain)

The chain doth speak, the symbols mark the wood.

The Odù revealed, it speaks a solemn truth.

(He reads the signs carefully, his brow furrowed.)

Ogbè Ọ̀yẹ̀kú, a sign of great import:

"One’s destiny is cast, but choice is key;

To heed advice, or suffer destiny's sport."

The message for the hunter, clear to see:

You have a powerful, strong Orí, great pride,

But peril waits where ego doth reside.

OGO

(Impatient)

Peril? What peril? Name the beast I face!

I fear no creature in this mortal place!

BÀBÁLÁWO

The spirits warn against this urgent quest.

An unseen force doth guard the elephant's trail.

Ọ̀ṣóṣì favors you, that is confessed,

But Ogun’s metal tools are set to fail.

Here is the fourth play in the series, The Prince's Destiny, a historical tragedy inspired by narratives within Èjì Ogbè and related Odù, exploring themes of leadership, destiny, humility, and the importance of heeding spiritual guidance, even when seemingly disadvantaged.

Example Play: The Prince's Destiny (Based on Èjì Ogbè narratives)

Characters:

OLOGUN: A physically strong but arrogant Prince.

ADEWALE: The youngest Prince, physically slight, but wise and humble.

KING ADÉOYÈ: The aging King of Ilé-Ifè.

BÀBÁLÁWO: The Chief Priest.

ORÚNMÌLÀ: The Deity of Wisdom (unseen voice/presence).

ÈṢÙ: The Messenger Deity.

COURTIERS, GUARDS, TOWNSPEOPLE.

Act I, Scene I

Setting: The royal court of Ilé-Ifè. The King sits on his throne, looking old and concerned about succession. The two Princes are present; Ologun is boisterous, Adewale is quiet.

KING ADÉOYÈ

The weight of kingship presses on my brow.

My time is short, succession needed now.

My sons, the realm requires a steady hand,

A leader wise, to govern all the land.

Ologun, strong in arm, a warrior's might,

Adewale, gentle, walking in the light

Of learning. Which of you shall take the crown?

My heart is torn, my kingdom brought to frown.

OLOGUN

(Stepping forward with great confidence)

My father, doubt not where the strength resides!

The throne demands a force that naught abides

But might and power! The people fear the weak.

My arm is iron, battles I shall seek

And conquer all who dare defy the crown!

My name Ologun (Warrior) brings renown!

Adewale, he is slight, a scholar's boy,

Unfit for war, a fragile, simple toy!

ADEWALE

(Quietly, bowing low to his father)

My brother speaks of sinew, bone, and might,

But wisdom, father, is the truer light.

A king must listen, seek the gods' decree,

And govern with a soul that's truly free

From pride and haste. I lack his mighty arm,

But seek the knowledge that prevents all harm.

The Bábáláwo's words are my true sword.

KING ADÉOYÈ

Enough! This strife doth pain my weary heart.

Go, seek the Bábáláwo, play your part

In divination! Let Ifá's voice decide!

Whom Ọrúnmìlà favors shall preside!

(The Princes agree and exit in different directions. The King looks concerned.)

(Curtain)

Act I, Scene II

Setting: The Bábáláwo's sacred chamber.

(Enter OLOGUN, with arrogance.)

OLOGUN

Diviner! Quickly, cast thy sacred chain!

My destiny is clear, my future reign

Is certain! I need no cryptic word.

BÀBÁLÁWO

(Casting the chain, the Odù falls, revealing warnings of arrogance and ignoring sacrifice)

The Odù speaks of power, yet of fall,

Of pride that builds a high, but empty wall.

The gods demand humility and grace,

Else swift misfortune mars thy future face.

Offer Ebo, a simple cloth, a hen,

And seek the path of peace, my child of men.

OLOGUN

(Laughs in his face, throwing a small bag of coins at him)

Thy words are empty! Fear is all you teach!

My power is all the Ebo I beseech!

Keep thy hen and cloth, thy warnings I disdain!

My might alone ensures my glorious reign!

(Ologun storms out. Shortly after, enter ADEWALE, humble and respectful, carrying simple items.)

ADEWALE

Good Priest, my heart is open to the word.

My brother scoffs, his pride the only lord.

What does Ifá say of this humble one?

