Oshun Energy
A tale of Oshun the River Goddess
Since the dawn of life, history has mastered doing one thing and one thing only: to wipe out women’s names from its books. It is no wonder that its onomatopoeia is ‘His story.’
What extent of literary exorcism can a man tell when its truth is centred around a woman?
Time has carried Oshun on its aged back, its knees wavering and buckling under the pressure the same way Ọrunmila gave in to her charms and Ṣàngó could not withstand her beauty. The way the earth gave way when the other primordial spirits disregarded her wisdom.
Three days after Olódùmarè commanded the earth to form, the sun hid shyly behind the clouds, afraid to behold his glory but needed to witness it still; he moved his hands carefully as he formed with the words of his mouth, Irunmọlẹs.
He made 16 of them, and on the 17th, the soreness of his fingertips from the humdrum creation method began to set in.
So he tried a different approach and yielded an entity he was yet to behold; he called her Oshun and sent her, with her 16 brothers, to his earth, entrusting its beautification and functionality in their hands.
Her suggestions flew over their heads.
Like her words were not laced with as much wisdom as theirs were, she retreated, following the disregard she was treated with.
Why did he feel the only time representation of humanity would balance out was when the scales were sitting at 1 to 16.
Oshun wondered as she traced her reflection in the mirror.
She fell asleep to the percussion of her favourite rhythm, a gift from one of her lovers when she felt the heavens shake. She moved with urgency towards the chaos; her brothers were before Olódùmarè. He had quickly transformed from a loving god to a fierce fire, scolding the small-minded beings.
Their lips grovelled, stomachs sunk, heads bowed but shoulders high until Olódùmarè struck it with thunder. “We are sorry.”
What terrified him about me so much that he suspected only one of myself was enough?
Oshun’s mind travelled seas as she filled the earth with the divinity it needed to survive. And when the first flowers blossomed, her hips with a joy she never had known dancing to the tune of birds singing, she gave in to Sango and created life.
The cries of the magic she made quickly filled the air so that it managed to erase her, and Olódùmarè named himself the giver of life.
Oshun is better than me in this manner. She is.
I would have gathered an army.
All of my creation; when Olódùmarè refused to acknowledge the works of my hand
Instead, even accord it to his name.
Oshun resonated in her energy.
She was finding peace in herself, being a bigger person when she was the only type of her person.
We all need that Oshun energy.
