Mother, we have come
To pay obeisance to the gods left behind
Your sons who spat in disgust to the mmanwu
Your sons who welcomed the many Wise men from the West.
Mother, we have come
To bath in the river Ezeala
We have come
To drink from the river Oparaugo
Mother, we have come
To beat the drums left at the foot of the orange tree
We have come
To sing the song of our ancestors
Mother, we have come
To pour libation on the gods' footstool
We have come
To dance the dance of the spirits
Mother, we have come to dip our hands in the Calabash filled with the new yam and palm oil
We have come
To be initiated in the Iwa Akwa
Mother, we have come
To rebuild the huts torn down by the cool winds from the West
We have come
To join the Babalawo in the spilling of the blood of goats.
Mother, we have come
To see our fate in the thrown cowries
We have come
To listen for the voice of our ancestors
Mother, we have come
To pay the obeisance to the gods left behind -
But our heads have become too permed to bow
Our knees are no longer naked
Our voices have recorded new notes
And our waists are now stiff
Too stiff -
To dance the dance of the spirits.