BÀBÁLÁWO

(Casting the Opèle again, the same foundational Odù, Èjì Ogbè, appears but in a different configuration/interpretation)

Èjì Ogbè speaks of light and destiny's guide,

Of one who seems the least, but holds inside

The power to lead, to govern, to decide.

The path is clear, if thou dost not deny

The sacrifice. The gods demand a cow,

Sixteen cowrie shells, a change of cloth, I vow.

A costly thing, I know, for one so poor.

ADEWALE

A cow! My means are low, my wealth is slight.

How can I meet such a demanding rite?

BÀBÁLÁWO

The gods know thy true heart, thy humble soul.

Do what you can, to make thy spirit whole.

The will to sacrifice is all that's asked.

ADEWALE

I cannot find a cow, my purse is dry,

But I can find the head of one, nearby!

A token of my will, my humble plea.

(Adewale offers the head of a cow, the cowries, and cloth. The Bábáláwo accepts them with reverence.)

BÀBÁLÁWO

Thy Ebo is accepted. Go thy way.

Upon the throne you shall preside one day.

Humility shall raise you to the sky,

Where prideful strength doth wither and then die.

(Curtain)

Act II, Scene I

Setting: The main square where the two princes are to present themselves for the King's final decision. A large crowd is gathered.

(Enter the KING, his GUARDS, OLOGUN (resplendent in war attire), ADEWALE (simply dressed in new, plain cloth), and the TOWNSPEOPLE.)

KING ADÉOYÈ

My people, see my sons! One strong and bold,

The other gentle, true stories untold.

Ifá has spoken, through the Bábáláwo’s voice.

OLOGUN

(Pushing forward, flexing his muscles)

The choice is obvious! My strength is great!

The people need my power to seal their fate!

ADEWALE

(Standing back, calm)

The power lies not in the muscle's swell,

But in the wisdom of the truth to tell.

My humble offering the gods did take.

(Enter ÈṢÙ, disguised as a commoner, causing a disturbance among the guards.)

ÈṢÙ

A fire! A fire in the western gate!

The market burns! A matter of the state!

(Chaos erupts. The guards rush off. Ologun, focused on his own glory, stands still, unwilling to get his fine clothes dirty or miss his moment.)

OLOGUN

Let others go! I am the King to be!

Such trivial fires are beneath my dignity!

ADEWALE

(To the audience, in a brief aside)

My destiny calls, to action and to sense!

A King must act, no time for recompense!

(To the people)

Follow me! We quench the flame, we save the day!

A leader leads, upon the dusty way!

(Adewale leads the people and remaining guards off to fight the fire. Ologun stands alone, confused and angry.)

ÈṢÙ

(To the audience, revealing his true form for a second, then disappearing)

He chose the throne, not duty, to his shame.

His pride did seal his weak and empty name.

(Curtain)

Act II, Scene II (Finale)

Setting: The King’s court, later that day. The fire is out. The people return, praising Adewale. Ologun is nowhere to be seen, having slunk away in disgrace.

FIRST TOWNSMAN

Adewale saved the day! His action swift!

He risked his life, a true and noble gift!

SECOND TOWNSMAN

The fire quenched, the people safe and sound!

A worthy King upon this hallowed ground!

(Enter KING ADÉOYÈ, who has heard the news. He looks at his disgraced, absent son's empty spot, then at Adewale, who enters humbly in his now dirty clothes.)

KING ADÉOYÈ

My people, see my sons! One strong and bold,

The other gentle, true stories untold.

Ifá has spoken, through the Bábáláwo’s voice.

OLOGUN

(Pushing forward, flexing his muscles)

The choice is obvious! My strength is great!

The people need my power to seal their fate!

ADEWALE

(Standing back, calm)

The power lies not in the muscle's swell,

But in the wisdom of the truth to tell.

My humble offering the gods did take.

(Enter ÈṢÙ, disguised as a commoner, causing a disturbance among the guards.)

ÈṢÙ

A fire! A fire in the western gate!

The market burns! A matter of the state!

(Chaos erupts. The guards rush off. Ologun, focused on his own glory, stands still, unwilling to get his fine clothes dirty or miss his moment.)

OLOGUN

Let others go! I am the King to be!

Such trivial fires are beneath my dignity!

ADEWALE

(To the audience, in a brief aside)

My destiny calls, to action and to sense!

A King must act, no time for recompense!

(To the people)

Follow me! We quench the flame, we save the day!

A leader leads, upon the dusty way!

(Adewale leads the people and remaining guards off to fight the fire. Ologun stands alone, confused and angry.)

ÈṢÙ

(To the audience, revealing his true form for a second, then disappearing)

He chose the throne, not duty, to his shame.

His pride did seal his weak and empty name.

(Curtain)

Act II, Scene II (Finale)

Setting: The King’s court, later that day. The fire is out. The people return, praising Adewale. Ologun is nowhere to be seen, having slunk away in disgrace.

FIRST TOWNSMAN

Adewale saved the day! His action swift!

He risked his life, a true and noble gift!

SECOND TOWNSMAN

The fire quenched, the people safe and sound!

A worthy King upon this hallowed ground!

(Enter KING ADÉOYÈ, who has heard the news. He looks at his disgraced, absent son's empty spot, then at Adewale, who enters humbly in his now dirty clothes.)

KING ADÉOYÈ

My son Adewale, thou hast proved thy worth.

Not by thy strength, but by thy soul's true birth.

Thou art the King, by Ifá's clear design!

Thy humble actions made the wisdom shine!

(He places the crown upon Adewale's head. The people cheer. Adewale kneels and thanks the gods. Ogun's strength was useless without Oṣóṣì's guidance/Ifá's wisdom, as per the hunter play's theme.)

(The End of The Prince's Destiny)

The Destiny's Knot.part two

In the context of Shakespearean tradition, a "glorious end" for a tragedy like The Destiny's Knot does not imply a happy, comedic resolution where everyone lives happily ever after. Rather, it signifies a profound restoration of cosmic and social order, a moment of great wisdom (anagnorisis), and the display of the tragic hero's inherent nobility even in death. The hero's suffering results in a final emotional release (catharsis) for the audience and a valuable lesson about the human condition.

The Glorious End of "The Destiny's Knot"

The final act would culminate not just in death, but in a solemn, ritualistic acceptance of fate and a redemptive act that purges the kingdom of the curse.

Act V: Scene V - The Palace Courtyard at Dawn

(The scene is set for public declaration. The plague has worsened. Oba Adewale, having discovered the full, horrific truth, has blinded himself, mirroring Oedipus Rex, a classical influence on Shakespearean tragedy. Queen Ojuola has taken her own life in grief).

OBA ADEWALE (led by a young attendant, his voice clear despite his blindness):

"Hear me, my people! O, hear me, subjects mine!

The plague that wastes our lands, that stills the babe's cry,

Is born not of the gods' caprice, but of my sin!

I, Adewale, your King, am the cursed root.

In ignorance, I spilled my father's blood,

And married her who gave me life, my Queen!

This blind flesh, that did not see the truth,

Deserves not e'en the light of sun or moon."

(A hush falls over the crowd. Baba Fakunle, the Babalawo, approaches the King).

BABA FAKUNLE:

"Great Oba, thou art wretched, yet most great.

Thy sufferance brings wisdom; thou hast paid

The price the Odu asked. The knot is loosed.

Orunmila smiles upon thy truthful soul.

For in thy fall, the kingdom shall arise."

OBA ADEWALE:

"Then is my death a balm, a final grace?

I yield my spirit to the great unknown.

Let the new King, a man of blameless birth,

Assume the crown, and lead this land to health."

(Adewale offers himself for ritual sacrifice, a final noble act. He is not killed on stage, but led off. Esu-Dara, the trickster spirit, is vanquished as the truth and order are restored).

The Glorious Resolution:

Order Restored: The kingdom of Ilu-Aje, which began in order and fell into chaos, returns to harmony. The curse lifts, and the plague subsides.

Catharsis: The audience experiences a profound sense of pity and fear (catharsis), but ultimately feels release and moral clarity, as the tragic events serve a greater cosmic purpose.

Wisdom through Suffering: Adewale's end is "glorious" because, through extreme suffering, he achieves ultimate self-knowledge and accepts his destiny, proving that even a king is subject to the divine order of Ifa. He dies with dignity and wisdom, his initial nobility recognized by all.

New Leadership: A new, unblemished ruler is chosen to lead, ensuring the future prosperity of the realm, a classic Shakespearean device for restoring stability (e.g., Malcolm in Macbeth, Fortinbras in Hamlet).

Tragic Waste Tempered: While Adewale's life is a "tragic waste" of a potentially great man, his final act of self-sacrifice and acceptance prevents total nihilism, offering hope and a clear moral compass to the